O Jerusalem - Laurie R. King [120]
“What about Government House? The army has undoubtedly done a survey of every inch of the city, above and below ground.”
He puffed furiously on his pipe. “I am wary of Government House,” he said finally, sounding not happy.
“Ellison.”
“A good clerk is like a servant, invisible and all-seeing. Still, I find myself unconvinced about Ellison. For one thing, I cannot imagine why Haifa would have notified Jerusalem that they were reaching out for Ali and Mahmoud, allowing Ellison to overhear.”
“You think there is another informant, one in Haifa?” God, I thought; the holes in British security are like Swiss cheese. “What about the driver, was he then killed to cut the tie, or because he had outlived his usefulness?”
“That is possible. Probable, even. However…”
“You do not wish to chance bringing Government House in, even if we could keep Ellison from knowing.”
“Not until we are more certain. Not for something as important as this.”
“So what comes next?” I asked, although I thought I knew.
He held his pipe away and examined the tobacco in the bowl. “Did you notice the lock on the door of Father Demetrius’ study?” he asked.
“It is a very old lock.”
His head came around and he shot me a grin. “That’s my Russell,” he said, as if everything had been decided. But then, it had.
We let ourselves out the small door set into the inn’s heavy gates and turned down the black alleyway towards the Armenian Quarter. “Just one thing,” Holmes breathed into my ear. “It is assumed in the city that anyone walking through the dark streets without a lantern is no better than he should be, and wants arresting. We can’t very well take a lantern, but if we are caught, you are to get away. Do you understand? They will be satisfied with one of us, and I’ll come to no harm sleeping in a cell overnight, but I’ll not see you in a man’s prison, even for a few hours. Do what you have to do, but get free.”
I had to agree that the thought was not a happy one. “All right.”
“I have your word?”
“I said so.”
“Good.” He slipped away down the alley and I followed, out to the open area in front of the Citadel, a maelstrom of activity during the day, now deserted but for rats and one scrawny cat. We skulked after the cat, around the sides of the echoing emptiness, over the entrance to the silent David Street bazaar, between the gates to the Anglican church compound and the steps of the Citadel (where the humble victor General Allenby had given his victory speech to the city), past the barracks, and into the Armenian Quarter. Twice we heard noises and plastered ourselves against the walls, but the only living things we saw had either wings or four feet. We came to the church, we went around it, and we eased our way through the gate and the garden to the door of Father Demetrius’ study.
My shiny new picklocks, a Christmas present from Holmes, were in Mycroft’s flat in London. Holmes’ old ones did the job, and in minutes we were inside the room, which smelt comfortingly of books and faintly of coffee and incense.
Holmes stretched to remove the tube of maps from its high shelf, and carried it over to a wall of books, where he seemed to be perusing the titles. He moved, and after a while I heard a click, and a bank of shelves opened. We went through, he closed the door, and only then did he turn on his electrical torch.
We were in a tiny closet of a room perhaps eight feet by four, with a thin mattress on the floor and a couple of pots. The only air came from a ventilation grid the size of a hand. I tried not to feel claustrophobic.
Holmes had the maps out and was spreading them on the floor. I held the sides flat, and he paged through them until he came to what we sought, when he removed the others from the top of the stack and let them curl up tightly.
The city walls and a few landmarks were the only familiar shapes on this map. The Dome of the Rock, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and the Armenian monastery were there; the Tyropoeon Valley that had once