“Good morning, Stefano.”
The two men shook hands. The police chief greeted everyone else with a quick wave.
“Hello, Vincenzo. Are we ready?”
The mechanic turned and looked back at Zahra. She nodded. “Yes.”
Vincenzo opened his door and hopped out of his truck, closely followed by Cork. Zahra and George were last to exit the vehicle and joined Stefano over by his squad car with their gear.
“We’ve cleared the way for you until you are in the air,” Stefano explained in heavily accented English. “Just follow this road to the north.”
“That’s our runway?” George asked, appalled.
Stefano shrugged. “It is the best we can do for you unless you are willing to load the plane onto a ferry and head to Trapani. That could take all day, though.”
“No, this’ll do.” Zahra put a reassuring hand on her father’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Cork can handle it.”
“I ‘can handle’ what?” the pilot asked, stepping over. She had not heard anything.
“The takeoff,” George replied. He jabbed a finger to the left-hand road. “Down that.”
Cork turned and faced the narrow roadway. Even Zahra could tell the Cessna’s wings were barely going to stay clear of the trees growing off to either side.
The pilot shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Shouldn’t?” Stefano asked, standing straighter.
“She says that a lot,” George muttered, keeping his eyeing off the pilot.
Cork sneered at him but didn’t respond. “Nothing is certain until we’re in the air,” she said, turning back to the police officer. Now, it was Stefano’s turn to look nervous, joining in with George. It was evident that the cop was beginning to regret his decision to help. “But don’t worry your cheeks,” Cork continued, “I’m damn confident I can do this.”
Her reassurance didn’t help the two men’s mood. Zahra knew her friend well and was also confident in her abilities to get them safely off the ground.
“Let’s go,” Zahra said, picking up her stuff and heading for the Cessna. “We have no time to waste.”
George, begrudgingly, followed his daughter over to the plane. As she tossed her bag in the door, George laid his hand on her back.
“This is crazy, Zahra.”
She nodded. “I know, but we don’t have a choice. Baahir is running out of time.”
“You don’t know that?”
She sighed and turned. Her eyes looked tired, and her shoulders were rolled inward. Zahra wasn’t the beaming light of poise she typically was.
“Look, Dad, people like Khaliq Ayad are only going to keep valuable assets around for so long. Once Baahir does whatever he’s been forced to do, there will be no reason to keep him around. He’ll become nothing more than a loose end.” She looked up at the clear blue sky. “One that will need to be cut free.”
“She’s right, Mr. Kane,” Cork added. “I’ve personally dealt with people like this Khaliq guy, and it rarely ever turns out well for those in your son’s position. We really do need to get moving. We also still have a few stops along the way.” She patted the plane’s hull. “My bird is reliable…ish, and I know I can get us there in one piece, but—”
“But it won’t matter if we’re still standing here talking about it next week.”
Zahra waved her goodbyes and thanks to Vincenzo and Stefano and climbed inside.
Cork shrugged. “That wasn’t exactly what I was going to say, but sure, whatever…”
The Kanes buckled in. Cork secured the door and then squeezed into the cockpit, swiftly going over things. She flicked switches and tapped on seemingly random gauges. Her fingertip struck one of the instruments, and it instantly came to life. Zahra cringed when she saw it was the altimeter. She may have exaggerated the condition of the Puss. E. Galore a little to her father…and to herself.
The front and back props came to life, startling George. His fingers tightened around his armrests, and he nervously looked out the windshield and swallowed. Cork pulled them away from the fork and down the left-hand side of the road a bit before increasing their speed. Zahra watched as people stepped outside to gawk at the plane using their rural street as a runway.
“What are they doing?” George asked.
“They’re here for the entertainment!” Cork called back. “I doubt they’ve ever seen anything like this before!”
Zahra was going to add a snarky comment but was too zoned-in on what she and Cork had said about Baahir’s situation. They were both right. Once her brother’s usefulness wore out, he’d die.
Cork applied consistent pressure on the thrust lever, pushing it, and the aircraft forward. The lightweight plane quickly got up to takeoff speed. Cork didn’t waste any time. She eased the nose of the Cessna up, and they rapidly began their ascension into the cool Mediterranean sky.
“So,” George asked, “where to?”
Zahra looked to Cork for a reply.
“Based on mileage, I’d say somewhere in Greece would work best…but I have a feeling Zahra is about to try and convince me to head straight for Port Said.” She peered into her rearview mirror. “Am I right?”
“Um, well,” Zahra stammered, “you did agree that getting to Baahir ASAP was a matter of life and death.”
Cork sighed. “Yeah, I did.” She growled. “Me and my big mouth.”
Chapter 55
Ifza
Ifza quickly shut the door behind her. She was due to meet with her brother as soon as she was done checking on Grant. He was just across the hall from the surgical suite, preparing the sacred canopic jar for transition. It’s what the Book of the Dead called the process of the hellstone changing to its life-taking form. It transitioned from the harmless to the harmful.
The Ayad siblings had grown up with this exact possibility in mind, though, if Ifza was being honest, she never thought she’d see the day that it would happen. So many others in their bloodline had failed before them. Why were they to be the ones to succeed? What made her and her brother so special? No one had been more devout to the cause than their grandfather.
Until Khaliq was born.
His beliefs were unshakeable, and above all else, were at the forefront of everything he did. Ifza wasn’t too far behind. She wanted the plague to come about as much as anyone. Her desire to see it came from her need to cleanse the planet of the weak and unworthy.
The Ayads were worthy.
Ifza pushed off the surgical suite’s door and closed the short distance between it and the adjacent examination room. It was where her brother had set up shop. He had spent the last day, since arriving from Cairo with Baahir, preparing for his part in the transition.
Ifza took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. It quietly opened to reveal a low-lit space beyond. The only light within the room was a ring of candles encircling her brother.
He was kneeling in the center of the circle, wearing nothing except a traditional shendyt. The kilt-like garment was standard attire for a wide variety of social classes from ancient times but was typically worn by nobles or those from the upper class.
Khaliq’s was constructed out of the finest silk, instead of linen, as was the custom, and was incredibly soft to the touch. He wore a crown on his bald head that featured the jackal head of Anubis, and his neck and wrists were adorned with jewelry made of pure gold. He certainly did look like a Egyptian pharaoh.
And every king had an enforcer. That was Ifza’s calling. When her brother needed something special done, she went out and did it personally. She loved being involved and getting her hands dirty. Ifza didn’t know anything else. She had been trained in the art of warfare since the day she could walk.
“Ifza,” Khaliq said, motioning to the floor next to him, “come, sit beside me.”