by Tom Hunter
“A-ha!” he crowed as the figure turned and ran down a stack of crates that Samuel knew ended in a dead end. “I’ve got you now!”
Turning the corner to see who he was chasing, Samuel was just in time to catch sight of a foot disappearing underneath the canvas as the spy scrambled out to freedom.
Stifling a curse, Samuel threw himself after him, forcing himself underneath the canvas to race after the traitor, fighting his way through the extra layers to get outside. The imposter was fast. In the heat of the midday sun, Samuel quickly found himself flagging as he ploughed through the sand in a vain attempt to catch up, each footstep becoming heavier and heavier.
Eventually, he was forced to give up, panting and clutching at the stitch in his side to watch helplessly as a solitary figure fled through the dunes to freedom, running over the sand as easily as if it were asphalt.
“Not fair,” growled Samuel. “Why does the Bruard give out sand-skimmer tech shoes while the Ministry barely issues even basic boots?”
The spy disappeared from view, safe in the knowledge that it would be too dangerous for Samuel to go after him. There was nothing Samuel could do but head back into the storage tent and check that the artifacts were all secure, in case the spy had sabotaged them.
Reentering Storage Tent B, Samuel reached the section where the map had been stored. He found a number of the scrolls were out of their cases, unrolled and laid out on white paper. Had the spy been photographing them for his own nefarious purpose? Samuel had a horrible feeling that Waleed may well be right on the money. And if that was the case, the entire camp could be in terrible danger.
Twenty-Three
“Hey, Faroukh.” Shafira smiled as she walked up to her colleague who was helping himself to coffee from the machine. “How’s your day going?”
“All the better for seeing you,” came the smarmy reply. “I must say that it is very pleasant seeing you out here, socializing with the rest of us mere mortals instead of beavering away at your desk. What brought about such a welcome change in attitude?”
“Let’s just say that I’ve been thinking about what you said and you’re right,” Shafira told him. “I’ve been spending hours trying to clear my backlog and it never makes any difference. Reports come in faster than I can process them. I might as well relax a little. You get paid the same either way, right?”
“Exactly!” beamed Faroukh, as Malik, another clerk, came to join them in the kitchen. “Malik, look who’s emerged from her cubicle to join us.”
“Hi Shafira.” Malik poured himself a coffee. “To what do we owe the honor of your company?”
“I guess I got tired of staring at the same gray walls day in, day out,” Shafira replied.
“There must be something in the air,” observed Faroukh. “The Director has been friendlier recently as well. He’s spending an awful lot of time in our department and I can’t say that I’m completely happy about knowing that he’s breathing down my neck, watching my every move.”
Shafira bit her lip, trying to hide her excitement at hearing the Director’s name mentioned. “You noticed that too, huh?” she asked casually. “I thought it was just me who thought he was acting strangely.”
“I don’t know that I’d describe him as acting strange,” said Malik. “I thought he was just being nice, figured he’d been on one of those modern management courses where they teach you that if you want to inspire your staff you need to be their best friend. It’s a sad day for the world when someone being friendly is considered odd behavior.”
“Even so, you don’t think he’s been a bit different recently?” Shafira pressed.
“I suppose he’s been a little pushier than normal,” Malik conceded. “He does seem to be a lot more interested in my work than he used to be.”
“Now that is weird,” joked Faroukh. “Who’d find the boring reports you produce interesting?”
“Very funny.” Malik shook his head. “Oh, and then there was that time when he shook my hand and then I saw him washing it immediately afterwards as if it were covered in dung. It was really offensive. Does he think he’s going to catch something from me?”
“There was that flu bug going around,” Shafira reminded him, topping up her coffee. “Maybe he’s worried about that. Anyway, much as I’ve enjoyed our little chat, I really do need to get back to work. I don’t want to get too sloppy!”
She raised her mug in salute to her colleagues and headed back to her cubicle. Her heart started beating faster when she saw Director Haisam walking down the corridor towards her.
“Ah, Shafira.” He raised a hand in greeting. “Just the woman I was hoping to see. Do you have a moment? I’d like to speak with you in my office.”
“Of course,” Shafira agreed. “I’ll just put this on my desk.” She went into her cubicle and placed her mug on a coaster, trying to control the shaking of her hands. How could the Director still be walking around without a scratch on him? It just didn’t make sense. She knew what she’d seen. The Director had been beaten to a pulp in front of her eyes.
Haisam led the way through the warren of corridors that crisscrossed the Ministry until they reached his office, Shafira close on his heels. She watched his movements closely, looking for any clue that would explain his sudden health, perhaps a hint that he was covering his pain, but he seemed to be the same Director she’d worked with ever since she started at the Ministry, even if he was a little more familiar with the staff.
As he unlocked the door to his office, Director Haisam stepped to one side, gesturing to Shafira to lead the way. “Take a seat,” he instructed, closing the door behind them before going to take his place behind the desk.
“I want to share a funny story I heard recently.” The Director steepled his fingers together, gently swiveling his chair from side to side. “Apparently I’m supposed to be dead! According to this story, I was beaten to a pulp in a nearby park then shoved in a bag, my body taken to be dumped who knows where! Can you believe it?”
“No.” Shafira frowned, doing her best to appear ignorant. “What a peculiar rumor. Who would say such a terrible thing?”
“I was rather hoping that you’d tell me,” Haisam replied. “A friend of mine in the police force told me that while he couldn’t give me the name of who made such a ridiculous claim, he did strongly suggest that it was one of my employees, someone with whom I’ve been working closely. Do you have any idea who that might be?”
Shafira stuck out her bottom lip as she pretended to ponder the question. “I can’t think of anyone,” she finally replied.
“Is that right?” Haisam leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands across his belly as he twiddled his thumbs. “Because I have my suspicions.”
“You do?”
“I have been observing my staff very closely recently,” the Director told her. “I’m sure that you can appreciate that when you have tasked a number of people with working on different aspects of a highly confidential project, it’s important to be certain that they are all observing the correct protocols. We cannot afford any leaks, not when there are enemies of the state everywhere. As such, I’ve become very familiar with my team’s work patterns, habits and behavior. Almost everyone seems to acting as normal, which would make pinpointing the alleged witness difficult apart from one thing.”
“Which is?”
“There is one individual who’s suddenly become very jumpy and nervous. Could you explain why that might be?”
“Not without knowing who we’re talking about.” Shafira’s scalp prickled, her stomach clenching as she fought hard to remain calm and not run screaming from the room. She wanted nothing more but to trust the Director, but there was something threatening about his manner that set her on edge.
“All right.” Haisam sat up and leaned forward. “Let’s try a different approach. Is everything all right, Shafira?”
Yusuf had always taught Shafira that the best lie was one that contained as much truth as possible. Remembering his ad
vice, she paused then shook her head. “No.”
“I thought as much.” The Director smiled. Shafira was sure that he meant it to be reassuring but there was something predatory about the look. “Would you like to tell me why you went to the police with such an absurd story?”
“What? You think I-?” Shafira laughed and shook her head. “I’m sorry if I gave the impression that I was the one responsible for going to the police. It wasn’t me! I’ve been having a few personal problems and I’m afraid that last night I let them get the better of me. I took a little something to help me sleep and I’m suffering the after effects this morning. Next time I’ll stick to chamomile tea.” She smiled again, winking at the Director to hint at the fact that she trusted him not to tell anyone that she’d been drinking.
“I see.” The Director gazed at her thoughtfully. “I’m sorry to hear that you have been having some difficulties. You can always talk to me if you need some support, even with non-work issues.”
“Thank you, Director.”
“Perhaps it would help if you were to get away from things for a few days?” the Director suggested. “I will shortly be visiting a dig site to inspect progress. Maybe you would like to accompany me as my assistant?”
Any other time and Shafira would have jumped at the opportunity. This trip could be the stepping stone to a promotion, the chance to do the kind of work that really excited her. But how could she go away with someone she’d seen die before her very eyes?
Director Haisam was doing a very good impression of being the benevolent, kindly boss he’d always been, but until she had an explanation for what had happened last night, she couldn’t trust him. Even assuming that it was nothing but an elaborate hoax, what kind of sick individual would pretend that he’d been beaten?
“I’d love to, Director,” she replied, “but with all the extra work you’ve requested as well as my usual duties, I simply have too much to get through to be able to take any time away. Perhaps next time?”
“Hmm.” The Director gazed at her impassively. “That’s what I like about you, Shafira. Your dedication to your work. Anyone else would jump at the opportunity to have a break from the office.” He shifted some papers around on his desk, picking up one and pretending to examine it. “I shall be heading out this afternoon on the expedition. I would appreciate it if you could carry out your tasks in my office until I leave.”
“Why?” Shafira asked. “I mean, everything’s in my cubicle. It would be very difficult to work here.”
“I’m sure we can find a way to accommodate your needs,” smiled the Director. “Since you have declined my offer to come with me, I’d like to get your perspective on everything you know about the dig so that I can be fully briefed on what I should be looking out for when I arrive on site. After all, you review inspections on a daily basis and your attention to detail is second to none. Your input would be invaluable.”
Shafira knew when to pick her battles. “I’ll go and collect my things,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.”
“I shall come with you,” the Director announced. “I’m sure you would appreciate an extra pair of hands to carry all the essential documents.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.” Shafira smiled, but inside she was panicking. It seemed that the Director wasn’t going to let her out of his sight, taking away any chance for her to tell someone what was going on. Maybe she’d sound like she’d escaped from the asylum, but knowing that someone else knew about the weird things that were happening would give her a small feeling of security.
The pair marched to Shafira’s cubicle in silence. Normally, the Director would make small talk, but he was lost in thought and Shafira was too caught up with worrying about how to get away from him to keep up the pretense that everything was fine.
At last, they reached her desk. Shafira grabbed a bundle of files at random, passing them to the Director.
“There you go,” she told him. “If you could carry those, it would be a huge help.”
“Of course.”
Shafira picked up her bag, rummaging around in it as if to check that she had everything she needed. Instead, she palmed her pepper spray, surreptitiously tucking it into her blazer pocket as she zipped the bag closed and picked up a few more files.
“I think that’s everything,” she smiled.
“Excellent.”
Shafira strode alongside her boss as they made their way back to his office.
“Now, Shafira,” he began, as he closed the door behind them, shutting out the outside world. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about inspection protocol out in the field…?”
Twenty-Four
Samuel put his tray down next to Basile’s, taking a seat at the long table in the dining tent.
“Falafel! My favorite,” he beamed, as he took a large bite out of his lunch, ignoring the large blob of sauce that dripped out and down his shirt.
“Samuel!” scolded Basile, but his friend merely grinned and scooped up the sauce with his finger to lick it clean.
Looking around to see if anyone was within earshot, Samuel pretended to focus on his wrap as he spoke.
“Has Waleed said anything interesting yet?” he asked. “Or is he still repeating the same old tired story?”
“Nothing new.” Basile shook his head. “Just that he was trying to steal a few things to line his pockets before he left and the Bruard story was an attempt to win some sympathy.”
“Really?” Samuel put his food down on his plate, clasping his hands in front of his mouth with his elbows resting on the table to try and disguise what he was saying in case anyone attempted to lip read. “Because I think there could be some truth to his story.”
“Mon dieu!” Basile gasped. “How can this be?”
“I just saw someone suspicious at the storage tent,” Samuel explained. “I heard the sound of a radio, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. When I tried to get closer, I fell, alerting whoever it was. They ran off into the dunes.”
“And you didn’t catch them? You’re getting slow in your old age.” Basile nudged Samuel with his elbow.
“They had sand skimmers on,” Samuel protested. “How can I compete in these tatty old shoes? If it wasn’t for that, I would have easily chased them down.”
“I hope he finds the spy soon,” Basile muttered.
“What do you mean?” frowned Samuel.
“What?” Basile did a double take. “I hope we find the spy soon. Funnily enough, a camp follower also mentioned that he saw someone acting suspicious around the storage area, but I didn’t think anything of it. You know what some of the workers are like. Too superstitious for their own good.”
“Basile!” Samuel scolded. “Why didn’t you tell me? That could have been a major clue.”
“Sorry, Samuel,” Basile said. “It all seems so unbelievable. Bruard spies, ancient mysteries… Whatever happened to the days of digging up relics and going home without all this fuss and drama?”
“Times have changed,” Samuel shrugged.
“Did you see if anything was taken?” Basile asked.
“Not that I could determine.” Samuel shook his head. “However, I did find a load of scrolls laid out on the table. Judging by the white paper that had been placed underneath them, I think that the spy may have been taking photos or filming them, but I’m not quite sure why.”
The two friends fell into puzzled silence, Basile finishing the final few bites of his meal.
“So what’s our next step?” he asked, throwing his fork down on the plate when he was done.
“I guess we just be extra vigilant for the moment,” Samuel replied. “Until the Ministry arrives, we can only work with what we have. We’re not exactly equipped to defend ourselves from a Bruard plot.”
“Tell me about it.” Basile nodded, thinking about Waleed and wondering whether he’d uncovered any more information about the spy’s identity since they’d last spoke. “I’m glad that I have the right man on
the case.” He caught himself and pointed to Samuel. “And by the right man, I mean you! You’re the right man for the case.”
“You Frenchmen are weird.” Samuel shook his head and took another bite of falafel.
“All right. I need to go and check the western shaft,” Basile told him. “Bruard or no, we’re still here to do a job and I need my paycheck.”
He got up and headed out of the dining tent, leaving Samuel to finish his lunch alone.
Twenty-Five
Shafira closed the file that she was working on and opened the next, surreptitiously glancing at the Director out of the corner of her eye. She’d been working in his office all day and hadn’t seen anything suspicious, but she’d still have felt a lot more comfortable back in her cubicle.
Haisam checked his watch.
“Almost three. My ride should be here at any moment. I suppose I ought to go down to meet him. My pilot hates it when he takes off late.” He started to gather together some documents, putting them in his briefcase to study during his flight.
“I’ll be heading back to my cubicle, then, if that’s all right?” Shafira asked.
“Of course, of course. Thank you for your help this afternoon.” Haisam barely looked at her as he waved her away.
Shafira left his office, nodding an acknowledgment to his secretary as she left, but once she was out of sight, she paused. The police might not believe her story and put it down to a drunken fantasy, but if she got evidence that something strange was going on, they’d have to investigate.
One of the mail room staff walked towards her, whistling as he pushed a cart filled with letters and packages. His face looked strangely familiar.
Acting on an impulse, Shafira stepped in front of him. “It’s Hosein, isn’t it?” she asked. “Aziza’s son?”
“Yes, miss.” The youth seemed barely old enough to be hired, but his resemblance to his mother was unmistakable.
