The Bible of Clay (31 page)

28

DUKAIS HANDED ROBERT BROWN PLASKIc
's
REPORT, AS

Ralph Barry looked on.

"Ante has a gift for seeing the big picture," Dukais remarked. "It's the first report I've ever actually enjoyed reading." "So?" said Brown.

"Well, it looks as though they haven't found anything. I mean your damned Bible of Clay hasn't turned up, even though they've retrieved some two thousand tablets and tons of shards, which might be more worthless than this whiskey."

"Nobody suspects him?"

"Maybe Ayed Sahadi. The Croatian thinks he's more than a foreman—probably somebody Tannenberg sent in to watch over his granddaughter."

"I imagine Tannenberg has men everywhere," Barry added.

"We've been lucky to have Yasir inside Alfred's organization," Brown said. "He's got at least a dozen men among the workers, plus his direct contact with the Croatian. If Ayed Sahadi is more than he appears to be, Yasir will find out."

"I guess Tannenberg went so far that Yasir feels he's freed from his loyalty? No ties to bind them?" Dukais asked.

"Don't be fooled by Alfred; he knows Yasir will betray him sooner

or later, and you can be damned sure he's having him watched. Alfred's smarter than Yasir—he's smarter than you," Brown snapped.

After the other two left, Brown had his driver take him to George Wagner's house. He had been told to hand-deliver the Croatian's report and await instructions, if there were any. With George, he never knew. . . . Sometimes he was as cool as a cucumber, but sometimes his steel-blue eyes were as cold as ice. And when that happened, Robert Brown trembled.

Gian Maria couldn't mask his depression. He felt utterly useless. The spiritual obligation that had led him to Iraq was becoming obscured by the complications he seemed unable to keep from creating for himself—he'd lost control of his own life, and he was beginning to realize that he didn't even know why he was there anymore.

He hardly slept. Luigi Baretti was making him sweat for the free labor he provided in Baghdad; his workday began at six in the morning and never ended before nine at night.

He would get back to Faisal and Nur's house exhausted, with no energy to spend time with the twins or little Hadi, whom he had grown to love. He ate alone; Nur would leave out a dinner tray for him, which he'd devour at the kitchen table. Then he'd drag himself to bed and collapse.

That morning his superior, Padre Pio, had called from Rome. When was he planning to return? Had he accomplished his spiritual mission?

Gian Maria had no answers, only the feeling that he'd leapt into the dark and had no idea where he might resurface.

He felt Clara Tannenberg weighing on his conscience; every day he searched the newspapers for any reference to her, any reference to any Tannenberg. He found nothing.

Time had passed quickly—too quickly. It was now almost Christmas, and he couldn't keep making excuses. His repeated requests to meet with Ahmed Husseini at the Ministry of Culture had been denied. Ahmed was a very busy man, and Gian Maria at last realized that his only way to Husseini was through Yves Picot. He hadn't wanted to use the archaeologist's name—he felt it would only create complications—but he finally had no choice, really: Ahmed Husseini wouldn't meet with him unless someone interceded, and that someone could only be Yves Picot.

"Today I'll be leaving early, Aliam," he announced to the secretary of the Children's Aid group.

"What's up?" the girl asked, curious.

He decided to tell the truth, or at least part of it.

"I want to contact some friends of mine. They're with a group of archaeologists I met when I first came; they brought me in from Amman. They're excavating in Ur and I was just curious how it's going for them. I'm going to try to locate them."

"Wow. Friends in Iraq. There's more to you than I thought. How are you going to find them?"

"They told me I could contact a man named Ahmed Husseini. I think he's the director of the Bureau of Archaeological Excavations in the Ministry of Culture."

"Oh, my! Consorting with the elite, are we?"

"What do you mean?"

"Gian Maria, Ahmed Husseini is one of the chosen few, so to speak. His father was an ambassador and he himself is married to a very wealthy woman, a half-Egyptian, half-German Iraqi. Her family's a little mysterious, but rich as Croesus."

"I don't know this Husseini; I just know that he can help me find my friends. That's all I want to do."

"Just be careful, Gian Maria—that Husseini
..."

"All I'm going to do is ask him to put me in touch with a bunch of harmless scientists!"

"I know, but be careful all the same—those people are dangerous," Aliam said, lowering her voice. "They lack for nothing and they live by trampling on the rest of us. If the Americans invade Iraq, you'll see— they'll escape without a scratch. If the marines freed us from the horror those people perpetrate, it would actually justify the invasion, in my mind."

"Come on, let's not get down. . . . And if Luigi asks, tell him I'll be back after dinner."

When Gian Maria called the ministry the secretary told him, as on other occasions, that Mr. Husseini was busy. But when the priest mentioned the name
Yves
Picot,
her tone changed immediately and she asked him to please wait.

A minute later, Ahmed Husseini was on the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Husseini, I'm sorry to bother you. Professor Picot told me that if I needed to get in touch with him to call you. . . ."

He answered the questions Husseini asked him, and when the Iraqi seemed satisfied with his responses, he asked him to come to his office that very afternoon. If Gian Maria was willing to join the team, now would be the time. His knowledge could be of great service to them.

But Gian Maria had no intention of joining Picot, much less undertaking the trip south to godforsaken Safran. The only thing he wanted to do was what he should have done the first day he arrived in Baghdad: ask Husseini about his wife and explain that it was of vital importance that he speak with her. She was the only person to whom he could justify his presence in Iraq. He'd come to save her, to save her life, but he couldn't divulge that without betraying everything he believed in, without betraying a secret he'd vowed to keep for the rest of his life, no matter how badly it tore him up inside.

Ahmed Husseini didn't turn out to be the fearsome thug Aliam had described. Moreover, Gian Maria noted with surprise that he didn't sport the thick mustache all Iraqi men seemed to favor. He looked like an executive of some multinational corporation more than a government official in Saddam Hussein's regime.

He offered Gian Maria tea and asked what he was doing in Baghdad, what he thought of the country. He recommended several museums. And then he got to the ostensible reason for Gian Maria's call.

"So you want to join Professor Picot."

Gian Maria bit his lip. He had to proceed carefully. He didn't know how this obviously reserved man would react to a stranger asking about his wife.

"You and your wife are archaeologists too, aren't you?" "Yes, that's right. Have you heard of my wife?" Ahmed asked, his expression cooling as his guest strayed into personal territory. "Yes, of course."

Ahmed smiled. "I suppose Picot explained that the mission to Safran is due in large part to my wife's personal insistence. Given the situation our country is in now, it's not easy to obtain the resources for an excavation. But she loves archaeology more than anything, and she's one of our foremost experts on Mesopotamian culture, so she managed to convince Professor Picot to help us excavate what appears to be the ruins of a temple or palace—we still don't know which."

The door to Husseini's office opened and Karim, his assistant, came in, smiling broadly.

"Ahmed, everything's ready for the shipment to Safran. I called Ayed Sahadi to tell him that the truck is on its way. I couldn't reach him, but I got lucky—I talked to Clara."

Ahmed Husseini raised his hand to stop Karim from saying any more, while Gian Maria's eyes lit up. He'd finally found Clara Tannenberg.

He'd have to go to Safran. He felt like an idiot for not having considered the possibility that Clara Tannenberg was part of Picot's mission. He flashed back to the official at the archaeological conference in Rome asking him contemptuously whether he was interested in joining the expedition that Clara Tannenberg was trying to organize. And the newspapers, of course, had reported on Clara's talk, in which she had insisted on the existence of certain tablets she called the Bible of Clay. . . . So, if Yves Picot was there, it was in order to try to find those tablets. Why hadn't Gian Maria been able to connect the dots?

Karim left the office without another word, knowing he'd pay later for his transgression.

"Your wife is in Safran
...
of course. . . ."

"Yes, of course," Ahmed Husseini replied, disconcerted.

"Of course; it's only logical," Gian Maria continued, his inner monologue escaping in half sentences.

"So, tell me how I can help you," Ahmed prompted uncomfortably.

The priest recovered his composure. "Well, I wanted to speak with Professor Picot and see whether he still wanted me in Safran for a couple of months. I don't have any more time—I'm in Iraq to help; I work with an NGO, Aid to Children. I can't stay much longer, but if Professor Picot wouldn't mind my going and giving a hand there, even for just a little while
..."

Ahmed's demeanor clearly reflected his doubts, as though Gian Maria was making up his story as he went along. He'd have him looked into before he'd allow him access to Safran. His tone was curt.

"I'll speak with Professor Picot, and if he agrees, certainly I have no objection to helping you reach Safran. You know that we are in a state of alert, so unfortunately one can't travel wherever one might like, especially without permission. Questions of security, you understand."

"I do understand, but how long will it take to get permission?"

"Don't worry, I'll call you. Give my secretary your telephone number and address."

By the time Gian Maria left the ministry, he was bathed in sweat. There was no turning back now; he had to prepare for whatever happened. Ahmed Husseini would investigate him and find out who he was. Gian Maria had seen his pleasant mask slip. Maybe Aliam was right: Ahmed Husseini was a man of the regime, and he could have Gian Maria detained or thrown out of the country anytime he wanted.

Ahmed Husseini lost no time—as soon as Gian Maria left his office, he called in Karim.

"Have the Colonel investigate that man. He claims to be an acquaintance of Picot. Wants to go to Safran. If Picot agrees, I'll put the papers through, but first I want to know more about him."

Twenty-four hours later, Karim brought in a two-page report detailing the Colonel's findings. On the third line of the first page, Husseini discovered precisely why this Gian Maria was more than he seemed to be. He decided to call Picot.

Yves Picot laughed when Ahmed told him the story of the wandering priest.

"But why are you so shocked that he's a priest?" he asked Husseini. "I certainly wouldn't object to your sending him here—we've got much more work than we can handle, so a specialist in Akkadian and Hebrew would be wonderful. If your investigators have finished vetting him, put him on a helicopter and send him in."

"I'll have to see—I still have some checking to do."

"He's harmless, Ahmed. He's here to help your people."

"Do you think the Vatican is interested in the Bible of Clay?" Ahmed asked.

"The Vatican? Ahmed, don't be paranoid! The Vatican isn't going to send a priest to spy on us." Picot couldn't help laughing again. "You're an intelligent man. Does it really surprise you that there are good people who want to try to help alleviate your people's suffering?"

"But why didn't he just say he was a priest?"

"As I say, he didn't hide it. It's on his passport, and this is Iraq, where everybody spies on everybody else. How many spies have you got among the workers?" Picot asked, still chuckling.

"You should be more careful," Ahmed warned him. The Mukhabarat was surely recording their conversation.

"Well, you decide. Hold on, here's Clara."

"I have no objections to his coming," Clara assured her husband shortly afterward. She looked toward the sky and smiled. "Besides, he's a priest—we could use all the luck we can get."

Ahmed Husseini was waiting for Gian Maria at the door of Faisal's house to drive him to the airport. From there, a helicopter would take the two men to Safran.

After a long and bittersweet talk, Gian Maria bade good-bye to Nur, Faisal, and their children. Of course, Faisal thought it utter foolishness for a bunch of foreigners to go around looking for buried treasure in Iraq while people were dying for lack of food and medicine, but Nur quickly quelched that conversation with an open invitation for Gian Maria to return whenever he liked.

A short time later, Ahmed and Gian Maria were in the helicopter. "I'm glad you're coming too, Ahmed," the priest said.

"I want to see how things are going out there."

The noise of the helicopter blades made further conversation impossible, so the two men sat silently, each lost in his own thoughts.

Ahmed told himself that he hoped he hadn't made a mistake with this priest, despite the fact that after an exhaustive investigation he'd reached the conclusion that he was harmless.

When they landed in Safran a few hours later, Clara couldn't help running to Ahmed the second he jumped out of the helicopter. She had missed him, more than she liked to admit.

Fatima looked on from a short distance, praying that Ahmed might change his mind about divorcing Clara.