New Rome Rising

by Rene Fomby

  “Will do.” Gavin hung up the connection and sprinted toward his apartment. Once inside he grabbed his FBI-issued landline and pressed the encryption button before dialing Andy’s office number by heart. It rang just once.

  “Sanders here. Agent Larson?”

  “Yes sir. So what’s the deal? Is Andy okay?”

  “Not really sure what the answer to that is, son, but it doesn’t look good. Andy took off lickety-split at the end of last week with an analyst in tow, headed for Paris. Left no forwarding address, no explanation as to what was up.”

  “That sounds like her MO,” Gavin suggested. “Very much her own woman.”

  “Yep. Much as it gives me gray hair, it always seems to work for her. Until now.” Sanders paused. “Look, son, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I’ve been following the work you two did together, and, well, I may be in the minority on this, but my impression is you’re the real deal. Andy’s off the grid, and if anyone has a ghost of a chance at finding her, you’re the best chance I got. You know how she thinks, how she works. And, I might be overstepping my bounds here, but I think you’ve got the right motivation.”

  Andy missing. Gavin suddenly felt light-headed, his stomach starting to churn. “You mean I might be motivated to clear my name at the Agency.”

  “No, son, what I meant was, I’ve seen your call logs. You two talk more than what’s normal for—colleagues. A whole lot more, like a couple of teenage girls. So, the deal is, to me she’s like the daughter I never had, except for the loser that I did. A woman like Andrea Patterson only comes along once in a lifetime. I got a feeling you feel that way, too.”

  Gavin hesitated for less than a second. This Bob Sanders clearly had him pegged on the subject of his feelings toward Lieutenant Commander Andy Patterson. “I think you should trust your gut instincts on that one, sir.”

  “Good, good. So, pardon me for moving quickly on this, but I’ve made some phone calls and had you transferred for the time being to Naval Intelligence, reporting directly to me. I want you taking the lead on finding Andy Patterson. You up for that?”

  “Absolutely, sir! I’ll be on the next flight to Washington—”

  “No, I’ve got everything here under control. Based upon what I know about what she was working on, where I need you next is Cairo. I’ll have a flight waiting for you at oh-dark-hundred tomorrow morning at Rabat-Salé Airport. That’s a private airport, son. No need to draw too much attention to a U.S. Navy plane picking up a passenger …”

  “Cairo?” It took Gavin a moment to make the connection. “No, sir, I think you missed something in the translation. Andy was working on an ancient Christian symbol, the Chi Rho, one of the earliest Greek symbols for Christ. It’s been popping up all across Southern Europe—”

  “No, Agent Larson. I am quite aware of what the two of you have been working on the past few months. But no, I’m going to need you in Cairo. After Paris, Andy evidently caught a private flight into Cairo. That’s where she disappeared.”

  “Evidently? You don’t know for sure?”

  The delay on the other end was telling. Gavin suspected he had just dropped a few notches in Bob Sander’s assessment of his already suspect professional capabilities. “Agent Larson, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Our top field agents in Intelligence wear little GPS-enabled bracelets that broadcast their location 24/7. That way, if something happens, we can track them down, and at least recover the bodies. The thing is, those bracelets are like the dickens to take off, and even harder to disable. Lieutenant Commander Patterson’s bracelet was disabled in the heart of Cairo sometime last Saturday, your time.”

  “Disabled? You mean like turned off? Or was it smashed?” Gavin’s heart rate was already spiking.

  “I doubt it was smashed,” Sanders answered. “We made those things literally bullet proof, for obvious reasons. But Andy’s bracelet stopped pinging her location early Saturday evening, Cairo local time. So almost certainly somebody turned it off. And that’s especially disturbing to us, because some stranger figuring out how to turn it off would be like you assembling a Swiss watch from scratch with your eyes closed. It’s almost impossible unless you’ve been trained, unless you know the secret. That means whoever was involved in Andy’s disappearance is an insider—”

  “How about the analyst? Would he know?”

  “Can’t be absolutely certain, but most likely no. It’s like a secret club—until you’ve been fitted for the bracelet, you have no idea it even exists. You right now are the exception, and only then because you have a need to know. But the off switch is generally only used in case an agent needs to get past an electronic bug sweep for some reason. So the deal is, and I guess I should have asked this question a little earlier, what do you think? This may prove to be a dangerous assignment, with more than just Andy’s life hanging in the balance. So, you still on board? Do you feel up to this?”

  “You couldn’t stop me from being on board, sir. I’d give my own life to bring Andy back, alive and in one piece. Whatever it takes.”

  “I’m counting on that, son,” Sanders assured him with a sudden hitch in his voice. “Look, your FBI credit card is now attached to our black ops account, so money is no object. Anything you need, you got it. Anything short of thousand-dollar-a-bottle champagne, and—hell—I don’t even give a shit about that if it’ll bring Andy back home. I took the liberty of booking you into a room at the Marriott in Zamalek, in the heart of Cairo. When you touch down in Egypt there’ll be a driver waiting to get you situated. And I have a guy already in the air who’s bringing copies of anything and everything we have on what Andy was working on right before she left. I’ll text you my personal cell number, so don’t hesitate to call me for whatever reason. The thing is—just bring her back home. Alive, if possible, but if not, make sure somebody the fuck pays. You got me? And local laws be damned. The president is on board with this one, and he wants his top intelligence agent back home. Don’t fail us, Larson. Don’t fail me.”

  “Trust me, Mr. Sanders, I will walk through all of hell and back to get to her. That’s not a promise I’m making to you—it’s a promise I’ve already made to her. In spades.”

  “Then it looks like I’ve picked the right guy for this mission. Godspeed, Agent Larson. And stay in touch.”

  “I will, sir. And, just to clarify, exactly how many hours do I have until my ride to Egypt touches down in Rabat?”

  “Hard to nail it down exactly, but I’d say five to six.”

  “In that case, I’ll have to say mañana, then. You know what the Agency manual says. Never miss a good chance to sleep, eat or piss, because it might be your last chance for a long time.”

  “Good strategy son. But—Gavin—whatever it takes. Bring her home. Alive and kicking, if possible. But, whatever, just bring her home.”

  “I will, sir. And don’t worry—I won’t sleep until I’ve found her.”

  “No, son,” Sanders said with a weary voice. “You’re going to need your sleep. And your meals. And your bathroom breaks. You’re gonna need every bit of strength you can muster. But—just find her for me, okay son? Find her. Bring her home.”

  10

  Rabat-Salé Airport - Monday

  As Gavin stepped into the terminal building a few minutes before five the next morning, his pilot was already waiting for him, sipping on a mug of coffee and poring over something on his tablet. He jumped up immediately and stuck out his hand.

  “Hi there. You must be Agent Larson. I’m Pete Mitchell, but you can call me Maverick.”

  Gavin looked confused. “Your name’s Maverick? But wasn’t that—”

  “Tom Cruise’s call sign. Yeah, you got me there. But it was worth a try, right? Particularly given my name.”

  “Oh, right. That was Maverick’s name in the movie. Pete Mitchell. Now I get the joke.”

  Setting his small canvas bag down by his feet, Gavin pointed toward the back of the terminal. “When’s our departure? Do I have time to
hit the head?”

  “Actually, I’d prefer it if you did. And the same for me. Even given the short flying time from here to Cairo, there’s nothing worse than having to screw around with relief tubes up in the air. Those fighter seats weren’t really designed for partially undressing—”

  “Fighter seats? You mean we’re taking a Navy fighter?”

  “Yep. Dad told me to take any car in the garage I wanted, so I checked out an MD F-15E Strike Eagle. Pretty much the only thing that could get me here from Washington in time, and I still had to refuel in mid-air a couple times. Oh, and Sanders sent this.” Mitchell handed Gavin a thick packet. “Says it’ll make good reading material for the flight over. Unless, of course, you want to drive.”

  “Sorry. Left my driver’s license for F-15’s back at the house.” Gavin patted his left coat pocket. “Speaking of which, should I leave this little baby behind in the car? I’m authorized for it in Morocco, given my job, but Egypt—”

  “I’d bring it along if I were you. We’ll be landing at Almaza Air Base. It’s split military / commercial, but we’ll sneak you in on the military side, where the security rules are a little looser. Plus, just to be safe, I’ll radio ahead once we’re in the air and make sure you’re all papered up by the time we touch down.”

  “You can do that?” Gavin asked, astonished that anyone could so easily cut through the Arab world’s notorious layers of red tape, much less a Navy fighter pilot.

  Mitchell smiled and jerked a thumb toward the toilets. “No, but Sanders can. He can squeeze a camel through the eye of a needle if you need it done. With room to spare. But hey, Sanders also warned me about dicking around, either on the ground or in the air. He wants you in Cairo ASAP, so about that little ladies’ room …”

  11

  Cairo

  Gavin finished the packet just before touchdown. Everything Andy had been working on right up until her sudden departure appeared to be just one long, unending sequence of dry holes. Pretty much the story of his own investigation into Tulley and Boucher, as well.

  A beat-up old taxi was waiting for him as he climbed off the wing of the F-15. The driver standing beside it was wearing a simple white shirt and a pair of well-worn trousers. Somehow he looked a little off to Gavin, like his complexion was just a shade too light to be a native Egyptian. Or maybe it was just the way he was leaning so casually against the taxi. “Wow. You’d think Sanders could have sprung for something, like, from this century,” Gavin muttered to himself as the driver grabbed his bag and tossed it into the back seat.

  “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” the driver scolded him in perfect English. “This baby can outrun almost anything on the continent. But in Cairo, speeding around in a Mercedes is a good way to make sure people notice you, which is never a good thing. This way, you might get a glance, but nothing more.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.” Gavin climbed into the back seat himself, immediately noting how the inside of the taxi had been carefully tailored to look completely ragtag despite being in almost perfect shape. Sanders really had thought of every single detail. Or at least he had people working for him who did. “So we’re off to some place called Zamalek?”

  The driver nodded. “Yeah. It’s at the northern end of Gezira Island on the Nile River. Very popular with the rich folk and Westerners. You’ll blend in well on both fronts. By the way, the name’s Ramon Mendez. I’m your driver slash bodyguard while you’re here in Egypt. You’re gonna need both. Things are much better around here than the old days, but the city’s still pretty rough. And we’ve got backup muscle available just in case I’m not enough.”

  “Good to know,” Gavin noted.

  Mendez punched the gas and soon they were pulling out of the gate of the air base and onto a broad modern highway, quickly picking up speed.

  “We’re heading straight into the heart of Old Cairo. Off to our left a few miles away is New Cairo. Next to that is the new Egyptian capital, being built by the Chinese. You can see some of the towers from here, just going up. Cairo is one of the most overcrowded cities in the world, with almost twenty million people, and the idea is to move the entire government out of the old city and hopefully pull seven or eight million people along with it. Personally, I think it’s all a big boondoggle, and something the country really can’t afford right now, but the Egyptian president didn’t ask my opinion.”

  As Gavin surveyed the tight cluster of construction cranes rising like a forest off to the east, they came to a large highway interchange and turned right, heading more toward the northwest. Sunk down in the very middle of the interchange Gavin spotted a large mound of rubbish, fifty or more feet wide and almost as tall. “Whoa. What’s with all the trash?” he asked.

  “Again, twenty million people, all packed into one place, things kind of happen on their own.” Ramon pointed toward the front of the cab. “So, up ahead you can see the Cairo Tower, the Borg Al-Qāhira in Arabic. It was built in the late fifties with funds from America, a rather blatant and bumbling attempt to bribe President Nasser. He saw through the ruse instantly and used the money to build the tower, kind of a symbolic middle finger gesture at the American Embassy just across the river. There’s a rotating restaurant on top, and an observation deck. It’s still the tallest structure in all of North Africa, and if you have the time, it’s got some amazing views of the city—you can even see the pyramids from up there. More importantly for us right now, it’s directly south of the Marriott on Gezira Island. If you ever find yourself taking a walk around town while you’re here, it’s a terrific landmark to use to figure out where you are and how to get back to the hotel. Although I wouldn’t really recommend you try walking around by yourself, even in Zamalek.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” They had pulled off the main road and onto a city street. On either side were open air markets selling fruits and various drinks, and other shops with roll-down metal doors. They passed a large number of men standing in the doorways, looking almost identical in their traditional Egyptian thobes and surrounded closely by clusters of scraggly-looking dogs and children, but very few women were out on the street. Sharing the road with the men were small three-wheeled vehicles that looked like rickety golf carts, along with an occasional mule-driven wagon.

  Gavin was startled when suddenly they passed by a legless man riding a bicycle with pedals where the handlebars should have been, the man pumping hard with his arms and somehow managing to stay atop the tiny seat.

  “Part of the legacy of Cairo’s not-so-distant past,” Ramon explained. “Back in the sixties and seventies, things got so bad around here, mothers would chop the arms and legs off their children and set them out on rugs on the side of the street to beg. One of the most popular games for the rich back then was to throw a handful of piastres—effectively, Egyptian pennies—out into the street in front of the cars that were racing past, and then stand back to watch the peasant children dive among the cars to retrieve them. Or so I’m told—I wasn’t around back then.”

  Gavin shook his head to try and drive the image out of his brain, but was only partially successful. He decided to change the subject instead. “How long have you been out here?”

  “Almost twenty years, now. I came in the late nineties, working as an economic attaché at the Embassy. You know, a spy. I kinda fell in love with Cairo over time, despite its problems. Met a French girl, fell in love with her as well, and now we have three kids. With the low cost of living, my salary goes a very long way in these parts. Got a nice place out in Heliopolis, maids, a cook. I can’t complain. But hey, we’re coming up on the hotel now.”

  The Marriott consisted of two unremarkable structures towering up on either side of a beautiful old well-ornamented building. “The middle structure is an actual palace, built back in 1869 to house the French Emperor Napoleon III and his wife Eugénie, who had come to Egypt to celebrate the opening of the Suez Canal. Since then it’s been a hotel, then a hospital for a short while during World War I, then a p
rivate residence, and, finally, once again a hotel. It is truly a remarkable place, the nicest hotel in all of Egypt, in my opinion. And their restaurant is really awesome. My wife and I eat there every chance we get.”

  “Sounds pretty expensive. Wouldn’t I have done just as well at someplace less—ostentatious?”

  “Maybe.” Ramon pulled the taxi up in front of the hotel. “But the thing is, anywhere else in Cairo you’d stick out like a sore thumb. Here you’ll just blend in with the rest of the Westerners. Hiding in plain sight, if you will. Besides, Sanders tells me money’s not a problem for this mission. So enjoy it while you can, brother. Uncle Sam is seldom so generous.” He hopped out of the driver’s seat and ran around the back of the taxi to open Gavin’s door. “You’re all set. Just check in at the front desk. You’re registered under the name Tom Collins.” Gavin gave him a skeptical look, and Ramon grinned back. “Hey, it was all spur-of-the-moment, you know? First thing that came to my mind. Anyway, get settled in, kick up your feet for a spell. I’ll be back in about an hour to take you to the Egyptian Museum. It’s just on the other side of the Nile, across from the Cairo Tower.”

  “We’re going to visit a museum?” Gavin asked. “Don’t you think we should get to work, instead, and try to hunt down some leads on whatever happened to Andy?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Ramon assured him. “Her GPS bracelet had her up on the second floor of the museum just before it stopped broadcasting. So I can’t think of a better place to start searching for her than there.”

  “Okay. Sorry. I guess I’m just a little too anxious about finding her right now,” Gavin explained, picking up his canvas bag and shutting the car door behind him.

  “Yeah, I know. Sanders told me about you two being partners.” Ramon popped open the trunk, reaching inside and pulling out a rich looking red leather suitcase. “By the way, you’ll need this. I picked it up on the way to the airport.”