Sam Bourne - The Last Testament

He insisted on walking her to her room. Once they got to the door, she asked where he was going to sleep. He looked as if he hadn’t thought about it till that moment.

‘Well, my apartment is being watched. And so is my parents’ house.’

‘Seems like the only reason they’re not killing you is because you’re with me,’ said Maggie, smiling up at him.

‘Well, I’d better stay with you then.’

JERUSALEM , THURSDAY , 10.25PM

She knew she should have said no, that she should have insisted he take the lift back down, that he sleep in the car if necessary. But she told herself it would be OK, that he would sleep on the sofa or the floor and that would be that.

She even tried opening a cupboard, looking for the extra blankets and pillows from which she would conjure a makeshift bed. But when she turned around Uri was standing behind her, unmoving, as if refusing to play along with this charade.

‘Uri, listen, I explained-’

‘I know what you said,’ he replied, placing a finger on her lips. Before she could say another word, he had met her mouth with his. His kiss was gentle at first, as it had been the previous night, but that did not last. Soon it was urgent and the current of electricity came from her.

She kissed him hungrily, her lips and tongue desperate for the taste of his mouth. The ferocity of her desire shocked her, but there was nothing she could do to stem it. It had been pent up so long, suppressed for hour after hour, that now that the dam had burst, there was no holding it back.

Her hands were moving through his hair, tugging at it, wanting to bring his face, his smell, closer. It was a sort of devouring, and they both felt the urgency of it. His hands were moving fast, first caressing the side of her face, then her neck, until now they were tearing at her top.

A moment later they had fallen onto the bed, their skin tingling from that first electric contact. Each caress, each taste, brought a new flash of intense sensation, until their bodies were joined. His back became slick with sweat and, as she gripped it, she was sure she could feel not only his desire but also his longing, his need, even his grief. And as she howled her release, she knew he could hear her own need, her yearning to be free after so long. They held each other tight like that for hours, even after the first wave had receded, their ardour barely fading.

Maybe she was too wired, but when she woke up sometime after two am she could not get back to sleep. Uri was slumbering beside her, his chest rising and falling with each long breath. She guessed this was the first deep sleep he had had since his father died. She liked looking at him. For a long time she lay there on her side, just watching him, and felt a kind of peace spreading through her.

Nearly an hour passed that way until eventually Maggie grew restless. She got out of bed, grabbing the large T-shirt she had taken from Edward’s closet when she packed up on Sunday afternoon. State be warned, Commerce kicks butt read the legend: a souvenir of the interdepartmental softball game last summer, participation in which Edward regarded as crucial to his Washington career.

She crept over to the desk, just a few feet from the bed. She flipped open the lid of her laptop, her face turning blue from the screen glow in this darkened room. Uri didn’t stir.

She waited for a connection and opened up her email. Top of the list was a message from Liz.

Mags

My Second Life account tells me you never used that link I sent you. So knew you wouldn’t! But you should. Not only is it proof of your 2L stardom, but there’s also some pretty cool stuff on there. Here-again!-is my screen-name and password and a few basic instructions: just go on as me…btw, we must talk about Dad’s 70th. I reckon a big do, you know, fly him and Mum to Vegas, strippers, the works. What do you reckon? Just kidding xx L

Her sister had signed off with a smiley face which, at this moment, made Maggie smile.

The next one was from Robert Sanchez. Subject: Update . Inside, with no message, was a digest of the latest cables from the US team in Jerusalem to Washington. Even in a skim read she could discern their message: the situation was grim.

Talks are down to a skeleton presence at Government House, with lowest-level representation on both sides. The progress of less than a week ago, before the Guttman killing, seems distant now…two sides trading recriminations…hostile noises from the Arab states, sabre rattling from Iran and Syria…pro-Israel lobby in the US, led by Christian evangelicals, getting restless, liaising with settler groups here to organize a telethon to run on Christian Broadcasting Network on Sunday night…outbreak of violence in the Temple Mount area today as Israeli forces fired tear gas on worshippers at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, two Palestinians dead, one teenager…ambush of settler car outside Ofra, two passengers killed, one aged twelve…

Maggie ran her fingers through her hair as she regretted again having given up smoking. Jesus, she could die for a cigarette now. She braced herself for message number three.

Edward: no subject

M,

Not that you would care but am off to Geneva this evening. Government business, can’t get into it in an email.

We have some practical matters to resolve when we both return. Please advise on your plans.

E

Maggie let herself fall back into her chair. Please advise . Had this man really once been her lover? She looked over at Uri, the outline of his sleeping body visible under a single white sheet, and she smiled.

Maggie clicked back to Liz’s message. Such a sweetie. She hit Reply.

You’re a great sister. I don’t deserve you. Will check out that link. Re: Vegas. Can we arrange strippers to come as crown green bowlers?

She was about to hunt out Second Life when she had a sudden sinking feeling. Their phone calls were bugged, they were being followed and, it seemed, her work on Shimon Guttman’s computer had been watched. Someone, somewhere, was probably reading this right now. She snapped the lid shut, plunging the room into darkness once more.

She knew she wouldn’t sleep, she was buzzing too much. So she pulled on some clothes, creaked open the door and crept outside. She tiptoed down the corridor, heading for the rooms that all hotels maintained even though, in the era of the BlackBerry and wi-fi, hardly anybody used them any more: the Business Center.

Her keycard let her in, to a room that was dark, empty and cold. There was just a single, forlorn terminal. But it worked, asking for her room number and nothing else. That was OK: hotel staff could see what she was doing, it was just the electronic eavesdroppers, hackers and Peeping Toms she wanted to avoid.

She called up Liz’s email again, scribbled down the name-Lola Hepburn!-and password she had given her, and clicked on the link. The screen instantly went black, then displayed a message.

Welcome to Second Life, Lola.

She entered her details, then watched as a computer-generated landscape began to fill the screen, as if to herald the start of a video game. In the foreground, with her back to Maggie, was a CGI-version of a lithe young woman wearing tight jeans and a Union Jack bratop. This, Maggie realized, was Lola Hepburn, Liz’s embodiment in Second Life, her ‘avatar’. Maggie looked at the set of buttons that appeared at the foot of the screen: Map, Fly, Chat and a few others whose meaning eluded her. There was an instruction to use the keyboard’s arrows to move backwards and forwards, left and right. She tried it and watched, amazed, as the buxom siren on screen moved ahead, jerkily, with arms swinging, in a simulation of human walking.