The Bible of Clay Read Free Page B

plead with you to raise your collective voice to avert the catastrophe that hangs over Iraq."
    A murmur spread through the hall. The men and women attending this panel—twenty or so of the world's leading authorities on ancient Mesopotamia—were not about to take part in an impromptu political rally led by an unknown within the field, a woman whose reputation had been saved from obscurity only by virtue of her husband's position as director of Iraq's Bureau of Archaeological Excavations. Barry's an
    noyance showed in his face. His worst fears seemed to be confirmed: He had known the presence at the conference of Clara Tannenberg and her husband, Ahmed Husseini, would be problematic. He had tried to persuade them diplomatically not to come, at the behest of his very powerful employer, Robert Brown, president of the Mundo Antiguo Foundation, which was funding most of the conference. But Brown's influence was limited in Rome, and this Iraqi woman seemed neither to need nor to fear him.
    Robert Brown was, in fact, a legend in the world of art. He had provided museums around the globe with unique objects and artifacts. The collection of Mesopotamian tablets exhibited in the foundation's galleries was considered the finest in the world.
    He had made the business of art his life. In the late 1950s, barely thirty years old, Brown had been trying to make a name for himself as a dealer in New York when he came under the tutelage of one George Wagner, a man he came to refer to as his mentor. Wagner redirected the course of Brown's professional life by helping him set up a lucrative business: convincing important multinational corporations to donate money to a private foundation to finance research and excavations around the world. That way, the multinationals saved a fortune in taxes and acquired a degree of respectability in the eyes of ever-dubious citizens. Helped by Wagner's influence in Washington, Brown set up the Mundo Antiguo Foundation. On the board sat important bankers and businessmen, ensuring large donations. Brown met twice a year with the board, the first time to hammer out the foundation budget and the second to present the financial report. The next report was scheduled in just two weeks, at the end of September.
    Robert Brown had made Ralph Barry his right-hand man, bolstering the foundation's stature with the uncommon distinction Barry held in the world of academia. As for George Wagner, the man who had helped him to the top, Brown professed absolute loyalty. For all these years, he had carried out Wagner's orders without question, he had done things he would never have thought himself capable of doing, he was a puppet in Wagner's hands. But he was happy to be one. Everything he was, everything he had, he owed to George. Wagner rewarded discretion above all, and Brown went to great lengths to maintain his patron's anonymity. Even Barry knew little about Robert's so-called mentor.
    Brown had been adamant that Barry was to keep Clara Tannenberg and her husband from taking part in the conference, and if that was not possible, he was to at least keep Clara from speaking. The edict had seemed odd to Ralph, because he knew that his boss was acquainted with the couple through their relationship to Alfred Tannenberg. But in the end, Clara pushed hard and forced his hand, threatening to make a scene unless he allowed her a few minutes at the lectern. So here she was, against everyone's wishes.
    Now, as the murmur rose and the crowd stirred restively, Clara's face flushed with anger. She swallowed hard before continuing.
    "I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that I have not come here to talk about politics but rather about archaeology, history, religion, culture—art. Human history began in Mesopotamia, and if there is war, much of that history will disappear. And so, I'm asking that you help us save the artistic and cultural heritage of Mesopotamia. I'm asking you for aid—nonfinancial aid."
    No one laughed at her feeble