"Where are the tablets now?" he asked.
"Still in Safran. They're going to fly Clara to Baghdad with the tablets. Our man is with her, and he'll grab them as soon as he can. It's going to be tricky, though. She's well guarded, to say the least."
"I want him to secure those tablets now, and the minute he has them we'll get him out. Call Paul Dukais, tell him it's top priority— getting the tablets comes before anything else, even the rest of the operation."
"I haven't been able to talk to our man directly yet; it's our friends who relayed the message," Robert Brown told him.
"Oh," Wagner said, now more skeptical. "And are they sure, then? They've found it?"
"Absolutely, I assure you."
"What about Ahmed Husseini?"
"He has the same instructions as our man—get the tablets. Don't worry, we will," Brown replied.
"I am worried. We get them, or I'll have their heads. Literally."
Robert Brown didn't answer for a few seconds. He knew Wagner didn't make idle threats.
"I'll call Paul right now," he said.
"Do."
"But what if she . . . what if Clara resists?"
"Clara is but a speck of sand in our lives," Wagner answered.
The Colonel could still feel the presence of Alfred Tannenberg in his office in the Yellow House, where Clara and he were now meeting.
An obviously nervous Ahmed Husseini was there too.
"My dear girl, the best thing is to entrust the tablets to me," the Colonel told Clara. "I will get them out of Iraq and see that they are deposited in a safe place."
"But you just told me that I have to be out of Iraq tomorrow myself. Why can't I just take them with me?"
The Colonel was too preoccupied with the military situation and the urgency of this new crisis to call on his powers of diplomacy.
"Clara, your grandfather had some partners, and you know what is going to happen here the minute the war starts. So don't be stubborn— let's make this as easy as possible."
"These tablets have nothing to do with my grandfather's business dealings. They're mine and nobody else's."
"Your grandfather's partners do not share that view. Give the tablets to me and you will receive your share when the time comes."
"They're not for sale, and they never will be," Clara replied defiantly.
"Please, Clara, don't make all this harder than it already is!" Ahmed pleaded.
"I'm not making things harder, I'm just refusing to let you rob me. My grandfather detailed the business operation under way right now, and he assured me that these tablets are not part of the deal. They're mine."
The Colonel stood up and approached Clara. She could see in his eyes that he was willing to do anything to get his hands on the tablets. She felt a shiver of fear run down her spine. She looked over at Ahmed, but his expression projected only anguish and resignation. The man she'd fallen in love with had vanished long ago. She realized that she had to gain some time—otherwise, she could lose everything, even her life.
"If I give them to you, will you promise me that you won't sell them until I can speak directly to my grandfather's partners?" she asked, her tone now more conciliatory.
"Of course, of course . . . They are reasonable men and have no desire to cheat you. Or harm you, for God's sake. You should absolutely discuss this with them. Right now we must cease wasting time."
"All right," she replied wearily. "Wait here."
She left the office and ran up the stairs two at a time. Fatima was still unpacking the luggage.
"Go to your room and bring me up some of your clothes!" she ordered her servant.
"What? What's happening?" Fatima asked in alarm.
"They want to take the Bible of Clay from me. We have to get out of here now. If they catch me they'll kill us both, so you must decide for yourself whether to come with me or not. Now hurry, bring me a burka."
"What about Gian Maria and that other man, Ante Plaskic? I took them to the guest rooms. They can help you. I'll tell them—" "No! Don't tell them. Do as I say—go!"
Clara pulled out a small bag and crammed a few pieces of clothing into it. Then she slipped the tablets inside. She hoped they wouldn't wind up in a million pieces, but she'd have to run that risk—anything to keep them out of the Colonel's hands. Otherwise, she'd never see them again.
Fatima came rushing back in with an armful of her clothes. Within thirty seconds, Clara had pulled on a black robe and covered her head with a black veil that fell almost to her feet.
"Are you coming?" she asked Fatima.
"I won't leave you," answered the terrified woman.
Ayed Sahadi was on the landing, waiting for the two women to appear. The Colonel had ordered him to stand watch on the stairway, and he had posted himself there on the landing, where he could see the door to Clara's room.
Fatima stifled a cry of fear when she saw the Colonel's man leaning against the wall, smoking one of his unmistakable Egyptian cigarettes.
Clara glared at Sahadi. "What are you doing here?" she asked him angrily.
"The Colonel sent me," he answered, shrugging. "The Colonel doesn't trust me?" Clara said.
"I can't think why that would be," Sahadi replied sarcastically, looking sidewise at her black robes and veil.
"He wants the Bible of Clay," Clara answered.
"Your grandfather's partners want it. It's nothing personal—it's just business," Ayed replied.
"No it isn't. You know better than anyone how hard we've worked to find it—those tablets are much more than an archaeological treasure; they're my grandfather's dream made tangible."
"Don't go looking for trouble, Clara—if you don't hand them over, they'll take them by force. Be smart."
"How much do you want for helping me?"
Clara's offer surprised him. He'd never have expected her to bribe him—they both knew that double-crossing the Colonel would be signing his own death warrant.
"My life isn't for sale," he replied very seriously.
"Everybody has a price, even you. tell me how much you want for helping me get out of here."
"Out of this house?"
"Out of Iraq."
"You have an Egyptian passport, you can leave whenever you like— and you have got the Colonel's permission."
"What good is his permission if I don't give him the tablets? Is two hundred fifty thousand enough? Dollars?"
Greed flickered in Sahadi's eyes. He could feel the temptation pulsing through his veins, knowing mil well that accepting would almost certainly be fatal.
"I'm going to make a lot of money either way—I've been working for the Colonel for a long time; I know the rules."
"Then you also know the laws of supply and demand. I need to get out of Iraq and you can help me. How much? Name the amount—I'll pay it."
"You can pay me half a million dollars?"
"I can pay you that in Egypt or in Switzerland, anyplace but Iraq. I don't have that kind of money here." "And how do I know you'll pay me?"
"Because if I don't you can kill me, or turn me over to the Colonel, which would amount to the same thing."
"I could turn you over to him now."
"Then do it or take my offer. We're out of time."
The sound of a door opening distracted them both. Gian Maria had just come out of one of the guest rooms and had stopped cold seeing them.
"What's going on?" he asked, puzzled at why Clara was in Shiite dress.
"The Colonel wants the Bible of Clay and I don't want to give it to him. I'm asking Ayed to help me escape."
Gian Maria was still puzzled—the implications of what Clara was saying hadn't sunk in.
Ayed grimaced and waved them all into Gian Maria's room. When they were inside, he paced the floor, his greed for the money and his fear of the Colonel clearly at war inside him. He reached the conclusion that it was a pure toss of a coin—all or nothing.
"If he finds us, he'll kill us," he whispered.
"Yes," Clara an
swered.
"You know this house better than I do—you know there are soldiers standing guard outside."
"I can leave as Fatima; no one will give it a second thought."
"Do it, then—go to the kitchen, get a basket, and leave through the back door, as though you were going to the market. Fatima will have to stay in her room, and you, Gian Maria, in yours."
"But where will Clara go?" Gian Maria asked.
"I think the only place she can be safe, at least for a few hours, is in the Hotel Palestina," Ayed said.
"You're crazy! The hotel is full of reporters, and a lot of them know Clara from Safran," Gian Maria said, increasingly anxious.
"That's why she needs to find somebody she can trust, maybe that reporter who hit it off with Picot. Ask her to hide you until I can retrieve you. But don't leave her room. Not for one minute."
"You think I can trust her?" Clara asked.
"I think she likes Picot, and I don't think he'd want to find out that something happened to you because she didn't help you—he might think less of her, so to speak," Sahadi said. "So even though she's not crazy about you, she'll help you."
"You're quite a psychologist," Clara said acidly.
"Let's not waste time—go. Hide your face. Fatima will help you with the veil so you'll look like a Shiite. And leave that bag—you'll have to hide the tablets somewhere else. Find something smaller."
"They don't fit... ," Clara protested.
"We have a shopping cart," Fatima offered. "They may fit there." "Good idea!" exclaimed Clara.
"I'm going with you," Gian Maria declared, regaining his equilibrium.
"No!" Ayed shot back. "Do you want them to kill us all? Go, Clara." Then, turning to Fatima and Gian Maria, he continued to lay out the scenario: "In a few minutes, this house is going to be a living hell. The Colonel will interrogate you both, and you'll get the worst of it, Fatima."
"Then she's coming with me," said Clara.
"She can't. This is our only chance; don't blow it. Everything depends on Fatima now. The Colonel will figure she knows where you've gone, so he'll have her tortured. If she talks, we're all dead . . . unless . . ."
"Unless what?" Gian Maria asked.
"Unless we make them think either that Clara left without saying anything or that somebody kidnapped her and took the tablets too," said Ayed, thinking out loud.
"But the soldiers will say they saw a Shiite woman—Fatima—leave, so the kidnapping story won't wash," said Clara.
"Then we'll just have to stake everything on one shot. . . . All right, both of you try to leave—and hope the soldiers don't stop you. Go to the Hotel Palestina; I'll come for you. I don't know how soon, but I will. And you, Gian Maria, lock yourself in here and pretend to be asleep. Where's the Croatian?" Ayed suddenly asked.
"In a room on the first floor, near the door into the garage," Fatima told him.
"Good. Let's hope he doesn't realize what's going on. If he doesn't know anything, he can't say anything."
The two women slipped stealthily down to the kitchen, desperately trying not to make a sound. They barely dared breathe. Gian Maria, sweating profusely, closed the door to his room, fell to his knees, and started praying: Please, God, help them.
Clara emptied the contents of the bag into the shopping cart, arranging everything as best she could to cushion the tablets. Then she embraced Fatima.
They opened the kitchen door into the back lawn and walked out, standing tall, toward the wrought-iron gate at the rear of the property. No one seemed to pay them any mind. Once they reached the street, Clara whispered to Fatima not to hurry, not to draw attention, just to walk as slowly and casually as always. Soon the Yellow House was blocks behind them.
Ayed Sahadi was lighting another cigarette when Ahmed appeared at the foot of the stairs, meekly asking for Clara.
"I haven't moved. She must be up in her room," Sahadi answered, taking a puff of his cigarette.
Ahmed went to the bedroom where he had once slept, and knocked. There was no answer.
"Clara, it's me!"
He turned toward Sahadi and asked again if he had seen Clara.
"I told you I haven't moved since the Colonel sent me up here. I didn't see her leave, so she has to be in there."
Ahmed opened the door and went into the bedroom. The fragrance of flowers Fatima had brought in mixed with Clara's perfume and filled the room, bringing Ahmed a sharp pang of nostalgia.
"Clara . . ." he called softly, expecting his wife to appear out of the shadows that were beginning to creep into the room—but clearly she wasn't there.
He came out of the room, and with a look bordering on contrition, asked Ayed again where his wife was.
"She's not in her room?" Ayed tried to make his voice sound worried.
"No—she must have left. You must have seen her leave!" "No, Ahmed, I'm telling you, nobody's been in or out of that room since the Colonel sent me up here. She has to be there—" "She's not there!" Ahmed screamed.
Ayed went up to the room and opened the door. He went in as though he really thought he was going to find Clara. "We have to tell the Colonel," said Ahmed. "Wait—she may be somewhere else in the house," Ayed replied.
Each of them searched part of the house but could locate neither Clara nor Fatima. Two of the servants said they thought they'd seen Fatima leave the house with somebody, probably one of her cousins, since she was dressed in the same black robes and veil as Fatima.
When Ahmed and Ayed went into Tannenberg's office, the Colonel was talking on his cell phone, and from his tone of voice it wasn't hard to conclude that he was arguing with someone.
When he saw the two men come in alone, the Colonel immediately knew the worst—Clara had gotten away.
"Where is she?" he asked icily.
"She isn't in her room," Ahmed said.
"Where is she?" the Colonel asked Ayed directly, and this time it was obvious that he was not ready to believe a word the man said.
"I don't know. I went up and stood on the landing directly outside her room, stood there until Ahmed came up. So she must have escaped before you sent me up there. I never moved off that landing."
"We've searched the entire house for her," said Ahmed, almost trembling in anticipation of the Colonel's reaction.
"How could you have been so stupid!" the Colonel shouted. "She's as slippery as her grandfather, and now we've lost her."
He ran out of the front door, shouting orders to the soldiers guarding the house. A minute later the two servant women were being interrogated. One of the Colonel's men dragged Gian Maria out of his room and shoved him down to the living room, where Ante Plaskic was already answering the Colonel's questions.
"You helped her get away!" the Colonel was yelling in his face.
"I assure you I did not," the Croatian answered, showing no fear.
"You did, and you shall confess! And you will too!" he shouted at Gian Maria.
"What's happening?" Gian Maria asked, praying for God to forgive his lie.
"Where is Clara Tannenberg? You know, Gian Maria! She never took a step without you! Tell me where she is!"
"But... but... I... I don't. . . Clara . . . Clara . . . ," Gian Maria babbled. He was honestly overwhelmed by the Colonel's livid face, the shouting, the rage in his eyes.
One of the soldiers came in and whispered something in the Colonel's ear. Neither of the two servant women knew anything. They had seen Fatima leaving the house with another woman, a Shiite, and the shopping cart. They had thought the woman was one of her relatives.
"So she's dressed like a Shiite. Send men to look for her in Fatima's relatives' houses. Do whatever you have to do—I want answers," ordered the Colonel.
One of the Colonel's men began to punch Gian Maria in the face and body. The priest didn't think he could withstand the pain, and once more he prayed for strength; he couldn't betray Clara. Nor did he, although he lost two teeth and blood was seeping out of his ear by the time the soldier fini
shed with him.
Ante Plaskic was not in good shape either, after his interrogator got all he could out of him, which was nothing. But Ante realized that he was lucky—ordinarily, the interrogator would have killed him; this time, he was satisfied after a few harsh blows to the head.
"They don't know anything," Ayed told the Colonel.
"How do you know that?" the Colonel asked him.
"Because if she left the way it appears she did, she wouldn't have told anybody. She knows us, she knows we can get a confession out of a rock, so she wouldn't have run the risk of trusting anybody."
The Colonel thought about that for a moment and realized that Ayed was probably right. Clara knew that he would interrogate everyone in the house, maybe even kill them, so she wouldn't have confided her plans to anyone.
"You're right, Ayed, you're right. All right, let these two go. They're worthless. But I want men watching the house day and night," he ordered. "We'll go to headquarters and start the search for them. Little Miss Tannenberg is going to pay dearly for this stunt."
"Colonel, we don't have much time—shouldn't we forget about Clara for now?" said Ahmed, making an effort to appear calm.
"Are you trying to protect her? Forget it—nobody screws with me and gets away with it, not even Clara Tannenberg!"
"In two days, the Americans and British are going to start bombing; we have work to do. Mike Fernandez called me this morning. He's worried—really worried. He's afraid that Tannenberg's death is going to complicate the operation," Ahmed insisted.
"That Green Beret is always worried. We're doing our part; tell him to do his. Our friends in Washington want the Bible of Clay; it's the most important part of the haul, and they're going to get it. I want to see you in my office in half an hour—call my nephew and tell him to come too," the Colonel replied.