The 13th Tablet (13 page)

‘The airport please' said Mina, getting into a cab. She had a long journey ahead of her. There were only domestic flights leaving Mosul – she would have to fly to Baghdad, then take a connecting flight to Amman in Jordan and from there to Tel Aviv. She would buy herself proper clothes in Amman. She had been so dazed when she woke up in the infirmary that she had not noticed that Jack had brought her laptop and some clean clothes from her flat. She found them on a chair against the wall before leaving. But they were hardly interview material.

She had her passport, which she always carried with her, and that was all she cared about for now. As the cab headed out of the city, she tried to gather her thoughts but found it very difficult. She was still in shock after the events of the past few days, and she was terribly worried about Hassan. She could still hear his mother's voice telling her what a good boy her son was.

She had a pounding headache. ‘It must be the drugs they gave me,' she thought. She couldn't get over the fact that Jack had deceived her. He had lied through his teeth about more than a decade of his life; that was no small fib. What else was he hiding?

Walking through the airport's busy main entrance, Mina spotted a bearded man looking directly at her. Something about his dark suit made him seem out of place. Their eyes met, and he quickly looked away. Mina checked herself; she was being paranoid. She glanced again in the direction of the man, but could not see him anymore. She looked around, but there was no trace of him. He had simply vanished. She quickly bought her tickets and walked through customs.

The plane took off and Mina felt relieved to be on her way. Her heart still raced at the thought of what she'd been through but she was safe now, on a plane, flying far away from all this madness. She suddenly felt American again and wanted to hug a US flag or dress up as Wonderwoman, her favourite superheroine. She was also an immigrant of sorts, with long black hair, who had left the Amazons to embrace America. Mina was tired of feeling guilty or ashamed of her American heritage, tired of being a woman in a man's world. ‘No-one will miss me,' she thought.

She was looking forward to spending time in Israel, where few people knew her. A good opportunity to stop rehashing what she'd gone through and instead focus on her research. Maybe she would even find time to write a scientific paper on the tablet.

What would she do in Tel Aviv? The interview was taking place at the Sheraton Tel Aviv Hotel and Towers, a five star hotel overlooking the Mediterranean sea. The foundation had paid for her room in advance for three nights. The corporate world certainly knew how to take care of candidates. She had never been to Israel but she did have a friend there who worked at the Eretz Israel Museum in Tel Aviv.

Liat was an Israeli archaeologist who had studied with Mina at Columbia for a Master's degree. They had had a small falling- out over their political beliefs, but she liked Liat both as a scholar and as a friend. Hopefully Liat would feel the same when she called on her. She would just pop by the museum on arrival. Mina thought back to that year, when she was going out with Charlie, whom Liat had introduced her to. He had been heartbroken when she left for Iraq. She did not feel she had a choice, and to be honest – hindsight can be cruel – she doubted whether she had ever really been in love with him.

Charlie was a lawyer with an international firm in New York. He spoke a number of languages, was fun to be around, quick-witted and handsome. But Mina had always felt there was something missing. Their relationship was too easy-going. They could have gone on for years before realising that they were not really meant to be together. She thought back to the last time they had spoken, in a small Italian restaurant in the Village. Charlie could not understand why she wanted to leave the country, she had such great prospects in New York. She could do anything she wanted, even leave academia and write for a living. He had offered to help her out if she wanted him to. She toyed with the idea, but it was neither in her character nor her upbringing to be financially dependent on a man. She told him as kindly as she could that she needed a clean break and that their relationship was not significant enough to make her change her mind. He told her she sounded phoney, and she smiled sadly and said that she was sorry. Thinking back to how sure she had felt about her decision then, she worried that she might never find what she was looking for. She had felt a flicker of promise, of something meaningful emerging between her and Jack but the revelation about his past had left her feeling deeply betrayed by him.

After changing planes in Baghdad, Mina flew on to Amman. She thought back to the wonderful trip she had taken there years ago with her parents, they had even rented a Jeep to visit Petra's countryside. They were so proud of her and wanted to share her passion for the archaeology of the Near East. Mina had been studying the civilisation of the Nabateans, the ancient inhabitants of Petra, and she had begged her parents for months to let her take a trip there with a group of girlfriends. They had refused outright, it was too dangerous. Instead, her father had come into her room one day and told her he had arranged everything and they would take the trip together as a family. She had discovered aspects of her parents she never knew. Her father was a doctor but seemed ill at ease in most circumstances. Her mother had been a journalist in Iraq, but now worked as a translator. For the first time, Mina saw her parents totally in their element. It had been a lovely trip.

She decided to buy a few clothes in the duty-free shops in Amman's airport. She had a few hours ahead of her before the next plane to Tel Aviv. She bought a new handbag, chose a pair of fitted trousers, a serious blouse and cardigan for the interview, and a top, jacket and boots for travelling to Safed. She would buy whatever else she needed once she had the grant money in hand.

Having completed her shopping, Mina sat down in a café for a much needed break. She sipped the hot coffee and looked around her at the bustling throng of travellers. Suddenly she saw the bearded man again. He passed in front of her for just a few seconds, but she was sure it was him. One thing most archaeologists have in common is a nearly autistic capacity to notice small details among huge bodies of evidence. Here, among the thousands of travellers, she was convinced she recognised the man from Mosul.

Arriving in Amman and buying new clothes had made her feel light-hearted again. But she was back in hypersensitive mode, observing everyone around her. Now that she thought about it, since she left Mosul she had felt that she was being followed a few times, especially in Baghdad.

It must have been this bearded man. Who was he? He did not resemble the thugs in her flat at all. His features seemed more refined and his complexion was definitely Middle Eastern. Just for a moment, she wished Jack were around.

Back in Mosul, Natasha Mastrani, in a red tailored dress and slick knee length boots, was standing near her car. She took off her sunglasses and tapped them gently on the bonnet of the car while waiting to be patched through to Oberon Wheatley's phone. She caught her reflection in the tinted window, and seemed pleased with her look, especially how her icy blue eyes glinted under her platinum blond hair.

‘Sir?'

‘Ah, Natasha. What's the update?'

‘Not the best of news. I wish I'd stuck to the usual operatives.'

‘You're slipping Natasha, you're slipping.'

He was obviously amused by her uncharacteristic incompetence and enjoyed teasing her.

‘I'm really sorry sir. However, the flat was cleaned and the right people were paid off. There will be no sign of our involvement.'

‘So what's worrying you?'

‘The surviving operative disappeared and so did the young man, Hassan. And we still don't know where Miss Osman is.'

‘The story gets funnier by the second. Clearly the operative did not want to face the music on your arrival.'

‘Probably not, sir.'

‘Do I need to remind you that I am paying you far more than the CIA ever did because you have accustomed me to perfect results? There is no red tape with me. You have full latitude to carry out your missions.'

She tried to sound as contrite as she could.

‘Yes sir. There are still unanswered questions. I need to work out the whereabouts of Miss Osman and this Hassan and find out who the man was who killed our two operatives.'

‘No. Please make preparations for my arrival tomorrow.'

‘You're coming here? I wouldn't advise that sir.'

‘No. Tel Aviv. Make sure security is tight in the harbour, around and on my yacht.'

‘Is there something I should know?'

‘Mina Osman will be visiting Tel Aviv for a few days.' That was why he sounded so amused. She knew better than ask questions. Oberon Wheatley hadn't become one of the most powerful men in the world by twiddling his thumbs. He didn't wait for events to pass. He was always one step ahead. She got in her car, and drove off to the airport.

PART 2

ISRAEL

 

The apple cannot be stuck back on the Tree of Knowledge; once we begin to see, we are doomed and challenged to seek the strength to see more, not less.

(Arthur Miller, 1915–2005)

 

Chapter 13

 

December 6th, 2004. Tel Aviv

 

 

 

Mina landed at Ben Gurion Airport late that evening. If Mosul seemed security conscious it was a walk in the park in comparison. Luckily she had the invitation for an interview and a reservation at the Sheraton Tel Aviv Hotel & Towers to explain her presence there and her route from Baghdad via Amman. She noticed how many policewomen guarded the airport. It was a change from Iraq to see women in uniform. They were fit and aggressive, much like their gun, the famous Desert Eagle. Half-asleep she hailed a cab under the starry winter sky.

When Mina arrived at the hotel she was duly impressed. Walking through the plush lobby, she felt for a moment like a high-flying businesswoman and wondered briefly if she was not in the wrong line of work. But she knew all too well that she was only thinking that way because of the stark contrast between the conditions of the last few days spent in a wartorn country and those here, in this luxurious five-star-hotel. As soon as she got to her room, she had a quick shower and then collapsed on the bed, still in her bathrobe.

 

The next morning, Mina woke up fully energised, ordered a light breakfast to be brought up to her room, she had a shower and did her stretching exercises. She followed a complex chain of yoga asanas she had learned from a young Indian yogi, who had since become quite a celebrity. She had worked with him every day for three months and remembered the first month, when she thought she would never be able to stretch into the positions he demonstrated. As he was as relentless as she was driven, eventually, by the end of the three months she had managed to stretch into every position in his programme. She would have pursued their work, but he had fallen in love with her and she had had to explain to him, as kindly as she could, that she was not interested in him in that way. Unfortunately, he had been very hurt and they parted on a bitter note.