by Logan Ryles
He already knows how. He just wants us to figure it out.
Wolfgang scanned the team. Kevin was making a show of puckering his lips and glaring at the premium carpet in between gulps of whiskey. Megan shuffled through maps until she uncovered one of Greater Egypt, then tapped the Western Desert region with her pen. Lyle sat back and tried to hide a grin.
He knows, too. Figures. He probably hacked Edric’s brain.
Kevin snapped his fingers. “Satellite! Lyle can hack a satellite again, and we’ll just scan the desert.”
Lyle shook his head. “After Paris, I’m having difficulty gaining access to any useful satellites. Most of them don’t have the sort of high-powered, live cameras we need. Also, security has been . . . upgraded.”
Edric grunted. “And besides, what exactly would you be looking for? Two guys with guns holding up a scroll in the middle of the desert?”
Kevin blushed and turned to the minibar to refresh his drink.
Wolfgang rubbed his chin, picturing the vast wasteland in his mind. Two-hundred-sixty-three thousand square miles . . . It was just too big. Impossibly big. It would be difficult to find an aircraft carrier in that expanse, let alone a book thief who didn’t want to be found.
“Roadblocks?” Megan asked.
She looked up, still rolling the pen between her fingers.
She’s guessing.
“What are we, warlords?” Edric said. “Come on, guys. It’s not that hard.”
“We don’t find them,” Wolfgang said.
Everybody looked his way, and he sat forward.
“It’s not possible. The desert is too big. For all we know, they aren’t there anyway. They could be anywhere in the country by now.”
“Go on,” Edric said.
“We have to put ourselves in their shoes. If we stole the scroll, what would we need? We already know the scroll isn’t fully readable, and anyway, it’s written in a dead language. So, the thieves need to restore it before it can be useful, and then they need somebody who can translate it.” Wolfgang snapped his fingers as the plan cemented in his mind. “In other words, we don’t need to find them. We need to find the person they need. There can’t be more than a few specialists in the country with the right kind of skills. We find that person, and the thieves will come to us.”
Edric smiled and looked at Megan. “Kid’s good.”
Megan shrugged indifferently, probably perturbed that she hadn’t solved the riddle first.
Edric reached into a briefcase next to his chair and retrieved a file. He opened it and shuffled full-page photographs across the table.
“Dr. Amelia Pollins. She’s a British national currently employed by the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. She holds a PhD in Egyptology, with specialties including hieroglyphics and the restoration of ancient artifacts.”
“Well, her résumé checks out,” Kevin said.
Wolfgang lifted the photograph from the table. Pollins looked to be in her late thirties, with ice-blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. She had a somewhat stiff appearance, as though she were more comfortable in a laboratory than at a dinner party.
“Where’s the museum?” Wolfgang asked.
“Downtown Cairo,” Megan said, apparently eager to contribute after striking out. “It’s massive, with thousands of artifacts. The scroll was probably headed there before being stolen.”
Edric nodded. “It was, because Dr. Pollins was the specialist assigned to head the restoration and evaluation project. She knows more about hieroglyphics than almost anybody in the country, which is funny since she’s not even Egyptian.”
“Does she speak them?” Lyle asked.
“Speak what?” Edric said.
“Hieroglyphics.”
The plane went silent for a moment as everybody waited for Lyle to laugh. He didn’t.
“It’s a dead language, wiz! Nobody speaks it.” Kevin snorted, smacking Lyle on the shoulder.
“Actually, it’s not a language,” Megan said. “It’s not even an alphabet, really. It’s a different form of written communication—pictographic characters strung together to convey concepts, ideas, events, etcetera.”
Edric waved a hand. “None of that matters. The focus is recovering the document, then the Egyptians can worry about what it says. We know Pollins is the likely target of the thief and agree that starting with her makes the most sense. Now, we need a plan of action.”
Megan’s back stiffened. “Wait, we’re gonna use this woman as bait?”
“Not bait, no,” Edric said. “We’re going to provide her with close proximity, invisible protection, and nab her potential kidnapper before she knows a thing about it.”
Megan folded her arms. “We’re going to use her as bait.”
Edric lifted both eyebrows. “Do you have a better idea? Better than roadblocks, I mean.”
Silence filled the plane, then Megan nodded her defeat.
Edric walked to the minibar and poured himself a bourbon, then took a long sip. “After we land, we’ll proceed to Pollins’s office to locate her. Intel suggests she arrives early and leaves late, and we’ll land about four hours before sundown, so we should have plenty of time to establish a perimeter and monitor her as she leaves.”
“What if Wolfgang is wrong?” Kevin asked. “What if they aren’t targeting this woman at all?”
Edric shrugged. “If they don’t make a move on her tonight, we’ll reevaluate in the morning. Let’s not complicate things ahead of time. Lyle, are we good on communications? I don’t want any more unexplained failures.”
Lyle shot Wolfgang a sideways look, and Wolfgang avoided his gaze. On their last mission in Paris, Wolfgang had thrown Lyle under the bus, blaming a communications failure while covering for Kevin, who had broken protocol and left his post. Kevin had kept his job, and Edric probably knew the coms had never failed, but Lyle still got harassed about it.
“Won’t be a problem,” Lyle said. “I’ve devised a way to reduce proximities between each of you and the core antenna that routes all signals back to my computers. Coms should be strong and reliable.”
Edric nodded. “Terrific. Let’s keep them that way.”
He drained the glass, then waved over his shoulder as he stepped over Lyle’s crate and disappeared into the aft cabin.
Lyle shot Wolfgang a sideways look. “You owe me one,” he said.
Wolfgang motioned to the crate, eager to change the subject. “What’s in the box?”
Lyle’s face lit up, and he scooted out of his seat. “Help me open it. I’ll show you.”
They pried the lid off, exposing a mound of foam packing peanuts inside.
Lyle scooped them aside, then lifted out smaller cardboard boxes. “You may remember that in Paris I had a lot of trouble staying connected to our satellite.”
“You mean the satellite you hacked.”
Lyle wrinkled his nose. “Hacked, borrowed, whatever. The point is, it occurred to me that we could maintain visual and radio connection a lot better if we weren’t using a satellite at all, but something much closer to the ground. Something we controlled.”
Lyle opened a long cardboard box and pulled out a black and sleek propeller blade, about fifteen inches long and made of carbon fiber.
“You bought a drone?” Wolfgang asked.
Lyle beamed. “Not just any drone, my friend. This baby is custom-built, with an aircraft aluminum frame, four high-torque electric motors, and eight carbon-fiber propellers. It can attain altitudes of over fifteen-hundred feet—which isn’t strictly legal, but whatever—and carries all the right electronic goodies to keep us connected and informed. Really, it’s a remarkable aircraft.”
Wolfgang knelt next to the box and helped Lyle unpack, fascinated by the precise detail of each part. The drone was fully disassembled, in maybe fifty different pieces, but Wolfgang held faith in Lyle’s ability to assemble it correctly and on time.
“What about flight time?” Wolfgang asked. “You mentioned that it’s electric. Your electr
ic toys have a tendency to run out of battery.”
Lyle feigned irritation, but Wolfgang knew he loved questions about his gadgets.
“Flight time is usually a problem for small drones, it’s true. That’s why I had this one custom-built, using a battery design very similar to the batteries used in modern electric cars. On a full charge, it can fly as long as two hours, using most of its power for takeoff and aggressive maneuvers, and running on only four propellers when cruising.”
“That’s a big battery,” Wolfgang said. “How much does it weigh?”
“A lot. About eighty pounds, actually, which is why the motors had to be so big. It’s kind of a catch twenty-two. You make a bigger battery for longer flight time, and that requires stronger motors to lift it, which weigh more, and therefore drain the battery faster. But with the carbon fiber and stuff, we cut weight wherever we could. The drone actually has a net payload capacity of forty pounds, after the weight of the battery.”
Wolfgang watched as Lyle attached parts and tightened screws. The tech moved with the speed and efficiency of a child assembling a new Lego set.
“Just out of curiosity,” Wolfgang said, “how much did this thing cost?”
Lyle grinned. “About twice what I told Edric, and he hasn’t gotten the invoice yet. So, let’s not worry about that.”
3
It wasn’t warm in Egypt; it was hot. As Wolfgang stepped off the plane and into the bright sun of mid-afternoon, he ran a hand through his hair and thought back to Buffalo, only a day prior. Cairo couldn’t be more different from New York—with not a cloud in the sky, and open expanses of desert all around them. The sun beat down like the tail end of a rocket engine, pumping waves of heat over the desert and leaving everything feeling dry and desolate.
The private airfield lay about ten kilometers southwest of Giza, which was built on the western banks of the Nile River. Cairo itself was built along the eastern banks, and if Wolfgang squinted, he could make out the hazy glimmer of glass towers amid sandblasted stone ones in the distance, rising out of the desert. He held his hand above his eyes and swept his gaze along the horizon, hoping to make out the Great Pyramid, or perhaps the Sphinx.
“The pyramids are west of the city,” Kevin said, stepping up beside him. “You can’t see them from here, but we’ll pass them on the way in.”
Kevin offered Wolfgang a pair of Ray-Bans, and Wolfgang nodded his thanks.
“You’ve been here before?”
Kevin didn’t answer, staring at the desert behind the shade of his glasses. Something about his posture was stiffer than normal, almost edgy, and Wolfgang suddenly wondered if Charlie Team had visited Cairo before. Maybe they found their way into Damascus—the site of their last mission before Wolfgang joined them—by way of Cairo. That mission had resulted in Edric’s arm injury and the vacancy Wolfgang had filled.
“Huddle up!” Edric said.
Wolfgang and Kevin returned to the plane, where Edric stood with a map held in his good hand. Megan and Lyle appeared, both dressed in long-sleeve shirts and sunglasses. Megan’s hair was suspended in her customary ponytail, and she was busy smearing sunscreen around her nose. Wolfgang realized he was staring and looked away before she caught him.
“There’s a 4Runner and a van in the hangar.” Edric jammed his thumb at a nearby hangar, then pointed to the map. “The Egyptian Museum is here, right in the heart of the city. You guys will take the Cruiser and find a place to park, then establish a perimeter. Lyle, what about coms?”
“I’ve got battery pack transmitters for everybody to wear on their hips. They aren’t as covert as the smaller units, but the batteries will last longer. After nightfall, we can use the drone for additional surveillance and support.”
“Perfect. Dr. Pollins should work until nightfall anyway.” Edric squinted at the map, then pointed at the parking garage five blocks from the museum. “Lyle and I will park the van here and assume operational control. Megan, you’ve got ground control.”
Edric rolled up the map, then led the way inside the hangar. A pure white, late-model Ford Transit van waited in the shadows. Next to it was a desert tan Toyota 4Runner, with dusty windows and muddy tires.
Edric threw open the back doors of the Ford, revealing Lyle’s usual setup inside—a desk and rolling chair with a couple boxes full of odds and ends.
Edric opened one of the boxes and handed out pistols from inside. “Engagement rules are set to Code Yellow.”
Wolfgang reviewed Edric’s handbook of regulations in his mind. Code Yellow: Armed, but do not fire unless fired upon.
Wolfgang accepted the Berretta 92x Compact handgun and the shoulder holster that accompanied it. A silencer rode in a pouch next to the gun, and two extra magazines of ammunition were tucked into a pouch on the offside of the holster. He put it on, then fit a loose, long-sleeve shirt over it.
“Let me be clear,” Edric said as he slid on his own holster. “This isn’t Baghdad. Cairo is a civilized city. But it’s not a safe place, either. Avoid contact, and avoid conflict. Use your best judgment when interacting with locals, and for God’s sake, let’s not get arrested this time.”
Everybody looked at Wolfgang, and he blushed.
“I’m driving,” Megan said, taking the keys to the 4Runner.
“Shotgun,” Kevin shouted, shoving Wolfgang in the shoulder.
Wolfgang gritted his teeth as he gathered up his communications equipment and turned to follow.
Some things never change.
Megan powered the 4Runner out of the hangar and onto the road, her eyes sheltered by dark sunglasses that accentuated her round face. Wolfgang took the back seat, piling in next to a cooler full of sandwiches and water bottles. He absentmindedly wondered who prepared all of their equipment and had it waiting when they landed, then he shrugged the curiosity off. SPIRE was a massive company with a deep pocket. He just hoped the sandwiches weren’t soggy.
Dust rose from the pavement as they plowed toward the city. The small buildings and narrow streets around them grew taller and wider as the sun continued to pound down. Megan turned the air conditioning up, providing a merciful stream of cool air, but Wolfgang still cracked a window and sucked in the dusty taste of the desert.
Everybody they passed smiled, and many of them waved. Wolfgang waved back, noticing civilians of every race and creed growing in numbers as they closed in on the city. Small children laughed and kicked soccer balls between houses, while dogs and other small animals chased each other in and out of the streets. Everything was sunburnt and dust-blasted, just the way he imagined it would be. Even so, there was an order and pride reflected in the carefully swept porches and clean houses. People here gave a damn, it was obvious, and that was more than could be said of many places he’d visited.
Wolfgang leaned back in the seat as Megan piloted onto the highway, then turned north. She chewed gum quietly, relaxed into the seat as if she were out for a Sunday drive, and Wolfgang marveled at her flawless composure. Megan never seemed to be fazed by anything—never seemed to be caught off guard. The only time he’d ever seen her become emotional was after the Paris job when she broke down while telling him about James, her boyfriend and the member of Charlie Team who died on the Damascus operation. Wolfgang had taken James’s slot on the team and had ignorantly pursued Megan from day one.
Maybe if he’d known about James, he would’ve given her more space. Maybe he would have been kinder, and more subtle, and not so, well . . . himself.
Or maybe not. Because even now, sitting in the back of the 4Runner with the memories of Megan’s pain so fresh in his mind, he still found it impossible to ignore her. He found it impossible not to remember dancing together at the gala in Paris, and the way her grey eyes shone like stars when she laughed, which wasn’t often, but it was addictive. It was impossible not to think that maybe, if he kept trying, she’d give him the time of day.
Megan’s lips twitched, and Wolfgang suddenly had the idea that she was staring—or glaring
— at him through the mirror. He looked away quickly, turning to the window again, and then he saw them. Rising out of the desert, maybe five kilometers away, the glorious triangle shape of the pyramids dominated the horizon. He could see three of them from this distance—two smaller pyramids, with the Great Pyramid itself looming over them and punching almost five hundred feet into the sky. As Megan continued to plow toward the city, smaller pyramids came into view, clustered together south of the others.
“Pyramids for the queens,” Megan said, answering his unspoken question. “The Sphinx is on the other side.”
“You’ve been there?” Wolfgang asked, his gaze lost on the pyramids.
Megan grunted but didn’t answer, and both Kevin and Megan stared directly ahead, their shoulder’s stiff.
So, I was right. They’ve been here before.
He opened a bottle of water and watched the pyramids grow slowly closer, then pass by a kilometer south of the highway. Moments later, they were enveloped by the city of Giza, and everything changed. Trees and greenery of all kinds appeared, jammed into flower beds and rising between buildings. People crowded around the sidewalks, bustling and shouting as the dust faded from the air.
Giza was packed to the brim with thousands of people clogging the streets. Horns blared, busses surged by, and music pounded from open-air restaurants. It was like any other big city, with a sun-blazed intensity that was both overwhelming and thrilling at the same time.
“How many—”
“Three million,” Megan said. “Three million people live here. And you should know that.”
Wolfgang looked back out the window, too distracted by the thrilling sights and sounds to be bothered by Megan’s rebuke. She was right, anyway. He needed to study better and be more aware of the places he worked.
Buildings grew taller, and the people less packed as the 4Runner ground another few dozen blocks into the city. The residential and shopping districts faded into the business and government districts, and the children and dogs were replaced with men in business suits climbing in and out of black cars caked in dust. But the greenery was still there, fueled by the richer dirt near the Nile River.
