December 8th, 2004
Mina woke up at 08.00, still exhausted. She had overslept and was suffering from a monumental hangover after her drinking session with Liat. She felt more disorganised than she had ever been and desperately wondered how she would cope at the interview under these conditions. The only course of action was a long, hot shower and by the time she had finished drying her thick black hair, putting on her make-up and choosing an appropriate ‘interview skirt’ among the clothes Liat had bought her the previous afternoon, it was 10.15.
As she sat in the restaurant to have breakfast, the waiters kept glancing at her while she poured herself some tea. She jotted down a few notes in preparation for the interview as a means of refreshing her memory. She had always made a point of never reading her notes at presentations or during teaching sessions as it helped her moderate her talk based on her audience’s reactions. She checked the interview venue in the document emailed to her by Nigel’s secretary. It read ‘11.a.m. Foundation Grant committee — The New York Hall Meeting Room.’ She asked a waiter how to get there and found that it was on the eighteenth floor.
As she arrived at the entrance of the meeting room, a young blonde woman introduced herself as one of the Foundation’s secretaries. She thanked Mina for coming, and told her not to be intimidated by the grand appearance of her surroundings. It was the only appropriate room available for interviews. She then explained that only two members of the committee would conduct the interview and that they were already inside. Mina entered the room and felt increasingly apprehensive as she approached the two men, both dressed in dark suits, pink shirts and silvery-grey ties. They were sitting at the very end of the room, at a table covered with a variety of papers and files. Mina noticed that the secretary had followed her into room and taken a seat by the door.
Mina thought the men looked slightly odd, more like businessmen than academic interviewers. Maybe it was the fact they worked for a corporate foundation. They suddenly noticed Mina and rose to greet her.
‘Miss Osman. Thank you for attending this interview. My name is John Gridlam and this,’ pointing at his shorter, fatter colleague ‘is Bill Rowley.’
‘Thank you for inviting me, I’m honoured to be here. It was quite unexpected and I only received the invitation by email a few days ago.’
They seemed surprised and concerned. ‘Do you feel up to it? Would you like more time to prepare?’
‘Not at all,’ lied Mina.
‘Let’s begin then,’ said the taller of the two men.
They ran through her former application for the internal grant at Columbia, and asked her what she intended to do and how she would carry out her research. She answered as fully as she could. They asked her about her future projects, and seemed happy with her answers. She then spoke about all the extra funding she might need. They nodded appreciatively. She was surprised at how easy-going the whole thing was. ‘I wish I’d known earlier about this foundation,’ she thought to herself. But still she felt a little uneasy; she had anticipated most of their questions but everything seemed a bit vague, and long-winded, as if they were playing for time.
Suddenly, the secretary’s mobile phone rang. As she replied, she walked towards them.
‘Mr Wheatley is in the building,’ she said.
The men stood up immediately, straightened their jackets and tightened their ties. Mina wondered what this was all about and turned to the secretary questioningly.
‘Mr Wheatley is the founder of our academic organisation, the Foundation for Excellence. He’s in Tel Aviv on business,’ the woman explained, ‘and he likes to pop in from time to time during interviews to meet candidates.’
Mina was startled. The secretary saw her face and added, ‘Don’t worry. I think,’ turning to the two men, who nodded at her, ‘that everything has gone very well. Mr Wheatley is a very kind and cultured man, who takes an interest in all aspects of his business.’
She then walked back across the room and took her place by the door. Mina felt her hands begin to shake as she stood up beside the two men.
Oberon Wheatley arrived a few minutes later. As soon as he entered the room, his electrifying energy seemed to cast a spell on all those present. He was taller than both men, who had rushed up the room to meet him, followed more discreetly by Mina. He was wearing a tailored winter suit, evidently from Saville Row, and smiled as he greeted Mina, showing off his gleaming white teeth and strong jaw.
‘What a pleasure to meet one of Columbia’s most promising students.’
‘Thank you sir,’ said Mina.
‘I have read your resum., and was mightily impressed. Do you know that with your languages and intelligence, you could easily get a very well-paid job in the business world?’
Mina smiled.
Turning to the men and the young woman, he asked, ‘How did it go?’
The men were about to answer, but the secretary was faster.
‘We are happy to say that Miss Osman has made a very satisfactory impression on the committee, and confirmed our original thoughts on the matter. We just need your signature to approve the grant and release the funds immediately.’
She showed him the papers.
‘Excellent,’ said Wheatley, signing the papers. ‘Right. That’s sorted,’ he concluded as he glanced at Mina. ‘Are you free for lunch?’ he asked, straightening up.
Mina was flustered, the whole thing had moved so fast.
‘Yes, of course.’
He turned to his secretary, ‘Would you be so kind to book a table at the Olive Leaf for Miss Osman and myself?’ She nodded and walked away to call the hotel’s famed restaurant.
‘I’ve just arrived from California. It’s awfully cold here, don’t you think?’
‘Yes it is. Do you come here often on business?’
‘Sometimes. Mind you, it can’t be much of change for you, coming from New York. I spent one winter in the big apple, and decided never again!’
‘I agree, but I’ve actually just arrived from Iraq, not from the US.’
Wheatley seemed quite taken aback ‘How on earth did you get through customs?’
She smiled, ‘I travelled via Jordan.’
‘What an intrepid and charming young woman! You must tell me all about it over lunch.’
He turned to his secretary who confirmed with a nod that the table was booked.
The restaurant was a welcoming modern space, with an offwhite ceiling, panoramic sea views and leafy plants encased in large terracotta pots. Mina and Wheatley were seated at a table near one of the wide bays, from where she could admire the open sea.
Surveying the room, Wheatley said: ‘The carpet is quite tacky and the furniture is a little too modern for my own taste, but the food is quite acceptable.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Mina, feeling completely out of her depth.
He ordered a bottle of champagne and they drank to her success.
‘Mr Wheatley, I would like to thank you for funding my research.’
‘De rien. Mina, if I may call you Mina?’
‘Of course.’
‘If the rich men of this world do not fund those who further our knowledge of the past, our outlook on the future would be a mixture of gloominess and ignorance.’
He looked at her, smiling. The background music changed to the French song La Boheme by Charles Aznavour. He looked at her and asked if she spoke French. She understood a little.
He quoted the first lines of the song, ‘Je me souviens d’un temps que les moins de vingt ans ne peuvent pas connaitre.’ What a wonderful song. I remember the days when I studied in Paris. I was young and wanted to conquer the world.’
‘And have you?’ she asked, mischievously.
‘Not yet, not yet, but I’ll get there.’ Hs eyes flickered coldly for a moment.
‘You seem quite young, Mr Wheatley, to be the C.E.O. of such a huge corporation,’ she said smiling at him.
‘Please, call me Oberon,’ he said, smiling back at her.
After a while Mina excused herself and felt his lingering look on her tight skirt and toned legs as she brushed past him. Ten minutes later, as she walked back from the powder room, she felt slightly guilty, as if she was cheating on Jack. ‘How stupid,’ she thought, unconsciously running her fingers through her hair as she approached Oberon. He smiled at her and she smiled back, undeniably charmed by this powerful man’s manners and culture.
He asked her more questions about her work, and her thoughts about the current war in Iraq. She tried to answer as naturally as she could but was thinking, ‘He’s almost too smooth.’ After the delicious lunch of a delicate porcini risotto followed by grilled sole with creamy pommes dauphinoise, he invited her for drinks on his yacht that evening. It would be a fun and select party. Could she arrive slightly earlier, maybe 8 o’clock, so they could discuss her work a little further before the other guests arrived? Mina accepted the invitation gladly and Wheatley took his leave. A waiter opened the door to the terrace for Mina, who felt like walking in the fresh outdoor air before returning to her room. She was on top of the world.
‘Sir, you should have worked for the CIA’ said Natasha to Oberon.
‘Who says I haven’t?’
She looked at him, taken aback. He let her hang for a while and then laughed out loud.
‘You should have seen your face my dear. It was quite amusing. Had I worked for the CIA, operations would have run a little more smoothly I believe, and would have had some chance of success.’
‘If you are referring to Mosul, Sir, I can assure you it won’t happen again.’
‘I know it won’t.’
She tried not to think about what he meant by that.
‘Back to the yacht. Let’s get out of this godawful place.’
Mina was lying on her bed, balancing her shoe off the tip of her toes. She picked up her phone and dialled Liat’s mobile number.
‘I did it!’ she said.
‘I knew you would.’
‘It was quite amazing. Well, the C.E.O of the Wheatley Forecast Corporation, Mr Oberon Wheatley himself came by and then invited me for lunch.’
‘Oh my god! You lucky bitch!’
‘Language Liat, language. Oberon is quite the gentleman, and would, I’m sure, be utterly shocked by your poor choice of words!’
‘Oberon, is it?’
‘Yes, Oberon.’
‘Is he hot?’ asked Liat, matter-of-factly.
‘Yes, he certainly is. In his mid-forties, dazzling charm and richer than Rockefeller.’
‘And…?’
‘And he invited me for a party this evening on his yacht in the marina.’
‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Well believe it, but I need your help,’ pleaded Mina.
‘What? You need me to lace you into your finest negligee before you meet him?’
‘No! But I will need your help in choosing an appropriate evening dress. This time I have loads of money.’
‘No problem. I know just where to go. I’ll pick you up in the lobby in half an hour!’
‘Liat…?’ Mina interrupted her.
Back in his room, just opposite Mina’s, Jack had heard enough of Mina’s thoughts to last him a lifetime. He was devastated. He leapt off the bed and rushed out of the room, but as he was about to knock on Mina’s door, he hesitated, and then walked furiously back down the corridor. He never heard the end of the conversation.
‘Yes Mina?’
‘During the lunch, Oberon was exceedingly charming.’
‘And?’
‘But I can’t stop thinking about Jack.’
‘Oh, Mina!’ sighed Liat.
‘I know. I know. I can’t help it. Never mind. See you in half an hour.’
When Mina returned from her second shopping spree with Liat, she checked her emails in the hotel’s computer room. Nothing from Hassan. She still harboured a tiny hope that her resourceful student had somehow managed to evade his pursuers and was in hiding. There were a number of emails from Professor Almeini, but she could not find the courage to read them.
Her attention suddenly focused on one email — she opened it. It was from Shobai. He was thanking her for her email and wanted to discuss the content of the tablet further. He was an old man, so he could not travel much, but would be delighted to meet in London. The last lines of Shobai’s email sent a shiver down her spine. Finally, my dear girl, I entreat you not to discuss your discovery with anyone you do not trust absolutely. There is danger in playing with century-old riddles.
How prophetic his words were! She had to meet him. The poor old man would be terrified if she told him about her ordeal in Iraq. She suddenly felt thrown back into the turmoil of her last days in Mosul. She had avoided thinking about what had happened completely, but suspected she was still in shock. Were the three men assassins? According to Jack they were “professionals”, whatever that meant. She shuddered, remembering the dead eyes of the man who had questioned her. If only she knew why these men were after the tablet. Its discovery was clearly a philological breakthrough, but she could hardly imagine academics hiring assassins to get hold of a tablet for publication purposes. Mina was out of sorts after reading Shobai’s email, but she had not spent three hours with Liat searching for an evening dress for nothing. She thought of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone in the Wind saying, ‘Tomorrow is another day’. Mina took a deep breath and decided to put all her concerns on hold and have fun tonight.