The Last Testament

by Sam Bourne

  ‘You have no right to lecture me-’

  ‘I have every right. I have been running around this country, risking my life, desperate to get to the bottom of whatever was causing all this violence, because I wanted to help save the peace process, because I actually believed in it. And now I find the real source of the trouble and of the violence that’s been destroying everything, wasn’t Hamas or Jihad or Fatah or the settlers or the Mossad or any of them. It was you!’

  Miller had collected himself. ‘I always knew you were naive, Maggie; it was part of your charm. But this is too much. You don’t think these guys would have got started the moment they knew about the testament? Of course they would. There’s been plenty of killing going on here all week that had nothing to do with us. Qalqilya. Gaza. The schoolbus in Netanya. If we’d done nothing, all that would still have happened, all by itself. Same with Hizbullah and the Iranians going batshit.’ Eye-ranians. ‘That’s the real world, my girl. You’re facing a disease that’s ’bout to spread, you kill the first beast that gets it. Otherwise, it’ll kill the whole herd.’ It was the down-home, farm-boy shtick that Miller deployed to such good effect on the Sunday morning talk shows in Washington. It always intimidated the press, made them feel like soft-handed city boys.

  ‘So that’s what this was, eh? You derail the peace process a bit, before the lunatics derail it even more.’

  ‘There are no good choices in this game, Maggie. You should know that by now.’

  ‘And I suppose it was working. Until I came along and started poking around.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about that.’

  ‘Why? You’d have pulled it off, wiping out anyone who knew about the tablet. Abraham’s secret would have remained a secret. But I waded in, didn’t I, obsessing night and day to uncover what you had decided should stay hidden. What a bloody fool I am.’

  ‘You want to ease up on yourself, Maggie.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘Because you’ve done exactly what we wanted you to do-from the very beginning.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  J ERUSALEM , F RIDAY , 9.41 AM

  Maggie stared at the ground. She needed to steady herself and this was the way she would do it. If she looked up, if she looked at him, she would lose her balance.

  A shift had just taken place between them, they both knew that. Now she needed something from him as badly as he did from her. She was in a position of weakness. Had this been a negotiation about a border, or water, or even weekend access and custody of the house in the Hamptons, she would have known how to disguise the situation, how to conceal her neediness. But the most skilled negotiator becomes a dunce when negotiating on his own behalf. Maggie’s colleagues told repeatedly the story of the UN mediator who, despite winning a Nobel peace prize, had tried and failed to land himself a pay rise.

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean: I did exactly what you wanted me to do?’

  Miller smiled. He knew as well as she did the mistake she had just made, revealing her need.

  ‘Oh, come on, Maggie. Let’s not dwell on this. We’ve got work to do. Believe it or not, we have a peace process to save.’

  ‘Like you care.’

  ‘You kidding? Are you fucking kidding?’ The smile was gone now. ‘What do you think we were doing here? This whole operation was about saving the peace talks. We knew they’d be deader than a turkey in November the second that tablet got out.’ He gave Maggie a look of deep disgust. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? Not any of you smug East Coast, European, liberal elite assholes.’ He leaned across the table, his eyes flashing. ‘You love all the nice stuff, the talks, the meetings, the plans, the counter-plans, the roadmaps, the UN resolutions, the ceremonies, the White House handshakes-you love all that. But d’you ever stop for one goddamned second and wonder how all that is possible? You ever wonder what drags a bloodthirsty bastard like Slobodan Milosevic to Dayton to sit down for one of your fucking peace treaties? Do you?

  ‘Well, I’ll tell ya. It’s evil fuckers like me and my masked friends outside, that’s what. Milosevic didn’t do the deal because you flashed your pretty eyelashes at him. Just like your brethren in the IRA didn’t sign on the dotted line because you or someone like you wiggled your ass in their direction. No, they did it because someone like me was threatening to drop a megaton of dynamite on their heads if they didn’t. And not just threatening. Sometimes we did it, too.

  ‘Sure, we let you guys get the credit and the peace prizes and the book deals and the interviews on Charlie Rose. Sure, let the New York Times suck your dick. I don’t care. I’ll be the son of the devil, I can take it. But don’t fool yourself, missy. There’d be no peace unless there were guys like me ready to make war.’

  Maggie took a deep breath. ‘And that’s what you were doing here? A bit of war so that we could make peace, that’s what-’

  ‘You’re damn right, that’s what we were doing. And it made sense, too. The two sides are still in the room-’

  ‘Technically.’

  ‘There’s a back channel too, so they’re talking, believe me. Besides technically’s better than nothing. And nothing and nowhere is where we would have been if this bastard tablet had got out. I’m proud of what we did.’

  ‘Did everyone know apart from me?’

  Miller was quieter now, examining his own fingers. ‘The opposite. This was need-to-know. Me and a small team recruited for the job. Ex-special forces.’

  ‘The team who grabbed me in the street market. They did all the killing too?’

  ‘I leave operational details to them and their commander.’

  ‘And the rest of us were out of the loop? The Secretary of State? Sanchez?’

  ‘All of them. Except you.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You should feel proud.’

  ‘Proud?’

  ‘Of what you did. You nearly got us there. To the tablet. Just like we hoped.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh come on, this ain’t Little House on the Prairie. You know how it works. Why do you think we sent Bonham over there to get you?’

  ‘To close the deal. The two sides were nearly there and you wanted me to close the deal.’ Maggie’s voice was wobbling.

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’

  ‘That’s what Bonham said!’

  ‘Course that’s what he said,’ Miller was staring hard at Maggie now. ‘But come on, Maggie. You think the State Department’s not crawling with people like you, skilled diplomats who couldn’t do this job? Specialists on the Middle East conflict? Don’t tell me you didn’t wonder why, out of all the people we had, we had to have you. We needed you because of your-how can I put this delicately?-because of your unique expertise.’

  Maggie could feel herself paling. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘We needed someone to get close to Guttman Junior. If anyone knew where the old sonofabitch had hidden this tablet, it would be him.’

  ‘You brought me here to, to…’ She couldn’t say the words.

  ‘Well, let’s face it, Maggie, you had the right resumé. You got close to that lunatic in Africa and we thought, given the right context, you’d do the same here. And you did. Like I said, you should be proud.’

  A moment of puzzlement, followed by a strange feeling, one that Maggie had not known before, as if she was being crushed from the inside. So that’s what this was about, that’s what it had been about from the very beginning. Maggie heard again the voice of Judd Bonham, how he had recruited Maggie for this enterprise. Cancelling out the sin through repentance, he had said. He even mentioned redemption. This is your chance. He had spoken so softly, his voice sweet with reason. And yet he had been telling the opposite of the truth. He did not want her to come to Jerusalem to undo her mistake in Africa, but to repeat it. He, Miller and God knows who else had deployed her not because of her strengths-all that bullshit about the indispensable Maggie Costello, the great ‘cl
oser’-but because of this one weakness. All that praise; and she had believed every word of it.

  She was nothing more than a honeytrap, that lowest form of espionage life, sent in to win the affection of Uri Guttman. The fact that she had succeeded only increased her nausea. What did that make her? Nothing more than a whore for the American government.

  Instinct launched Maggie from her chair, where she had held herself throughout everything. She slapped Bruce Miller hard across the face. Feeling the sting, Miller put his hand to his cheek, then, with a smirk that oozed lechery, slapped her back. As she reeled, he pressed a button under the table, instantly bringing two masked men back into the room.

  ‘OK, Maggie. This has gone on long enough. Not that I’m not enjoying myself. But you need to tell me where that tablet is.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, her words slurred by the blow to her face.

  ‘That’s not within a thousand miles of good enough, Maggie. Now, I think you know I got some boys here who’ve enjoyed getting acquainted with you. They might like the chance to get to know you a little better.’

  ‘So now you’re going to have the White House implicated in a rape.’

  ‘We would be implicated in no such thing. We would issue a statement mourning the loss of a fine American, brutally assaulted and then murdered by terrorists. The United States wouldn’t rest until your killers were brought to justice.’

  Maggie could feel herself trembling, with rage, fear and a terrible sadness.

  ‘Do I have your attention now, Miss Costello?’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  J ERUSALEM , F RIDAY , 9.52 AM

  It was as if she were raiding the emergency tank. She could feel herself digging deep into her own reserves-of restraint, of self-control, and of that mysterious inner drug she seemed able to generate when the moment truly demanded it, the one that could, as if by an act of sheer willpower, numb the pain.

  She heard her voice talking, in the low calm it could find in a crisis. ‘I don’t know any more than you already know. You saw what I saw. The message from Shimon Guttman sent us to the Western Wall tunnels.’

  ‘The message in the computer game?’

  ‘Yes. He gave us nothing more specific. If he had, you’d know about it.’

  Miller gave a tiny movement of his head, less than a nod, but it was enough. The two men in ski masks came closer, each taking an arm. They pulled Maggie up from her chair and, careful to synchronize their movements, performed an identical action-wrenching her arms until they were both flat and high against her back: a full nelson. She roared with pain, sending a jet of spittle across the room. That only made the men yank harder, tugging at her wrists to pull her arms higher. On her right side, she could feel the strain on the ball-joint where her arm met her shoulder. The pain was so intense she could see it: a bubbling redness in front of her eyes. She was sure they were about to pull her arms right out of their sockets.

  And then it stopped and she was dropped back in the chair, limp as a child’s doll.

  Miller spoke again, his voice unchanged. As if he had merely paused to take a sip of water and was now picking up their conversation where they had left off. ‘And you didn’t see anything when you were in there this morning?’

  It took a while for Maggie to open her eyes. The redness was still there, raging; the pain lived on, too, even through the relief of its ending. She could feel the memory of it still flooding her nervous system. When she finally forced her mouth to speak, all she could muster was a croak. ‘You know I didn’t. You searched me.’

  Miller leaned forward. ‘Not only that, but I’ve had people searching the entire tunnels area since you led us there. Under floodlights. And still nothing. Which means-’

  ‘That the old man was not playing it straight. He said it was there, but it wasn’t.’

  ‘Or that Uri was tricking you. Sent you off chasing wild geese in those cellars, so that he could go and get his inheritance all by himself.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Even through the haze of agony and rage, Maggie was considering it. After all, she now understood, any kind of betrayal was possible. Uri could have faked the shooting on the road that morning, then headed off to collect the tablet alone. Maybe he realized who Maggie was before she had. He had served in Israeli intelligence; she had seen the way he had stolen a uniform and then a car. Perhaps all that was mere preparation for his ingenious dumping of her on the highway. Maybe he had Maggie’s number from the start: a honeytrap, to be avoided. She was the only one who had not seen it.

  Miller stared at her for a moment, then turned his mouth into an expression of regret. ‘Just to be on the safe side, I think I should let the boys here see if they can’t help you remember if there’s anything else. Jog your memory.’

  He gave another small nod and instantly the two men pulled her out of the chair. Except now they didn’t stand her up, but threw her to the ground. The man on her right immediately came down on one knee beside her and put his arm around her neck. He had already begun to squeeze when she managed to choke out a few words, speaking them as soon as she thought them.

  ‘Or maybe there’s nothing to know.’ She could barely hear her own voice.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  She tried to repeat the words but there was no air. The pressure on her windpipe was too great. She was being strangled.

  Miller made a gesture and the pressure eased. The arm, though, stayed fixed around her neck.

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘I said, maybe there’s nothing to know.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Maybe we couldn’t find where Shimon Guttman hid the tablet because he hadn’t yet hidden it.’

  ‘Explain.’

  Maggie tried to get up but she had no strength. She stayed there, on the ground, panting out the words. ‘The messages Guttman left-the DVD, the one in Second Life-they were all done on Saturday. So was the call with Kishon.’ She was gasping. ‘But what if he hadn’t finished doing what he needed to do? He planned to hide the tablet in the tunnels-and he would have done it. But events intervened: he got killed. He probably planned to do whatever he was going to do after the peace rally. He just never made it.’

  Miller was listening closely. ‘So where’s the tablet now?’

  ‘That’s the whole point. I don’t know. And if I don’t know-when I’ve seen his last messages and had his son explain his childhood memories-that means nobody knows. And nobody will know.’

  ‘The tablet will be lost.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Miller nodded slowly, not to her but to himself, as if he were weighing the pros and cons and had at last been persuaded. He got out of his chair and began to pace, circling around Maggie who remained a crumpled heap on the floor. Finally he delivered his verdict.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  J ERUSALEM , F RIDAY , 10.14 AM

  The driver took her the short distance to the hotel, but she didn’t want to go in straightaway. She had seen so little daylight, she just wanted to absorb some of it now. She stood and looked around.

  The entrance was busy, taxis parked with their engines running, guests coming in and out with multiple suitcases. More out than in, Maggie guessed: tourists were probably abandoning Jerusalem after the troubles of the last few days. If they only knew.

  She could hear a megaphone blaring. She turned around to see a white estate car, covered in orange stickers and posters, driving slowly up King David Street: inside, someone was shouting slogans denouncing, it seemed, Yariv and his imminent surrender of Israel’s patrimony. A minute later the car was joined by a van, this one blaring out a bland kind of Euro-pop. From the look of it, this was the peace camp, probably deriding Yariv for backing away from the negotiations.

  She looked past the traffic lights, up the hill. The consulate’s just up there, she thought, where this whole thing began. She remembered sitting there in the garden, just off the plane, wondering about the brothers in the monastery. That had been ju
st five days ago, though it felt more like five years. She and Jim Davis had talked about ‘closing the deal’. Maggie smiled bitterly.

  She turned left, walking away from the hotel. Every part of her ached; her arms and neck especially. She imagined the bruises all over her body, even in those places you couldn’t see. She yearned for a long soak in a hot bath and a deep sleep. But she was not ready for that now: her mind wouldn’t let her rest.

  She found instead a park, almost empty and looking unloved. The lawns were unkempt at the edges, the metal struts that supported a gazebo canopy in the middle had been allowed to rust. Maggie noticed that even the paving stones, and the benches, were made of that same golden Jerusalem stone: it was beautiful, but she reckoned people who lived here surely got tired of it. Like living in a town with a chocolate factory: visitors would love the smell, while the full-timers fast grew sick of it.

  She sat on the bench and stared. When Miller told her she was free to go, that he had concluded she had nothing more to reveal, she had felt relief but no pleasure. It wasn’t only the pain that still throbbed through her; nor the humiliation of having been exposed, even in her most intimate parts, like some kind of animal carcass; nor even what Miller had revealed was the true nature of her mission to Jerusalem. No, what Maggie felt was something she guessed most people would not grasp. Perhaps only another mediator would understand it: the gnawing anxiety that comes when the other side has given in too easily. Miller had folded too soon and she didn’t know why.

  She went over his words again and again, including the final statement he had delivered as he left the interrogation room. He warned her that if she tried to reveal what had happened, he would ensure that the Washington Post was briefed that poor Ms Costello had suffered a breakdown in Jerusalem, leaving her delusional and irrational, following a second affair while on duty. The authorities had given her a chance, after an earlier lapse had forced her to give up diplomatic work. But her curious weakness had thwarted their attempt to help. She couldn’t seem to avoid developing intimate relations with those with whom she was meant to engage professionally, administration sources would say, speaking on condition of anonymity. If she tried to fight it, they had the tapes and photographs showing her with Uri, late at night, drinking, kissing…