The Emerald Tablet

by Meaghan Wilson Anastasios

  Heart pounding, he crept along the rough wall until he was standing right beside the edge of the cleft. He held his breath and strained to hear if there was any noise coming from within. Nothing.

  Careful to keep from whacking his rifle on the walls of the corridor, he moved stealthily into the dark, treading like a cat at night so the sound of his footsteps didn’t signal his approach to those inside the cavern. A dim pool of light – the kerosene lantern – was visible just a dozen or so feet ahead of him. His muscles tensed and every nerve in his body was on alert as he readied to burst into the room, gun held in an outstretched hand.

  They won’t be expecting you, but you’ll have to move as fast as lightning, he thought.

  He edged further towards the cavern.

  There are three of them. Go for Garvé first. Line him up. Make him hand over his gun . . .

  The horizon line of the light shining in the cave was barely an arm’s span away from him.

  . . . Then her. Can’t underestimate her. Not again. Not this time.

  Through the narrow entrance to the cave, he could only see a sliver of the room. Nobody was within sight. And he couldn’t hear a thing. Nothing.

  Ilhan . . . where is he?

  Something was wrong. But he was already committed.

  No pulling out now.

  He held his breath.

  One, two, three . . . He burst into the open space.

  41

  Negev Desert, Israel

  ‘I’m sorry, Benedict.’ It was Ilhan. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

  His friend was kneeling in the dust at Garvé’s feet with a gun to his head.

  ‘He may be sorry,’ the Frenchman said, a grim smile contorting his face. His eyes were exactly as Ben remembered them – black and pitiless, like a shark sizing up its prey. ‘But I’m not. Benedict, it’s been far too long.’

  Ben’s mind was racing. What can I do? What can I do? His eyes darted around the room, trying to find a solution. The prick’s no hand-to-hand fighter. I could tackle him . . . take his gun. Or Essie – no way she could defend herself from me if I went after her pistol. But he knew it was hopeless. One move, and Garvé would pull the trigger.

  ‘Before you do anything foolish, pause for a moment to consider the value of your friend’s life. He’s nothing to me . . . less than nothing. If you force me to pull the trigger, I shan’t lose a minute’s sleep over it. But you, on the other hand . . . I’d have thought you had enough ghosts haunting your dreams already without adding another to their number. Am I right? Now, lower your weapon, please.’

  ‘You fucking ghoul,’ Ben said, his voice shaking with fury. He bent and put his pistol on the floor.

  ‘And the other one.’

  Ben swung the rifle off his shoulder and slid it across the dirt towards Garvé.

  ‘Now,’ the Frenchman said in a conversational tone of voice. ‘The Emerald Tablet. Judging by the rather singular corpse in there, I assume you found it. Where is it now?’

  ‘I’m not telling you.’

  Garvé sighed and shoved the barrel of his gun into Ilhan’s brow, hard enough that the Turk stumbled backwards and almost toppled over. ‘I don’t feel like explaining again . . .’

  Essie stepped towards Ben, her hand outstretched. ‘Ben . . . please . . .’ she said.

  ‘You?’ Ben couldn’t even bring himself to look at her. ‘You can shut the fuck up!’

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her flinch.

  He knew he had no choice. ‘It’s outside. There’s a tumble of boulders just outside the entrance. It’s packed in a jerry can.’

  ‘A jerry can? Clever. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. A lack of ingenuity was never one of your failings. Isn’t that right, Essie, my dear?’

  She said nothing.

  Garvé shrugged. ‘Up you get then,’ he said to Ilhan. ‘You played your part well. Thank you.’

  Ilhan looked at Ben with mournful eyes as he stood up, but made no move to join him.

  What . . .? Ben was confused.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Garvé said. ‘You really didn’t suspect anything? Now, that is one of your failings, Dr Hitchens. Blind faith doesn’t seem to serve you well.’

  ‘Ilhan . . .?’ No. I can’t believe it.

  The features Ben knew so well were contorted with remorse and confirmed the worst.

  Ilhan refused to look at Ben.

  A cold fury began to burn in Ben’s chest. ‘It makes no sense. Ilhan? Why would he . . .?’

  ‘Why? You’ll have to ask him,’ said Garvé. ‘And, fancy that – we’ve two people in this godforsaken place who have first-hand experience of betraying you. Seems you’re able to bring out the very worst in people, Benedict. I’d leave Essie here with you to join in the conversation – I’m sure she’d bring quite a unique perspective –’ Ben saw her glance up sharply. ‘But she’s proven to be too valuable over the years. So, unfortunately for you, she’ll be coming along with me.’

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’

  ‘The tablet?’

  ‘Of course the tablet. What else would I mean?’

  ‘No need to be churlish, Benedict. And it’s none of your concern. Even my dear associates here are partially in the dark . . . Essie, Adam, on that subject – I should warn you. There’s been a change of plan.’

  42

  Negev Desert, Israel

  ‘Change of plan?’ Essie was wearing another accent, but Ben knew her well enough to recognise the anxiety in her tone.

  ‘Yes,’ Garvé answered. ‘Under other circumstances, I’d rather not discuss it here. But I’ll need your cooperation for this – it’s going to involve telling a white lie or two to Captain Knight.’

  ‘Lie? About what?’ The reedy-necked man in the corner who’d been silent till now piped up.

  ‘About our destination after we leave, Adam. We won’t be going directly back to the ship. I’m taking the tablet to the Israelis.’

  ‘Fucking Ethan!’ Ben exclaimed.

  ‘Who?’ Garvé asked.

  ‘Ethan. He’s behind this, isn’t he?’

  ‘I’ve no idea who you’re referring to.’

  ‘Ethan. Ethan Cohn. The archaeologist. You hooked into him in Crete during the war.’

  ‘Him? The old man? Please! This plan is operating at the highest levels of government. He wouldn’t have a clue.’

  ‘The Israelis?’ Essie asked, her face blanching. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I know your past, dear lady. And I feared you’d be reluctant to help if you knew the ultimate destination of our find. But you mustn’t concern yourself – there’s no change to our agreement. You’ll still get the same percentage of the sale price. Only this way, you’ll get more. Much more. There were multiple buyers – the Americans, the Russians . . . and our British patrons, of course. Though the Israelis were willing to pay through the nose for Balinas’ discovery. They plan to use it to accelerate the nuclear program they’re not supposed to have.’

  There was a startled bellow from the corner. ‘WHAT?!’ Penney’s face was as purple as an overripe plum, his eyes bulging out of their sockets and mouth hanging open. ‘You’re going to give it to the FUCKING JEWS?! OVER MY DEAD BODY YOU WILL!’

  ‘Don’t tempt me, Adam,’ Garvé said ominously.

  ‘That tablet . . . it’s mine! By right, it’s mine! Without me, you wouldn’t even know it existed! You wouldn’t even be here! And the Master . . . Crowley . . . he entrusted its secret to ME! Not you . . . ME!’

  ‘I don’t deny that, Adam. But it doesn’t make any difference at all to me. And it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve sold it to the Israelis.’

  ‘You had NO RIGHT! No right at all! It wasn’t yours to sell! It’s mine! It’s my pathway to another plane of existence . . . through it I’ll find enlightenment. And all you’re thinking about is gold!’

  ‘It’s not about gold, Adam. Or enlightenment. Your uncle knows that. Everybody wants this because it�
��s the future . . . the tablet is the key to unimaginable power. And you can’t have it. Not for your foolish and deluded endeavours. No matter how much you wish it.’

  ‘You can’t take it from me! You can’t!’ Penney stamped his feet and slapped his palms on his thighs. ‘This is my pathway to eternal life!’

  ‘You? Find eternal life? Well, we can’t have that, can we?’ Garvé said. He cocked his gun and pointed it at the centre of Adam’s forehead.

  ‘What . . .? No! Get that thing out of my face!’ Adam’s fury evaporated. ‘You . . . you can’t! . . . My uncle . . . Uncle Bill . . . He won’t let you get away with this!’

  ‘How is he going to know what really happened here? I’ll be able to come up with some plausible story.’ He used his other hand to point at Ben. ‘Useful scapegoat right here, for a start! You’re no use to me anymore. And the truth is, your uncle won’t miss you. Nobody will, if we’re honest. Isn’t that right, dear lady?’ Garvé said, glancing at Essie.

  ‘Essie . . .’ Adam turned his attention to her. ‘Please! You can’t let him do this!’

  She stood with her hands crossed at her chest and, by her silence, condemned him.

  But her reaction when Garvé pulled the trigger and sent a bullet spinning into Adam Penney’s skull showed she hadn’t been expecting the Frenchman to follow through with his threat. Essie’s eyes were black with shock and her mouth gaped as Adam Penney’s lifeless body slumped to the floor.

  Although Ben recoiled from the sound of the gunfire that reverberated around the room, he knew Garvé better. He would never question the Frenchman’s resolve.

  ‘Well, no great loss there,’ Garvé said.

  ‘. . . but . . .’ Essie interjected.

  Garvé peered at her through eyes narrowed to slits. ‘After what he did to you, I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Of course. Did you really think someone that undisciplined would keep his sexual escapades secret?’

  ‘You didn’t say anything.’

  ‘It was none of my business. I don’t care what you do in your private life. And I didn’t think it was something you’d have been particularly proud of. So I thought it best to keep it to myself. This –’ he waved his hand towards Penney’s corpse, ‘– had nothing to do with you. I’d tired of him. And he’s a loose end we’re better off without.’

  Garvé turned to Ben with his gun raised. ‘Speaking about loose ends . . .’ He took aim, Ben squarely in his sights.

  Ben felt a peculiar detachment as he looked down the barrel of the pistol held in Garvé’s steady hand. He shifted his gaze to the Frenchman’s face. Watch for that momentary flinch – the tell that’ll show when he’s about to pull the trigger. Then drop and roll – take his legs out. He had no intention of dying, least of all at the hands of the person he despised more than any other.

  ‘No!’ interjected Essie. ‘Please. That’s enough – nobody was supposed to be killed!’

  ‘That’s often the case, Essie. We start with the noblest of intentions. Yet people die anyway. Collateral damage, it’s called.’

  Ilhan, who’d been silently watching the events unfold, now stepped forward with both hands raised. ‘You’ve got what you wanted. You said you’d just take the tablet and let Ben go.’

  Garvé grinned grimly, exposing his peculiarly small but very white teeth. ‘I lied.’ He licked his thin lips.

  There – that’s the tell.

  Ben watched as the Frenchman squeezed the trigger.

  43

  Negev Desert, Israel

  Before the hammer had even engaged the firing pin, Ben had dropped down and launched himself towards Garvé. At the same time, Essie ran at the Frenchman and grabbed his arm as Ilhan dived forward to put himself between Ben and the gun.

  There was a deafening explosion followed by a wet thud and a grunt; the expulsion of air from lungs as the bullet hit flesh. A body hit the earth with a sound like a bag of wet sand being dropped.

  Ben checked himself. Whoever had been hit, it wasn’t him. Essie was still standing. That left only one other person.

  ‘Ilhan!’ Ben turned and rushed to his friend’s side. The Turk’s olive skin had taken on a greenish tinge as the blood rushed to his vital organs in response to the shock to his system. His eyes were black pools and his lips were white and agape as he looked down at his leg in disbelief.

  The bullet had torn a hole in his thigh. Blood streamed through the tear in his pants, seeping into the dust on the floor and staining it black. Essie stood to one side, aghast, as Garvé took in his handiwork dispassionately.

  ‘Your scarf!’ Ben screamed at Essie. ‘Give it to me! Quickly!’

  Startled, she unwound the red and white cotton wrap from around her neck and shoved it into Ben’s outstretched hand. He ripped it in two, twisting one half into a tourniquet which he fastened above the wound. The other he used to staunch the bleeding. He gingerly felt the back of Ilhan’s leg. Judging by the broken skin he felt there, he knew the bullet had passed through the muscle and exited the leg, which was good news, and although blood was still flowing from the wound, it wasn’t gushing at a rate he’d expect if an artery had been damaged.

  ‘Ben, I’m . . . I’m sorry . . .’ Ilhan whispered through parched lips.

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘. . . but I . . .’

  ‘Seriously, Ilhan, you need to stop talking. Whatever you’ve got to say . . . just shut up. Don’t want to hear it.’

  Garvé stood above the two men. ‘Where to from here?’ he said. He gripped the pistol in his right hand and tapped his chin pensively as he spoke. ‘Everything’s just become terribly messy. Oh, well.’ He cocked his gun and pointed it at Ben. ‘Your turn.’

  ‘No!’ Essie shrieked, grabbing Garvé’s arm. ‘That’s enough, Josef! We’ve got the tablet. Just leave them. Please? I don’t want this on my conscience.’

  ‘Conscience? Still have one of those, do you?’ The Frenchman giggled. ‘I disposed of mine many years ago. I highly recommend it. It makes life so much easier. It is interesting to see you’re still nursing some affection for your American, though.’

  Essie blushed, her eyes downcast. ‘It’s not that. I just don’t want anybody else to die.’

  ‘Fine. It won’t be by my hand, then. Though you know, you’re consigning them to a far less merciful end by leaving them alive out here. But, so be it.’ Garvé lined Ben up in his sights once more. ‘You! Help your friend into the tomb.’

  ‘No! He’s in pain,’ Ben exclaimed. ‘Just leave him here. He’s going to die anyway.’

  ‘You’re probably right. But do it all the same.’ Garvé wagged the gun in Ben’s face. ‘And don’t think that just because your girlfriend has won you a reprieve, that I won’t shoot you anyway. Her advocacy won’t count for anything if you push me too far.’

  ‘You fucking animal!’ Ben cursed. Lowering his voice, he bent and hooked an arm beneath Ilhan’s shoulders. ‘Here – lean into me,’ he said as he flexed the muscles in his legs and hoisted the Turk up onto his one good leg. Ilhan groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. ‘Steady,’ Ben said as he helped him walk slowly towards the cavern’s inner room. In one corner was a pile of off-cuts from the canvas sheeting they’d used to wrap the tablet; Ben guided Ilhan towards what was the only vaguely comfortable place in the cave and helped him lower his injured body down into a prone position.

  ‘Thirsty . . . water . . .’ Ilhan said in a voice cracking with pain.

  In the main cavern, Ben knew he’d left his backpack leaning against the wall. ‘Over there . . . Eris, Essie – whatever your name is – there’s a canteen. Get it for me.’

  He heard the sound of footsteps. She entered the hidden cavern holding the water and lantern.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering, Essie,’ said Garvé from the other room. ‘It’ll just prolong the inevitable.’

  Essie said nothing, just passed the canteen to Ben and placed the lantern on
the floor. She turned and walked out.

  ‘What? No goodbyes?’ Ben said bitterly. ‘You know we’ll die in here.’

  ‘Yes. That’s the plan,’ said Garvé, and he hefted the door shut.

  44

  Negev Desert, Israel

  Light from the kerosene lantern flickered on the walls and illuminated the deathly pallor on Ilhan’s face. Ben was relieved to see that the wound was now just seeping, rather than streaming, blood, but the trauma of the injury had caused the Turk to go into shock. His breathing was shallow and rasping, and his blood-deprived extremities were shuddering with cold.

  What have I done? Why did I have to push this? I could’ve – no, should’ve – stayed in Istanbul. Everything was going along perfectly well. Why won’t I ever learn to just be happy with the status quo? Ben berated himself. He looked down at his friend shivering at his feet. And why did you betray me? he wondered as he did what he could to cover Ilhan with the scant supply of canvas sheeting. I’d have expected it from that bloody woman, but not you. In the chilly air of the cave, it was next to impossible to warm him up. Ilhan’s survival depended upon getting out, and getting out quickly.

  If we’re going to be stuck in here for good, there’s no point worrying about it. And if we do – by some miracle – manage to find a way out, there’ll be plenty of time to talk about it later. Got to work on that door, he thought. He ran his fingers around the door’s edges, hoping to find a breach of some sort he could use to get a handhold and drag the panel open.

  Nothing.

  Set high up in the door was the butt-end of a stone cylinder that had been set in the clay; it was about the same point in the wall where Ben had inserted the keystone to gain access to the room, and he assumed that whatever function the cylinder had, it related to the locking mechanism that had held the door closed for close to two thousand years. He pushed at it and tried to jiggle it loose in the hope it might trigger the latch. When that failed, he decided to give brute force a go. Even though he knew the chances of making an impact on it were slim, Ben began to pound the door with his shoulder, hoping he could shift it off its hinges. But given how much difficulty it had posed even when there had been two of them trying to push it inward, he suspected it was going to be futile. After five minutes of hammering, all he had to show for it was a bruised and battered shoulder.