The Last Testament

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.