14

MYSTERY OF THE MISSING TABLET was the title of the short article on page thirteen of the Daily Mail. Bronson was able to read it thanks to Dickie Byrd and one of the fax machines at the Maidstone police station. Below the headline, the reporter asked the question: 'Were British pensioners killed to recover priceless object?'

The story was pretty much a straight rehash of what had appeared in the Canterbury evening paper, with a single addition Bronson was sure had been carefully incorporated in the text to give it an importance it didn't deserve. Towards the end of the article, when the reporter was discussing the value of the clay tablet, he stated that a 'British Museum expert' had been unavailable for comment, but managed to imply this was slightly sinister, as if the 'expert' knew exactly what the tablet was, but had for some reason refused to divulge the information.

Well, that was something Bronson could check straight away, and it gave him a perfect excuse to talk to Angela. He pulled out his mobile and dialled her direct-line number at the British Museum, where she worked as a ceramics conservator. Angela answered almost immediately.

'It's me,' Bronson said. 'Look, I'm really sorry about the other night – I didn't want to come tramping all the way out here to Morocco, but I had no choice.'

'I know, Chris, but it's not a problem. You told me what happened.'

'Well, I'm still sorry about it. Now, are you busy?'

Angela laughed shortly. 'I'm always busy; you know that. It's eleven thirty in the morning. I've been at work for nearly three and a half hours and I've just had another three boxes of potsherds dumped on my desk. I haven't even had time to grab a cup of coffee this morning, so if you're calling just to pass the time of day, forget it. Or did you actually want something?'

'Just the answer to a question, really. There's an article on page thirteen of the Mail today about a clay tablet. Have you seen it?'

'Oddly enough, I have, yes. I read it on the way in to work this morning. It made me laugh because I was the socalled expert the reporter couldn't contact. He rang the museum yesterday afternoon, and the call was diverted to my office. Clay tablets aren't really my field, but I suppose the switchboard operator thought "ceramics" was close enough. Anyway, I'd just slipped out for a cup of tea and by the time I got back, the Mail reporter had hung up. So it's quite true that I was "unavailable" for comment, but only for something like three minutes. Typical of the bloody press.'

'I thought it would be something like that,' Bronson said. 'But could the report be correct? Could that clay tablet be really valuable?'

'Highly unlikely. Clay tablets are ten a penny – well, not literally, but you know what I mean. They're found all over the place, sometimes as fragments, but complete ones turn up very frequently. There are estimated to be about half a million locked in museum storerooms around the world that haven't yet been studied or deciphered, or even really looked at. They really are that abundant. They were used by most of the ancient races as short-term records, and they listed everything from property ownership details and accounts to recipes, and almost any other information you can think of in between. They've been found with inscriptions in Latin, Greek, Coptic, Hebrew and Aramaic, but the majority are cuneiform.'

'Which is what, exactly?'

'It's an ancient written language. Cuneiform letters are wedge-shaped, and that kind of script is particularly easy to impress onto wet clay using a stylus. Clay tablets are just curiosities, really, that help us better appreciate daily life in whatever period they were made. They do have some value, obviously, but the only people who are usually interested in them are academics and museum staff.'

'OK,' Bronson said. 'But two people have been killed out here in Morocco and the clay tablet we know the woman picked up in the souk is missing, along with her camera. And yesterday I was chased through the streets of Rabat by a gang of men who—' 'What? You mean some local thugs?'

'I've no idea,' Bronson admitted. 'I didn't hang around to ask what they wanted. But if the tablet really is worthless, maybe the important thing is what's written on it. Is that possible?'

Angela was silent for a few moments. 'Just about, I suppose, but it's extremely unlikely, simply because of the age of the object – most of them are between two and five thousand years old. But what happened to you is a worry, Chris. If you're right and the inscription on the tablet is significant, then anyone who's seen it might be in danger.'

'I've got half a dozen pictures of it, but I haven't the slightest idea what the inscription means. I don't even know what language it's written in.'

'Well, we can do something about that. Email a few of the photographs to me here at the museum and I'll get one of our ancient-language specialists to take a look at them. That way, at least we'll know what's on the tablet, and then you can see if you're right about the inscription.'

'Good idea.' That was exactly what Bronson had been hoping she'd suggest. 'I'll do it right now. Look in your inbox in about five minutes.'