The 13th Tablet

Of course, looters had been targeting archaeological sites all over the country for years. She remembered a scholar from Chicago University stating that gangs had been exporting ancient artefacts since the early nineties, and nothing had really been set up to challenge them; just like in Afghanistan, with the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas by the Taliban in 2001. The Taliban pretended to the world that those Buddhas were insulting to Islam, and declared that all idolatrous images of humans and animals were to be destroyed. Cowardice and lies. It had been a smoke screen; in reality they had been secretly selling ancient artefacts for years alongside heroin to fund their failing economy.

But the Baghdad lootings were a different story. Over 80,000 cuneiform tablets, some dating back to 3000 B.C.E. were stolen and hundreds of priceless statues and relics from the birth of civilisation had disappeared. The UNESCO director general, Koichiro Matsuura, had called for an immediate ban on the international trade in Iraqi antiquities and had sent a team of specialists to assess what action could be taken.

Mosul, where Mina’s parents came from, had also been plundered and the museum there had suffered heavy losses. So, despite her parents’ angst, she moved into their tiny flat in Mosul. Before emigrating to the US, Mina’s father had passed on the flat to his brother and Mina moved in a few months after her uncle died. On arrival, Mina made it known at Mosul University and in more shady circles that she would help authenticate the many artefacts, and especially cuneiform tablets, which appeared sporadically on the market and return them to the city’s museum, no questions asked. Many civilians had stolen art as an act of rage and hopeless revenge on Saddam. But many now wanted to return them, without getting into trouble with the new authorities.

Somehow Mina had so far managed to avoid being in the midst of terrorist attacks or full-blown battles. But for how long? While she had been away visiting her parents in New York for a month, Mosul had seen many gunfights and widespread destruction, and US intelligence believed there were worse times ahead. Everyone had urged her to delay her return to Iraq. But she had had her way, and here she was.

Hassan parked outside her block of flats. He helped her carry her suitcases up to the second floor and said he would return in an hour and take her to the Cuneiform Studies department.

Apart from the dust that had accumulated, everything was as she had left it a month before. There were piles of books in various parts of the flat, as the shelves could not handle any more volumes. She felt at home with the golden light streaming through the shutters and the unmistakable smell of old leather and wood. She dropped her suitcase and slumped on the couch, knowing that she’d have to get up soon or she would fall asleep. She had been invited for dinner by Professor Almeini, her departmental mentor. After a few moments spent staring at the ceiling, she mustered her strength and walked into the bathroom.

Chapter 2

December 1st, 2004

Mina threw a quick glance at her reflection in the side window to check her headscarf was properly adjusted before entering the department. Although she’d spent over a year in Mosul and had long forgotten the skirts and tight tops she used to wear in New York, she constantly felt self-conscious. After all, she was the only female lecturer in the department of Cuneiform Studies and had no female students. To add to her unease, Hassan had not accompanied her upstairs, saying that he had ‘things to do’. Now that she thought about it, during the drive from her flat, Hassan had been evasive every time she brought up his studies. Mina realised that she was standing in the department’s main corridor, lost in her thoughts, and quickly walked on through to her office.

An overweight and sour-looking man who was seated in the corridor, probably waiting to see one of the professors, threw her a disapproving glance. However demurely dressed, Mina guessed she was too voluptuous for this man’s conservative ideas on how a woman should be attired. She was about to tell him what she thought about his unwelcome gaze, when Professor Almeini appeared.

The elderly scholar took her hands in his, ‘Dear Mina. How are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ she answered, feeling suddenly at ease in his presence. He was a short, thin man who exuded confidence and affability. Professor Almeini had a wiry strength, which had kept him going well past retirement age. University officials needed him to keep the department from falling apart, and he was rather reluctant to relinquish his office.

‘Please wait for me in my office. I’ll be just a minute,’ he said in his calm voice.