The Bible of Clay (58 page)

Ayed assessed the situation instantly and asked Gian Maria to go to Clara's house to give her the news—he didn't want to leave Ante alone with the tablets. Gian Maria agreed, nodding eagerly, his eyes bright as he rushed out to tell Clara. When he got to the house, he found her already dressed, sipping a cup of tea with Fatima.

"I see you're up early," she greeted him.

"Clara, the Bible of Clay is real—it exists!" he blurted out.

"Of course it exists, Gian Maria. I'm sure of it—I have two tablets that prove it."

"No, I mean we've found it—we found the Bible of Clay!" Clara just stared at him, as though she couldn't understand what he was saying.

"They were stored in the room we discovered yesterday; there are eight of them, eight tablets, Clara, each twenty centimeters long. I've read them and it's no mistake. It's . . . it's the Bible of Clay!"

As Clara shot to her feet, Gian Maria seized her hand and pulled her out the door. They ran to the workroom, Gian Maria chattering and telling her what had happened during the night.

Ayed and Ante were visibly tense when Clara and Gian Maria burst

into the room, breaking off what looked to be a heated discussion, but Clara paid them no mind. She ran to the workbench where the eight tablets were laid out.

She picked up one of them and was elated to see the cuneiform signs that denoted
Shamas
at the top. Then she began to silently read the wedge-shaped markings that had been pressed into wet clay more than three thousand years earlier.

Tears came to her eyes, and Gian Maria was swept up in emotion all over again. They were laughing and crying, going over the tablets, touching them, as though to reassure themselves that they were real.

Afterward, they wrapped them carefully, and Clara insisted on keeping them near her.

"I'll put them in the same case as the first two. I don't want to lose sight of them for a second."

"We need to put a guard on them," Ayed told her.

"Ayed, you haven't let me out of your sight, twenty-four hours a day, so if the tablets are with me they're safe."

Ayed shrugged his shoulders; he had no intention of fighting again with this impossible woman. He couldn't have cared less about her fate or the fate of those damned tablets. If the Colonel hadn't ordered him to protect her—with his own life—he'd have left when the old man died.

"I want the workers to clear out a little more of the area where we found the tablets. There may be more . . . ," Clara continued.

"No. I just called the Colonel, and he's sending a helicopter for us this afternoon. We're going back to Baghdad."

"We can't go now! We have to look for more!" Clara cried desperately.

"You know you can't stay any longer. Don't tempt fate, Clara, and don't risk everyone else's life in the bargain," Ayed Sahadi replied harshly, to Clara's surprise. "You've got what you came for. I have my orders, and I'm following them. Get everything ready you want to take—we're leaving before nightfall."

49

the buzz of the intercom woke george wagner from

a brief nap. He opened his eyes in irritation. The buzzer sounded again, and his secretary's apologetic voice broke the silence.

"Mr. Wagner, it's Robert Brown. He says it's urgent and can't wait."

Brown was practically screaming when Wagner picked up the phone. "You'll never guess what's happened, George! They've found it! It fucking exists!"

"What are you talking about? Stop babbling—get ahold of yourself, tell me what happened."

Robert Brown swallowed hard, trying to calm himself.

"The Bible of Clay—it exists. They've found it. Eight tablets, Genesis, signed by Shamas, as dictated by Abraham," Brown finally said, as coherently as he could.

George Wagner could hardly believe what he was hearing. He gripped the arm of the chair, trying to keep control of his emotions.

"How . . ." he said.

"I just got word that yesterday, at their dig in Safran, another room was discovered in the ziggurat. Apparently it was a study where a scribe might have lived. They found several dozen tablets but didn't realize until a few hours ago that the Bible of Clay was among them. It's

comprised of eight full tablets, three of them in pretty bad shape— they'll need to be reconstructed. But there's no doubt that they're Alfred's Bible of Clay," Brown said, slowing down.

Wagner felt like someone had kicked him in the chest. A few days earlier, Alfred had been murdered, and now the Bible of Clay turned up. Destiny had played its last dirty trick on his old friend, denying him what he'd wanted most in all the world.

"Where are the tablets now?" he asked.

"Still in Safran. They're going to fly Clara to Baghdad with the tablets. Our man is with her, and he'll grab them as soon as he can. It's going to be tricky, though. She's well guarded, to say the least."

"I want him to secure those tablets now, and the minute he has them we'll get him out. Call Paul Dukais, tell him it's top priority— getting the tablets comes before anything else, even the rest of the operation."

"I haven't been able to talk to our man directly yet; it's our friends who relayed the message," Robert Brown told him.

"Oh," Wagner said, now more skeptical. "And are they sure, then? They've found it?"

"Absolutely, I assure you."

"What about Ahmed Husseini?"

"He has the same instructions as our man—get the tablets. Don't worry, we will," Brown replied.

"I
am
worried. We get them, or I'll have their heads. Literally."

Robert Brown didn't answer for a few seconds. He knew Wagner didn't make idle threats.

"I'll call Paul right now," he said.

"Do."

"But what if she . . . what if Clara resists?"

"Clara is but a speck of sand in our lives," Wagner answered.

The Colonel could still feel the presence of Alfred Tannenberg in his office in the Yellow House, where Clara and he were now meeting.

An obviously nervous Ahmed Husseini was there too.

"My dear girl, the best thing is to entrust the tablets to me," the Colonel told Clara. "I will get them out of Iraq and see that they are deposited in a safe place."

"But you just told me that I have to be out of Iraq tomorrow myself. Why can't I just take them with me?"

The Colonel was too preoccupied with the military situation and the urgency of this new crisis to call on his powers of diplomacy.

"Clara, your grandfather had some partners, and you know what is going to happen here the minute the war starts. So don't be stubborn— let's make this as easy as possible."

"These tablets have nothing to do with my grandfather's business dealings. They're mine and nobody else's."

"Your grandfather's partners do not share that view. Give the tablets to me and you will receive your share when the time comes."

"They're not for sale, and they never will be," Clara replied defiantly.

"Please, Clara, don't make all this harder than it already is!" Ahmed pleaded.

"I'm not making things harder, I'm just refusing to let you rob me. My grandfather detailed the business operation under way right now, and he assured me that these tablets are not part of the deal. They're mine."

The Colonel stood up and approached Clara. She could see in his eyes that he was willing to do anything to get his hands on the tablets. She felt a shiver of fear run down her spine. She looked over at Ahmed, but his expression projected only anguish and resignation. The man she'd fallen in love with had vanished long ago. She realized that she had to gain some time—otherwise, she could lose everything, even her life.

"If I give them to you, will you promise me that you won't sell them until I can speak directly to my grandfather's partners?" she asked, her tone now more conciliatory.

"Of course, of course . . . They are reasonable men and have no desire to cheat you. Or harm you, for God's sake. You should absolutely discuss this with them. Right now we must cease wasting time."

"All right," she replied wearily. "Wait here."

She left the office and ran up the stairs two at a time. Fatima was still unpacking the luggage.

"Go to your room and bring me up some of your clothes!" she ordered her servant.

"What? What's happening?" Fatima asked in alarm.

"They want to take the Bible of Clay from me. We have to get out of here now. If they catch me they'll kill us both, so you must decide for yourself whether to come with me or not. Now hurry, bring me a burka."

"What about Gian Maria and that other man, Ante Plaskic? I took them to the guest rooms. They can help you. I'll tell them—" "No! Don't tell them. Do as I say—go!"

Clara pulled out a small bag and crammed a few pieces of clothing into it. Then she slipped the tablets inside. She hoped they wouldn't wind up in a million pieces, but she'd have to run that risk—anything to keep them out of the Colonel's hands. Otherwise, she'd never see them again.

Fatima came rushing back in with an armful of her clothes. Within thirty seconds, Clara had pulled on a black robe and covered her head with a black veil that fell almost to her feet.

"Are you coming?" she asked Fatima.

"I won't leave you," answered the terrified woman.

Ayed Sahadi was on the landing, waiting for the two women to appear. The Colonel had ordered him to stand watch on the stairway, and he had posted himself there on the landing, where he could see the door to Clara's room.

Fatima stifled a cry of fear when she saw the Colonel's man leaning against the wall, smoking one of his unmistakable Egyptian cigarettes.

Clara glared at Sahadi. "What are you doing here?" she asked him angrily.

"The Colonel sent me," he answered, shrugging. "The Colonel doesn't trust me?" Clara said.

"I can't think why that would be," Sahadi replied sarcastically, looking sidewise at her black robes and veil.

"He wants the Bible of Clay," Clara answered.

"Your grandfather's partners want it. It's nothing personal—it's just business," Ayed replied.

"No it isn't. You know better than anyone how hard we've worked to find it—those tablets are much more than an archaeological treasure; they're my grandfather's dream made tangible."

"Don't go looking for trouble, Clara—if you don't hand them over, they'll take them by force. Be smart."

"How much do you want for helping me?"

Clara's offer surprised him. He'd never have expected her to bribe him—they both knew that double-crossing the Colonel would be signing his own death warrant.

"My life isn't for sale," he replied very seriously.

"Everybody has a price, even you. tell me how much you want for helping me get out of here."

"Out of this house?"

"Out of Iraq."

"You have an Egyptian passport, you can leave whenever you like— and you have got the Colonel's permission."

"What good is his permission if I don't give him the tablets? Is two hundred fifty thousand enough? Dollars?"

Greed flickered in Sahadi's eyes. He could feel the temptation pulsing through his veins, knowing mil well that accepting would almost certainly be fatal.

"I'm going to make a lot of money either way—I've been working for the Colonel for a long time; I know the rules."

"Then you also know the laws of supply and demand. I need to get out of Iraq and you can help me. How much? Name the amount—I'll pay it."

"You can pay me half a million dollars?"

"I can pay you that in Egypt or in Switzerland, anyplace but Iraq. I don't have that kind of money here." "And how do I know you'll pay me?"

"Because if I don't you can kill me, or turn me over to the Colonel, which would amount to the same thing."

"I could turn you over to him now."

"Then do it or take my offer. We're out of time."

The sound of a door opening distracted them both. Gian Maria had just come out of one of the guest rooms and had stopped cold seeing them.

"What's going on?" he asked, puzzled at why Clara was in Shiite dress.

"The Colonel wants the Bible of Clay and I don't want to give it to him. I'm asking Ayed to help me escape."

Gian Maria was still puzzled—the implications of what Clara was saying hadn't sunk in.

Ayed grimaced and waved them all into Gian Maria's room. When they were inside, he paced the floor, his greed for the money and his fear of the Colonel clearly at war inside him. He reached the conclusion that it was a pure toss of a coin—all or nothing.

"If he finds us, he'll kill us," he whispered.

"Yes," Clara answered.

"You know this house better than I do—you know there are soldiers standing guard outside."

"I can leave as Fatima; no one will give it a second thought."

"Do it, then—go to the kitchen, get a basket, and leave through the back door, as though you were going to the market. Fatima will have to stay in her room, and you, Gian Maria, in yours."

"But where will Clara go?" Gian Maria asked.

"I think the only place she can be safe, at least for a few hours, is in the Hotel Palestina," Ayed said.

"You're crazy! The hotel is full of reporters, and a lot of them know Clara from Safran," Gian Maria said, increasingly anxious.

"That's why she needs to find somebody she can trust, maybe that reporter who hit it off with Picot. Ask her to hide you until I can retrieve you. But don't leave her room. Not for one minute."

"You think I can trust her?" Clara asked.

"I think she likes Picot, and I don't think he'd want to find out that something happened to you because she didn't help you—he might think less of her, so to speak," Sahadi said. "So even though she's not crazy about you, she'll help you."

"You're quite a psychologist," Clara said acidly.

"Let's not waste time—go. Hide your face. Fatima will help you with the veil so you'll look like a Shiite. And leave that bag—you'll have to hide the tablets somewhere else. Find something smaller."

"They don't fit
...
," Clara protested.

"We have a shopping cart," Fatima offered. "They may fit there." "Good idea!" exclaimed Clara.

"I'm going with you," Gian Maria declared, regaining his equilibrium.

"No!" Ayed shot back. "Do you want them to kill us all? Go, Clara." Then, turning to Fatima and Gian Maria, he continued to lay out the scenario: "In a few minutes, this house is going to be a living hell. The Colonel will interrogate you both, and you'll get the worst of it, Fatima."

"Then she's coming with me," said Clara.

"She can't. This is our only chance; don't blow it. Everything depends on Fatima now. The Colonel will figure she knows where you've gone, so he'll have her tortured. If she talks, we're all dead . . . unless . . ."

"Unless what?" Gian Maria asked.

"Unless we make them think either that Clara left without saying anything or that somebody kidnapped her and took the tablets too," said Ayed, thinking out loud.

"But the soldiers will say they saw a Shiite woman—Fatima—leave, so the kidnapping story won't wash," said Clara.

"Then we'll just have to stake everything on one shot. . . . All right, both of you try to leave—and hope the soldiers don't stop you. Go to the Hotel Palestina; I'll come for you. I don't know how soon, but I will. And you, Gian Maria, lock yourself in here and pretend to be asleep. Where's the Croatian?" Ayed suddenly asked.

"In a room on the first floor, near the door into the garage," Fatima told him.

"Good. Let's hope he doesn't realize what's going on. If he doesn't know anything, he can't say anything."

The two women slipped stealthily down to the kitchen, desperately trying not to make a sound. They barely dared breathe. Gian Maria, sweating profusely, closed the door to his room, fell to his knees, and started praying:
Please, God, help them.

Clara emptied the contents of the bag into the shopping cart, arranging everything as best she could to cushion the tablets. Then she embraced Fatima.

They opened the kitchen door into the back lawn and walked out, standing tall, toward the wrought-iron gate at the rear of the property. No one seemed to pay them any mind. Once they reached the street, Clara whispered to Fatima not to hurry, not to draw attention, just to walk as slowly and casually as always. Soon the Yellow House was blocks behind them.