The 13th Tablet

leave it in the suitcase’ he thought. He went for a beer in a nearby pub and looked at the happy faces of men and women meeting for a drink after a hard day’s work. What was wrong with him? Why did he always end up running for his life? By now, his face had probably been retrieved by the police from CCTV camera footage in the museum.

He waited half an hour and tried calling Mina, again unsuccessfully. He got in a cab and drove to their hotel in Maida Vale, hoping to get hold of the suitcase and check what had become of the mobile phone. An employee at the front desk explained that a man in a dark suit and sunglasses had just come by and picked it up. ‘I should’ve gone straight back to the hotel’ thought Jack, increasingly angry with himself. He walked around Maida Vale for a while to gather his thoughts. He wondered if their separation could prove to be an asset after all; maybe he could sort out their other problem. He would contact Stella and ask her why Intelligence was interested in Mina. Stella was stationed in Germany. Maybe she could leave her base for a day, and they could meet up at the drinking den in Soho.

Mina had finally arrived at her destination. She felt much worse now than when she’d embarked on the train. Twenty minutes into the trip, she had searched her rucksack thoroughly looking for her new phone, but it was not there. She must have left it in her suitcase, or in the hotel room. How was she going to get in touch with Jack or Jack with her? She did not even know his email address. She walked out of the station, in the direction of Tenison Road where she saw a few guest houses. She picked one and booked a room for two nights, hoping to find something nicer within the next few days. She walked up to her room. Her hands shook as she opened the door. She dropped her rucksack on the floor, sat on the bed and cried silently, in the gloomy winter light filtering through the stained curtains.

Chapter 22

December 14th, 2004. Cambridge

Mina woke up late in the morning, wishing it had all been a dream. But there she was, in the same seedy guest house in Cambridge, alone. She took a quick shower and after laying out the bed sheet on the floor, slowly stretched through a series of yoga asanas. Later, pulling on her last pair of jeans she was reminded she would have to buy clothes, again. She left the guest house, her small rucksack hanging from one shoulder. A few builders wolf-whistled her as she walked down Tenison Road. She felt like telling them off but instead looked straight ahead to Mill Road. She entered a caf. at random and ordered a cappuccino, croissants and jam. As she drank her coffee, warming her hands around the mug, she looked out of the window at the grey street. It was raining again. The miserable weather was starting to depress her even more than her current situation.

Around midday, she walked into the city centre. She bought a few clothes and an umbrella. When she passed the main market place and reached King’s Parade she stared in wonder at the spectacular walls of King’s College. Seeing its gigantic chapel and the peacefulness of the scholars walking about the college grounds, she felt her spirits lifting slightly. She asked her way to the University Library.

The library was the only place Jack and her were set to visit in Cambridge, after Eli told them about it in Safed. It would be his first point of call. A helpful young man who introduced himself as a student at King’s College walked with her through the college’s main quad, and over its private bridge onto Queen’s Road.

He asked her what brought her to Cambridge, so Mina told him that she was doing research for a week or two. He was very excited about the University Library and explained that it was a copyright library, like the Bodleian in Oxford and the British Library in London, which meant that it stocked almost every book published in English.

‘The great advantage of this library over the other two,’ he explained ‘is the fact that it is an open stack library. One wastes an awful amount of time at the Bod or at the BL requesting books that you don’t really need in the end.’ He joked about the building, comparing it to an erect phallus, with its huge central tower whereas the Bodleian in Oxford was more womb-like, with many subterranean floors where its precious volumes were held. He told her all she needed to do was to walk straight on, along the pedestrian path and she’d get to the library.

At the library reception desk, a clerk told her she’d need more credentials to get a reader’s ticket. She sighed with irritation; she’d have to email Columbia to request a letter from her department stating her research need and that meant leaving the library. So she walked back towards the city centre through Silver Street hoping to find an internet caf. but lost her way. She stopped at a sandwich shop to get a bite to eat. There were no internet caf.s close by so she hopped into a cab and returned to Mill Road where she’d spotted a couple earlier on.

She entered the Jaffa Net Caf. and emailed her department. She waited for an answer while sipping a mint tea in the courtyard, sitting among hookah smokers lost in volutes of apple tobacco fumes. After a while she checked her email. Her department had sent her the requested letter. She printed it out and decided to return to the library the next day. Although the caf. was pretty downtrodden, she enjoyed being there, surrounded by Arabs from all over the globe. Had the weather not been so dreadful, she would have almost felt at home, drinking tea and listening to fleeting conversations in Arabic. A few men were sizing her up, but let her be all the same.

Jack had slept most of the afternoon in a cheap hotel off Edgware Road. He’d managed to contact Stella the night before and they had made plans to meet in Soho later in the evening. Jack took the tube to Piccadilly Circus. As he walked through Soho’s bustling streets, he smiled at the memory of their last meeting in the dingy, smoke- filled pub. He remembered Stella’s joke. ‘Careful Jack! Just make sure you sit down opposite the right girl when you get back from the restroom.’

He spotted Stella immediately, sitting at the bar. He walked up to her, and they gave each other a warm hug. She was as sexy and sophisticated as the last time they’d met. She had short blond hair now and looked slightly older, but she still seemed as fit as a Marine leaving boot camp.

‘How long has it been, Jack?’ asked Stella.

‘Too long, Stella. So tell me, why is Intelligence onto me?’ asked Jack, going straight to the point.

‘Well, they’re not exactly onto you — more onto your lady friend. She seems to have something that interests them.’

‘It was stolen from her,’ said Jack.

‘Oh. Were you there when it happened?’

‘Sort of. They weren’t Intelligence.’

Stella seemed surprised but did not question Jack about it.

‘Listen Jack, the less I know, the less I can tell. I came to warn you to be careful and to lose the girl. Why get involved? I thought you were done with all this stuff.’

‘Stella, do I detect a twinge of jealousy in your tone?’

‘Don’t even go there! So what’s the story?’

‘I care about her.’

‘So? Send her a postcard. It wouldn’t be the first time, hmm Jack?’

‘Not this time.’

‘That’s a pity.’ There was just the slightest hint of wistfulness in her voice but she smiled at him broadly and so Jack pressed on.

‘What did you find out from the CCTV footage at the British Museum?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Yeah. No fighting, no body, not a squeak… that’s good news, right?’ said Stella.

‘Damn.’

‘Jack. What the hell have you got yourself into?’

Jack didn’t answer. He noticed a young man on the other side of the bar had been listening to their every word.