Dr. Tariq Zahwas had long been one of the most charis matic and passionate champions of his country's legacy as the birthplace of human civilization. In the weeks before the Gulf War, he'd convinced the Ba'ath leadership to have the bulk of the Museum's collection moved to secret underground bunkers. During the next nine years, while the Museum had remained closed to visitors, Tariq had continued cataloguing thousands of irreplaceable artifacts, including the parchments and clay tablets that had brought Daniel to see him today.
Tariq's dedication to the Museum had made him an institution in his own right. The idea that he would even consider leaving was incomprehensible. "I'm sorry, Tariq," Daniel said. "I don't understand."
Under his thick gray mustache, Tariq's smile was tinged with resignation. His hand closed around Daniel's shoulder. "Come. We have time for a coffee. You can tell me all about what has happened in your life over these many years. Mine…" He made a listless gesture. "You know what there is to know."
"Apparently not all of it," Daniel answered quietly, tipping his head toward the open box.
They were rescued from the awkward silence by the sergeant standing behind him. "Sir, our orders were to bring you here and then back to base. I can't allow you to go out on the streets."
"That was not my intention," Tariq assured the Marine, his gaze sharpening. "I am well aware that lingering on Haifa Street is not safe for anyone, let alone an American."
The sergeant accepted the mild rebuke without comment. Daniel followed the Museum director down the hall, the soldiers trailing them by a few steps, to a communal staff area. A half-dozen employees seated at a table pointedly cut short their animated conversation. Daniel assumed they were reacting to the sudden military presence, but their gazes as they rose to leave the room were directed instead at Tariq.
When the archeologists were alone-or as alone as they ever would be with a quartet of well-armed men keeping a respectful distance-Tariq moved to the coffee pot on the counter and poured two cups. "Five years ago, some months before the current conflict began, I once again had the majority of the Museum's most valuable pieces moved to the vaults under the western side of the city. As soon as it became clear that war was inevitable, I then had thousands of additional artifacts moved to secret bunkers elsewhere in the country. My entire staff swore on the Quran that they would never reveal the location of those bunkers." He handed a cup to Daniel. "Your government kept its word that the Museum would not be targeted, even though the Republican Guard engaged your forces from within these walls. Of course, the lootings were almost as bad as a bomb would have been. Every office and safe was ransacked; fires were lit throughout the building."
"I know you've worked incredibly hard to assist Interpol and our FBI in locating many of the stolen items."
Tariq nodded. "Forty thousand manuscripts and several thousand artifacts have been recovered. The pieces hidden earlier remain so, protected by devoted servants of history. We dare not return them to the Museum because of the ongoing danger."
Most of this wasn't news to Daniel, but the man deserved better than impatience. "If you'll forgive me for being blunt, Tariq, that doesn't tell me why you're leaving."
With a heavy sigh, Tariq rubbed thick fingers, calloused from hundreds of hours spent in Iraq's innumerable archeological sites, against his mustache. "I am. unpopular with the current regime, for several reasons," he said finally. "I was a member of the Ba' ath Party. While I am hardly alone among former government officials in that regard, I also have the less common distinction of being a Christian. The people who have been appointed to the new Ministry of Antiquities have no understanding of archeology. Being devout Muslims, they wish to focus our limited resources on the country's Islamic heritage."
Suddenly, Daniel understood Tariq's quiet outrage, and quickly suppressed a surge of anger welling in his own gut. Iraq's history encompassed six thousand years-longer, in fact, for it truly was the cradle of civilization and thus contained the heritage of all mankind-not only the thirteen hundred years since the time of Mohammed.
After he took a sip from his mug, Tariq continued, "I also worry for the safety of my family. In the past month, many of my staff have been killed, some apparently with burning chemical weapons."
Daniel had spent years cultivating a pokerfaced expression, but it was of little use when swallowing overly strong coffee. A painful gulp resulted. Fortunately, Tariq seemed not to notice. "People are blaming the American military," he said. "I believe otherwise. My staff swore to keep secret the whereabouts of our hidden artifacts, and yet we revealed the sites to U.S. authorities. I fear that fundamentalists are using a covert store of chemical weapons to seek revenge for our perceived treason." He shook his head. "Whatever the motive may be, I have been threatened quite enough for one lifetime. I have accepted a position in Rome and will take my family there as soon as possible."
"I can't blame you," Daniel said honestly. "I must ask you for something before you go, though. There's a set of tablets-it's very important that I find them. I'm hoping they're in one of your secret storage locations, and because time's a factor I'm also hoping you can point me right to them."
"Of course I will do my best to assist." Tariq set down his cup, clasped his hands together on the table and examined him with interest. "What is it that you seek'?"
"The original Sumerian King List and the Gilgamesh. They were initially found with manuscripts whose dates never made sense."
"I recall cataloguing those items for storage. The fact that no one has ever been able to translate the unique writing on the manuscripts seemed significant" Tariq's expression sug gested that a good news, bad news scenario was coming. "A facility in Ramadi holds these pieces. I can show you how to find them. How you reach Ramadi…in that, I cannot help you."
Dredging up a mental map, Daniel felt an immediate tug of war between anxiety and frustration. The capital of Al Anbar province, Ramadi was about ninety miles from Baghdad. Ramadi itself was hardly considered safe-and to get there they'd have to go through Fallujah, widely recognized as one of the most dangerous cities in the most incendiary region on Earth.
Piece of cake, right? As much as he understood the rationale, he was starting to resent General Landry's reluctance in allowing them to use a jumper.
Tariq led Daniel back to his office. He printed out a map and scrawled a series of letters and digits in the comer. "There are over two hundred containers in that location. This is the catalog number of the one you need."
"Sirs, we're running behind," the sergeant broke in. "Procedure dictates that our convoys not stay too long in any one place."
Of course. Daniel exhaled a forceful breath. He wanted to be able to tell his old friend and mentor just how critical this information was, to explain that someone had in fact translated the Ancient language and that those tablets might hold the key to saving innumerable lives, possibly on several planets, if they contained useful notes on Lilith's work. Since he could say none of those things, he simply offered a weak smile. "Thank you, Tariq. You have no idea how much you've helped."
Thankfully, Tariq didn't push. "Some day you will visit Rome and tell me," he said simply. "It has done me good to see you, Daniel. People who truly understand what it is we do…they are becoming harder and harder to find in a world that seems to have forgotten that our future is firmly rooted in our past."
The Museum director walked with his guest down the front steps of the building. The soldiers mounted their vehicles while he shook Daniel's hand again.
"Give my best to your family," Daniel told him sincerely, then climbed into the rear seat of the first vehicle.