“Unbelievable.”
He was doing what the emergency dispatcher had told him to do. Baahir was currently sitting inside of his locked SUV with the engine running and the lights off. It was the safest place he could think of being. There was nowhere he could go on foot that Rahal couldn’t follow.
Ghazzi…
Baahir had never witnessed anyone get shot before. Seeing the look in the injured man’s eyes was something Baahir would never forget.
What about Abbas?
Baahir closed his eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely. He clenched his hands around the steering wheel and squeezed as hard as he could. So much violence, and for what? He couldn’t believe that people still acted like this in the modern age, especially toward the acquisition of historical relics. Baahir had seen the same kind of radical behavior before, but that was in the form of terrorism. He lived in Egypt, after all.
A bolt of lightning struck somewhere in the distance. In its flash, he saw something — a blurry lump silhouetted against the skyline.
Then, the lump started to shoot at him.
The bullet penetrated his windshield, spiderwebbing the glass. Pieces of it hit Baahir in the face and neck, but nothing large enough to seriously injure him. He felt the flow of blood, and the sting of the small, superficial cuts on his exposed skin.
Baahir threw the SUV into reverse and sped away backward toward the entry ramp. More gunshots followed his attempted escape. One obliterated his right headlight. The road was a straight shot behind him and as soon as his tires found it, he screeched to a stop and shifted into drive. He used the vehicle’s powerful engine to his advantage and floored the pedal as more and more projectiles hit home. The tailgate’s window shattered as he pulled away.
“Oh, my god.” His voice quaked. Baahir had no idea what to do next. He called the police again and reported what had just happened.
“Okay, Mr. Hassan, I need you to stay calm and—”
More bullets tore into the interior of the vehicle. As a result, Baahir dropped his phone. He didn’t know if the operator was still on the other line or not, and he wasn’t about to pull over and check. So, Baahir drove faster and came up with a plan of action, rather, he figured out where he was going to go. In his mind’s eye, he pictured himself examining the scroll.
“The museum.”
There were armed guards stationed at the museum around the clock. He’d be safe there.
At least, I hope I will.
Chapter 12
Rahal
Agent Rahal sprinted after Hassan’s vehicle, peppering it with nine-millimeter ammunition. Soon, the Egyptologist was out of range, speeding away with a squeal of rubber on road. Rahal spied the vehicle jerk around the nearest turn, tires continuing to wail in protest.
More lightning announced the next wave of rain and wind. As they each picked up in intensity, Rahal spun on a dime and marched over to his own car. He should have been more worried about losing the scroll for good, but the Egyptologist was a predictable man. His own interests would trump his safety. Instead of heading for the nearest police department, he’d go somewhere far less secure.
Rahal fell into the driver’s seat and shut the door. He sat for a moment to collect his thoughts before calling his superior. The phone rang twice.
“Yes?”
“The Egyptologist has the scroll.”
Khalid Ayad sighed. Just with that subtle noise, Rahal could tell his boss was not happy. He could feel the man’s rage radiating through the phone.
“This is most disappointing.”
“But I will regain it shortly,” he said. “I know where he is going.”
“You do?”
Rahal grinned. “Yes. He will take it to the museum in Cairo. I’d bet my life on it.”
Khaliq’s laugh was grating, menacing. “We will see, Mr. Rahal. We will see…”
Rahal swallowed. He began to answer, to clarify, but the call was suddenly disconnected.
Chapter 13
Baahir
Baahir made it to Nile Corniche without further incident. His vehicle was decimated and beyond repair. He knew he should have headed straight for a police station, but Baahir was frightened. There wasn’t anywhere in the world that he felt more comfortable than the museum. From here, it was a straight shot. He’d properly phone the authorities once he was inside. Speaking of which…
Baahir had dropped his phone some time ago, and he was too focused on not dying to retrieve it. Double-checking his surroundings, Baahir glanced down to the passenger side footwell. Nothing. He leaned into the steering wheel, and finally spotted the device laying facedown. Keeping his eyes on the road, Baahir reached down and to his right, stretching as far as he could without losing control of his SUV.
His fingers grazed it, but he couldn’t quite grab it.
“Dammit.”
He slowed and pulled off on the side of the road. He unbuckled his seatbelt, giving himself the extra range that he required. Got it! The screen was dark. The call between him and the emergency operator had ended when he dropped it. Baahir was about to check his missed calls. A set of headlights approaching him from behind made him freeze in place. Their owner was still a good distance away, but he didn’t want to chance that it being Rahal. Baahir’s survival at the construction site had been a fluke, and he wasn’t about to test his luck again.
Baahir took off, staying far ahead of the pursuing vehicle. He got off at El Tahrir Avenue and headed east toward Tahrir Square. At its center sat, what was typically, a busy traffic circle, though, at the late hour, it was mostly empty. There were only two other cars in the large roundabout. One whizzed by him, heading back the way he had come, and the other one exited the circle and went south.
Once more, Baahir was alone.
He followed the traffic circle around to the north and exited, spying the museum up ahead. It sat majestically against the Cairo sky along the west side of Meret Basha Street. Powerful exterior lighting illuminated its burnt-orange façade. Baahir was so lost in its aura that he didn’t notice the fast-moving vehicle quickly approaching from behind him.
Before he could do anything, the car clipped his rear fender and caused him to fishtail out of control. He skidded sideways, but somehow, didn’t crash. His tires recaught the pavement and he straightened out, beelining for the museum. It was just up ahead. He could just now make out the main entrance.
As Baahir came up on Kasr Al Nile Street, he was bumped again. This time, he was forced off the road, clipping a concrete telephone pole as he passed. The passenger side window exploded into a million pieces, bathing Baahir in more shrapnel. The bedlam was too much for Baahir to navigate. The SUV flipped onto its side and skidded sideways across the sidewalk in a shriek of protesting metal. Sparks flew, and so did a flurry of nonsensical obscenities. The latter originated from Baahir’s shouts as he and the vehicle flipped onto the roof. Baahir braced himself with his hands, gluing them to the ceiling above his head. The vehicle spun and careened into a storefront before finally coming to a stop.
Though groggy and a bit lightheaded, Baahir was still aware enough to unbuckle his seatbelt. He fell to the roof, landing on something that felt like a steel pipe. In the chaos of it all, Baahir’s eyes snapped open when he figured out what it was.
The scroll!
He wiped away the blood running down the left side of his face and crawled out of the totaled vehicle with the artifact and his cellphone tucked against his chest in his left hand. He pushed aside the sting of the small shards of glass, forcing themselves deeper into his right palm as he moved.