“Easy, Dad, it’s just the landing gear coming down,” Zahra explained, grabbing his shoulder and clutching his jacket. She didn’t let go until their airstrip appeared.
George lifted a finger and pointed. “Is that a road?”
“And our runway!” Cork replied, powering down the lone functioning engine a little more. With their airspeed decreased, the Cessna descended quickly. At this rate, they’d touch down any second.
By Zahra’s estimate, they were directly over the southern tip of the island. The road led straight for a port, from what she could tell. It was hard for Zahra to make out exactly where they were headed with all the bouncing and shaking. Any more of it, and she’d repaint the ceiling with her vomit.
“Cork!” Zahra yelled. “Any day now!”
“Almost there…” Cork relayed. The wheels caught asphalt. “Got it!”
But the road wasn’t empty.
One after another, drivers blared their horns and swerved out of the way to miss the Cessna. Cork tried her damnedest to avoid them too, but the plane didn’t have the same maneuverability as the vehicles. She kept the fuselage lined up with the central yellow lines of the four-lane road and mumbled incoherently to herself.
After the tenth car horn, Cork was able to stop the plane just as they were about to enter the gate to the port. A local — the guard — stumbled out of his shack and looked the Cessna up and down. He sprinted over to the driver’s side and waved at Cork. She slid open her window, breathing heavily.
The guard was shouting at her in Italian.
“Oi, Luigi, I don’t speak Italian!
Zahra unbuckled and squeezed into the cockpit. She leaned over Cork and quickly conversed with the guard.
“Grazie!” Zahra shouted, thanking the man, and waving him off. The guard hustled back into this shack and picked up a phone.
“What’d he say?” Cork asked.
Zahra plopped down in the front passenger seat, sweating. “He said that we can’t park here. We’re blocking access to the port.”
Cork was confused. “That’s it?”
“No,” Zahra replied, “I explained what happened and that we are in need of some help. He went to call his cousin, who, from what I gather, is a pilot. He does helicopter tours of the area.”
“Oh, well, that was awfully lovely of him.” Zahra got up, but Cork grabbed her wrist. “One last thing…”
“No, Cork, I don’t know if he’s single.”
Chapter 43
Baahir
The elevator’s motor whirled to life, alerting those beneath The Pharaoh's Lounge that someone was inbound. No one stopped what they were doing to greet said visitor. Most of the time, their presence was inconsequential. In this case, Baahir had been asleep on his cot. The noise had awoken him, but he was already, nearly back to slumbering soundly.
As Baahir drifted back to sleep, he pictured Khaliq, or one of his other men, standing at the ancient steps, silently watching them once they returned. He rolled over, facing away from the rising commotion. It wasn’t until he heard the voices that Baahir became curious as to who exactly the guests were.
Ugh, fine.
He rolled back over and stood, yawning. Baahir lifted his hands high over his head and paused mid-stretch. Across the cave, he spotted an unfamiliar woman, and two burly men led a hooded figure down the steps. This was the first time he had seen anyone treated like this since his own arrival.
How long has it been already? It was hard to tell the time. There were no clocks and no windows — no sunrises and no sunsets.
The others gave the newcomers a wide berth. Baahir didn’t. He marched straight for them, stopping in the empty space between his cowering coworkers and the bottom of the stone steps. The hooded man was on his knees, panting beneath the filthy burlap sack.
The woman could only be one person. “Ifza Ayad, I presume.”
She glared at him, but her expression softened after seeing it was Baahir who had greeted her. It was obvious that Baahir’s actions were out of place. Everyone here was terrified of Khaliq’s sister. Baahir was too, but he had nothing else to fear from her. He was already in hell, working for Satan himself.
She stepped toward him and held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Hassan.” Baahir didn’t accept the handshake. Ifza lowered her hand. “I have someone I would like you to meet.” She looked over her shoulder. “Get him up.”
Her henchmen pulled the prisoner to his feet, and one of them roughly removed the cloak from his head. Baahir was expecting to see someone he knew. He had never met this man before.
“Baahir Hassan, meet Grant Upton.” Grant collapsed to the floor. “He used to work closely with—”
“Zahra,” Baahir said. He knew Grant by name only. His sister had mentioned him several times over texts and emails. He was a rising star in their world, from what Zahra had said. She had been very impressed by him.
The younger man was, understandably, afraid of the situation he found himself in. It was also plain to see that he was sleep deprived and dehydrated — possibly feverish. Even in the cool, ambient temperature of the cave, he was slathered in sweat.
“He’s sick,” Baahir said, kneeling in front of him. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing, but I suspect he is reacting negatively to the sack.”
“The sack? What’s so special about a sack?”
Ifza gave Baahir a look that said she knew something he didn’t. “It used to hold flour.” Before Baahir could question the oddness of the sack’s usage, as well as its relation to its prior contents, Ifza continued. “Mr. Upton is being prepared. We need him at his weakest for what we have planned.”
“And what’s that?” Baahir asked. Grant clawed at him, mumbling softly to himself.
Baahir leaned in close enough to hear.
“Alive…” Grant whispered, coughing hard. “Zahra is alive…”
Grant then fell face first into the hard floor, unconscious. He allowed Ifza’s men to pick his sister’s assistant up and drag him away. The news of Zahra’s survival was glorious, but he needed to maintain his position of servitude until he knew more. No one else seemed to have heard Grant. The young man had used his last ounce of strength to deliver Baahir some much-needed good news.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Baahir said, standing.
“My apologies, Dr. Hassan.” Ifza feigned forgiveness with a lax bow of her head. “What did you want to know?”
“What is it that you have planned for him?”
Ifza kept her subservient posture but looked up at him with a wide, predatory smile. “He is to be our latest patient. Hopefully, he’ll last longer than the others.”
The others?
She stood. “Thanks to you and your sister,” Ifza held out her hand behind her, “…and your father, and your dear, dear mother.”
That was the second time that Baahir’s family had been brought up with disdain. There was definitely history here, but he had no idea what it was. One of the men unslung a backpack and unzipped it. He reached inside and pulled out what Baahir had been dreading to see.
“This,” Ifza said, examining the large, black canopic jar, “I thank you for this. Had your family destroyed it years ago, none of this would have come to pass.”
Baahir looked over his shoulder, spying the light table at the center of the cave. The extended portion of Anubis’ scroll mentioned something about the hellstone being the key to unlocking the plague. He didn’t understand the science behind it. Since Baahir had arrived on the scene, the team here had only been responsible for research and translation. He knew they were looking for a temple, but other than that, he wasn’t sure of anything else.