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before the phone rang again, during which time Joni tried once more to convince her husband that they should contact the police. This time T. Hamilton McKenzie picked up the receiver without waiting. 'Hello? Hello?' 'Calm down, Dr McKenzie,' said the quiet voice. 'And this time, listen. Tomorrow morning at 8.30 you'll leave home and drive to the hospital as usual. On the way you'll stop at the Olentangy Inn and take any table in the corner of the coffee shop that is not already occupied. Make sure it can only seat two. Once we're confident that no one has followed you, you'll be joined by one of my colleagues and given your instructions. Understood?' 'Yes.' 'One false move, Doctor, and you will never see your daughter again. Try to remember, it's you who are in the business of extending life. We're in the business of ending it.' The phone went dead. HANNAH WAS SURE that she could carry it off. After all, if she couldn't deceive them in London, what hope was there that she could do so in Baghdad? She chose a Tuesday morning for the experiment, having spent several hours reconnoitring the area the previous day. She decided not to discuss her plan with anyone, fearing that one of the Mossad team might become suspicious if she were to ask one question too many. She checked herself in the hall mirror. A clean white T-shirt and baggy sweater, well-worn jeans, sneakers, tennis socks and her hair looking just a little untidy. She packed her small, battered suitcase - the one family possession they'd allowed her to keep - and left the little terraced house a few minutes after ten o'clock. Mrs Rubin had gone earlier to do what she called her 'big shop', an attempt to stock up at Sainsbury's for a fortnight. Hannah walked slowly down the road, knowing that if she were caught they'd put her on the next flight home. She disappeared into the tube station, showed her travel-card to the ticket collector, went down in the lift and walked to the far end of the brightly-lit platform as the train rumbled into the station. At Leicester Square she changed to the Piccadilly line, and when the train pulled in to South Kensington, Hannah was among the first to reach the escalator. She didn't run up the steps, which would have been her natural inclination, because running attracted attention. She stood quietly on the escalator, studying the advertisements on the wall so that no one could see her face. The new fuel-injected Rover 200, Johnnie Walker whisky, a warning against AIDS, and Andrew Lloyd Webber's Sunset Boulevard at the Adelphi glared back at her. Once she'd emerged into the sunlight, Hannah quickly checked left and right before she crossed Harrington Road and walked towards the Norfolk Hotel, an inconspicuous medium-sized hostelry that she had carefully selected. She had checked it out the day before, and could walk straight to the ladies' rest room without having to ask for directions. Hannah pushed the door open, and after quickly checking to confirm she was alone, chose the end cubicle, locked the door, and flicked open the catch of the battered suitcase. She began the slow process of changing identity. Two sets of footsteps entered and left while she was undressing. During that time, Hannah sat hunched up on the lavatory seat, continuing only when she was confident she was alone. The exercise took her nearly twenty minutes. When she emerged, she checked herself in the mirror and made a few minor adjustments. And then she prayed, but not to their God. Hannah left the ladies' room and made her way slowly up the stairs and back into the lobby of the hotel. She handed over her little case to the hall porter, telling him she'd collect it again in a couple of hours. She pushed a pound coin across the counter, and in return she received a little red ticket. She followed a tour party through the revolving doors and seconds later was back on the pavement. She knew exactly where she was going and how long it would take to reach the front door, as