House of Cabal Volume One: Eden Read Free Page B

a
distinctive symbol that was supposedly carved into the lid of a
wooden box. The symbol looked like a figure eight with an arrow on
both sides pointing to the center. He didn’t see it anywhere.
    In and out as fast as possible. That was his
plan. Back home, he had left his old Glock 22 with his eldest son
to protect the rest of the family. In the eerie silence of the
underground, he tried not to regret that decision.
    More than a hundred cuneiform tablets were in
storage, with thousands of similar tablets on display across the
world. These kind of tablets weren’t a rare artifact by any means.
No one would notice if this one in particular went missing. He
deserved some kind of severance package for his many years at the
museum.
    His religious faith told him these excuses
were half-hearted justifications for immorality. But he was out of
options.
    He passed over the correct box more than
once, thinking, “That can’t be it.” The box was big, far too big to
fit in his satchel. He moved a stack of newspapers off the top. He
ran his hand over the carved infinity symbol and got a chill.
Carrying the box in his arms would draw unwanted attention out on
the streets.
    He trudged up the stairs. He had a loving
wife and three children to consider. He left the box behind. It was
the heavy cuneiform tablet inside that mattered. Thankfully, the
tablet fit snugly in his satchel without issue.
    Looters smashed in the museum’s front door,
and almost simultaneously, windows shattered in the back. He turned
off his flashlight and silently prayed to Allah for protection. He
heard men coming from both north and south. They rummaged through
the back offices. Glass shattered in the front hall, probably a
display case getting smashed in.
    He needed an alternate escape route.
    The west hall led to the closest exit. It
opened to the main street. But there was a vast room between him
and the exit where he could be spotted. If they discovered him
trying to sneak the cuneiform out, the looters would assume it was
valuable and take it from him, and maybe cave his skull in in the
process.
    Down the hall, light reflected off marble. He
heard the men joking amongst themselves as they approached.
    He sprinted east, trying not to trip over
anything in the dark. He had patrolled these halls a million times.
He pictured the floorplan in his mind and ran his hand along a
wall, past the restrooms and the entrance to the east exhibit. He
was careful not to knock down any picture frames as he made his way
forward. He turned a corner and rushed down another hall. He groped
for the emergency fire exit. It wasn’t where he thought it would
be. He refused to use his flashlight. If he turned it on, the
looters might see the light and chase him down.
    There! He felt it!
    The door was further to the right than he
remembered. He pushed the bar. Compared to the darkness inside the
museum, outside was relatively bright.
    He traversed the back streets, sticking to
the shadows, all the while second guessing his hasty decision to
leave the box behind. What if it ruined the deal? How would his
family survive?
    Smoke from the ravaged city shrouded the
half-moon like a veil.
    The next day, he handed the tablet across a
counter to the owner of a small cafe near Zawara Park. The tablet,
wrapped in a white cloth, now resembled a loaf of bread. Men were
sipping Turkish coffee at various mismatched tables around the open
space. It felt like all the men were watching, but he didn’t look
to see if it was true. The cafe owner gave Omar an envelope in
exchange, smiled and nodded, and didn’t ask questions.
    Even though his instincts told him to bolt,
Omar walked as casually as possible out of the cafe, through the
park, down the sidewalk, and over the Sinak Bridge, crossing Tigris
River. His heart pounded the whole way.
    A week later, Dana and her husband picked up
the tablet a safe distance outside the city. They heard gunfire as
they made the pickup and sped away soon after.