Read The Last Testament Online
Authors: Sam Bourne
The Last Testament
T h e
L A S T
T E S T A M E N T
S A M B O U R N E
For my father, a testament to my love
and enduring admiration
Contents
The crowd were pushing harder now, as if they scented…
1
The usual crowd was there. The hardcore leftists, the men…
7
‘Big day today, honey.’
13
It wasn’t a surprise. She had known that much the…
29
After-dark meetings were part of the tradition of this office.
36
For the first time since she got here the people…
40
The street was jammed, cars parked on both sides, their…
47
He wouldn’t need to be here long. Just ten minutes…
52
‘Our information is that the body, riddled with bullets, was…
57
Maggie headed to the room Davis had set up for…
63
Her first surprise was at the brevity of the journey.
68
Maggie lay back on her bed at the David’s Citadel…
79
Salam had headed to school that morning more out of…
87
Amir Tal knocked on the door with two brisk taps,…
92
She was meant to travel nowhere except with her official…
98
He only had a rumour to go on. His brother-in-law…
102
Maggie had seen plenty of dead bodies before. She had…
107
Mahmoud was regretting this decision. He should be above this…
115
She met Uri at the Restobar Café. Not that he…
125
Jaafar al-Naasri was not a man to rush. ‘Those that…
139
The drive back from Psagot had been tense. Maggie had…
144
Henry Blyth-Pullen tapped the steering wheel along to the Archers…
152
‘I hate the media in this country, I really do.’
162
Amir Tal was working hard to conceal his amazement, even…
166
Their orders were very clear. Get in, search and possibly…
171
Henry Blyth-Pullen hated flying at the best of times. Even…
176
For a small country, Maggie couldn’t help thinking, Israel couldn’t…
182
This was the sound Shimon Guttman wanted to hear, the…
190
Their first stop had been the central police station in…
201
Maggie bolted upright, her heart thumping. She was confused, taking… 208
Shimon Guttman’s hand trembled as he put his key in…
215
Khalil al-Shafi knew that, in reality, this was only half…
224
For the second time in a week she was entering…
229
As they threaded through the back streets, narrow and made…
232
Tradition held that this hour was reserved for the forum,…
236
She had no idea how long she had remained stuck…
242
Officially, Baruch Kishon was meant to hate Europe. As a…
251
Maggie did her best to conceal what had happened. She…
258
‘Uri, I want to get out.’
263
Not for the first time since he got to this…
273
The sensation was almost physical, as if her spirits were…
277
They were running out of places to meet. The golden…
286
They drove back to the hotel in silence. Uri had…
290
She knew she should have said no, that she should…
297
First he heard the double click, the signal that they…
309
At first she wasn’t sure if she had opened her…
311
Maggie flung her arms around Uri’s neck and planted a…
315
His wife heard it before he did. He had always…
325
She got out of the hotel more easily than she…
327
He was not asleep. He was not even lying down.
334
She wheeled around, searching among the blissed-out faces and strumming…
336
She held herself very still, wary even of her own…
343
The car turned through the Jaffa Gate, stopping almost immediately… 349
Her legs made the decision before she did. She stood…
360
Gloved hands gripped her wrists so hard it was as…
363
‘They don’t usually show people this part of the building,…
371
‘You had me followed?’ Again she was disappointed by the…
374
Maggie stared at the ground. She needed to steady herself…
380
It was as if she were raiding the emergency tank.
385
The driver took her the short distance to the hotel,…
389
The throbbing was softened now, reduced to a rhythmic ache.
394
Maggie stared at the message, her brow slowly smoothing into…
400
Uri kept his spirits high for most of the journey.
410
Her eyes searched for Uri, but could see no sign…
417
The camera fell from his hand with a thud. Uri…
425
She had all her papers on her lap, in a…
433
BAGHDAD, APRIL 2003
The crowd were pushing harder now, as if they scented blood.
They charged through the archway and their combined weight pressed against the tall oak doors until they went crashing to the ground. As they rushed through, Salam moved with them.
It was not a decision. He was simply a part of a moving beast made up of men, women and children, some even younger than him. They were a collective animal and now they gave a mighty roar.
They burst into the first vast hall, the glass of the display cases glinting in the silver moonlight that spilled through the ceiling-high windows. There was a brief pause, as if the beast were drawing breath. Salam and his fellow Baghdadis contemplated the scene before them. The National Museum of Antiquities, once Saddam’s treasure house, bursting with the jewels of Mesopotamia, now laid wide open. There was not a guard in sight. The last of the museum staff had abandoned their posts hours earlier; and the few remaining security men had fled at the sight of this horde.
The brief moment of silence was ruptured by a sledgehammer 2
SAM BOURNE
crashing through glass. On that cue, the room was instantly filled with thunderous noise, as one after another they started wielding pistols, axes, knives, clubs, even heavy strips of metal torn from wrecked cars – anything to spring these precious, ancient objects from their cases.
Pane after pane of glass shattered. Ivory statues tumbled; ancient ceramic plates smashed to powder as they hit the floor.
The room, usually blanketed in museum quiet, echoed now with a mighty din: the breaking of stone and glass, even gunshots as the most impatient shot out locks that refused to surrender to a crowbar. Salam noticed two well-dressed men setting to work methodically with professional glass-cutting equipment.
The ground trembled as wave after wave of people stampeded into the museum, ignoring this first exhibition hall, looking for fresh pickings elsewhere. They collided with those anxious to get out, hauling their priceless booty on handcarts, wheelbarrows and bicycles, or struggling under heavy plastic crates and cardboard boxes. Salam recognized a friend of his father striding out, his face flushed and his pockets bulging.
Salam’s pulse was throbbing. In all his fifteen years he had never seen anybody behave like this. Until a few days ago everyone he knew had moved slowly, heads down, eyes averted. In Saddam’s Iraq you knew better than to break the rules or draw attention to yourself. Now these same people –
his neighbours – were wild in their desire, stealing anything they could lay their hands on and destroying the rest.
Salam reached into a broken case for a necklace made of pale orange and amber stones. But someone grabbed his wrist before he could grasp it: a middle-aged woman, eyes ablaze, blocking Salam with her left hand, stealing the necklace for herself with her right. He backed away.
It was like a scene from the sacking of an ancient city, Salam thought: an orgy driven not by lust, but by greed, the partici-THE LAST TESTAMENT
3
pants writhing with avarice, slaking an appetite that had been pent up for decades. Suddenly he was pushed forward again: a new group of looters had arrived and they were making for the stairwell.
Salam was swept along as they headed down a flight of stairs: a rumour had spread that the museum staff had stashed all the best stuff in the storerooms. He saw a knot of men standing around a door which they had clearly just lifted off its hinges.
Behind it stood a freshly-constructed wall of cinder blocks, the cement barely set. First one man, then two, began hacking away at the bricks with hammers; others joined them using bars, even their shoulders. They turned to Salam.