The Emerald Tablet

by Meaghan Wilson Anastasios

  Ben pushed his way through the mess of boxes and confronted him. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  The man’s face was doughy and white as he struggled to overcome the pain. ‘Schubert. Ricard Schubert.’

  ‘What are you doing here? Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Not going to tell you that. Already did you one favour . . . in Cairo . . .’

  Ben thought for a moment. ‘The Americans?’

  ‘Yes. But that’s it. Nothing more,’ Schubert wheezed. ‘It’s usually me standing where you are. Always wondered how I’d go if the situation was reversed . . . I suppose I’m about to find out. Sure my name means nothing to you? Schubert.’

  ‘Why the hell would I know you?’

  ‘Crete. I thought you might remember me from Crete.’ He winced.

  Schubert . . . a German . . . that’d be right. ‘You’re a Nazi? Is that what you’re doing here?’

  Schubert looked confused for a moment. ‘Here – in Israel? To hunt down Jews?’ He let out a weak laugh. ‘Hell, no. Sure – some of my former colleagues loved that. But not me. I like what the Zionists are doing to the filthy Arabs. No . . . I’m here for you. Been following you . . . since Topkapı –’

  ‘Topkapı? It was you. Why did you have to kill Fatih?’

  ‘Didn’t have to. Wanted to. Needed to know for sure what you’d been looking at. Suppose I could have found out without killing the stupid old fool . . . but where’s the fun in that?’ He sputtered. ‘Strange coincidence . . . that I should be sent to follow you. Given the way our paths crossed in the past.’

  Crossed paths? What the hell’s he talking about? ‘Who sent you? If you help me, I’ll get you to a hospital.’

  ‘Won’t work. Haven’t got long. Smell that shit in the air? Gut shot. But before I go . . . you really don’t remember me? Shame. See, this is just a job. But Greeks and Turks – all Arabs. Dogs, every one. And killing them? That’s fun. Like your wife . . .’

  Ben froze. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘Your wife.’ Schubert’s face was grey with pain, but his thin lips opened in a lascivious smile. ‘Karina? . . . Now, she never betrayed anyone. Not even you. Unusual. Couldn’t help admiring that. And pretty, wasn’t she? But stubborn . . . Even while my men fucked her . . . she screamed out your name. Shame. Had to kill her in the end. No use to us –’

  White rage began to cloud Ben’s mind. ‘Shut. Up!’

  ‘She fought, though.’

  ‘I said – shut the fuck up!’ Without thinking, Ben found the sharp-edged lump of glittering volcanic glass in his hand.

  ‘But she did moan . . . in pain, mostly. But you never know with those Greek whores . . . maybe a bit of pleasure, too . . .’

  Ben’s mind went blank. As if from a great height, he saw his hand lift the obsidian and bring it smashing down onto Schubert’s head, again and again. The German’s eyes rolled back in their sockets as Ben beat the life out of him, the white bone of his skull gleaming through the sheets of blood pouring from the gashes on his head and cascading down his face. Ben didn’t stop until Schubert’s limbs had stopped twitching and his lifeless body had slumped into an unnatural position, held upright only by the javelin that pinned him to the door like a tangled marionette.

  Hands sticky with blood, Ben stumbled over to where Ethan sat, the old man’s eyes wide with shock. Once he was released from his bonds, Ethan collapsed back into the chair. Ben took a cloth from the desk and handed it to him to mop his wounds.

  ‘Thank you, Ben.’

  ‘But . . .’ Ben gestured to the gruesome scene behind him. ‘But, this . . . how will we explain this?’

  ‘It’ll be fixed. Don’t worry about it. Go now – wash yourself in the bathroom down the hall. And return to your hotel. I’ll call some people who can deal with this.’

  Ben nodded. ‘Thank you, Ethan.’

  ‘There’s one other thing you should know – I didn’t tell you before because . . . well, just because. But before you came I had a call. From an American. Asking about you and why you were here. Of course I didn’t tell him anything – not that I had anything to tell them then, anyway.’

  Ben was confused. ‘How did they know I was here?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But they do keep an eye on all the big hotels.’

  Ben cursed himself for his stupidity. ‘Of course they do. I’m an idiot – I should have known. I’ll change hotels.’

  ‘No point,’ Ethan said. ‘They know you’re here now, and will find you no matter where you go in the city.’

  Ben knew he had a point. ‘But if they contact you again, Ethan – please. You mustn’t –’

  Ethan raised his hand in protest. ‘Don’t say another word, Benedict. I won’t be telling them anything. America’s no friend of Israel. Besides . . . well, I owe you my life. You’ll always have a friend here.’

  ‘I thought I already did.’

  ‘You know what I mean. Now tomorrow, there’ll be someone at your hotel who can take you into the Negev. If I was in any doubt before about how important this is, I’m not now. You have to find the tablet before anyone else. And I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Now, go.’

  THE TIMES

  31 October 1956

  UNITED NATIONS VETO AS BRITAIN AND FRANCE ISSUE ULTIMATUM

  LONDON, Wednesday (Reuters)

  In a shock development, France and Britain have vetoed a resolution calling for Israel to remove her troops from the Sinai.

  News today of an airdrop of Israeli paratroopers near the Mitla Pass in the Sinai Peninsula was greeted with widespread international condemnation.

  The Egyptian President, Colonel Nasser, declared it an act of war as allies in surrounding Moslem nations rallied to Egypt’s defence.

  Nasser also announced that an assault by four Israeli P-51 Mustang aeroplanes cut all telephone lines in the Sinai, causing severe disruption to Egyptian military command in the region.

  Support for Nasser and the people of Egypt came in the form of a resolution proposed by the United States calling for Israel to remove her troops from Egyptian soil. The resolution was vetoed by both France and Britain, and then vetoed a second time after the same proposal had been re-submitted by Russia.

  France and Britain have been vocal in their opposition to Egypt’s seizure of the Suez Canal, and continue to voice their concern for the potential disruption of passage through the waterway, which both nations use as a crucial lifeline to their colonial possessions in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. France and Britain have sent ultimatums to Egypt and Israel warning that a failure to withdraw troops from the Canal Zone within twelve hours will result in a direct military response.

  27

  Jerusalem

  Morning sunlight streamed into the foyer of the King David Hotel, setting aflame the gilded architectural fittings and reflecting off the blindingly polished Art Deco chandeliers suspended from the ornate ceiling.

  Ben rested his head against the back of the chair and shut his eyes.

  The events of the previous evening had shattered him. In the bathroom at the Hebrew University he’d rinsed away what he could of the gore covering his hands and spattered on his clothes, then jogged back to the hotel along darkened streets with nerves on edge in the expectation that he might be stopped by a patrol at any moment.

  The impassive doorman barely glanced at Ben’s dishevelled clothes and only acknowledged the drying spots of blood on his jacket cuffs with a slight twitch of his eyebrows, before dipping his head and opening the entrance to admit him to the hotel. Ilhan’s greeting had been less temperate. Stretched out on one of the twin beds in the room they were sharing, he had leapt to his feet as soon as he caught sight of Ben’s face. Like a clucking grandmother, the Turk had checked Ben over for injuries and demanded a full account of his evening’s activities.

  ‘So,’ Ben had concluded. ‘It seems the next stop’s the Negev Desert.’

  Ilhan had shaken his head. ‘This is going too far, Be
n. You’re risking your life and you don’t even really know why. Let’s go home.’

  ‘No. Not now. But you should.’

  ‘I should what?’

  ‘Go home. You’re right – it’s too dangerous. And I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ve dragged you halfway across the Middle East. You’ve got nothing out of it –’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ interjected Ilhan. ‘I was busy today. It’s as I’ve always said: there’s nowhere more profitable for a person in my line of work than a place at war. I’ve lined up a couple of new contacts, and arranged a shipment of local . . . ah, souvenirs . . . to be sent back to Istanbul. Mementoes from the Holy Land – the tourists in the bazaar won’t be able to get enough of them. And I did very well out of our trip to Egypt.’

  ‘Well, then I suggest you take your ill-gotten gains and find your way back north, my friend. There’s nothing but trouble where I’m headed,’ Ben had insisted.

  Gazing out the window at Jerusalem’s floodlit battlements, Ilhan had been pensive and silent. After a moment he spoke – so quietly Ben had to strain to hear him. ‘I don’t think you know how much I cherish our friendship, Benedict Hitchens. I admire your pragmatism and enjoy your company. If you’re going to be in danger, then another pair of hands would surely be a help. I’m not going to leave you.’

  Ben knew better than to try to discourage his friend, who was at least as stubborn as he himself could be – which was no small achievement.

  Sleep hadn’t come easily to Benedict Hitchens that night. The man he’d killed had torn open festering wounds from his past that Ben was now certain would never heal. He’d spent years trying to quash the hurt that made his heart constrict any time he thought of Karina. He had once hoped that to punish those who’d murdered her might help him forgive himself for not saving her. But the dried black blood under his nails from the smashed skull of one of her killers only made him feel hollow, where once he’d thought it might have cured him.

  As he’d struggled to doze off, he’d listened to the sounds of the troubled city outside until the warm glow of the rising sun shone through the room’s gauzy curtains. His mind was in turmoil; thoughts of Crete and of Karina tangled with vivid waking dreams of Schubert’s dying eyes. Who’d sent the German after him was a more immediate concern; he was now certain he was being watched. And he didn’t like it.

  When light had filled the room, he’d resigned himself to the sleepless night that was and risen and showered, preparing himself for the journey ahead.

  Bellhops and hotel staff scurried around the foyer as Ben sat with his feet propped on his duffel bag, waiting for the arrival of the Israeli escort promised by Ethan Cohn. He could see Ilhan’s back in the telephone booth next to the reception desk as the Turk called the dealers he’d made contact with in Jerusalem. The soporific buzz of activity soothed Ben and he felt the approach of the sleep that had evaded him the night before.

  In his imagination, the bleak but beautiful and pristine desert horizon stretched out before him into the white heat haze beyond. A warm surge of adrenalin rushed through his veins. He was on the hunt again. It was the one thing he knew he did well. It was also the only thing in his life that still gave him hope.

  ‘Dr Hitchens?’

  Ben started awake. ‘Yes?’

  Standing before him was a tall and lean figure clad in the light khaki uniform of the Israeli Defence Force. The man extended an arm taut with well-toned, ropey muscles and beamed down at Ben, his white teeth flashing against dark olive skin. ‘Ari Fleishman, Dr Hitchens.’

  Still disorientated, Ben staggered to his feet as the Jewish soldier seized his hand and pulled him into a bear hug. Ari kissed Ben twice on each cheek and slapped his shoulders affectionately.

  ‘I’m sorry . . . you look surprised. It’s perhaps too much for our first encounter,’ the soldier said with a smile as he stepped back and gave Ben space to recover from the effusive greeting. ‘Ethan Cohn – he’s my uncle. I know what you did for him. And our family owes you a debt of gratitude. One I hope I can repay – in part, anyway.’

  ‘Well, I owe your uncle a great deal as well,’ Ben replied. ‘Without him, I’d likely have no career.’ Despite their falling out in the intervening years, it wasn’t an exaggeration – as a mentor and teacher, Ethan had once been Ben’s fiercest advocate.

  From the corner of his eye, Ben saw Ilhan approaching. ‘Ari . . .’ With an outstretched arm, he indicated his friend. ‘This is Ilhan Aslan. He’ll be travelling with us. Ilhan, this is Ari Fleishman. His uncle is Ethan Cohn – the man I was telling you about last night.’

  Ilhan’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Ah – I see. How is your uncle?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s old. So he’s sore, and a bit shocked. But he’s also tough. A bowl or two of Esther’s chicken soup and he’ll be as good as new.’ Ari laughed. He indicated the two duffel bags on the floor. ‘That’s all you’re travelling with?’ Ben nodded. ‘Good. There’s a bit of stuff in the back of the jeep. I’ve got the theodolite and tripod Ethan said you needed. And we can’t go into the desert unprepared. Not a good idea to drive into a war zone without any weapons and a radio.’

  ‘Weapons?’ Ilhan looked startled. ‘Is that really necessary?’

  ‘We’ve been living here like we’re at war for years. Even when we’re supposedly at peace, I wouldn’t go out there without a gun. Now? Not on your life. If you want to get there and back in one piece, we need to be able to protect ourselves.’ Ari bent and picked up the two men’s bags, hoisting them onto his shoulder as if they were filled with nothing more substantial than air. ‘OK – if you’re both ready, we should get going.’

  The three men began to cross the foyer towards the front door.

  ‘Mr Hitchens!’

  A voice and the clack of hurried steps on the marble behind them made Ben spin around. Approaching them with hands clasped at his chest was the concierge they’d met when they’d arrived the day before.

  ‘Mr Hitchens – before you leave, might I have a word with you?’

  ‘Certainly.’ As long as it’s got nothing to do with last night.

  The concierge dropped his voice. ‘I thought it wise to let you know. The manager just informed me that some men were here last night asking about you.’

  ‘Men?’ Christ – Ethan was right. ‘Who were they?’

  ‘They didn’t want to leave any details. But we have many important guests from around the world. Agents from the nations who have an interest in what’s going on in Israel watch this hotel. And there’s plenty of those. Daniel – the manager – thought they may have been Soviets.’

  Ben looked around the foyer cautiously. It was still early and only a handful of people were around, most of them hotel staff. Those who appeared to be civilians were too elderly and too convincingly outfitted as Holy Land tourists to be Russian agents.

  The concierge continued. ‘I took the liberty of checking the front of the hotel. There are two men waiting out there in a car. Daniel recognised one of them from last night.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Through a window shielded from the street by a fan-leafed palm, Ben saw two men sitting in the front seat of a boxy grey sedan. The man in the driver’s seat was hard to miss; atop his head was a fuzz of golden yellow curls. ‘Is that the one?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ the concierge replied.

  ‘Russians?’ Ilhan piped up from behind Ben. ‘They’ve followed us here from Cairo? Why?’

  ‘Presume they’re after the same thing everyone else is looking for,’ answered Ben, cautious not to reveal too much.

  ‘Excuse me,’ interrupted Ari. ‘You said you have many important guests staying at this hotel. They don’t always want to be seen going to and from the building. Is that correct?’

  The concierge smiled. ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘So you have a more inconspicuous entrance?’

  ‘Yes. At the rear of the hotel. It leads through a tunnel beneath the garden and comes out
at a gate on Paul-Émile Botta Street.’

  The Israeli turned to Ben and Ilhan. ‘You two leave the hotel that way. I’ll pick you up from there. The gentlemen out the front won’t know me, so I should be able to leave without attracting any attention. I hope.’

  Ben’s heart was pounding as he and Ilhan jogged along the narrow but sumptuously outfitted underground corridor leading away from the hotel.

  ‘Makes sense,’ Ilhan observed as he took in the crystal sconce lights illuminating the hallway. ‘They’re hardly going to shuttle visiting dignitaries’ mistresses through an ordinary bunker, are they?’

  A heavily barred gate blocked the way to the bright daylight outside, visible through an arched stone entranceway onto the street. ‘That’s it.’ Ben grasped one of the uprights. The concierge had assured him the gate would open from the inside and lock automatically behind them. He held his breath and yanked. To his relief, it swung smoothly open and the two men were free to pass through to the city beyond.

  ‘Steady, steady,’ Ben cautioned Ilhan, forcing him to stay behind him as he checked the street from the archway. Ari had parked his jeep on the opposite kerb and stood beside the car’s rear door. As far as Ben could see, there were no other people on the street.

  ‘Quick! Run!’ he commanded, bolting across the road. Ilhan’s footsteps pounded after him as the two men ran for the jeep, jumping into the back seat.

  ‘Inside! And stay down!’ Ari said as he slammed the door shut behind them.

  Ben and Ilhan crouched down below the level of the side windows as Ari started the engine. ‘Got no choice. There are roadblocks up ahead – we’ll have to drive back past the front of the hotel. So keep out of sight.’