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.’
‘Yes, I do… and I think I’ve smelled the same thing not long ago.’
‘I know! It was outside the hotel. Let’s get the hell out of here.’
They rushed back to the central tower. A tall man with a black beard and smoked glasses was resting against the railing, pretending to read a leaflet. Jack quickly grabbed Mina’s hand, feigned going right but then rushed down the left hand staircase. Unfortunately the man caught up with them within a few seconds. Jack urged Mina to run away, as he turned around to face his opponent. She took a few steps down the stairs all the time trying to look back to watch the men wrestle above her. Amazingly, nobody seemed to notice the fight. Jack had bent the man’s arm behind his back and when he heard it crack he shoved his head into the wall. As the man crumpled to the floor, unconscious, a small vial fell out of his pocket and shattered on the marble steps. Jack and Mina immediately recognised the pungent fragrance they had smelled earlier. Jack picked up a shard of the vial and hurried down the stairs with Mina. They slowed their pace somewhat as they passed guards in the main lobby hurrying towards the staircase. Jack discreetly snatched a sopping wet umbrella, which a man had put against a column while shaking his trench coat.
They ran down the steps into the outer courtyard, heavy rain still falling from a darkened sky. The driver of the blue Mercedes was waiting near the gates, but did not see Jack and Mina dashing by shielded by an umbrella like any young couple keen to get out of the rain. They ran ahead, down Museum Street, and dodged into an occult bookshop.
Mina, who by this time was beyond physical and mental exhaustion, could hardly stand upright. Jack helped her sit down on a large and ancient-looking leather chair and pretended to browse through the books, all the while keeping a close watch on Museum Street. The shop owner barely glanced at them, as they did not seem like genuine seekers of the dark arts, just passers-by trying to escape the rain.
Mina was so anxious she could feel her hands shaking. To try to put her mind at rest she focused on at the collection of books, placed haphazardly on the shelves around her. Some of the books had the weirdest titles but she was too frazzled to understand what she was reading.
‘Mina?’ Jack hissed from the corner of his mouth. She did not hear him. He spoke again, louder this time and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Mina?’ She was startled, and looked at him with scared eyes.
‘What is it?’ asked Mina. Jack sighed and took her hand.
‘Mina, we have to separate. We haven’t shaken them off yet.’
‘No Jack. Please, no,’ she begged him, tears welling in her eyes.
‘We have to lose them. I’ll draw their attention, and while they follow me…’
‘Please Jack. Don’t leave me. I can’t do this alone.’
‘You can do it, Mina. You have to, OK? Wait for ten minutes after I’m gone, then walk out of here, left, into New Oxford Street and get in the first cab. Go straight to King’s Cross and catch a train to Cambridge. I’ll call you in an hour.’ He looked deep into her eyes and kissed her wet cheek softly, ‘You can do this Mina.’
He looked out of the front window for a few seconds, turned round a last time and walked out onto the street. ‘Good luck, Jack,’ Mina murmured, but he was already gone. While she looked at her watch and waited, an odd-looking man, wearing a large-brimmed hat with a feather stuck in its side, started talking to her, oblivious to her anxious state.
‘Do you know,’ he began, ’that you’re standing in a genuine occult bookshop? It was once run by the head of a lodge called The Order of the Hidden Masters.’
Mina looked at him with a blank expression on her face. ‘And, one of the patrons of this order was Alistair Crowley,’ he added mysteriously.
Mina didn’t answer so the man walked towards another customer and started chatting to her. Mina checked her watch and noticed that ten minutes had gone by. She did as Jack had told her. She hailed one of many cabs passing down New Oxford Street, and after a few minutes ride, was at King’s Cross station. She bought a ticket to Cambridge and enquired about the next available train, which was leaving in twenty minutes. She treated herself to a takeaway cappuccino, sat down on a chair next to the other travellers and sipped her coffee. She was utterly drained and incapable of thinking about anything. When the Cambridge train was announced she stood up, and numbly walked in the direction of platform 9A.
Jack felt stupid. No-one appeared to be following him. He had changed cabs three times, and was walking down Portobello Road in Notting Hill. Had they managed to lose their pursuers at the museum after all? Why hadn’t he checked to see if they were still lurking around before leaving Mina? How stupid. They’d have both been on the Cambridge train by now. He tried phoning her, but the call went straight to her voicemail. ‘Oh god, I hope she didn’t
