Sam Bourne - The Last Testament

Maggie looked at this man, leaning back in his chair, also relaxing now for the first time since they’d met. She was aware that this was some kind of respite for him, a break from mourning, a chance for lightness after the weight he had been carrying around for four days. She was aware that it was a fleeting mood, that it could not possibly last. Yet she couldn’t help herself: she was enjoying this moment between them. She wouldn’t just swat aside his question with a joke or a change of subject, as she had learned to do with the countless men who had come on to her in late-night bars in foreign capitals. She would be honest.

‘The why sounds so corny no one ever talks about it.’

‘I like corny.’

Maggie looked at him hard, as if she was handing him a fragile object. ‘The very first time I’d been abroad was when I volunteered in Sudan. While I was there, a civil war was raging. One day we were driving back and we saw a village that had been razed to the ground. There were bodies on the roadside, limbs, the whole thing. But the worst of it were these children, alive, but wandering around aimlessly, stumbling really. Like zombies. They had seen the most awful things, their parents killed, their mothers raped. And they were just dumbstruck. After that, I thought if I could do anything, anything at all, to stop a war lasting even one day longer, then it would be worth it.’

Uri said nothing, just kept his eyes locked onto hers.

‘Which is why I couldn’t bear to be kept away from it all this time.’

He furrowed his eyebrows.

‘I haven’t told you, have I? This is my first assignment for over a year. I’ve been brought back out of retirement.’ Maggie drained her glass. ‘Forced retirement.’

‘What happened?’

‘I was in Africa, again. Mediating in the Congo: the war no one ever talked about. No one gave a fuck, even though millions died there. Anyway, it had taken eighteen months, but we finally had all the parties on board for a deal. We were days away from a signing, maybe weeks. But very close. And I made-’ She looked up at him, to see if he was still with her, and he was, his concentration absolute. ‘I made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.’ Her voice was cracking now. ‘And because of that mistake, because of me , the talks broke down. The deal was off.

‘I had to leave the Congo a few days later and when I did, when I took the main road out to the airport, I saw them again. Those faces, those kids, teenagers, young girls, that same stunned look in their eyes. And I realized that they were like that because of me, because I had fucked up so badly.’ A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘And those faces will haunt me for the rest of my life, no matter what I do.’

Only then did Uri put down his glass and lean forward out of his chair to touch Maggie’s hand. He held it tightly, until he eventually stood up and brought Maggie up with him, so that her head was resting on his chest. Without saying a word, he stroked her hair, over and over, which only made the tears come faster.

They moved upstairs, to her room, in silence. Once the door was closed, they stood together for a while until, without any act of volition either of them could remember, their lips touched. They kissed slowly, shyly, their tongues making the lightest possible contact with each other.

Her hands were the first to move, placing themselves on his chest, feeling its muscled hardness. He moved gently, his right palm only grazing the side of her breast, a touch which made her shudder with pleasure.

When his left hand found the space between the top of her skirt and her shirt, his fingers tingling across her naked skin, she pulled away.

‘What? What is it?’

Maggie stumbled backwards, until she was sitting on the bed. She leaned across and found the light switch, dazzling them both and breaking the spell between them.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she said, shaking her head and avoiding Uri’s eye. ‘I just can’t do it.’

‘Because of the man at home.’

It should have been because of Edward, she realized with a guilty start; but it wasn’t. ‘No. No, it’s not that.’

Uri turned his face away from her. The look in his eyes changed, as if a protective cover was being drawn over them.

‘Uri, please. I want to tell you.’

He let his eyes meet hers, then lowered himself into the chair at the desk.

‘You see, I didn’t tell you everything about my mistake. Back in Africa. It wasn’t a-’ She struggled to find the right word. ‘It wasn’t a…professional error. I didn’t screw up the negotiations.’ She gave a bitter smile, realizing the linguistic trap she had just walked into. ‘I screwed one of the negotiators. That was my mistake. A leader of one of the rebel groups.’ She looked up at Uri, expecting the disapproval to be etched into his face. But he just listened. ‘Of course, everyone found out. And when they did, they said I could no longer be impartial. And that therefore the United States was no longer impartial. The talks were suspended.’

Uri sighed. ‘And that’s why they sent you into exile, away from your job. To punish you.’

‘No, not really. That was me who did that. Punishing myself.’ She offered him a wan attempt at a smile, but she could barely see his reaction: her eyes were too blurred with tears. It was such a relief to be telling him. ‘You know, people keep telling me I should move on. Edward would say it again and again. Move on. But I just can’t. Do you understand that, Uri? I can’t move on. Not until I’ve made things right. And I won’t do that if I make the same mistake again.’

‘But, Maggie.’ He smiled. ‘I’m just some guy you met. I’ve got nothing to do with the peace talks.’

‘No, but you’re an Israeli. And you know how crazy this place is: that counts as taking sides.’

‘You’re assuming people would find out.’

‘Oh, they’d find out.’ She was trying not to look at him for too long, her eyes darting back and forth to the floor instead. She feared that if she saw him as she had seen him just a few moments ago, her resolve would crumble.

She got up off the bed and opened the hotel room door, wide enough so that both of them could see the corridor outside. Uri rose to his feet. Her eyes still wet, Maggie said quietly, ‘I’m sorry, Uri. I really am.’

JERUSALEM , THURSDAY , 7.15AM

Maggie bolted upright, her heart thumping. She was confused, taking a second or two to look around the room and realize where she was. It was the phone that had done it, shocking her out of deep sleep. No matter that she had arranged a wake-up call from the hotel operator for this hour. Any sudden sound, whether an alarm clock or a telephone, always came as a shock.

‘Yerrrr.’

‘Maggie? This is the Deputy Secretary.’

Jesus . Maggie pushed the phone away from her mouth and cleared her throat. ‘Yes. Hello.’

‘I need to see you in fifteen minutes. Meet me downstairs.’

Over coffee, Robert Sanchez set out just how bad things were. Both sides seemed to be trying to keep the lid on the violence, though there had been armed clashes in Jenin and Qalqilya and Israel had reoccupied whole swathes of the Gaza Strip. Palestinians meanwhile claimed a dozen children had been killed in the last two days of fighting, while word was coming through of a minibus full of Israeli school pupils that had been blown up that morning by a suicide bomber just outside Netanya.

Worse, the whole region seemed to be preparing for war. Not only was Hizbullah hurling rockets from Lebanon onto Israel’s northern towns and villages, but now Syria was mobilizing its troops around the Golan Heights. Egypt and Jordan had both recalled their ambassadors from Tel Aviv. Sanchez held a clutch of printouts from the American press: both the New York Times and Washington Post were drawing comparisons with 1967 and 1973, wars that engulfed the entire Middle East. ‘This time it will be worse,’ said Sanchez. ‘Half of these countries have got nukes now. They’ll soon suck in the whole damn world.’