Destiny of the Sands

by Rai Aren

  “They better have,” Zhek replied. “A great deal depends on your positions in the Palace. I do not want to lose that advantage.”

  “I assure you, we made our activities seem quite innocuous.”

  Zhek was satisfied for the moment. He took a seat across from Rekar. “How do you propose we get to my son, then?”

  “Well, our original idea to wait for the right opportunity to get to Setar when he is off the Palace grounds will not work. The King has assigned too much security around the family since Princess Anjia’s return. At first it was only the Princess, but just recently the guard has been stepped up around everyone, including Setar. I do not know why,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

  “I see,” Zhek said, disappointed. It had been his hope to capture his son that way, out of the sight of the Royal Palace. It seemed far less complicated than other alternatives.

  “The children are also closely guarded even within the Palace,” Rekar said. “Even though the security is tightest around Princess Anjia, none of the children are seen walking freely about the Palace or the grounds as they once were. We have also learned the guards are posted at their bedrooms at night and the Palace is patrolled often, both inside and outside.”

  “Then what do you propose?” Zhek asked, his concern growing. He did not like what he was hearing. Something had changed.

  “You know that a large section of the Palace is still under construction,” Rekar said. “The east wing.”

  Zhek nodded.

  “We had a look there today. We were pretending to just be curious about the new wing,” Rekar said, looking proud of their cleverness.

  “Go on,” Zhek said, his curiosity piqued.

  “Well, it is in a very unfinished state. When we went to have a look we were warned that the area was still quite unstable and dangerous for anyone outside of the construction workers. They said it would be at least a week before it was close to being safe to walk inside.”

  “Is that so?” Zhek said, tracing a finger across the flat side of the blade.

  “Yes, there were construction materials laying about, rudimentary walkways throughout for the workers, and piles of wood that will be added to the stone for the finishing process.” Rekar paused. “It is all very flammable.” He grinned knowingly.

  Zhek caught his meaning. “Construction sites are inherently dangerous. It is not unheard of to have all kinds of accidents occur.”

  “Yes,” Rekar said, nodding eagerly, “the carelessness of a worker could result in a fire being ignited. Especially late at night, when there are fewer people around to stop it from growing.”

  “A diversion.”

  “Exactly,” Rekar said, an evil glint in his eyes. “It would cause tremendous chaos in the Palace if the fire were to spread quickly. They would have to assemble resources quickly to get it under control.”

  “We could set multiple fires to ensure such chaos,” Zhek said, leaning in close.

  Rekar nodded, his eyes alight with the possibilities.

  “The entire Palace would be at risk,” Zhek continued, growing excited by the possibility. “The King would need all the help he could get to fight such a dangerous fire. The Royal guards would likely be ordered to assist in fighting the blaze.”

  “Right,” Rekar said, “and in the middle of the night, it would be dark, there would be much confusion. We would know exactly where Prince Setar is.”

  Zhek’s mind was racing with ideas. “We would have to act fast. If the fire got out of control, they may decide to move the children. We need to strike before any evacuations.”

  “We can set up two teams,” Rekar said, motioning with his hands, “one to start the fires and another to go after Prince Setar. The timing will need to be closely coordinated. The Royal bedrooms are on the opposite side of the Palace from the new wing.”

  “They will not know what hit them,” Zhek said, thrilled at what he was hearing. “We are fortunate the Royal Family is no longer able to build on the scale they once did. In times past, such work would have been done much faster, with greater skill. There would have been far less access to such areas.” Zhek laughed at the irony. Their downfall after the widespread destruction led to this chance for him to put things right. He would do the Draxen name proud. “By the time they realize what has happened, Setar will be with us.”

  “What about Princess Anjia?” Rekar asked. “We will be very close to her as well. It is a good opportunity to take care of her.”

  Zhek took a deep breath, tempted. He thought for a moment, but shook his head. “My primary concern is getting Setar. Nothing must jeopardize our objective. We have enough to handle this time, and too much could go wrong. We will get her next time.”

  Chapter 30

  Prisoners and Past, Present-day Egypt

  MAXIMILIAN Reichmann sat in the cramped and stuffy office of the rundown building on the outskirts of Cairo he had rented. He had chosen the location because the neighboring buildings had also been empty, abandoned. It would afford him the privacy he required. He was watching the evening news on a small TV he had purchased. The young female news correspondent was reporting from in front of the Cairo Airport.

  “Egyptian police are looking for four individuals on suspicion of terrorist activities.

  A white female 25 to 30 years of age, around 5’6” in height with long blond hair

  A white male 25 to 30 years old, 5’ 10” in height with brown hair

  A white male, 40 to 45 years of age, described as being scruffy and heavy set, 5’9”

  A white male, 28 to 32 years of age, described as medium height and skinny, 5’8”

  Police suspect that these individuals were planning to enter the United States. From the surveillance video, they entered the secured area of the airport, then detonated a sonic grenade, and managed to escape from the airport. There are unconfirmed reports these individuals have contact with people who may be linked to various Arab extremist groups. US authorities are on high alert.”

  “They will not be getting back to the US now,” Maximilian said to himself, pleased thus far. But he was also worried about the difficulties this type of scrutiny would bring to their search for the obelisk. He couldn’t afford knowledge of it being found by the authorities. He hadn’t expected them to detonate the grenade. This was an added complication. The four Americans were turning out to be disturbingly unpredictable.

  Hans entered the office. “Herr Reichmann, they’ve regained consciousness.”

  Maximilian looked up and nodded. “Lead the way,” he said, standing up and adjusting the sleeves of his jacket.

  Maximilian followed Hans to a room at the end of a long corridor. The rest of the rooms were still cordoned off and unusable due to their poor condition.

  “Good to see the two of you are awake,” Maximilian said in his crisp German accent, as he entered the small, dirty and dimly lit room. It had been the most functional room of what they had to choose from. Dr. Khadesh and Khamir were each tied up with leather straps to old wooden chairs, their faces, arms, and hands bruised and bleeding.

  Hans stood by next to the door, watching. His hands, knuckles swollen and bloodied, were clasped in front of him.

  Maximilian stood there assessing his prisoners, his blue eyes cold as steel. He wore a finely tailored navy blue suit and pale blue shirt, open at the collar. His goatee, as always, meticulously trimmed. He looked out of place in the dingy hole of a room. His impeccable dress was in stark contrast to the filthy and ragged state of his captives.

  “Maximilian,” Dr. Khadesh said as he gasped, spitting up blood, “you can torture us all you want. You will never get the device.” His torn shirt was covered in bloodstains. Sweat rolled down his face, back and chest.

  “Oh, I think your American friends will find a way to bring it to me. They seemed quit
e determined to save your lives. Sentimental lot, those Americans.”

  “They do not know where I hid it,” Dr. Khadesh said. “As I said, I told them nothing for their own protection.” His staccato breathing was courtesy of the broken ribs Hans had inflicted on him. “You might as well leave them alone. They will never find it. I have hidden it too well.”

  “They have shown they can be quite resilient,” Maximilian said. “However, they are also being pursued by the authorities. That is sure to make things more difficult for them.”

  “Leave them alone!” Khamir pleaded. He had a nasty cut on his face and a split lip. “They cannot do what you are asking of them.”

  “I disagree,” Maximilian said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. He extended the four-inch blade, still covered with traces of dried blood.

  Hans smiled.

  Maximilian brought the knife to Khamir’s face, and slid it sideways around the existing cut in his cheek as Khamir winced in fear and pain. Tears fell down his cheek, trickling softly around the cold blade.

  Maximilian relished seeing the pain and fear he was causing. He hated these two. They were insufferable. He had been frustrated in his earlier attempts to force the information from Khadesh. He had come very close to slitting Khamir’s throat, trying to coax the information from Khadesh. Infuriatingly Khadesh had called his bluff, refusing to divulge the device’s location. It was clear at that point that nothing would loosen his tongue. Maximilian considered killing them both there and then, but he believed he had one more ace up his sleeve – Mitch and Alex. They would never have the stomach to let their friends die without trying to retrieve the device for him. He decided to use Khamir and Khadesh as leverage to enlist their cooperation.

  Khadesh strained against his restraints.

  Maximilian watched the blade of the knife as he traced a line down Khamir’s throat, near where a long, thin cut had been left from his earlier attempt at trying to get Khadesh to talk. The cut had stopped bleeding. He rested the point of the blade against Khamir’s chest. “They will find the device and bring it to me. For if they don’t, I will kill you, slowly and in a most agonizing fashion, I can assure you.” He cocked his head to the side to look at Khadesh. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed the point of the blade into Khamir’s chest. “While you watch, Khadesh.”

  Khamir cried out as the blade again pierced his skin. Blood trickled down his chest from the newly opened wound.

  Maximilian withdrew the knife, and casually wiped the blood on Khadesh’s sleeve. He bent down, his face only inches from Khadesh’s. His expression was dark, full of menace. “Then I will kill you…much, much slower.” He held his gaze. “Understand?”

  Khadesh said nothing, his lips pursed, quivering. He tried to fight back a tear that threatened to fall. He lost the fight.

  “Good,” Maximilian said. He stood back up. He took a moment to compose himself. “I am being exceedingly generous by giving you this chance for those four to find the device and spare all of your miserable lives. If we hadn’t found them at the airport, this little get-together would be taking on a whole new level of activity.” He turned to face the door, “Right, Hans?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hans answered with grim enthusiasm.

  “You should be thankful,” Maximilian said, turning back around, with his arms outstretched. The knife was still in his hand. “It’s your lucky day.”

  “Even if you possess it, you cannot control the power of the device!” Dr. Khadesh said, shaking. “None of us can. It is far too dangerous.”

  “For you, maybe,” Maximilian said, “which leads me to believe you know what it does.” He lifted the knife again. “Tell me.”

  Khamir cringed. “We do not know what it is exactly,” he spoke rapidly, answering for Khadesh, “only that it is an ancient power source. No one knows. The truth of it has been lost to antiquity. We wanted to study it ourselves.”

  Maximilian scoffed at the response. “I think you two wouldn’t hesitate to lie to me about this, but no matter, I will study it and unlock its secrets. Whatever power it contains will be mine.” He folded the knife up and placed it in his pocket. He straightened his blazer and paced back and forth across the room stroking his goatee. “My father once talked to me about power. Have you heard of my father, Khadesh?”

  “Yes, I have heard of him and his illegal exploits and Nazi ties,” the disdain evident in the older man’s voice.

  “Ahh, but you have not heard the truth about him,” Maximilian sneered. “You would be most interested to hear this. Then you will know what this device means to me.” Maximilian’s gaze was far off, in another place and time as he thought back to that fateful day that changed everything for him. He told his story.

  yyyyy

  Thunder boomed and lightning lit up the evening sky. It was raining heavily. A mini river ran down the middle of the long, winding lane. The moonlight gave it a glistening, silver hue. The large, old house it led to was hidden in the forest several miles outside of Bonn, Germany.

  “Maximilian!” Wolfgang shouted. “Come here! Now!”

  “You called for me, father?” answered a young man, peering around the door. He was clean-shaven and neatly dressed. He had always feared his father. His upbringing had been harsh and the elder Reichmann had overshadowed him in nearly every respect. But recently, he had begun to grow in his confidence and assert himself more. It hadn’t stopped the beatings and constant berating, but it seemed to cut less deeply these days. Things would soon change for him, he felt.

  Wolfgang coughed. The years had not been kind to him. His health was failing. His doctors told him he did not have long left. There was nothing more they could do for him. He shook as he shifted his weight onto his ebony cane. “Get over here!” he ordered.

  The young man cringed, and reluctantly closed the door to his room. He made his way down the long hallway, decorated with old paintings of their ancestors. The floors that once gleamed with highly polished splendor were now worn and scratched. The long curtains that adorned every window were faded. Outside, the winds howled, rain lashed the windows. Inside, the house groaned and creaked. Maximilian kept a wary eye on the cane as he walked nearer.

  Wolfgang motioned his son into his study. He walked to the large oak desk, and picked up a folder. “What is this?” Wolfgang asked angrily, shoving several documents at him. “You forged my signature?”

  Maximilian knew this day would come. He had prepared himself. He was ready. “Yes, father,” he replied, taking the documents. “I did.”

  “How dare you!” the old man yelled, as he slammed his cane against the floorboards.

  Maximilian winced. He hated that cane.

  “Tell me why!” Wolfgang demanded, his face contorted in rage and indignation. His wrinkled hand gripped the handle of the cane. He was vibrating with anger.

  Maximilian felt the familiar dread well up in him. He steeled himself. He hated feeling weak and vulnerable. “To do something that should have been done a long time ago,” Maximilian answered as he looked through the documents. He felt a sense of pride at what he had done. He was beginning to feel powerful for the first time in his life.

  “What have you done, boy?” Wolfgang shouted, his face turning red with anger.

  “Do not call me that!” Maximilian shot back. “What I have done is something great!”

  “You insolent thief!” his father yelled, coughing. He gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself.

  Maximilian looked at him. For the first time fully noticing how old and feeble-looking his father had become. He felt something stir deep within him. Was it pity he wondered? No, not pity, he realized. Disgust. “I am no mere thief,” he answered, standing taller. “I sold some of the old relics you have collected over the years…”