The 13th Tablet (27 page)

Shobai laughed softly. ‘Mina, Mina. You've cornered me. I feel like a foolish young yeshiva student. Let's keep away from theology. You're alive, I'm alive, so obviously I must have been wrong about the tablet. Maybe it isn't that dangerous.'

 

‘My god, the man is more slippery than an eel,' thought Jack. ‘He jumps in and out of arguments.'

 

‘What I wonder, Mina, is why you came to talk to me, here in London. Of course, I'm delighted to see you again. But why travel so far? Has something happened I should know about?'

Mina was troubled. He was asking obvious questions, but she didn't like the turn the discussion was taking. She'd have to say something soon.

 

Jack said into the mouthpiece, ‘Mina, do not mention Wheatley. Don't mention Cambridge.'

 

‘Well. I've found another text,' she began.

‘Another text?'

Mina noticed Shobai squinted slightly when he pronounced his last words.

‘It's a 16th century chronicle describing a discussion between rabbis in Safed.'

‘Yes?'

‘A discussion about the tablet.'

‘Extraordinary. Do you have this here?' he asked.

‘No. It was also stolen from me,' she said, looking down at her tea cup.

‘Dear me. Mina. You want to give this old man a stroke? Next thing you'll tell me you've found the original Ten Commandments, but that you lost them on the Tube.'

 

Back in the car, Jack laughed. He was starting to warm up to the old man.

 

Mina blushed. She was about to say ‘it's real, Moshe. An old man just like yourself died because of it', but she held back. Instead, she said ‘Well, not everything was stolen from me.'

Shobai looked up at Mina, curiously.

 

‘Mina, no!' Jack blurted out in the mouthpiece.

 

But Mina didn't care. She felt wounded in her academic pride and she blurted out ‘I still have a fragment of a letter which seems to indicate that there is another tablet, somewhere in… in Britain, but it was torn, so I have no idea where.'

‘How interesting. What does it say exactly?' leaning in.

‘Oh, for that I'd need to have a better look at the fragment. I can't remember off by heart.'

She was lying miserably and she sensed he knew it, but he didn't comment.

‘Why would it be in Britain? Maybe you're wrong about its location?' he asked.

‘Maybe. But if I weren't, where should I start searching?'

‘Do you mean “in which library”?' he asked her, tentatively.

‘I don't know. You tell me.'

‘Well, I really don't have a clue. I'm baffled,' said the old scholar.

Mina looked disappointed. Shobai tapped her gently on the arm.

‘Mina. Don't worry so much. I'm sure it will all turn out fine. Do you need a few letters of introduction to London libraries?'

‘No, but thanks for your offer. I have all the credentials I need.'

‘Of course you do. Well,' he said as he stood up after Mina, ‘I'm delighted to have met you again, but I'm only sorry not to have been able to help you more in your current search.'

‘Thank you for your time Dr Shobai.'

The young student brought Mina her coat, and then left them. Dr Shobai walked her back to the door, and waved her goodbye as she left. Mina searched for Jack's car, and his voice in her ear said, ‘Just walk down the pavement to the left. I'm on the corner of the street.'

 

As Mina turned the corner, Jack opened the passenger door and she jumped in. He seemed irritated, so Mina did not speak. When they reached the hotel, and Jack had parked the car, he finally looked at her and said:

‘It went pretty well didn't it?'

‘Are you being sarcastic?'

‘No, why?'

‘Why? You haven't said a word since I got in the car,' she said angrily.

‘Oh, that.'

‘Yeah, that.'

‘I'm pretty sure we were being followed,' he answered.

‘Oh my god. Who?'

‘I don't know. This is the second time I sense we are being followed but I can't see anyone.'

‘Maybe we're not being followed then,' said Mina cheerfully. But her smile froze when she saw Jack was dead serious.

‘You don't understand, Mina. Not only was I trained by the best to pick up on someone tailing me, but I am particularly good at it. I know we're being watched.'

‘So who are they? What are they after? Wheatley already has the tablet.'

He did not answer. Instead, he got out of the car. She followed him into the hotel. A crowd was waiting at the lifts, so they climbed the stairs. As they reached the third floor, he said, ‘Mina, as soon as we get to our room, grab your things. The hotel isn't safe anymore. We need to move.'

‘OK.'

‘We need to get to a place with loads of people, and lose these bastards there, before leaving for Cambridge.'

‘How do we get there?'

‘We take a train from King's Cross.'

‘Can't we lose them at the train station?' asked Mina.

‘We don't want them to know we're leaving London.'

They entered the room. Mina went straight to her case and started sorting her things, but Jack took a moment to sit on his bed and plan the next step. She suddenly had an idea and stopped what she was doing.

‘Jack, why don't we go to the British Museum? It's usually crawling with tourists day in and day out.'

‘Perfect. You're right. Are you ready to go?'

‘Give me ten minutes.'

 

A quarter of an hour later, Mina walked to the reception, where Jack had just finished paying for their room. He rushed her to the exit. Jack felt like alarm bells were ringing all around him.

‘They're here, Mina. I can't explain, but I know they're here. Transfer any valuables and your notes about the tablet in your small rucksack and when I tell you, drop your suitcase and run to the car. Don't forget Hildersham's letter.' Jack watched her transferring all her things. He paused, ‘Now!'

They both ran as fast as they could but before they could get to their car, a blue Mercedes drove up and double-parked in front of it. Two motorbikes, driven by men in dark suits and helmets appeared out of nowhere. One was revving near the double parked car and the other had mounted the pavement. Jack reacted with lightening speed. He ran towards the biker on the pavement and kicked him square in the chest. The man flew backwards off his bike onto the pavement. Before he could pick himself up, Jack had turned the bike around, Mina jumped on the back, her rucksack dangling on one arm, and they were off.

Jack accelerated towards Little Venice and drove over the bridge Mina had crossed the same morning. Looking in his mirror, Jack saw that the Mercedes and the second biker were behind them and without a second thought he took a sudden hard right turn into a one-way street. They nearly crashed into a utilities van that was heading in the same direction but at a much slower pace. Jack slowed down as he turned right again onto the canal tow path. The Mercedes screeched its tires as its driver hit the brakes to avoid crashing into the front of the Bridge Pub, but the biker followed the same route as Jack.

Mina was on the verge of passing out in fear but she held onto Jack as they sped down the narrow bicycle lane at full throttle, dodging benches and terrified cyclists. She thought she heard a cracking sound. Jack shouted at her not to turn her head around, and to duck low. The biker was shooting at them. Even at this speed, Jack managed to drive in a zigzag so their pursuer couldn't get a clear shot. He suddenly saw an opening in the hedge to their left, just as a group of cyclists was coming towards them. He missed crashing into the group by a hair's breadth and he catapulted into the small path leading away from the canal and towards the main road. Their pursuer was not so lucky. He lost control of his motorbike, skidded on his side and all Mina heard was a loud splash as he crashed through the cyclists and into the canal. As they reached the main road, they dismounted the motorbike and Jack hid it in a convenient bush as Mina hailed a passing taxi. The cab slowed down and pulled up beside them. They rushed inside.

‘British Museum, please,' said Jack.

‘Right you are,' replied the cabbie.

‘Oh my god, oh my god,' Mina kept repeating, as Jack held her hands and tried to comfort her.

‘We're safe for now, Mina. Let's stick to the plan.'

The driver of the blue Mercedes had watched the whole scene from a nearby bridge. He waited for a few cars to pass by, and calmly started tailing Jack's cab.

The black cab entered Great Russell Street and slowed down as it approached the main entrance of the British Museum. Jack got out first, helping Mina out of the car. A cold wind was now blowing. Jack tightened his scarf around his neck and looked up to the sky. Dark clouds were forming above them. It would start raining soon and from the looks of it, it would be a heavy downpour. ‘It might just work for us,' thought Jack, as he followed Mina through the great gates.

 

Just ahead of them was the outer courtyard, and beyond it the enormous building that had been a landmark in the London landscape since its construction in 1753, when Sir Henry Soane offered his private collection to the British public. It was much smaller then, the collection being kept in Montague House, but over the next centuries, more than sixty houses surrounding the museum were pulled down and a central edifice appeared with large gallery wings. The museum extended all the way to Montague Place, and housed the millions of objects that had been added each year to the initial 18th century collection. After much construction work, there rose a building of huge proportions, with a tremendous neoclassical facade, eight perfect ionic columns crowned by a pediment and flanked by a colonnade on either side.

 

As Jack walked past the guards, he gave a sidelong glance back to the main street and noticed the blue Mercedes driving slowly past the gates. Their pursuers had caught up with them and were not even bothering to hide anymore. Jack immediately assumed they'd have men near Montague Place, the other exit of the Museum, which was more discreet for a stakeout. They'd have to lose them at the museum's main entrance. As they walked through the outer courtyard, Jack stared at the fa.ade, and for a few moments felt almost dwarfed by the edifice and its awesome presence. To him it resembled a Greek temple, standing fast in the coming storm, towering above London's streets and his own personal problems. They seemed so petty in contrast to this monument dedicated to past ages and to the memory of ancient and great civilisations. They climbed the stairs into the main lobby. Mina walked straight into the Great Court.

‘Mina, walk slowly. There's no rush.'

‘Alright. Where do you want to go?'

‘I don't know. Why don't you show me the flood tablet you mentioned.'

‘OK. Don't you love this glass dome? It's so clever.'

Jack did not respond. He silently cursed Norman Foster, the architect. When Mina had mentioned the British Museum, he had thought it was a perfect idea; he remembered awfully crowded corridors which were used both for museum visitors to circulate and to exhibit ancient artefacts. But walking through the museum today felt quite different, much less crowded, spacious in fact. No, he did not share Mina's wonder at the cylindrical tower of the Reading Room, and the over-arching glass dome, it would make their task considerably more difficult.

‘Follow me,' said Mina, ‘the room's upstairs.'

They climbed the stairs around the Reading room, up to the swish Court Restaurant on the upper floor. They proceeded straight through to Mesopotamian Room 56, and then right into the other Mesopotamian Room 55, where an unassuming glass case held some of the most famous cuneiform tablets in the world.

‘Jack, take a look. Here it is, Tablet XI of the Gilgamesh Epic. Because it was found among the other tablets at the library of Ashurbanipal in Nineveh, we date it to the 7th century B.C.E.'

‘It's clay, right?'

‘Yes?'

‘How is it that it was so well preserved?' asked Jack.

‘Well, you see, Ashurbanipal was a king after my own heart. He loved scholars and kept adding copies of important documents to his library. We even have tablets describing how scholars were trained themselves. Anyway, when the palace eventually burned down, the tablets did not dissolve or burn like parchment or papyrus, they baked. And that's why we still have them today.'

‘Fascinating. So this text is a copy?'

‘Yup. Also, it's written in Akkadian, whereas a much older version, which is in the room we've just walked through, is in old Babylonian and dates back to the 17th century B.C.E.'

‘Sorry to interrupt you Mina, but don't you smell something odd?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Something strong, like musk, but not the artificial stuff. I can't quite put my finger on it.'