December 6th, 2004
Hassan had managed to sit up and was assessing his situation. He’d been kidnapped and forced to tell the American thugs all about Mina and where she lived. He hoped with all his heart that she had managed to flee before they got to her. His jaw ached and his right eye was so bruised, he wondered if it would ever see normally again.
They had put a canvas sack over his head, bound his hands, and beaten him in the back of the van until they had arrived at this basement flat. He guessed that they were in the suburbs, they would have needed a secluded place to conduct their dirty work. They had kept the sack over his head and two men held him on the ground, while a third poured water over the sack and into his mouth. So much water. He felt like he was drowning. With his lungs bursting and every muscle straining against his captors, he had felt death approaching fast. When they had eventually yanked the sack from his head he told them everything they wanted to know.
Having got all the information they needed, they had dumped him in an empty room, with his hands still tied behind his back. As far as he could tell, he had been here for at least two days, drifting in and out of consciousness. He had to find a way out. They had kept him alive for a reason; they certainly were not the sort of men who would let him live after they had got what they were after. Perhaps they had kept him as a back-up plan, in case they couldn’t get hold of Mina. If this was true, and he’d been here for at least two days, there was some hope — she must have eluded them. He had to get out of there before they returned.
What could he do? First and foremost, he needed to untie his hands. He looked around and noticed for the first time that the walls were made of rough concrete blocks. He dragged his arms across the jagged surface and before long he found a particularly sharp edge near the door. Pushing himself against the wall, he managed to stand up. He couldn’t help looking down at his soiled trousers. Hopefully, one day, he would forget all this. He started rubbing his bonds against the concrete block. A couple of hours later Hassan had picked the door lock and was running down a Mosuli suburban road.
‘The airport please’ said Mina, getting into a cab. She had a long journey ahead of her. There were only domestic flights leaving Mosul — she would have to fly to Baghdad, then take a connecting flight to Amman in Jordan and from there to Tel Aviv. She would buy herself proper clothes in Amman. She had been so dazed when she woke up in the infirmary that she had not noticed that Jack had brought her laptop and some clean clothes from her flat. She found them on a chair against the wall before leaving. But they were hardly interview material.
She had her passport, which she always carried with her, and that was all she cared about for now. As the cab headed out of the city, she tried to gather her thoughts but found it very difficult. She was still in shock after the events of the past few days, and she was terribly worried about Hassan. She could still hear his mother’s voice telling her what a good boy her son was.
She had a pounding headache. ‘It must be the drugs they gave me,’ she thought. She couldn’t get over the fact that Jack had deceived her. He had lied through his teeth about more than a decade of his life; that was no small fib. What else was he hiding?
Walking through the airport’s busy main entrance, Mina spotted a bearded man looking directly at her. Something about his dark suit made him seem out of place. Their eyes met, and he quickly looked away. Mina checked herself; she was being paranoid. She glanced again in the direction of the man, but could not see him anymore. She looked around, but there was no trace of him. He had simply vanished. She quickly bought her tickets and walked through customs.
The plane took off and Mina felt relieved to be on her way. Her heart still raced at the thought of what she’d been through but she was safe now, on a plane, flying far away from all this madness. She suddenly felt American again and wanted to hug a US flag or dress up as Wonderwoman, her favourite superheroine. She was also an immigrant of sorts, with long black hair, who had left the Amazons to embrace America. Mina was tired of feeling guilty or ashamed of her American heritage, tired of being a woman in a man’s world. ‘No-one will miss me,’ she thought.
She was looking forward to spending time in Israel, where few people knew her. A good opportunity to stop rehashing what she’d gone through and instead focus on her research. Maybe she would even find time to write a scientific paper on the tablet.
What would she do in Tel Aviv? The interview was taking place at the Sheraton Tel Aviv Hotel and Towers, a five star hotel overlooking the Mediterranean sea. The foundation had paid for her room in advance for three nights. The corporate world certainly knew how to take care of candidates. She had never been to Israel but she did have a friend there who worked at the Eretz Israel Museum in Tel Aviv.
Liat was an Israeli archaeologist who had studied with Mina at Columbia for a Master’s degree. They had had a small falling- out over their political beliefs, but she liked Liat both as a scholar and as a friend. Hopefully Liat would feel the same when she called on her. She would just pop by the museum on arrival. Mina thought back to that year, when she was going out with Charlie, whom Liat had introduced her to. He had been heartbroken when she left for Iraq. She did not feel she had a choice, and to be honest — hindsight can be cruel — she doubted whether she had ever really been in love with him.
Charlie was a lawyer with an international firm in New York. He spoke a number of languages, was fun to be around, quick-witted and handsome. But Mina had always felt there was something missing. Their relationship was too easy-going. They could have gone on for years before realising that they were not really meant to be together. She thought back to the last time they had spoken, in a small Italian restaurant in the Village. Charlie could not understand why she wanted to leave the country, she had such great prospects in New York. She could do anything she wanted, even leave academia and write for a living. He had offered to help her out if she wanted him to. She toyed with the idea, but it was neither in her character nor her upbringing to be financially dependent on a man. She told him as kindly as she could that she needed a clean break and that their relationship was not significant enough to make her change her mind. He told her she sounded phoney, and she smiled sadly and said that she was sorry. Thinking back to how sure she had felt about her decision then, she worried that she might never find what she was looking for. She had felt a flicker of promise, of something meaningful emerging between her and Jack but the revelation about his past had left her feeling deeply betrayed by him.
After changing planes in Baghdad, Mina flew on to Amman. She thought back to the wonderful trip she had taken there years ago with her parents, they had even rented a Jeep to visit Petra’s countryside. They were so proud of her and wanted to share her passion for the archaeology of the Near East. Mina had been studying the civilisation of the Nabateans, the ancient inhabitants of Petra, and she had begged her parents for months to let her take a trip there with a group of girlfriends. They had refused outright, it was too dangerous. Instead, her father had come into her room one day and told her he had arranged everything and they would take the trip together as a family. She had discovered aspects of her parents she never knew. Her father was a doctor but seemed ill at ease in most circumstances. Her mother had been a journalist in Iraq, but now worked as a translator. For the first time, Mina saw her parents totally in their element. It had been a lovely trip.
She decided to buy a few clothes in the duty-free shops in Amman’s airport. She had a few hours ahead of her before the next plane to Tel Aviv. She bought a new handbag, chose a pair of fitted trousers, a serious blouse and cardigan for the interview, and a top, jacket and boots for travelling to Safed. She would buy whatever else she needed once she had the grant money in hand.
Having completed her shopping, Mina sat down in a cafe for a much needed break. She sipped the hot coffee and looked around her at the bustling throng of travellers. Suddenly she saw the bearded man again. He passed in front of her for just a few seconds, but she was sure it was him. One thing most archaeologists have in common is a nearly autistic capacity to notice small details among huge bodies of evidence. Here, among the thousands of travellers, she was convinced she recognised the man from Mosul.
Arriving in Amman and buying new clothes had made her feel light-hearted again. But she was back in hypersensitive mode, observing everyone around her. Now that she thought about it, since she left Mosul she had felt that she was being followed a few times, especially in Baghdad.
It must have been this bearded man. Who was he? He did not resemble the thugs in her flat at all. His features seemed more refined and his complexion was definitely Middle Eastern. Just for a moment, she wished Jack were around.
Back in Mosul, Natasha Mastrani, in a red tailored dress and slick knee length boots, was standing near her car. She took off her sunglasses and tapped them gently on the bonnet of the car while waiting to be patched through to Oberon Wheatley’s phone. She caught her reflection in the tinted window, and seemed pleased with her look, especially how her icy blue eyes glinted under her platinum blond hair.
‘Sir?’
‘Ah, Natasha. What’s the update?’
‘Not the best of news. I wish I’d stuck to the usual operatives.’
‘You’re slipping Natasha, you’re slipping.’
He was obviously amused by her uncharacteristic incompetence and enjoyed teasing her.
‘I’m really sorry sir. However, the flat was cleaned and the right people were paid off. There will be no sign of our involvement.’
‘So what’s worrying you?’
‘The surviving operative disappeared and so did the young man, Hassan. And we still don’t know where Miss Osman is.’
‘The story gets funnier by the second. Clearly the operative did not want to face the music on your arrival.’
‘Probably not, sir.’
‘Do I need to remind you that I am paying you far more than the CIA ever did because you have accustomed me to perfect results? There is no red tape with me. You have full latitude to carry out your missions.’
She tried to sound as contrite as she could.
‘Yes sir. There are still unanswered questions. I need to work out the whereabouts of Miss Osman and this Hassan and find out who the man was who killed our two operatives.’
‘No. Please make preparations for my arrival tomorrow.’
‘You’re coming here? I wouldn’t advise that sir.’
‘No. Tel Aviv. Make sure security is tight in the harbour, around and on my yacht.’
‘Is there something I should know?’
‘Mina Osman will be visiting Tel Aviv for a few days.’ That was why he sounded so amused. She knew better than ask questions. Oberon Wheatley hadn’t become one of the most powerful men in the world by twiddling his thumbs. He didn’t wait for events to pass. He was always one step ahead. She got in her car, and drove off to the airport.