They ran through her former application for the internal grant at Columbia, and asked her what she intended to do and how she would carry out her research. She answered as fully as she could. They asked her about her future projects, and seemed happy with her answers. She then spoke about all the extra funding she might need. They nodded appreciatively. She was surprised at how easy-going the whole thing was. ‘I wish I’d known earlier about this foundation,’ she thought to herself. But still she felt a little uneasy; she had anticipated most of their questions but everything seemed a bit vague, and long-winded, as if they were playing for time.
Suddenly, the secretary’s mobile phone rang. As she replied, she walked towards them.
‘Mr Wheatley is in the building,’ she said.
The men stood up immediately, straightened their jackets and tightened their ties. Mina wondered what this was all about and turned to the secretary questioningly.
‘Mr Wheatley is the founder of our academic organisation, the Foundation for Excellence. He’s in Tel Aviv on business,’ the woman explained, ‘and he likes to pop in from time to time during interviews to meet candidates.’
Mina was startled. The secretary saw her face and added, ‘Don’t worry. I think,’ turning to the two men, who nodded at her, ‘that everything has gone very well. Mr Wheatley is a very kind and cultured man, who takes an interest in all aspects of his business.’
She then walked back across the room and took her place by the door. Mina felt her hands begin to shake as she stood up beside the two men.
Oberon Wheatley arrived a few minutes later. As soon as he entered the room, his electrifying energy seemed to cast a spell on all those present. He was taller than both men, who had rushed up the room to meet him, followed more discreetly by Mina. He was wearing a tailored winter suit, evidently from Saville Row, and smiled as he greeted Mina, showing off his gleaming white teeth and strong jaw.
‘What a pleasure to meet one of Columbia’s most promising students.’
‘Thank you sir,’ said Mina.
‘I have read your resum., and was mightily impressed. Do you know that with your languages and intelligence, you could easily get a very well-paid job in the business world?’
Mina smiled.
Turning to the men and the young woman, he asked, ‘How did it go?’
The men were about to answer, but the secretary was faster.
‘We are happy to say that Miss Osman has made a very satisfactory impression on the committee, and confirmed our original thoughts on the matter. We just need your signature to approve the grant and release the funds immediately.’
She showed him the papers.
‘Excellent,’ said Wheatley, signing the papers. ‘Right. That’s sorted,’ he concluded as he glanced at Mina. ‘Are you free for lunch?’ he asked, straightening up.
Mina was flustered, the whole thing had moved so fast.
‘Yes, of course.’
He turned to his secretary, ‘Would you be so kind to book a table at the Olive Leaf for Miss Osman and myself?’ She nodded and walked away to call the hotel’s famed restaurant.
‘I’ve just arrived from California. It’s awfully cold here, don’t you think?’
‘Yes it is. Do you come here often on business?’
‘Sometimes. Mind you, it can’t be much of change for you, coming from New York. I spent one winter in the big apple, and decided never again!’
‘I agree, but I’ve actually just arrived from Iraq, not from the US.’
Wheatley seemed quite taken aback ‘How on earth did you get through customs?’
She smiled, ‘I travelled via Jordan.’
‘What an intrepid and charming young woman! You must tell me all about it over lunch.’
He turned to his secretary who confirmed with a nod that the table was booked.
The restaurant was a welcoming modern space, with an offwhite ceiling, panoramic sea views and leafy plants encased in large terracotta pots. Mina and Wheatley were seated at a table near one of the wide bays, from where she could admire the open sea.
Surveying the room, Wheatley said: ‘The carpet is quite tacky and the furniture is a little too modern for my own taste, but the food is quite acceptable.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Mina, feeling completely out of her depth.
He ordered a bottle of champagne and they drank to her success.
‘Mr Wheatley, I would like to thank you for funding my research.’
‘De rien. Mina, if I may call you Mina?’
‘Of course.’
‘If the rich men of this world do not fund those who further our knowledge of the past, our outlook on the future would be a mixture of gloominess and ignorance.’
He looked at her, smiling. The background music changed to the French song La Bohême by Charles Aznavour. He looked at her and asked if she spoke French. She understood a little.
He quoted the first lines of the song, ‘Je me souviens d’un temps que les moins de vingt ans ne peuvent pas connaître.’ What a wonderful song. I remember the days when I studied in Paris. I was young and wanted to conquer the world.’
‘And have you?’ she asked, mischievously.
‘Not yet, not yet, but I’ll get there.’ Hs eyes flickered coldly for a moment.
‘You seem quite young, Mr Wheatley, to be the C.E.O. of such a huge corporation,’ she said smiling at him.
‘Please, call me Oberon,’ he said, smiling back at her.
After a while Mina excused herself and felt his lingering look on her tight skirt and toned legs as she brushed past him. Ten minutes later, as she walked back from the powder room, she felt slightly guilty, as if she was cheating on Jack. ‘How stupid,’ she thought, unconsciously running her fingers through her hair as she approached Oberon. He smiled at her and she smiled back, undeniably charmed by this powerful man’s manners and culture.
He asked her more questions about her work, and her thoughts about the current war in Iraq. She tried to answer as naturally as she could but was thinking, ‘He’s almost too smooth.’ After the delicious lunch of a delicate porcini risotto followed by grilled sole with creamy pommes dauphinoise, he invited her for drinks on his yacht that evening. It would be a fun and select party. Could she arrive slightly earlier, maybe 8 o’clock, so they could discuss her work a little further before the other guests arrived? Mina accepted the invitation gladly and Wheatley took his leave. A waiter opened the door to the terrace for Mina, who felt like walking in the fresh outdoor air before returning to her room. She was on top of the world.
‘Sir, you should have worked for the CIA’ said Natasha to Oberon.
‘Who says I haven’t?’
She looked at him, taken aback. He let her hang for a while and then laughed out loud.
‘You should have seen your face my dear. It was quite amusing. Had I worked for the CIA, operations would have run a little more smoothly I believe, and would have had some chance of success.’
‘If you are referring to Mosul, Sir, I can assure you it won’t happen again.’
‘I know it won’t.’
She tried not to think about what he meant by that.
‘Back to the yacht. Let’s get out of this godawful place.’
Mina was lying on her bed, balancing her shoe off the tip of her toes. She picked up her phone and dialled Liat’s mobile number.
‘I did it!’ she said.
‘I knew you would.’
‘It was quite amazing. Well, the C.E.O of the Wheatley Forecast Corporation, Mr Oberon Wheatley himself came by and then invited me for lunch.’
‘Oh my god! You lucky bitch!’
‘Language Liat, language. Oberon is quite the gentleman, and would, I’m sure, be utterly shocked by your poor choice of words!’
‘Oberon, is it?’
‘Yes, Oberon.’
‘Is he hot?’ asked Liat, matter-of-factly.
‘Yes, he certainly is. In his mid-forties, dazzling charm and
richer than Rockefeller.’
‘And…?’
‘And he invited me for a party this evening on his yacht in the marina.’
‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Well believe it, but I need your help,’ pleaded Mina.
‘What? You need me to lace you into your finest negligee before you meet him?’
‘No! But I will need your help in choosing an appropriate evening dress. This time I have loads of money.’
‘No problem. I know just where to go. I’ll pick you up in the lobby in half an hour!’
‘Liat…?’ Mina interrupted her.
Back in his room, just opposite Mina’s, Jack had heard enough of Mina’s thoughts to last him a lifetime. He was devastated. He leapt off the bed and rushed out of the room, but as he was about to knock on Mina’s door, he hesitated, and then walked furiously back down the corridor. He never heard the end of the conversation.
‘Yes Mina?’
‘During the lunch, Oberon was exceedingly charming.’
‘And?’
‘But I can’t stop thinking about Jack.’
‘Oh, Mina!’ sighed Liat.
‘I know. I know. I can’t help it. Never mind. See you in half an hour.’
When Mina returned from her second shopping spree with Liat, she checked her emails in the hotel’s computer room. Nothing from Hassan. She still harboured a tiny hope that her resourceful student had somehow managed to evade his pursuers and was in hiding. There were a number of emails from Professor Almeini, but she could not find the courage to read them.
Her attention suddenly focused on one email – she opened it. It was from Shobai. He was thanking her for her email and wanted to discuss the content of the tablet further. He was an old man, so he could not travel much, but would be delighted to meet in London. The last lines of Shobai’s email sent a shiver down her spine. Finally, my dear girl, I entreat you not to discuss your discovery with anyone you do not trust absolutely. There is danger in playing with century-old riddles.
How prophetic his words were! She had to meet him. The poor old man would be terrified if she told him about her ordeal in Iraq. She suddenly felt thrown back into the turmoil of her last days in Mosul. She had avoided thinking about what had happened completely, but suspected she was still in shock. Were the three men assassins? According to Jack they were “professionals”, whatever that meant. She shuddered, remembering the dead eyes of the man who had questioned her. If only she knew why these men were after the tablet. Its discovery was clearly a philological breakthrough, but she could hardly imagine academics hiring assassins to get hold of a tablet for publication purposes. Mina was out of sorts after reading Shobai’s email, but she had not spent three hours with Liat searching for an evening dress for nothing. She thought of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone in the Wind saying, ‘Tomorrow is another day’. Mina took a deep breath and decided to put all her concerns on hold and have fun tonight.
Chapter 15
Mina stepped out of the lift wearing a gorgeous evening dress and very expensive high heels. When she brushed past the reception desk, the entire male staff fell over themselves to greet her, open the door and wish her a good evening. She was enjoying herself immensely, smiling at each one of them in turn. She left the hotel feeling like a princess out of a fairy tale, her shawl flowing in the wind. As she headed towards the marina, slowly because of her long dress and heels, she half-expected a genie to rise from the sand and offer her three wishes. What would those wishes be? She would love to meet Jack again. That would certainly be her first wish. As for the other two, she would need to think a little more about them. Money wasn’t a particular issue for her but the large grant she had just been awarded would go a long way for her research. She also felt much freer in her travel plans.
What a strange world, the world of business. She had checked her bank account online, and found that the Wheatley Forecast Corporation had wired her $11,000 instantly. According to the agreement she had received that afternoon, her original travel grant had been transformed into a yearly fellowship of $45,000, paid quarterly. She could also send them requests for up to $30,000 over the next two years for scientific testing of various archaeological material in the course of her research.
Mina walked a little faster to arrive on time to meet Oberon before the party began. At the pier, a young man in full uniform hailed her.
‘Miss Osman?’
‘Yes?’
‘Please step in the tender. I am to take you to the Rêverie. She is anchored slightly out of the harbour tonight to offer more privacy to Mr Wheatley’s guests during the party.’
A few minutes later, one of Oberon’s men invited Mina to come aboard the Rêverie. She walked across a temporary platform that jutted out of the aft deck. Red Chinese lanterns had been strung up all around the yacht for the party and, as she climbed the winding stairs, she noticed soft up-lighting and outdoor heaters on the aft deck. Oberon appeared out of the dark.
‘My dear Mina, you look absolutely ravishing.’
‘Thank you Mr. Wheatley… Oberon.’
He smiled at her and gestured her to sit by his side.
‘What will you have to drink?’ he asked softly.
‘Champagne, please.’
‘Champagne it is.’ He turned to the barman, who nodded back at him.
‘May I thank you again for your generosity? Your funding will seriously further my research.’
‘I had no idea archaeologists could be so charming. Had I known earlier, I would have funded many more projects.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder why you funded mine.’
‘Please don’t. There was no photograph on your application. I’m happily surprised, that is all.’
‘In that case, I’ll be honest too. Since my interview today, I have felt like I was lost in a fairy tale. I thought to myself, am I in Tel Aviv or in A Midsummer Night’s Dream?’
‘I suppose that being called Oberon doesn’t help.’
‘Well, no. Where’s Puck? Is he hiding behind the bar?’
They both laughed. The barman brought the champagne flutes, and served them Oberon’s best champagne.
‘Thank you Dominique, leave the bottle. Please make sure everything is ready for the party.’ As the barman was leaving the room, Oberon called him again, ‘Dominique, please ask Natasha to join us.’
He then turned to Mina. ‘I propose a toast to your success in finding out what happened to Benjamin of Tudela during his stay in Israel, and to the end of the war in Iraq.’
Mina was surprised that Oberon had actually read her grant application.
‘Those are two toasts I will happily drink to.’
Mina drank her champagne and closed her eyes for an instant. She was enjoying being transported into a world of luxury after her last gruelling days in Mosul. When she opened her eyes, she recognised by Oberon’s side the blonde woman who had introduced herself as his secretary before the interview. Two men in dark suits had appeared on either side of the table. Oberon made a gesture and one of the men pulled Mina backwards by the throat while the other tied her hands behind her back.
‘What’s going on?’ cried Mina.
‘I’ll show you what’s going on,’ said Natasha in a low, cruel voice.
Mina went mute. She tried to cry out but was unable to utter a single sound. She watched on, hopelessly, as Natasha slowly slipped on a pair of black leather gloves then slapped Mina hard across the side of her head. A spasm of pain shot through her cheek and eyes. All she could hear was a hissing sound. Had she gone deaf? Suddenly another hard strike from Natasha’s leather clad hand whipped across Mina’s face. This time her cheek went numb, and she fell out of her chair, hitting her head hard against the wooden deck.
The two men picked her up, and made her stand. Natasha balled her fist and punched her hard in the stomach, leaving Mina retching from the impact. She wouldn’t be able to sustain much more of this onslaught. But the pain had numbed her mind. Only one th
ought remained: the hopelessness of her situation. She looked pitifully at Natasha, entreating her to stop, but she just punched her right under the solar plexus in response. For a few moments, Mina couldn’t breathe, and collapsed to the ground. Her torturer knew exactly how far to carry out the beating. The men sat her down firmly on the chair.
Mina’s face was starting to bruise and she was bleeding from her nose. When she tasted the blood on her split lip, she fainted. One of the men shoved a bottle of ammonia under her nose, and she came to in a matter of seconds. Oberon had a strangely detached look on his face. He turned to Natasha, ‘Is it done?’ She nodded in return. He looked at Mina and spoke very slowly, all charm gone from his voice.
‘I’m going to ask you a question. If you answer me truthfully, you keep your full grant, and walk away. If you don’t, Natasha will continue her own particular brand of questioning.’
Mina looked at him, more terrified by his cold stare than anything she’d known before. She broke down in tears and heard him sigh with irritation. She saw him raise a hand to signal to Natasha to start beating her again.
‘No, please! I don’t know anything,’ she spluttered through her tears, ‘anything about anything. Please let me go.’
Oberon didn’t seem to hear anything she said.
‘Where is the tablet?’ he asked.
Realisation dawned on Mina. This is what it had been about all along. The interview, the lunch, the invitation to the yacht… to seduce her into giving up the tablet. Now she was properly terrified. If Oberon had sent the three men to her flat in Mosul, her chances of leaving the yacht alive were slim.
‘In my room at the hotel’, she answered, trying to steady her voice.
‘No it isn’t,’ he replied.
Mina’s heart sank. How stupid. They had had all afternoon to search her room.
‘Should Natasha pursue her delicate work? Do you want to end up like your friend did’, turning to Natasha, ‘what was her name?’
‘Liat Hoffman, sir,’ she answered.
‘Oh Liat, no!’ sobbed Mina.
The 13th Tablet Page 11