The Emerald Tablet Read online

  About The Emerald Tablet

  The Suez Canal, 1956. The world teeters on the brink of nuclear war and the Middle East is a tinderbox.

  Conversely, redeemed archaeologist Benedict Hitchens is enjoying a peaceful existence after years in the professional and personal wilderness. His recent discoveries in western Turkey secured him a place in history and the smart thing to do would be to ignore his growing fear that Britain, France and Israel’s imminent invasion of Egypt to liberate the Suez Canal is only a diversion.

  But Ben’s natural inclination towards self-sabotage is never far below the surface. When he learns that the woman who betrayed him is leading a team into the Sinai Desert in search of an ancient treasure, he puts everything at risk to seek his revenge.

  She is as brilliant as Benedict, but has had to fight to survive in a world dominated by men. Having aligned herself with unprincipled and ruthless men to further her own interests, her motivations are laid bare as she confronts ghosts she’d rather forget, and makes amends for past wrongdoings.

  Both are forced to grapple with their own personal demons as they race to unearth a secret that will, in the wrong hands, mean the annihilation of humankind.

  ‘Pure escapism in the mould of Dan Brown or Indiana Jones . . . vivid evocations of place’ Saturday Age

  About the author

  Meaghan Wilson Anastasios spent her formative years in Melbourne before travelling and working as an archaeologist in the Mediterranean and Middle East. She holds a PhD in art history and cultural economics, has been a lecturer at the University of Melbourne and was a fine art auctioneer. More recently, Meaghan has been seduced by the dark side and now uses her expertise to write and research for film and TV. She lives in inner-city Melbourne with her husband and their two children. The Water Diviner was her first novel, which she co-wrote with her husband Andrew. The first Benedict Hitchens novel, The Honourable Thief, was her first solo novel.

  To Roman and Cleopatra. The finest things ever to come out of a dig romance.

  Contents

  Cover

  About The Emerald Tablet

  Author Bio

  Dedication

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Meaghan Wilson Anastasios

  Copyright page

  Prologue

  He began the ascent before sunrise. Shards of cold desert air sliced through the rivulets of sweat streaming down his face and back. The shivering set him dancing like a marionette, teeth chattering and parched skin drawn tight across his bones. Before him loomed the mountain, its twin peaks slumbering black and beast-like against a dawn sky bruised violet at the approach of the sun. He’d spent long enough camped at its feet that he knew its every contour and shuddered at the thought of what lay ahead.

  As the slope grew steeper he stumbled, chips of flint stabbing calloused feet through the worn soles of his shoes. He paused, heart pounding. Ragged breath scratched at his lungs and his vision blurred. The water in his flask was warm and muddy. There was barely enough left to get him to the summit, but it was sufficient. There would be no return journey.

  The sun appeared above the horizon, a rosy disc piercing the haze of desert sand swept into the sky by the winds scouring the peninsula. Sunrise had always been his favourite time of day. A tight jab of nostalgia caused him to still his quaking body and shut his eyes. The warmth of the newborn sun brushed his skin, its light shining in starbursts through lids pressed shut over eyes burning from the poison in his veins.

  He was decimated by fever and wearied by his labour here in this godless place at the ends of the earth. The ground beneath his feet seemed to buckle. Given a choice, he would stop and go no further. Sink to the earth, cross his hands at his chest, and succumb. But the heavy object strapped to his back like a tortoiseshell was an inescapable reminder of what he’d promised to do.

  To have finally attained that which he’d sought his entire life, only to find that it was also the thing that would kill him, was a bittersweet revelation. Although he knew he should have been pleased, its power terrified him. When he first realised what he’d created he’d thought of casting it into the depths of the ocean, or smashing it to dust and scattering it to the winds. But his resolve wasn’t strong enough. He needed to believe the time would come when an evolved world could benefit from this divine gift. Until then, it had to be hidden.

  The desert air was thick and silent as the sun crept higher in the sky on white-hot fingertips. He was almost there. Everything was prepared. One final effort and the mountain would be conquered. He would retreat into the ancient sanctuary and heft shut the entrance behind him. Finding blessed peace at last, he would drop down into the dust, lay the stone in his lap and await oblivion.

  As long as he remained undisturbed, the world and its creatures would be safe.

  THE TIMES

  28 July 1956

  BRITAIN ACTS TO STOP SUEZ GRAB BY EGYPT

  LONDON, Saturday (Reuters)

  Before a wildly cheering audience of 100,000 people in Alexandria last night, Egyptian President, Colonel Nasser, declared the nationalisation of the Suez Canal Company.

  Elsewhere, in the Sinai at Port Said, the Statue of Ferdinand de Lesseps, French builder of the Suez Canal, was stormed by hundreds of Egyptians calling for its destruction.

  President Nasser declared that Egypt had no choice but to employ the income from the 103-mile canal in the construction of the proposed Aswan High Dam on the Nile River now that Britain and the United States have withdrawn their offers of financial aid. He said: ‘We shall build the high dam on the skulls of the 120,000 Egyptian workmen who died in building the Suez Canal.’

  The British Government today announced that it strongly opposed Egypt’s move as a flagrant violation of international law. Prime Minister Sir Anthony Eden said Britain was consulting other governments on the canal shock. France, which retains a proprietary interest in the Suez Canal Company, is also expected to condemn the Egyptian action in the strongest terms.

  Opened under French control in 1869, the canal passed into British hands in 1882 after Britain occupied Egypt and Sudan. The 1936 Anglo-Egyptian Treaty confirmed Britain’s control of the canal. Today, Britain is the largest shareholder in
the Suez Canal Company.

  Sir Alexander Cadogan, a director of the Canal Company since 1951, said: ‘There have been hints they might do this for two years, but no one thought the Egyptians would be so mad.’

  The canal is the world’s most vital oil artery. It forms a crucial link between the rich oil fields of the Middle East and European markets. Over half of Europe’s oil passes through Suez. Experts say that any stoppage of the flow of oil through the canal would cast five million people out of work in Britain virtually overnight.

  This comes as Anglo-Egyptian relations are strained by rising tensions in the Suez Canal Zone. Egypt has been pressuring Britain to quit its huge Middle East defence facility on the Suez Canal. The British base in Suez is one of the largest military installations in the world, housing a garrison of 80,000 troops.

  Former Egyptian President General Naguib declared: ‘We shall spare no effort, nor shrink from any sacrifice, however great, in taking such action as may lead to the achievement of our national rights. Twenty-two million Egyptians insist upon the evacuation of the British forces from their territory.’

  In Paris, the general manager of the Suez Canal Company, M. Jacques Georges-Picot, commented: ‘This is now a political matter. The next move must be made by our respective governments and all other governments who are interested in the running of the Suez Canal. It sets a dangerous precedent. We cannot take this lying down.’

  An emergency summit of senior government figures has been convened in Istanbul. Representatives from Britain and France among other interested parties will meet for high-level talks in an attempt to avert military action.

  1

  Istanbul

  ‘Well, here’s to peace in our time . . .’ Adam Penney raised a cut-crystal tumbler heavenward. ‘Cheers!’ He saluted his female companion. The expensive navy suit fitted him perfectly but despite its best efforts, it couldn’t disguise the man’s narrow shoulders and scrawny neck. For one so lacking in physical stature, he exuded a surprising air of self-confidence: that peculiar poise born of a lifetime spent at the right schools and in the best clubs.

  He took a deep swig of his G&T and sighed with satisfaction. ‘Essie, there’s a drink you simply must try – it’s a local favourite. I won’t take no for an answer.’ He leant forward conspiratorially. ‘It’s called şerbet. No idea what’s in it, exactly. Spices, fruit. Plenty of sugar.’ Clicking his fingers, he summoned the waiter. ‘I’ll ask the barkeep to add a good slug of vodka for you,’ he added sotto voce. ‘You’ll thank me, I promise. This is one of the few things these bloody towelheads do well. Damned fine beverage.’

  The woman in the chair by his side sat with ankles crossed demurely, her back straight and shoulders set. A powder-blue suit hugged her curves and highlighted the gleaming sheen of golden hair set in waves about her face. The ensemble would have made anyone else appear the very paragon of modesty, but although she made no effort to draw attention to herself, she still managed to attract the eye of every man in the Pera Palace Hotel’s Orient Bar.

  Her response to her companion’s offer was restrained. ‘Yes. I have tried şerbet before, Mr Penney. My husband and I travelled to Istanbul a number of times. On business. I thought I’d mentioned that already.’

  ‘Oh, indeed?’ Suddenly disinterested, the man’s eyes flickered over her shoulder to scan the tightly clustered tables and chairs where diplomats, businessmen and tourists sipped icy drinks and tiny, tulip-shaped glasses filled with tea. A dull buzz of conversation filled air sticky with humid summer heat. ‘What trade did you say your husband was in?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Import–export. Although if you don’t mind, Mr Penney, I’d rather not speak about it. It’s been a while now, but talk of my husband is still rather distressing.’

  He leant over the marble tabletop and placed his hand gently on hers. ‘Of course, Essie. Most insensitive of me.’ He patted her fingers. ‘You know, my door’s open anytime you need to speak to someone. We may be work colleagues, but I’d like to think we’re friends as well. And, please. I insist you call me Adam.’

  She smiled tightly. ‘Thank you. Adam.’ His hand lingered on hers longer than absolutely necessary. The physical contact was inappropriate given the circumstances. But Estelle Peters had learnt very quickly that Mr Adam Penney gave little thought to propriety.

  Withdrawing his hand reluctantly, the Englishman looked down at his watch. ‘Now, where on earth is he? It’s almost a quarter past the hour.’

  The woman was pleased with the change of topic. ‘With the traffic the way it is, it’s little wonder he’s late. It’s not far to the docks, but those streets . . . they’re mad. It’s like a maze.’

  ‘Well, he should have walked.’

  ‘In this heat?’ She laughed. ‘I doubt Monsieur Josef Garvé would give up his air-conditioned limousine for the sake of punctuality. I’m sure he won’t be long.’

  Penney drummed his fingers on the tabletop. ‘I can’t for the life of me understand why he would go to the trouble of sailing his own yacht here to take up residence in the Bosphorus for such a short summit.’

  ‘M. Garvé likes to have his own mode of transport on hand. Besides, have you seen his yacht? I wouldn’t stay anywhere else either, if I had that as an option.’

  ‘We’re hardly slumming it here – I’m assured this is the best hotel in the city.’

  ‘So you haven’t seen his boat, then.’

  ‘No. He hasn’t seen fit to invite me yet. But you have had the honour, by the sounds. Should I be jealous?’

  She ignored the question. ‘If you had been on board, you wouldn’t make the comparison.’

  ‘Still.’ Penney shook his head. ‘Sometimes I wonder about that man.’

  She pondered her long and complicated association with the Frenchman. As do I, Mr Penney. As do I.

  She sensed his arrival before she saw him. There was no mistaking the frisson that sparked through the crowd gathered in the dimly lit bar as he stepped through the doorway. Conversations stopped mid-sentence and heads swivelled to watch as he passed between the tables. Such was the reaction to the arrival of one of the wealthiest men in the world.

  His eyes were shielded behind tinted glasses, but she knew he would be scanning the crowd as he walked, taking the measure of the strangers around him. In his wake strode two broad-shouldered, black-suited bodyguards. He’d once explained to her that he didn’t employ them because he feared kidnapping or extortion. He wanted to be attended by hired muscle at all times so he could do and say whatever he wished without fear of consequence.

  Garvé approached Essie and Penney’s table as his companions dropped back to take up position near the bar. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting.’ He reached across the table and took Penney’s extended hand.

  ‘Not a bother. Really.’ In the presence of the Frenchman, Penney’s bluster evaporated. ‘We’ve been having a marvellous time here, drinking in the local culture. Haven’t we, Essie?’

  ‘Mrs Peters.’ Garvé nodded. ‘A pleasure, as always.’

  It was a remote and impersonal greeting. She’d known Garvé for many years and although their relationship was strictly professional, it always struck her as peculiar that it hadn’t evolved into a form of platonic friendship. But Garvé neither offered nor invited intimacy of any sort. And given the nature of their last transaction – also in Turkey but what felt a lifetime ago – she was not entirely unhappy about their personal distance. She’d never seen him express a sincere human emotion and as far as she could tell, he had no close friends or relationships – only connections with employees and business associates. Unusually for a man who wielded such power and had accumulated enormous wealth, he’d never married. Although she’d occasionally caught glimpses of very young women in his company over the years, it was a passing parade of changing faces. None of them stayed around for long.

  In a rare moment of candour, he’d once shared with Essie the maxim by which he lived his lif
e: ‘My only rule is that I have no rules.’ As she’d been exposed to some of the less savoury details of his business dealings, Essie realised that the less she knew, the better.

  ‘So. Tell me.’ The Frenchman lowered himself onto a seat offered with a flourish by an eager waiter no doubt anticipating a generous gratuity at the end of service. ‘Have our illustrious leaders developed spines of steel yet?’ He spoke in slightly accented, impeccable English.

  ‘There are still some voices of dissent in the ranks,’ Penney said beneath his breath. ‘It’s as we anticipated – those with closer ties to America are advising caution. They don’t give a damn about the impact of military action on the bloody camel-jockeys, of course. They’re just concerned about what our friends across the pond might do when we make our intentions clear. Word is Nasser’s in the CIA’s back pocket. And that gives the Yanks an advantage, considering they’re looking for the same thing we are.’

  ‘Adam, I can’t overemphasise your importance at this stage of proceedings.’ Garvé placed his splayed hands on the tabletop as the Englishman preened. ‘You need to get in the right ears and make sure they understand that with the Egyptians in charge of the canal, it’s not just oil that won’t be getting through. We’ll see a return to the days of rounding the Cape to get to the colonies. India . . . the Far East . . . to say nothing of Australia. Britain’s passage to India will be a whole lot more complicated. And, of course, more expensive.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Josef. As you know better than most, we politicians are very easily swayed. I’ll get them onside.’

  ‘I believe you will, Adam. And what do the Jews have to say for themselves?’

  ‘Same as always. Won’t shut up about their Promised Land. And with the way the Egyptians have been harrying them across the border, we’d be hard-pressed to stop them crossing over into the Sinai even if we wanted to. No problem at all bringing them along for the ride.’

  ‘Good,’ Garvé responded. ‘For our purposes we only need a brief diversion anyway.’

  As the two men spoke, Essie Peters sat silently, hands cupped in her lap. It had been a long day of meetings during which she had played the part of Adam Penney’s attentive secretary, taking notes and tending to his needs. The outcome of this conversation was irrelevant to her. She had a nuanced understanding of human nature and knew from the discussions she’d overheard at the summit that the die had already been cast.