The Jerusalem Puzzle. Laurence O’Bryan

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      14

      The policewoman had opened the back door of the police vehicle and climbed inside. I imagined her examining my passport in detail, photographing it maybe, or putting it through a computer check, but she could have been doing anything beyond those darkened windows.

      ‘What did she say to you?’ Isabel was beside me.

      The other policewoman was checking people and keeping an eye on me. She needn’t have bothered. I wasn’t going to go anywhere without my passport.

      ‘She wanted to know if I was helping Simon. I got the impression she knew all about him.’

      Isabel stood with me.

      And then the policewoman reappeared. She’d only been gone a few minutes. She handed me back my passport.

      ‘Be careful in Israel, Dr Ryan,’ she said. ‘The situation here is difficult these days. We have to double-check everything. I am sorry for delaying you.’

      I passed her by quickly. What she meant was clear. I’d been warned.

      I watched as Isabel gave over her passport. The policewoman examined it carefully, asked a few questions then gave it back.

      I wondered why she hadn’t asked us where we were staying. Maybe she didn’t need to. Our hotel had copied our passports in front of us when we’d checked in. They’d probably used the copies to register us with the police. And with the number of security cameras around, they probably knew more about our movements than if we had a stalker.

      We walked back towards the Jaffa Gate.

      ‘What’s Simon’s phone number?’ I asked Talli.

      ‘He told you everything he knows. I’m sure of it,’ she said, after she gave it to me. ‘We have a good reputation for helping academics from other universities.’ She held her hand out to bid me goodbye.

      ‘Thanks, Talli. I appreciate all your help. It means a lot to me. Send me an email in a week or two about what

      you’re working on. Maybe you can come and do a talk for us too.’

      She beamed. Then she was gone, and Isabel and I were heading for a taxi that had pulled up. It was disgorging a family of American tourists.

      I checked my phone again. Susan hadn’t called back. I tapped her number. I must have dialled it ten times since she’d rung me. The number still wasn’t available.

      It was looking increasingly like the call had been an accident of some sort. Maybe her phone had been stolen. Maybe someone had turned it on briefly, pressed the redial button, before taking its SIM out.

      ‘Can you take us to Jabotinski?’ I said to the driver. He looked at me as if I was a piece of bait drifting on the top of a pool. Then he grinned. He was young, had a few days’ growth of beard and a t-shirt with swirling red and green paint stains on it.

      ‘You’re tourists, right? Where on Jabotinsky are you going? It’s a long stretch, my friend.’

      ‘Near the middle,’ I said. He moved off. Isabel traded pleasantries with him for a few minutes. I was trying to work out the significance of everything we’d heard from Simon. Was it relevant that he was involved in a red heifer project? Probably not. They were just another bunch of end-timers, weren’t they?

      Still, I felt uneasy.

      The taxi pulled up a few minutes later on a long street heading up a hill with three-storey white apartment buildings on either side. The buildings were set back from the road. Palm trees, carob trees, eucalyptus and other shrubs separated СКАЧАТЬ