“Awesome,” she muttered. “Just awesome.”
She half-turned to leave, but movement in the corner of her eye brought her to a halt—something white fluttered in the light breeze along the house’s stuccoed wall. Eyebrows pinched together, she walked over to what looked like a curtain sticking out of the back door.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she stared at the door. Just slide it shut? But then it would still be unlocked. She had no idea if Soliman had any artifacts to bring to the university or museum in there. If he did, someone could just waltz right in and steal them.
Or maybe Soliman was still home. He seemed unwell when she saw him earlier—what if he’d had another heart attack?
That thought made the decision easy. Hoping she wasn’t about to walk in on a medical emergency, she slid the door the rest of the way open and stuck her head inside.
CHAPTER 7
The kitchen was empty. The only noise came from the hum of the fridge. She slid a hand down to the gun at her waist as another scenario occurred to her. What if Professor Soliman had been robbed? And what if the burglars were still inside?
She stepped into the kitchen and closed the door. Nothing stirred or seemed out of the ordinary, so she continued to the hallway. Heart pounding, she pulled out the gun and swallowed. If she accidentally shot Soliman, she’d never forgive herself.
Shoving that dark thought aside, she placed her feet softly on the tile floor as she moved down the hall toward the bedroom and office. Both doors stood open, lights off. The glow from the kitchen no longer sufficed for her to see clearly. Any Medjay would scold her for even thinking of turning on a light—Drake certainly would.
Leila took in a slow breath through her nostrils. Hopefully, Drake had gotten away unharmed. With all the new information Leila had been processing, she hadn’t thought to check on her yet. And now Soliman might be in trouble, too. But first, she had to make sure the house was secure.
Be one with the darkness. Be the darkness. I can do this. I am the darkness.
Glass crunched under her foot, and she jolted to a stop. Holding her breath, she waited a moment for her eyes to fully adjust to the dimness, then glanced into the office to her right. Everything seemed normal, but after a pause, she realized the room looked strangely empty.
No computer on the desk. No books. The bottom file cabinet drawer hung open.
Straightening, she stepped over the shattered glass and entered the room. Things began to click together. Soliman vanished, thug waiting outside, Faris sending her on an impossible mission… it all smelled like a hoax. Faris was trying to trick her into looking for the scroll. For all she knew, he already had it—and had possibly gotten rid of Soliman in the meantime.
And then there was the bombing. Coincidence? Definitely not.
She checked the rest of the rooms in the house, and after no sign of the professor, she ended up in the office again. Now what? Chewing her bottom lip, she pulled out the burner phone and stared at the contact list. Drake would know what to do. Leila selected Drake’s name on the screen and paused. What if Faris had taken care of Drake too? Fingers trembling, Leila typed out a message. Hopefully she would get a reply.
LEILA: Are you OK? Prof is gone.
Once she sent the message, Leila went up to the empty desk and glanced it over. Not a single piece of paper, pen, or paperclip had been left. She checked the drawers and they all turned up empty as well.
Faris’s goons had taken everything.
With a frown, she glanced up at the wall. The poster above the desk had been the only thing spared. The large world map was marked with a scattering of green pins, a few yellow ones around Egypt, and a red one near Greece.
The phone buzzed. Leila jumped, dug it out of her pocket, and threw a glance at the new message. A breath escaped when she saw Drake’s name on the screen. She was alive.
DRAKE: Turquoise.
Leila frowned again. What was that supposed to mean? Was it a random auto-correct fail? Knitting her eyebrows together, she began to type out an answer, but a thud came from the living room.
Her heart stopped as she whirled around and stared at the empty office doorway. A footstep tapped in the hallway. Swallowing, Leila put the phone in her pocket and pulled out the gun. Her finger slipped over the trigger.
Please, let it be Soliman.
Another tap. Whoever was coming was taking his dear, sweet time. Probably not Soliman, then. He would have said something by now.
Hide—No, jump out the window and get the heck out of there.
She darted for the window, and too late, she remembered the iron bars that stretched across it. She was trapped. Blinding light filled the room. Voices screamed at her to drop the gun.
Men clad in black uniforms filed in, so many she couldn’t count them in the dark, their automatic rifles pointed at her. Her gun clattered to the floor, and she threw her hands in the air.
One of the uniformed men stepped up beside her, his face fully masked behind goggles, a scarf, and helmet. He shoved her forward. She lost her balance and fell onto her stomach, the air rushing out of her lungs.
She groaned from the sharp pain in her chest as one of the men forced her hands behind her back. What was happening? These guys weren’t the same ones working for Faris. The bulletproof vests, the eagle insignia on the sleeve, knee and elbow pads—like military police. Her throat tightened. She didn’t do anything, she wanted to say as the cold metal of handcuffs snapped around her wrists.
Instead, she started to cry. What kind of trap had she just walked into again?
• • •
There was still no sign of Soliman. He had yet to appear on any security camera in an airport or harbor, even though his colleagues were scrutinizing them every second. Xander had driven around all day to highway checkpoints on the outskirts of Cairo—if Soliman had tried to leave the city by car, he would have had to stop at one and show his ID, which would have been entered into a log. Without a clue as to which direction Soliman would have gone, Xander could only try one after the other, but so far, the search had come up empty-handed.
Xander clipped his smartphone onto the phone holder on his dash and continued driving down the road, the headlights illuminating the flat-roofed houses as he passed. There wasn’t much to see in this part of Cairo. The highway would lead into the Sahara, then turn toward Sharm El-Shiekh, three hundred miles farther south on the Red Sea. He let out a huff of frustration. This would be his last stop tonight. It was zero-five-hundred, and the energy drinks were starting to give him jitters. He hated jitters.
Foot on the brake, he pounded over a speed bump, then continued between the concrete barriers toward the final checkpoint. Two vehicles waited in line, one officer leaning into the window of the first car.
Xander’s eyes flicked toward the once-white guard shack where a single officer waited outside the door. The man rested one hand on his elbow, the other ready to grab the gun at his waist. With a shrug, Xander pulled to the side, driving over the white lines on the pavement, and rolled up to the shack. He took a badge out of his wallet and climbed out of the car. The guard narrowed his eyes at him as he approached.
“I’m looking for a person of interest,” he explained in Arabic, lifting the badge for the guard to see. Xander threw a glance at the lanky young man’s name tag. Officer Zaher.
Zaher raised an eyebrow as he read Xander’s badge, one he had gotten from the Egyptian Central Security Forces to allow him to search without questions. Zaher nodded and Xander lowered his hand.
“Who are you looking for?” the guard asked, crossing his arms.
