The archaeologist had time to fire a single bullet. But the ferocity of Jake’s advance took her by surprise and the shot went high and wide. Before she could fire again Jake was upon her in a dive and they crashed to the floor. Florence clawed at his face with one hand, raising the pistol with the other. Jake grabbed her wrist and held it easily, using his other arm to pin Florence as her legs thrashed beneath him. She fired again, but the bullet splintered through wooden panelling.
“Don’t just stand there,” Jake shouted at Berihun. “For God’s sake do something.”
The driver prised the gun from Florence’s hand, casting it across the room. Still she squirmed in Jake’s hold, her eyes feral. Then she saw it was hopeless and lay back.
“What are we going to do about this little situation then?” said Jake.
“Wo bei ren jia gong ji. Kuai la ya. Kuai la!”
He was taken aback. “What did you just say?”
The noise that gave her away was on the very edge of audibility: a little ‘schhhh’ sound, followed by a whisper of Mandarin. It came from her collar. Jake explored the material with his free hand – he felt two wires connecting to a solid blob. There was an imperfection in the seam. Jake tore the material apart, and a tiny transmitter fell into his hand.
“What’s this then?”
Florence spat in his face.
“Classy.” Jake wiped his cheek with his shoulder. “Very nice indeed.”
“Please sir,” said Berihun. “What is happening?”
Jake considered how to respond. Florence’s accomplices had to be close. But perhaps with assistance they could be fended off – Debre Damo was a natural fortress. He recalled Berihun’s suspicion of the work gang and inspiration struck.
“She’s a Chinese spy,” he said.
Florence’s body stiffened. The reaction lasted less than a second, but it was enough to betray her.
“My God,” Jake whispered in her ear. “Is that what you are, Florence? A Chinese spy? Have your guardian angels been following us all the way?”
Everywhere we go people start killing each other.
“You killed Jess Medcalf,” said Jake. “Or your friends did. You strangled Dr Gul. It was your people back there in Axum.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“The authorities in Istanbul,” he pressed. “Bending over backwards to facilitate your every request. Under pressure from the embassy, I assume?”
“If I was working for the Chinese, why the hell would I allow you to tag along?”
“At first because I had Britton’s notes. But later? You said it yourself. You needed me.”
“Please sir,” said Berihum. “What we do now?”
“Her friends are coming. I need your help.”
“Then we must pull up rope.”
Berihun dragged Florence to her feet and clasped her wrists behind her back. Before they left Jake photographed the ceiling; then he tucked Florence’s gun into his jeans – like they do in the movies.
When they arrived at the guardhouse two monks were already working the rope, feet braced against the doorstep and grunting. The cord was taut, skipping along the step with the pull of a pendulous weight. The elderly guard spoke to Berihun in Amharic.
“He says Chinese tourists already down there,” warned the driver. “One coming up now.”
Jake peered out. Swaying twenty feet below was a man wearing a sunhat and carrying a satchel. Five others watched him from the foot of the cliff, squinting into the light.
“They’re here,” he said quietly.
“Then we cutting rope,” said Berihun.
If Florence’s accomplices made it onto the plateau he knew they would be killed.
“Do it,” said Jake.
Berihun relayed the order to the monks, who stopped pulling and entered into debate. The driver gestured to Florence, forming a pistol shape with his fingers; Jake produced her gun, and at corroboration of Berihun’s tale the guard cut the cord and cast it over the edge. The rope pirouetted to the ground.
There were a few shouts between the Chinese team. Then the agent began to climb, gaining in confidence with each handhold. Beneath him three more men took to the rock, which was crisscrossed with fissures and natural grips. The guard removed the safety catch on his AK 47 and leaned out over the drop.
“No come up! Monastery closed! No come!”
The old man’s head jerked backward and a splatter of gore hit the rock. He stayed on his feet for a few seconds, rotating on the spot. Then he crumpled down quickly, like a child playing musical chairs. A tunnel was bored through his head.
Berihun snatched up the AK. “They want fighting? Ethiopian man can have hot blood too!”
He edged to the doorway and unleashed a ragged burst, aiming vertically down. The response was impressive. Six snub-nosed MI6 assault rifles and a heavy machine gun opened fire on the guard house, bullets whistling into the masonry in a fury of snaps and splinters. Jake had been under fire before, but nothing like this – the volume of lead made them powerless to manoeuvre. He cringed into hard cover, face in the dirt. The climbers would be there in moments. There was nothing he could do to stop them.
Suddenly there was a noise like the end of the world, and the mountain seemed to cave in around him.