The 13th Tablet

‘I’m sorry, why would Jonah’s synagogue have been the older one?’ asked Jack.

‘He was an important figure in Mosul.’

‘Wait, you mean the Jonah? The one who refused to do God’s work and ended up in a whale?’

‘The very same,’ she answered. ‘Jonah is still revered by Muslims in Mosul. Anyway, his “synagogue” was bombed by our fellow Americans’.

It was early evening when Jack drove Mina back to her flat. She invited him upstairs to freshen up before going out to dinner. As they climbed the stairs, Jack dropped his shoulder bag, spilling most of the contents and sending all manner of things tumbling down the stairs. Mina bent down to help him. ‘No, don’t worry about this,’ he said, collecting up the bits and pieces, ‘You head on up, I’ll be there in a minute or two.’

Mina was actually grateful, as it would give her just enough time to tidy up a few things in her flat. Jack had never been to her place and she did not want him to think she was a messy academic.

Mina stepped into her living room. It was completely dark. She always closed the shutters against the fierce Iraqi sun, but she didn’t recall closing them this tightly. The air was stuffy and she couldn’t see a thing. She flipped the light switch but nothing happened. She was about to try again when she heard a slight shuffling sound to her right.

‘Hal honaka ahad? Is anybody there?’ she asked hesitantly. A second or two passed but no answer came back. Suddenly someone yanked her arms backwards and bound her wrists behind her with cable ties. She heard the zipping sound of the ties tightening around her wrists, before another person pulled a large plastic freezer bag over her head and held it tightly round the base of her neck.

Panicking, Mina gulped a breath which emptied the bag of the little oxygen it held and left her gasping for air. She started choking, sucking the plastic deep into her mouth. She fell to her knees.

As she felt her mind fogging she heard the creaking sound of the shutters being opened slightly. In a blur she could make out three men in dark clothing, towering over her. One of the men bent down and yanked the bag from her head. She gasped for air, breathing so deeply she thought her lungs would explode. She burst into tears and shook violently, the body’s natural response when given another shot at life.

The men didn’t give her any time to think. They pulled her to her feet and roughly flung her on a chair. One man stepped up to her, bending low to stare into her tear-filled eyes and said in a cold voice, ‘Miss Osman?’

Mina didn’t reply.

‘Miss Osman, you don’t know us, but we know everything about you. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Good,’ he replied slowly, ‘so where is it?’

‘Where is what?’

‘Wrong answer,’ he said and turned to one of the other men, ‘You, the bag!’

‘Please,’ Mina begged him frantically, ‘don’t torture me! What do you want? I don’t know anything…’ She stopped talking abruptly when she saw her interrogator bringing a sharp knife towards her throat. It glinted in a single beam of sunlight peeking through the shutters.

He held the sharp edge of the knife under her ear and said, ‘The tablet, Miss Osman, where is it?’

That’s what they were after, Hassan’s tablet? It couldn’t be. This was insane.

‘So?’ He asked, slowly pushing the blade against her skin below her ear until she felt it cut through. Pain flashed through her and she felt warm blood trickling down her neck. Instinctively she tried to bring a hand up to stem the bleeding but shet was still tied up. She was utterly helpless and screamed, ‘Please don’t hurt me! The tablet is in my rucksack.’

He pulled the knife away and turned to the other man, ‘Pass me the bag.’

Taking the bag, he turned back to Mina and with a sinister smile across his face said, ‘We wouldn’t want to leave any traces, would we?’

Mina felt the clammy plastic bag being pulled over her head once more. She felt her mind darkening. ‘This is madness,’ she thought, as she began to lose consciousness.

The three men stood over Mina did not notice Jack creep into the room behind them. Edging up to the nearest one holding the knife, Jack suddenly sliced his left hand through the air with lethal speed and hit him with a knifehand strike to the throat.

They all heard the disgusting popping sound as he fell to the ground. One of the men pulled out a gun and aimed it at Jack, but Jack anticipating this move, flung himself to one side and narrowly avoided the bullet. With a grunt of effort he spun around and put all his force into a kick that smashed the gunman’s right knee. The man dropped the gun and crumpled to the floor, groaning in agony. The third man looked at his colleagues scattered around him on the floor, paused for a second, and then ran out of the door as quickly as he could.