Sam Bourne - The Last Testament

Uri watched what she was doing. ‘Why don’t you try the name my father used to email that Arab guy?’

Maggie gave Uri a downturned smile, as if to say, not a bad idea. She searched for Saeb Nastayib and beamed when the computer came back with just one result: a single avatar of that name. She repeated the password as before, Vladimir67, and, before her eyes, a lean male figure, materialized on the screen, naked at first, like a mannequin or a statue made in cool, grey stone, then gradually clothed.

She hit Map , typed Geneva , hit Teleport and, after the few seconds it took the machine to load, she was back, hovering over the bright blue water and green banks of the lake. She searched for Guttman’s uniquely-contoured island.

Her first inspection made her anxious: no sign of it. That would make a grim kind of sense. If her pursuers had had no use for Liz’s avatar once she had led them to the island, then surely the island itself was just as dispensable, once it had yielded its secrets. What better way to ensure no one else discovered the last resting place of the Abraham tablet than to destroy the only clue to its location?

So she had to fly low, hovering over the blue water, her bearings skewed by the undulating, computer-generated landscape which, on this slower connection, was only forming partially on the screen. But finally a green stain appeared on the blueness of the lake which, as the Guttman avatar drew near, revealed itself as the replica Greater Israel Uri’s father had created in the heart of virtual Switzerland.

Maggie approached, bracing herself for the no entry tape and error message. But this time there was no such obstacle: the electronic cordon didn’t even appear. Clearly, it was designed to pop up only at the approach of outsiders. The Guttman avatar was allowed to stroll onto the island as easily as Maggie had visited the red-light district all those hours ago. There wasn’t even a password.

‘We’re in,’ she said, relieved that the old man had not planted another tripwire in their path.

‘Now what?’ said Uri, leaning forward, cradling his cup of coffee, enjoying its warmth on his hands.

‘Now we look.’

They didn’t have far to go. The island had only one structure, a simple glass-and-steel box. Inside it was nothing but a chair and a desk with a virtual computer. Maggie pushed the Guttman avatar forward and had him sit on the chair. The instant he did a text bubble appeared.

Go west, young man, and make your way to the model city, close to the Mishkan. You’ll find what I left for you there, in the path of ancient warrens.

‘So, Uri. What do we have here?’ She looked to her side, expecting to see Uri peering at the words with her. But he was gone, vanished as rapidly as one of the anatomically impossible creatures that still flickered on the screen.

KHAN YUNIS , GAZA , FRIDAY , 2.40AM

He was not asleep. He was not even lying down. He was, as so often these days, sitting bolt upright, turning over one scenario after another in his head. Moves, counter-moves, his mind never stopped churning, least of all at night. He would have so many plans, he would grow impatient for the morning prayer. He would want dawn to come so that he could emerge again into the daylight and get back to work.

He was awake, so he heard the footsteps himself. Instinctively, he removed the safety catch on his pistol and waited in the dark. He saw a curve of candleglow before he heard a voice.

‘ Psst . Salim, it’s Marwan.’

‘Come in, brother.’

Warily, the younger man tiptoed into the room where Salim Nazzal was bedded down for the night. He looked around, counted three teenage boys, all fast asleep on a single mattress, and lowered his voice still further. He had no idea whose house he was in, which family had opened its doors to their leader for tonight.

‘Salim. They say they have something. A sighting, in Jerusalem.’

‘Of this tablet?’

‘Of the Zionist’s son. And the American woman.’

Nazzal replaced the safety catch on his gun. He wanted time to think.

‘The unit on the ground want to know whether they should strike.’

‘They weren’t meant for this! ’

‘But your orders: that recovering the tablet was the highest priority.’

One of the boys on the bed stirred. Salim waited until he was sure he had gone back to sleep.

‘Tell them,’ he said eventually, ‘that they are free to act-’

‘OK-’ He strode away at once.

‘Marwan! Come back here. Tell them they are free to act, but only if by acting they either secure the tablet or discover, for certain, its location. No point killing these two, Guttman and the American, if we don’t get the tablet. Do you understand?’

‘I understand, Salim.’

‘I mean it, Marwan.’ And he cocked his weapon once more, just to leave no doubt.

JERUSALEM , FRIDAY , 5.23AM

She wheeled around, searching among the blissed-out faces and strumming guitars for Uri, but he had vanished. She stood up, walking towards the entrance. Then she saw him, his forehead lined with anxiety. He was in the doorway, staring hard into the street.

‘Uri, what is it?’

‘I don’t know, but I heard something. Could be a car. We’ve got to get out.’

‘Yeah, but first you have to work out-’

‘Maggie, if they’re onto us here, they could kill us.’

‘Just tell me what this means!’

‘For Christ’s sake, Maggie, there’s no time.’

‘Uri, I’m not leaving here until you work this out.’

Shaking his head he strode over to the machine, bent down to peer at the small bubble of text on the screen and repeated the riddle his father had hidden there. Then he said simply, ‘All right, let’s go.’

The nose-studded barista had appeared and was now murmuring in Hebrew to Uri, pointing to an exit at the back end of the café-and also, Maggie couldn’t help noticing, widening her gorgeous brown eyes for his benefit. Apparently impervious to her charms, he thanked her, grabbed Maggie’s wrist and made a dash into the dark.

They had already pushed open the fire door, to reveal a narrow, five-step basement staircase which would lead them back up to street level, when Maggie realized they had left the computer on, Guttman’s avatar and his message still displayed. If they were being followed, their pursuers would simply have to stroll into the café, order themselves a latte and pull out a notebook.

She turned on her heel, feeling her wrist twist in Uri’s grip. ‘Let go of me. I’ve got to go back.’

‘No way.’

‘The computer’s still on. They’ll see everything!’

‘Too bad. We’re going,’ he said, still striding upward, determined to get out onto the street.

‘Get off me! Now!’

He refused to loosen his hold. She was being pulled up this tiny stone staircase whether she liked it or not. She began tugging at his arm, like a recalcitrant toddler refusing to be dragged to her first day at nursery. But he was stronger than she was. She hated herself even for imagining what she would do next, let alone actually doing it, but at that moment, she was certain she had no choice. She had to bend her head to do it, and to find the right angle onto his flesh, but once she had it was a single, quick movement. She simply bared her teeth and bit into his hand.

He yowled in pain, letting only the first note of it sound and smothering the rest. But it did the job: reflexively, he had released her and she dashed back away. Her eyes darted, struggling to locate in the haze of smoke the computer she had just used. When she finally saw the glow, she was appalled to see that someone else was now hunched over the screen, tapping on the keyboard.