The Emerald Tablet

by Meaghan Wilson Anastasios

  Although he hadn’t noticed any signs of another way out when he’d been in the room before, there’d been no reason to look for one. With that in mind, Ben picked up the lantern and worked his way around the walls, inspecting every crack and crevice to see whether it might offer access to another space beyond. He knew there wasn’t much chance he’d find anything, so it was no surprise when he drew a blank.

  As he saw it, there was only one possible breach in the otherwise impenetrable prison they found themselves in; the point where the thick clay wall met the cave’s rock face. He studied the seam closely. Although every effort had been made to ensure the wet clay had been pressed into every ridge and groove on the stone surface, in places it had pulled away from the rock as it had dried.

  Balinas’ mummified visage contemplated the scene with calm resignation. Ben knew what he had to do. He picked up one of the stones that covered the floor and began to work at the breach, chipping away tiny fragments of clay, most of them no bigger than a match-head.

  This is going to take a while.

  If his watch was to be believed, he’d been working away at the wall for over three hours, and the only impact he’d managed to make was a depression not much bigger than a cereal bowl. As time passed, he was becoming increasingly desperate; if it had been just him in the room, he would have been less concerned. With the water in the canteen, he knew he could survive without food long enough to eventually break through the wall. But Ilhan didn’t have the luxury of time. The wound in his leg would become septic and the infection would kill him, if blood loss didn’t end his life first.

  Ben was relieved that the symptoms of shock appeared to be wearing off. Ilhan’s skin had acquired a healthier blush, and his breathing – which had been shallow and coarse – seemed to be finding a more regular cadence.

  With a rattling sigh, the Turk filled his lungs and expelled the air in a blast. ‘Ben?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah?’ Despite his lingering anger, Ben was relieved to hear his voice. ‘Do you need anything? Actually, water’s all I’ve got to offer.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes.’ He sounded drained but lucid. That’s a good thing, Ben thought.

  He handed Ilhan the canteen. ‘Here. But don’t drink it all. We need to make it last. I’m not looking forward to drinking our own piss, which might be the only alternative if I can’t find a more effective way of digging into this wall.’

  Ilhan’s face was grim, his mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Ben . . . what the Frenchman said –’

  ‘Don’t want to talk about that now,’ Ben interjected.

  ‘But I want to. I need to explain.’

  ‘Well, that’s fine for you. But I don’t want to hear what you’ve got to say. Right now, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘To me, it does. If I die here –’

  ‘You’re the luckiest bastard I know. If anyone can make it out of here alive, it’ll be you.’

  ‘But if I don’t . . . it’s important you know why.’

  Sighing, Ben sat down in the dust, his back against the cold, stone wall. ‘People have died because of you, Ilhan. Good people.’

  ‘I know. That wasn’t meant to happen . . . This wasn’t meant to happen.’

  ‘And yet, it did. That man’s a soulless leech. Death follows him.’

  ‘I wasn’t to know. He promised nobody would be hurt . . . I believed him.’

  ‘More fool you.’

  ‘Garvé telephoned me. After we’d been to Topkapı. The man who killed the archivist. Ricard, his name was. He found out we’d been there and that you’d seen Balinas’ book . . . he was working for Garvé . . . had been since the war. The Frenchman then told me to go with you and tell him what you found . . . and where we were going. The phone calls I’ve been making – they’ve been to him. I think the Russians must have been listening to the calls I made from the hotel in Jerusalem – that’s how they would have found out we were coming here. That morning, while we were waiting for Ari, I called the Frenchman . . . told him we were coming here – to Har Karkom. I told him . . . Told him everything.’

  ‘So you’ve got Ari’s blood on your hands as well. Nice work.’ Ben felt sick to the stomach. ‘Why?’ he asked, his voice tight with grief. ‘How much did your loyalty cost him?’

  ‘It wasn’t that. It wasn’t money. No amount would have been enough. But he knew things about me that I needed to keep secret . . .’

  Ben snorted. ‘You didn’t do this to keep your bloody antiquities smuggling business quiet, did you? Or the fakes you peddle through your shop? Because that’s hardly a secret!’

  ‘No. Not that. You know me – I’m not ashamed of that. Perhaps I should be, but I’m not. No – this is something else. Something much more sinful.’

  ‘Sinful? For Christ’s sake, Ilhan. Enough with the riddles.’

  ‘Truly, Benedict. If my family were to find out about this . . . my mother – it would kill her.’

  ‘Given how difficult she makes your life, wouldn’t that be a good thing?’

  ‘I’m serious. It would bring great shame to my family. And I’m afraid when I tell you, you’ll think less of me.’

  ‘Well, my opinion of you right now is at an all-time low. So I wouldn’t worry about that. Besides, we’ve done plenty of shady things together. I can’t think of anything that would shock me.’

  ‘This is different.’

  ‘Well, how about you let me make that decision myself?’

  ‘It’s something that only happens occasionally. When I’m at the hamam – the bathhouse. There are times when . . .’ Ilhan paused and drew a deep breath. ‘I have intimate relationships with men. I don’t know how Garvé found out . . . he must have had me followed. But he knew. He said he had evidence . . . photographs. Men who would tell stories about our time together. That’s why I couldn’t let you kill him before, although, God knows, he deserved it. He said if anything happened to him, a package would be sent to my mother. And if she – if anyone – ever found out, that’d be the end for me.’

  Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘But . . . what? You don’t like women, then? You’ve been – I mean, I thought you’d been – with so many over the years. How . . .?’

  ‘It’s not that simple. It’s not that I don’t like women. It’s just that I sometimes like men as well. And now, with everything that’s happened, I feel so stupid. I should have done what I know was the right thing . . . tell that man I’d never betray my friend. But I’m weak. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry, Ben. This is all my fault.’

  ‘No,’ said Ben. ‘If I hadn’t decided to go chasing after that damned woman again, we’d be warming a couple of chairs in a meyhane in Beyoğlu instead of stuck here. Besides . . . I think you’ve been punished enough.’

  ‘Now that you know this about me, I’ll understand if you can no longer be my friend,’ Ilhan said quietly.

  ‘At this rate, we’re going to die here and I’d rather it be by the side of a friend than not. So to fire you from that position now would be a little premature. You should know that who you choose to mess around with makes no difference to me. I’d rather not know the gory details, to be honest. Don’t need those pictures in my head – whether it’s with a woman or with another man. Besides, if we ever make it out of here, I don’t have the luxury of dumping you as a friend – you’re the only one I’ve got left.’

  The two men fell silent, the cave deathly still apart from the sound of their breathing.

  ‘So now I know this big secret of yours, I’ve got one question for you,’ Ben said. ‘What about me? You say you fancy men. But you’ve never propositioned me. Should I be insulted?’

  Ilhan laughed weakly. ‘You’re not my type.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Ben guffawed. ‘I’m everybody’s type!’

  After their conversation, Ilhan had fallen into a troubled sleep, grunting and mumbling unintelligibly while Ben resumed his slow-moving attack on the wall.

  This is hopeless, he t
hought. Making a large enough hole in the clay was going to take much more time than they had, and Ben knew that even if they did get out, it was a long drive back to civilisation and the medical care Ilhan desperately needed. And that was assuming that the Frenchman had left them the jeep. I’ve got to try something else.

  The depression he’d managed to chip out of the wall was larger now, though he knew from the depth of the doorway that he had to make it through at least a foot of clay to get to the other side. I’ll try kicking at it. It would be risky – even if he did manage to break through, it was just as likely he’d be crushed by falling chunks of solid clay as get clear. But Ben knew there weren’t any alternatives.

  To maximise the amount of pressure he could exert, he lay on his back in front of the dip in the wall. Drawing his knees back, he slammed the soles of his work boots into the wall. He was disappointed but not surprised to see that it had no discernible effect at all. He did it again. Nothing. And again. Still nothing. But on the fourth try, he was sure he felt something give way. Heart pounding from the exertion, he crashed his feet into the wall again. There was a sound – a grinding crack. Once more, he urged himself. Then, he’d scurry back against the far wall – he didn’t want to end up buried beneath what was coming.

  With all his might, he battered the solid clay then scooted back to crouch beside Ilhan, ready to shield his friend in case the wall came tumbling down.

  The sound of something giving way filled the room. It was deafening. Ben covered his ears with his hands and half closed his eyes in anticipation of a cloud of debris filling the enclosed space. Through his lashes he saw a blinding beam of light – but not where he was expecting it. It wasn’t where he’d been attempting to make a breach. It was right in the centre of the wall. Right where he knew the door to be.

  45

  Negev Desert, Israel

  ‘Here – he needs this.’

  Essie Peters stepped through the doorway and threw Ben a first aid kit. ‘There’s dressings and antiseptic. And morphine.’

  There was no mistaking her silhouette, or her husky voice. But for a moment, Ben thought he was hallucinating. ‘But . . . you’re . . .’

  She gestured towards Ilhan impatiently. ‘Don’t talk! Help him!’

  Mind whirling, Ben called on his memories of military field trauma procedures. First, he snapped off the glass bulb at the top of the morphine ampoule and took the tiny round of protective cork from the tip of the needle. He swabbed the crook of Ilhan’s elbow and slipped the needle under his skin, sending the morphine coursing through his bloodstream. Using the iodine, Ben cleaned the gunshot wound as best he could. As he was struggling to raise Ilhan’s leaden limb to get to the exit wound on the back of his leg, he became aware of Essie’s presence at his side.

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Yes. Lift this. Carefully. Hold it up so I can get a dressing onto it.’

  As she slipped her hands beneath his knee to elevate his thigh, Ilhan groaned, his face contorted with pain.

  ‘Don’t worry, buddy. In a minute or two, that stuff’ll kick in and you won’t feel a thing, I promise. It’s so potent, I’ve been sorely tempted to indulge in it myself at times as an alternative to gallons of liquor.’

  Essie had dropped to her knees beside him and rested Ilhan’s lower leg on her thighs while Ben wrapped a clean bandage around the wound, which was now packed in sterile dressings. As he expertly turned the edge of the compress and secured it with a pin, the back of his forearm brushed hers. Their eyes met at the physical contact. Essie held his gaze for a moment then looked away, colour rising in her cheeks.

  ‘I’ve brought a stretcher as well,’ she said. ‘It won’t be easy, but I’ll be able to help you get him outside. We don’t have to get down to the desert floor – I’ve got the helicopter up here on the plateau . . . I’ll go and get the stretcher now.’

  Ben grabbed her arm. ‘No. First you have to tell me why you’re here.’

  ‘Why?’ she answered. ‘Well. That’s not an easy question to answer. Isn’t it enough that I regret what’s happened to the two of you, and that I wanted to do what I could to fix things?’

  ‘I saw your face when that fucking animal said he was giving the tablet to the Israelis. And he mentioned your history – by that, I assume he meant your real personal history; not the bucket of hog-swill you sold me.’

  She winced. ‘It’s a long story that will take more time than we have,’ she said, glancing at Ilhan. ‘He needs to be in a hospital . . . soon. And if you still want to stop Garvé, you don’t have long. We flew back to Jerusalem – from there, he was taking a private plane to Istanbul. That’s where the deal’s being finalised.’

  ‘You said he was selling it to the Israelis – why wouldn’t he just do the handover in Jerusalem?’

  ‘Because he doesn’t trust them. He wants it to be on neutral territory.’

  ‘Why would you care who gets it, anyway? I thought you only cared about money.’

  ‘Not always. Believe it or not, I do have one or two guiding principles. One of which is that I’d rather people didn’t die during the course of one of my operations.’ Essie pointed at Ilhan. ‘So can we get him moving? Please?’

  ‘First you need to tell me what the hell you’re planning to do. How on earth is this going to work? You’re trying to tell me that Garvé let you bring the helicopter back here?’

  ‘No. Not exactly. He let me take it so I could fly back to my family in Cairo –’

  ‘Your family in Cairo?’

  ‘As I said. It’s a long story. But I pulled a gun on the pilot and forced him to fly me here. I’ve contacts in Jerusalem who can fly us to Istanbul – I figure we can follow Josef and you can retrieve the tablet.’

  ‘So, judging by that, your business arrangement with Monsieur Garvé is formally at an end.’

  ‘Yes.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘I’d say that’s a fair assumption to make. Though, hopefully, it will be some time before he works that out. Otherwise we’ll never catch him.’

  ‘And why would you think the pilot’s still out there waiting for you?’

  ‘Because I didn’t give him any choice. He’s been . . . restrained.’

  ‘I see. So when we get to Istanbul, you’ll know where to find your former partner?’

  ‘I know the people he works with in the city – he was organising the meeting with the Israelis through them. As long as he doesn’t find out what I’ve done here before we arrive, his friends in Istanbul won’t have any reason not to believe I’m still working with him . . . I hope. But it’s the only chance we have.’

  ‘Will you be able to pass through customs? Won’t the police be watching for you on the border? You’re not the type of tourist they’re trying to attract to Turkey.’

  ‘I’ve been in and out of the country three times over the past eighteen months as Estelle Peters. I’ve never had any trouble with my British passport –’

  ‘British . . .?’

  ‘Fake, of course. But good enough that nobody ever stops me. And there’ll be no reason for them to think there’s anything wrong when I arrive at the airport this time. Josef certainly won’t have told the authorities what he’s planning to do. And now,’ she said as she took his arm gently, ‘we really should go.’

  Ben looked into her upturned face, the skin at the corner of her almond-shaped eyes creased with anxiety and her full lips set in a grim line. His inclination had been never to trust her again. But at this moment, he was plum out of choices.

  ‘All right. Let’s do it.’

  She paused. ‘There’s one other thing I need you to do. It’s going to sound peculiar, but it’s for your own good. I promise.’

  Essie’s logic had been impeccable, and in the rush to get Ilhan out of the cave it had seemed to make sense. But as she secured Ben’s hands and legs to the metal uprights of the bench seats in the helicopter’s fuselage, he’d begun to question his decision. You’ve done it again, Benedict Hitchens, he cursed
himself. She’d always shown a remarkable capacity to convince him to do things that always seemed to end badly . . . for him.

  She is right, though, he thought. She’s a ghost – and can just disappear once this is all over. But me and Ilhan – if this pilot thinks we’ve cooperated with her, we’ll be tracked down and charged with hijacking a British military vehicle. This is the only way we won’t be held accountable.

  Ilhan, who was comatose on the stretcher, posed no threat, so she’d decided it wasn’t necessary to restrain him to maintain the façade and convince the pilot she was transporting them under duress.

  ‘So,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve had an idea about how we can slow that bastard down. When we get to Jerusalem and you’re arranging our transport, I’ll need to make a phone call.’

  ‘Who are you planning to call?’ she whispered.

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Someone who can help?’

  ‘Yes. I think so.’

  ‘You don’t sound too certain.’

  ‘He’s someone I’ve had some issues with in the past.’

  ‘Well, if he can help, it’s worth a try.’ She smirked as she wound the rope about his limbs. ‘Don’t forget, you need to make a fuss,’ she murmured. ‘I’m forcing you to do this against your will.’

  ‘That’s not entirely untrue.’

  ‘Good – then sound convincing!’ she responded.

  ‘Ouch!’ he cried as she yanked the rope tight.

  ‘Steady on down there, woman!’ shouted the pilot. ‘No need to be rough! By the looks of them, they’ve been through enough already!’

  Good, Ben thought. Sounds like he’s bought her story, anyway. Now he just had to hope she planned to carry through with what she’d promised.

  She was leaning across his chest, reaching for the webbing secured to the body of the helicopter to loop the rope through it. Her breasts pressed against his upper arm, and tendrils of her hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail brushed his cheek. Despite himself, he was aroused by her proximity as she bound his limbs efficiently.