Zahra lifted her head and saw that there were two glasses. “Let me guess? Eagle Rare?”
Dina picked up her lowball and softly clinked Zahra’s glass. They were both healthy pours, something both women needed, all things considered. The archaeologist worked up the strength to sit up, clumsily fingering the glass before getting a good grip on it. Together, both ladies took a solid sip, relishing in the bourbon’s warmth as it made its way down their throats and chests.
“Oh, yes,” Zahra said, wincing as she smiled, “this’ll do just fine.”
They stayed at the kitchen table while they drank. Once both women were finished, they moved across the living space to Zahra’s bedroom. The master, like the rest of the quaint home, was nothing spectacular. Her bed was pushed up against the right-hand wall with a TV mounted across from it.
“How are you doing, Z, really?”
“Fine, mom,” Zahra replied. She gave her close friend an appreciative smile and sat on the bed. She looked around her room. “Finally got me in bed, huh?”
Now, it was Dina’s turn to roll her eyes. “What’s your next move?”
Zahra glanced at her closet. Dina knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t going to back down and give up. There was more to do than just curl up and go into hiding. But first, Zahra needed to reboot and recharge.
She gingerly got to her feet. “Help me with my clothes, will ya?”
There was no joke about Dina finally getting to see Zahra in the buff. The pair worked together to get Zahra undressed and into the shower. The water was boiling and felt incredible on Zahra’s abused physique and psyche. Both needed a reset in the worse way. Apparently, Dina did too. She had left Zahra alone to clean up before re-entering the bathroom, carrying another pour of bourbon.
Once Zahra was bathed, she got redressed, replacing her soiled, and slightly singed, clothing with a fresh set. The only thing she kept was her sneakers. New jeans — black, of course — and a fresh top. Color? Duh, black. It featured a very-recognizable logo on it. The vintage Jurassic Park shirt wasn’t falsely aged, as was the current style. This particular t-shirt was as old as the original film.
Lastly, Zahra threw on a leather jacket that was just as worn as her shirt. When she was fully dressed and comfortable, she opened her closet. Inside of it was…nothing out of the ordinary. An assortment of seasonal garbs hung from hangers. Outdoorsy gear was tossed about in an unorganized manner on the floor. Compared to the rest of the home, it was out of sorts.
It was also on purpose.
Zahra dug through the mess until she hit the floor. When she did, she pushed on the rear portion of it, right where it met the wall. With enough pressure, the two-by-two section of false floor popped free to reveal a hidden compartment full of things she wasn’t technically supposed to own. Out came a black JanSport, already packed with everything she’d need for the next phase of her journey. Zahra was always prepared for the worst. She added her knife, flashlight, and grappling hook to it. They had come in handy tonight.
What she could have really used was a gun.
Zahra removed the Glock 19 from her pack and checked it over, making sure the light mounted below the barrel still worked. It did. Good, she thought, knowing Dina was watching her intently, but she didn’t care. Zahra trusted the Brit with her life.
“Expecting more trouble?” Dina asked.
Zahra peered over her shoulder. “Yeah. In my experience, this is about the time where things get ugly.”
Dina’s eyes opened wide. “Worse than tonight?”
Zahra returned her attention to her gear. She sighed. “Yeah, Dina, much worse.”
The two women stayed at Zahra’s place for the rest of the night. Dina had called her girlfriend and explained that Zahra needed some looking after following a ‘rough night out.’
Zahra wanted to immediately get moving, but Dina successfully talked her out of it, and Zahra hadn’t been able to put up much of a fight — a testament to just how banged-up Zahra was. And at her core, Zahra knew Dina was right. She’d be of no use to anyone half-asleep and sore as hell. So, Zahra climbed into bed in her fresh clothes and closed her eyes. Dina curled up next to her to keep an eye on her.
That part of Dina’s lie was the truth.
“You don’t have to sleep here,” Zahra said.
“Well, your couch is lumpy as shit.”
Zahra was asleep before she could laugh.
Chapter 31
Baahir
Surprisingly, the walls and ceiling were still natural. The only additions to the cavern, besides the equipment and workspaces on the floor, were lights and air ducts that hung between randomly formed stalactites. The ducts weren’t part of a cooling system. Their purpose was to ventilate impurities out of the air. The space felt cool and dry thanks, in part, to the ambient temperature that existed beneath the surface of the world.
Fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit, give or take.
He quickly descended the steps, uncaring if Khaliq had followed him or not. Baahir was too absorbed in the extremist’s underground headquarters to care. He felt like he was in a Bond movie, and Khaliq was his Goldfinger or Hugo Drax. Thanks to their father’s incessant need to have one playing at all hours of the day, Baahir and Zahra had been obsessed with old-school spy flicks when they were younger.
Men and women of all nationalities moved about, paying Baahir very little attention. They were too busy with their work to worry about Khaliq’s plus-one. It gave Baahir the impression that he wasn’t the first stranger to walk amongst them.
The Egyptologist buzzed by examination tables featuring all kinds of trinkets and doodads. Each individual tool had its specific purpose. But they didn’t concern Baahir. At the center of the rectangular cavern was a space dedicated to something important — Baahir could feel it in his bones. Plus, the human presence was the densest there.
Is that a glass table?
He scooted around a squat man that was pulling along a rolling dry-erase board that featured crude sketches and short-hand notes. One of the quips caught his eye. It spoke of the Book of the Dead.
The scientist came to a stop where Baahir was headed, jabbing at the board with a single, pudgy digit. He was shouting in Arabic about a new passage they had apparently found within the Anubian scroll. Baahir rushed over. His presence caused those gathered around the table to stir and part like the Red Sea.
“He’s the one who found it,” one man whispered.
“That’s him,” another added.
Baahir slowed when he saw what it was that held their attention. There, pressed between a sheet of glass and the glass tabletop like a sandwich, was his scroll. It was gently backlit from beneath while also being mildly lit from above via a fluorescent light ballast. In Baahir’s absence, it had been relieved of its protective stone tube and rolled out for all to see. Thankfully, Khaliq had people on his team that knew how to properly handle fragile documents, though Baahir would have preferred the work be done in a sealed-off, dust-free examination room. The lack of one bothered him greatly.
The Egyptologist wheeled around on Khaliq. “You’re examining a once-in-lifetime discovery in a cave?” His hands were on his head. He was infuriated. “This is abhorrent!” He looked around. “Hardly anyone is even wearing gloves! Do you have any idea how destructive the oils in our skin are?” Baahir was breathing hard. He needed to catch his breath.
Baahir pushed through the crowd, even bumping Khaliq as he moved. He stopped in front of the dry-erase board and closed his eyes. He placed his hands on his head and took deep breaths.