She checked they were ready then led the way downstairs, back to the business centre. She powered up the machine, rea.s.sured by its anonymity: there was nothing that could lead those stalking her to this computer. She immediately logged into Second Life, using the name and pa.s.sword Liz had given her. Uri stood over her shoulder, his face lit up by the reflected, lurid colours on the screen. When Liz's avatar materialized, his eyes widened.

'Wow. Hey, Lola.'

'It's not mine!' Maggie grimaced. 'It's my sister's.'

'Your sister Lola looks like a fun girl.' For that, she slapped him on the arm.

Feeling like a veteran now, Maggie called up the Teleport Teleport prompt and keyed in the six letters she hoped would unlock this puzzle once and for all. She imagined it, the phone call to Sanchez, telling him she could explain the recent spate of violence; she imagined his response. prompt and keyed in the six letters she hoped would unlock this puzzle once and for all. She imagined it, the phone call to Sanchez, telling him she could explain the recent spate of violence; she imagined his response. You better tell them yourself, Maggie. Get them round the table and get these peace talks back on track. I know you can do it You better tell them yourself, Maggie. Get them round the table and get these peace talks back on track. I know you can do it...

Her avatar had now landed in the scrubbed streets of virtual Geneva. She began walking down Rue des Etuves, turning into Rue Vallin. There was hardly anyone about, save for a couple of rabbit-headed avatars on a street corner. Maggie headed down Rue du Temple to avoid them.

'I can't believe this,' murmured Uri. 'You're saying my dad came to this...place?'

'Geneva, but not the city everyone knows. That's what he said. Kishon went to the wrong Geneva. What your father had was hidden here somewhere.'

'But you're just wandering down streets. What are we looking for exactly?'

'Right now, I don't know. It could be a map, maybe directions. Something that will tell us where he left the tablet. We'll have to work it out.'

She reached into her pocket, looking again at the Post-it note. I have put it somewhere safe, somewhere only you and my brother could know I have put it somewhere safe, somewhere only you and my brother could know. If only she understood what the h.e.l.l that meant. She read on. I need you to remember the good times, like that trip we took together for your Bar Mitzvah. What did we do on that trip, Uri? I hope you remember that. I can tell you only that this search begins in Geneva I need you to remember the good times, like that trip we took together for your Bar Mitzvah. What did we do on that trip, Uri? I hope you remember that. I can tell you only that this search begins in Geneva...

'What did you do on the trip, Uri? Think.'

'I told you. We went to Crete. We talked a bit. I got bored. I'm sorry, Maggie. I just can't think of anything.'

'All right. We'll just have to see if Geneva has some Greek museum or something.'

'Minoan.'

'What?'

'Crete is Minoan.'

Maggie gave Uri a glare. 'Thank you, Professor.' She tried to see if there was a directory of buildings, even a detailed map, of this virtual Geneva. Nothing. She decided to fly, to see if any large structures caught her eye. Perhaps there would be a large museum with a Minoan department. Maybe Shimon Guttman had left this vital clue to the tablet's location in there.

'The funny thing is,' Uri was saying, more to himself than to Maggie, 'the only really strong memory I have of that trip is the flight; it was the first time I had ever been on a plane. That's what really stuck in my mind. I told my father that, probably hurt his feelings. But it was true. We sat together, by the window seat, and I found it amazing, looking down at this beautiful blue water, while he pointed out the different islands below. That was the highlight, really. From then on-'

Maggie suddenly turned to look at him. She could hear Shimon Guttman's voice: What did we do on that trip, Uri? I hope you remember that What did we do on that trip, Uri? I hope you remember that.

'He wants us to do the same thing here,' she said, hitting the arrow keys with new vigour. 'He wants us to fly over Lake Geneva, looking for islands.'

The avatar was hovering above the virtual city, as Maggie directed it first west, then east. She had no idea of the geography of Geneva. She had been there once, for some UN thing, but it had been the usual international diplomacy experience: airport, car, meeting room, car, airport. So she relied on the crudest method possible: looking for a big patch of blue.

Once she had found the sh.o.r.eline, she slowed down so that her avatar could fly low and close, with time to see what was below.

'There's one!' said Uri, pointing in the bottom left of the screen. Clumsily, Maggie turned herself around and came as close as she could, hovering over what looked like a cartoon depiction of a desert island. It was round with a single flag planted in the yellow sand: it announced times for a weekly poetry discussion group. Maggie hit the Up Up arrow. arrow.

There were several islands in the lake, some used as venues for virtual eventsMaggie saw signs advertising a concert and a press conference for a software companysome no more than simple plots of land for private owners. None seemed to have any connection to Shimon Guttman. Maggie was growing anxious; this was their only lead.

'Come on,' said Uri. 'Keep flying. If it's here, we'll find it.'

Maggie kept it up, looping and dipping over the blue of Second Life's version of Lake Geneva. For nearly a minute she did that, silently, so that it was as if the pair of them were in a glider, floating through the cloudless, midday skies above a real city, instead of here in this dark, soulless room in the dead of a Jerusalem night.

She was concentrating hard. It wasn't easy to stay at the right alt.i.tude: too high and the islands were just dots, too low and they had no sense of perspective. If Uri was right, they needed to recreate the childhood experience he had had in that plane, spotting the islands below.

'Hey, what's that?' said Uri, pointing at a small patch of land below. Maggie had to double back, steering Lola round. When she saw it, she hovered, then steadily lowered herself.

'I don't believe it,' Uri said, shaking his head. 'Even here.'

'What is it, Uri? What?'

'Look at that. Can you see the shape of that island? Look at the shape.' He was pointing at the yellow pixels on the screen.

Maggie could see that it was unusual. Not the rough-edged, vaguely circular blob favoured by the owners of most of Second Life's private islands, but a series of wobbling lines, with a large square protruding from the right. It was a deliberate design of some kind. But it meant nothing to Maggie.

'Uri, what is it?'

'See that on the left? That's Israel. And that big bulge? That's Jordan. This is the map of Eretz Yisrael Eretz Yisrael, the complete Land of Israel, according to the right-wing fanatics who worship Jabotinsky. People like my father. They have this shape on their T-shirts. The women wear it as a pendant. Shtei gadot Shtei gadot, they call it. It means two banks. They even have a song: "The River Jordan has two banks, both of them ours".'

'You're sure?'

'I knew this shape before I knew my alphabet, Maggie. I grew up with it. Believe me, my father did this.'

Maggie clicked to stop flying, landing splashily on the water lapping against the island's sh.o.r.e. She walked forward, but was pushed back. A red line, like a laser beam girdling the island, materialized each time the avatar got too near, effectively bouncing her away. When you looked closely, you could see it was made up of words: NO ENTRY NO ENTRY NO ENTRY. It was an electronic border fence. A small message appeared on screen: 'Cannot enter parcelnot member of the group.'

'd.a.m.n. It's locked somehow.' Her avatar was static. Maggie looked at the bottom of the screen, trying to find a box for keying in a pa.s.sword.

'Hey, Maggie. Who's this?'

She looked up and felt a chill run through her. Two avatars were hovering close by. They had the same, eerie bunny heads she had seen just before, but now both were clad in black. She remembered the men in the alley, the black ski-masks, the hot breath.

Maggie looked up at Uri. 'They're following us. They're trying to get whatever information your father stored here before we do. What should I do?'

'Can you talk to them?'

Maggie stared hard at the screen. They were still lingering at her side. She hit Chat Chat and typed into the window, trying hard to stay in character. and typed into the window, trying hard to stay in character. hey guys, what's up? hey guys, what's up?

She waited for a reply. Three seconds, four, five. She waited till the Second Life clock in the corner of the screen turned a minute. Nothing.

'They're waiting for us to make a move. They know only what they pick up from us.' With that, Maggie had one more attempt at breaking through the laser cordon that appeared around the island every time she got close. Cannot enter parcelnot member of the group Cannot enter parcelnot member of the group.

The rabbit-heads remained close by, unmoving. They were shut outside the cordon too, but something about their stillness unsettled Maggie. She imagined their operators, whoever they were, hammering their way through complex algorithms, running serious de-encryption programmes, working out how they could smash through Guttman's little barrier. If these people were clever enough to have followed Maggie, or Lola Hepburn, to this spot within Second Life, they would hardly let one piffling cordon stand in their way.

Maggie hit Chat Chat. you again! are you rabbit boys. .h.i.tting on me? you again! are you rabbit boys. .h.i.tting on me?

'Maggie, what are you doing?'

'Letting them know we know.'

She carried on typing, now using the Second Life search function. The search word: Guttman Guttman. Maybe there was an obvious way into the island, something they were both overlooking.

'I'm going to get something,' Uri said, heading for the door. 'I'll be back in a second.'

The Guttman search was still chugging through, taking much longer than before. No entries were coming up. 'Come on, come on,' Maggie murmured. Then, as if hearing her command, there was a whooshing sound and everything went blank.

Suddenly the screen was loading with a landscape Maggie did not recognize. She had been teleported somewhere else within Second Life, even though she had clicked no b.u.t.ton. Had she fumbled the keyboard without realizing it?

But then she saw them. Not two rabbit-heads but four now, surrounding her. She pressed the forward arrow and moved a few paces, then froze. Then, jerkily, she regained movement again, turning rapidly into a side alley. The four rabbit-men were behind her, gaining ground. She froze again.

Maggie could feel her own, real-life, breath coming short and fast. Whoever was behind the rabbit-heads was paralysing her avatar. Now she wouldn't be able to return to the island in Lake Geneva. Whatever message Shimon Guttman had locked there would be out of reach.

Maggie heard the sound of the lift ping open. She turned around to see the room empty behind her. Where was Uri? She could hear footsteps coming closer and now, through the gla.s.s, she could see a man approaching. In the dark it was impossible to make out his face.

The door opened and Maggie saw the figure in full: it was Uri, clutching a neat pile of brown clothes. Without explanation he began unbuckling his trousers and removing his shirt, before stashing them under one of the desks, out of view. That done, he started putting on the items he'd brought in, an outfit that seemed to be made entirely of a noisy polyester material in a sickly shade of beige. The trousers were too short, which required some strenuous downward tugging to make contact with his shoes, but soon the transformation was complete. He was wearing the uniform of a hotel bellboy.

'How on earth-'

'Anyone who's ever worked night shifts in a hotel, as I have, knows one thing: they all have a laundry room somewhere. You just have to find it and break in.'

'But why?'

'Don't you see? These people have been bugging us and following us, so that we would lead them to the tablet. And now they have what they want. They know the answer is on that island and they'll get it. They don't need us any more, Maggie. We're in the way.'

Her heart hammering, she turned back to the screen, where Lola was now surrounded by six rabbit-headed men. She hit the Fly Fly b.u.t.ton, to escape. It didn't work. She began stabbing, dumbly, at all the b.u.t.tons, but nothing would happen. The avatars in black were closing in. b.u.t.ton, to escape. It didn't work. She began stabbing, dumbly, at all the b.u.t.tons, but nothing would happen. The avatars in black were closing in.

And now something else was happening. The face on Lola Hepburn, the fresh-faced Valley girl with the ponytail, was starting to change. The eyes began to droop, as if they were about to dissolve into tears. Now the nose began to descend too, the face of this electronic creature no longer perky but increasingly hideous.

Maggie could only watch as the deterioration spread down Lola's body, the b.r.e.a.s.t.s melting into a swirl of red, white and blue like a sundae on a summer's day. Now the torso slid down into the legs, until the entire body was a pool of sludge on this side street, the rabbit-headed avatars still circling, like gulls about to feast on dead flesh. Maggie's only chance to find out what Shimon Guttman knew had gone.

'Maggie.' It was Uri, at the door, about to leave. 'In three minutes' time, go down the fire escape. The entrance is there.' He pointed. 'Don't take the elevator. Walk down the stairs as far as you can. Don't stop at the lobby, but one level lower. You'll come out in the kitchens. As quickly as you can, turn left out of the elevator, and head for the refrigeration area.'

'How the h.e.l.l-'

'Just follow the cold. At the back will be a loading bay. Get out there and I'll be in a car.'

'How are you going to get-'

'Just do it.'

And then he vanished, for all the world a member of the night team of the David's Citadel Hotel.

Maggie collected the few things she had. Uri was right: their every move was being watched and their pursuers were serious. She had seen that for herself this morning and seen it again now, as they had locked on to and destroyed the avatar lent to her by Liz. Maggie shut down the program and moved towards the fire escape.

As she stepped into the blackness of the staircase, she realized that she had not a clue where she was going or what she was going to do next. Their best hope had been taken from them, reduced to a few computer pixels that had simply melted away.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN.

PSAGOT, THE THE W WEST B BANK, FRIDAY, 4.07AM.

His wife heard it before he did. He had always been a heavy sleeper, but now that he was carrying perhaps twenty or thirty pounds in excess weight, his descent into slumber was positively leaden. His wife was shaking him vigorously when he finally awoke.

'Akiva, come on. Akiva!'

Akiva Shapira groaned before squinting at the clock on the nightstand. One of his proudest possessions, that clock. A mechanical, digital relic of the early 1970s, lodged inside its workings was a bullet, fired by a Palestinian sniper directly into his office. Typical of the Palestinians: it missed himand couldn't even take out the clock. A joke he had cracked to more than one visiting US delegation.

It was gone four in the morning, yet his wife was not mistaken. The same light tapping on the door was repeated. Who on earth could be calling here so late?

He grabbed a robe, tying the cord across his girth as he shuffled to the front door of the modest red-roofed house that had been his home since this settlement was founded, decades ago now. He only had to open it a crack to see the face of Ra'anan, the aide to the Defence Minister who had been at the meeting the previous afternoon.

'What the h.e.l.l-'

'I am sorry to call so late. Can I come in?'

Shapira widened the door to let in this man who seemed like some kind of alien, fully dressed in this house of sleep. 'Can I get you something to drink. Water, maybe?'

'No. I can't stay very long. We have very little time.'

Shapira turned back from the sink, where he had been filling a gla.s.s, to face his guest. 'OK. What is it?'

Ra'anan's eyes darted towards the bedroom. 'Can we speak freely here?'

'Of course! This is my home.'

Ra'anan nodded towards the bedroom again. 'Your wife?' he whispered.

Shapira moved towards the door which separated the kitchen from the hallway and bedrooms and closed it. 'You happy now?'

'Akiva, in the last hour I have spoken to the other members of our group, seeking permission for a specific action which has just become possible. If we all agree, we have to act at once.'

'I'm listening.'

'The subject we discussed. She is now in our sights. We can strike.'

'Risks?'

'Arrest and capture, minimal. We have the best possible personnel, as you saw today.'

Shapira remembered the demonstration in the field, the watermelons exploded with pinpoint accuracy by snipers he barely glimpsed. Ra'anan was right. The risks for such skilled professionals were no obstacle.

'OK,' said Shapira, finally. 'Do it.'