The last one had been sent an hour ago. He called her and put his phone to his ear, only to go directly to voicemail. His throat tightened.
No. No, no, no. She can’t be…
“I just can’t believe it,” Mohamed went on. “I wish the news would update faster.”
His colleagues all shook their heads sadly.
“I was just there two days ago. Unbelievable,” Matthew said with blank eyes staring into space.
“Do you know if anyone got hurt?” Salima asked. “Or…?”
“I don’t know.” Mohamed said. “There’s a video of the damage online. Did you see it?”
Xander cringed and stuffed his phone into his pocket, his body cold. He had to find Leila. His movements were shaky as he shrugged his backpack over his shoulders. Tucking his helmet under his arm, he strode out the door, then broke into a run down the path. His old Suzuki dirt bike waited for him in the parking lot. It took three forceful kicks, using his entire bodyweight to get it started, but then he roared down the road, toward the city of Saqqara.
After ten minutes of weaving past dented cars parked on the sides of the road, past pick-up trucks with crates piled sky-high in the beds, and past merchants selling T-shirts on the sidewalks, he reached the apartment complex. Another minute to walk from the street, past the watchman, and up the circular staircase, until he opened the door of Leila’s apartment.
“Leila?” he called out as he stepped into the living room. He let the door shut softly behind him. In the middle of the living room stood the stack of cardboard boxes he had brought over the day before, obscuring the view of the TV and sofa. He gazed over the boxes, then glanced toward the small kitchen, which was empty.
A sob came from the bedroom. A sob that filled him with relief and a heavy heart.
In a few quick strides, he was at the bedside. His stomach dropped. He knew she would be upset about the news—it was a devastating loss—but he hadn’t been prepared to see her like this. Leila sat on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands, her dark brown hair powdered gray. Her clothing was dusty and torn, her arms covered in bloody scratches.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Have you seen a doctor?” Lowering himself next to her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and brushed her hair from her face. His fiancée’s face. And in two weeks, his wife’s. The fact still took his breath away.
She couldn’t even answer. As he held her, heat spread in his chest, an eagerness swelling inside. Eagerness to go to Cairo, to find the one who did this. She’d been so close. She could have been killed.
“Hey, talk to me,” he finally said, keeping his words soft despite the internal storm that brewed.
She put a palm against his sweaty shirt. “They made me leave.” Her voice broke, and she stopped.
Her shoulders shook, then she lifted her chin and looked at him. For a moment, he was lost in her gaze, almond-shaped and warm brown with flecks of amber. Instead of the courage and determination her eyes usually expressed, they were filled with worry, fear, and grief.
“Mom and Sami were inside,” she explained, her lip quivering. “They’re missing.”
An icy breath traveled down his spine. He’d been hoping Aisha and Sami would have left when Leila did. Maybe there was still a chance they’d made it out before the explosion.
“They’ll find them,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “They’ll be okay.” Although if they hadn’t been found alive at this point, they probably needed a miracle. But he wouldn’t voice any doubts.
Leila kept her head turned towards the window. “I last saw them when I walked out of the café,” she mumbled. “She won’t answer her phone. Neither of them turned up back home. There’s no sign of them.” Leila sobbed into his chest. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have been so angry.”
Her voice cracked and descended into more sobs. He held her against him. Leila didn’t deserve this. Aisha and Sami didn’t deserve this. None of the victims did.
“This is not your fault,” was all he managed to say. To keep from having to say anything else, he pressed his lips to the top of her head and held them there, breathing in her scent. Determination to find whoever did this churned inside him. He wouldn’t be able to bring her family back if something had happened to them, but he would make sure the monster responsible got what they deserved.
Whoever did this, I’ll kill them, Xander promised himself. Despite a magnetic pull to check his phone for more updates, he resisted, just for this moment. He held Leila close, and a few minutes later, her cries stopped. From somewhere among the rumpled duvet, her phone rang.
Leila turned and dug it out.
“It’s Nur,” she said, taking in a shuddering breath. “She must have heard the news.”
He planted another kiss on top of her head and shuffled into the living room, closing the bedroom door softly behind him to allow her to talk to her aunt in peace. Once the door snapped shut, he slipped out his phone.
There were a few messages from his colleagues to sort through, but those didn’t mention anything significant other than the fact that there hadn’t been any known threats to the museum. Everyone had been taken by surprise, and whoever did it had managed to stay out of sight. But after an act like this, the perp wouldn’t be able to hide much longer. They would find tracks. No criminal was perfect. There was always some clue left behind.
Leila’s muffled voice came from the bedroom behind him. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the closed door, but her voice had softened again. He scrolled farther down his notifications until he found the one he was looking for. He opened the email and scanned the contents.
Brief and to the point.
It was time to get to work.
Pulse pounding in his ears, he stepped up to the tower of cardboard boxes and unstacked them until he came to the one with ‘electronics’ scrawled across the front. He probably shouldn’t have put his work laptop in a box with a bunch of bits and bobs. It was only for a few days, until he finished moving in, but he wasn’t sure what he’d say if Leila tried to access it. Or maybe he wanted her to, as a conversation starter.
There has to be a better way. Like telling her the truth.
Soon.
With a flick of his eyes towards the door, he pulled the sleek, black laptop out of the box and plopped down on the couch. Moments later, a blue background with the SIS emblem appeared, and he was prompted for a password. He pulled out a small black device, clicked the button, and waited until a sequence of numbers flashed on the screen. He tapped the code into the laptop, and a split second later, the desktop appeared.
He glanced at the doorway again. The last thing he wanted was for her to walk in and ask what he was doing. Then he’d have to make up some lame excuse. Another lie. Or he could just blurt it all out. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d considered doing so. But the less she knew, the better.
After pulling up the file, he began to read. The intelligence agencies had already covered a lot of ground. The remnants of the bomb had been collected, security cameras scrutinized, tracks followed. Good thing they didn’t know about his soon-to-be mother-in-law yet. Once they realized he was too closely connected, they’d probably take him off the case.
He began to read through the details and a clatter came from the bedroom. His head shot up and his fingers froze over the keyboard, debating whether he should check. Then Leila’s muffled voice carried on.
Breathing again, he returned his attention to the laptop, hoping to have everything read and put away by the time she was done on the phone.
Gritting his teeth, he read on. Investigators had already found a clue, a marking on a wall, which led them to believe an ancient Egyptian group, cult, or gang called the Medjay had revived, despite being abolished thousands of years ago. So far, they had violations for theft, blackmail, and breaking and entering. The list went on, but it was mostly petty crimes, each involving stolen artifacts and black-market dealers. They seemed to be more of an annoyance than a serious threat.
