When the woman was done, she handed Haley a towel. At least she was allowed to dry herself. She couldn’t quite work out why this was the only thing she was allowed to do for herself.
The maid then handed Haley some plain white underwear, which somehow seemed to fit her perfectly, along with a dress.
The dress was beautiful. An ornate garment, with intricate patterns very much of the sub-Saharan type. It was thick and heavy and felt expensive.
Something about that dress made Haley realize what was about to happen. The pieces of the puzzle came together, and she figured out why her surroundings had suddenly become so much more luxurious. She was in the palace. She was about to be taken to The Butcher.
18 Hall Of Mirrors
A footman guided Haley through a maze of corridors and through three small but highly decorative rooms, most of which did not seem to be in use. The footman said nothing and did not smile. Haley missed the maid.
Eventually, the man reached a door that was trimmed with gold and was so heavy he had to use both hands to open it. Haley gasped when she saw the enormous hall before her. It reminded her of Europe’s great palaces, of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg or Versailles outside of Paris, France. It was glistening with mirrors and gold.
At the far end of the room, she could see a solitary figure In a white military uniform. He was facing away, looking into one of the mirrors. She felt like someone had grabbed hold of her guts and twisted them. Somehow, she just knew it was The Butcher.
The footman placed his hand at the bottom of Haley’s back and gently pushed her across the long room. She was no longer admiring its beauty.
When they approached The Butcher, he still had his back to them.
“Kneel,” the footman instructed. Haley did not think. She didn’t go through the usual process of trying to decide whether to be defiant or submissive, or trying to figure what would be the best course of action. She just did as she was told and was down on one knee before she knew it. There was no movement and no sound. Haley felt her heart beating hard. Very slowly, The Butcher turned.
He was smiling. To Haley, it was a smile that said, I’m going to hurt you and I am looking forward to it. But she had no idea what his intentions were. She dared not let her mind race.
“You are Haley,” he said. It was not a question.
Haley nodded.
“Answer,” the footman demanded.
“Yes, I am Haley.”
“You are very beautiful,” The Butcher told her.
“Thank you,” Haley replied. Reluctantly.
“We call this room the Hall of Mirrors.”
Haley took a look around without taking in any of the details.
“It is where we receive special guests for wondrous events. Balls and banquets. But you are more than a special guest. You belong in a different room.”
Something about The Butcher’s words sent a shiver right through Haley‘s body.
“Come with me,” The Butcher instructed. He held out his hand. Haley did not know if she was expected to take it. When she started walking towards him, he moved away without taking her hand and guided her along the Hall of Mirrors. She was very relieved not to be in physical contact with him.
Through another set of enormous doors, they entered a room that was smaller but no less opulent. At the far end of the room were two thrones, one very large and the other slightly smaller. Both were covered with red velvet and gold leaf.
“This way,” the footman said. The Butcher was already heading for the larger throne. When he reached it, he did not sit down. He waited for Haley to follow him and, with an open-palm he gestured towards the smaller throne.
“Please, sit.”
Haley was filled with adrenaline. She couldn’t tell if it was excitement or fear. She already despised this man, but if she ever got out of this situation alive she would have an incredible story to tell. It would put her friends’ backpacking stories to shame, that was for sure.
Then, she realized that what she was feeling was indeed fear. Because the “if” in “if I get out of here alive” was a big one. Bigger than the throne. Bigger than The Butcher’s colossal stomach.
“I know all of you American girls always want to be princesses,” The Butcher said without looking at Haley. Instead, he was looking upwards, apparently admiring the ceiling of his own palace or looking up to the heavens as if everything he did was ordained by God.
“Actually, I wanted to be a social scientist.”
The Butcher brought down his gaze from above and turned his head to face Haley. There was no smile on his face.
“How about a queen?” he asked.
“I’m American. We do not have a monarchy and we do not wish to be part of one.”
Her supposedly brave answers, she knew, were useless. Her voice was shaking. She could hear it. Her valor was disappearing by the second and she felt close to begging to be let go.
“Take a look around,” The Butcher said as he gestured around the hall with his large but manicured hand. “Feel gold beneath your fingertips. See how you like it.”
Was he serious? Haley wondered. Is this some part of his diplomatic plans, or a way of getting one over on the Americans? To marry one of their own into his family?
If that really was his plan, would she only have a choice between acceptance, or refusal and death?
“Some of history's most successful queens were reluctant ones,” The Butcher said. His eyes were now fixed on her and he was looking her up and down.
“I’ll....I’ll need some time to think about it.”
An explosion filled the hall. A vast noise that assaulted Haley’s ears. It was the sound of The Butcher’s laughter.
“Do you think that’s all it takes for someone to convince me to take them as my queen? To walk in here with an unremarkable physique, in a dress that I gave you, and which your body does not do justice, and give me boring answers to my questions? If you want to be my queen, you will have to do a lot better.”
The Butcher stood and strode away, leaving Haley sitting on that throne trying to hold back tears that she thought would never stop.
Haley was dreaming of home. Of open water and sunset drinks with her friends and her brother. She opened her eyes. She gathered in her surroundings and realized she was in a bedroom that was extremely comfortable; even luxurious. The mattress and the pillows were soft and full.
The door clicked open. The maid who had bizarrely washed Haley the day before walked in.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’m in a very strange dream. Even a nightmare.”
“You should feel lucky. There are other people here in a much worse situation than you. They are being kept in terrible conditions. Like a dungeon from hell. I think two Americans and other nationalities. One girl from Switzerland tried to kill herself last night.”
Haley felt sick. She knew that was a very high chance the Swiss girl was Lana. The maid placed a silver tray in front of Haley. It contained a bowl of what seemed to be meat and rice, and it smelled wonderfully wholesome. There was also a dish with colorful fresh fruit.
Haley was suddenly starving. She went to pick up a piece of fruit and then thought about the people down in those dungeons, including her friend. She shook her head.
“Eat something,” the maid instructed. “You will need energy for what is to come.”
Haley paused.
“What is to come?” she asked with a stern expression on her face.
“You must entertain his great majesty. You must make him happy. You are very, very lucky that he has chosen you as a special one. But that can all change very quickly. Do not displease him.”
The maid looked into Haley‘s eyes. The woman had beautiful large eyes but they were filled with sadness and pity. Haley did not feel lucky. She spent the rest of the day being dressed and having her hair and makeup done. She would take dinner with his majesty.
19 Museum of Antiquities
The Museu
m of Egyptian Antiquities, Cairo, Egypt
“No, no!” Ned told the taxi driver. “It can’t cost that much. A two-hour taxi ride cannot cost as much as this whole car!”
“How dare you, sir! This vehicle has been in my family for generations!”
Ned was fumbling with his phone, trying to Google the exchange rate between dollars and Egyptian pounds. He felt like such an archetypal tourist, and he was regretting the baseball cap. It was doing barely anything to disguise him yet would have no doubt added several dollars of tourist ‘tax’ onto his fare. He pulled out some currency and threw it at the driver.
“Hey! That’s not enough!” Sam bellowed as Ned tried to close the door. It kept clanking and getting stuck. “I will call the police!”
“No, no police!” Ned begged. He definitely did not have time to get arrested. He threw a couple more notes then turned and ran. It was far too hot to be running, and pollution was filling his lungs. He felt a strong surge of regret at having ventured to Cairo. Egypt was a long way from Okapi, where he needed to be. But there was no way he could fly right into Okapi or neighboring countries, given that The Butcher would surely be on the lookout for anyone connected to Haley. Plus, if he was going to get anywhere near the place, he needed help.
He found himself staring up at the huge, deep-red edifice of the museum, its color like sand in the Sahara Desert at dawn. But he couldn’t stay long to admire the building, so he stepped between the two deformed sphinxes that guarded the door, into the grand hall housing some of the 120,000 artifacts in the collection. Ned needed to be upstairs. Some quick research on the way to the airport had informed him that the administrative rooms of the museum were on the higher floors, and he was hoping to see the name Baniti Hassan on one of them. Baniti was a major figure in Egyptian archeology and was sure to have his own office.
After climbing a wide, curved staircase and finding he was already out of breath, Ned made his way across the polished tiles of the museum floor, looking up at the doors to see what names were displayed. The names kept rolling by, but none of them were Baniti Hassan. He stopped and put his hands on his hips. He was about to retrace his steps to ensure he hadn’t missed the name he was looking for. Then, he saw a janitor mopping the floor at the other end of the corridor.
“Excuse me, sir. Baniti Hassan?” Ned said when he approached. The guy looked confused.
“No, sir. I am cleaner. Mr Hassan is a great man.”
“Oh. Yes, I know. I mean, do you know where I can find Mr. Hassan? I thought his office would be somewhere around here.”
“No, sir. He lives in the basement.”
“He lives there?” Ned asked, realizing halfway through the sentence that it was probably just a translation issue.
“Yes, sir. This museum is his home.”
Ned remembered that as well as being extremely smart, Baniti was also eccentric. He thanked the janitor and headed downwards.
The basement of the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities was like basements the world over. Filled with things people intend to sort through at some unspecified time in the future. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be down here, but the solitary guard he had seen at the main entrance didn’t seem too keen on his job. His eyes had been mostly trained on the least conservatively dressed among the female tourists.
Ned brushed past boxes, some of them with lids removed to reveal yellowing documents, and stepped over quartzite figurines that were probably millenia old but seemed completely discarded.
Then, he heard the cough. The cough Baniti had since the first time Ned ever spoke to him on the phone. The professor had been an asset of a field agent in Cairo many years ago, and it had been Ned’s job to coordinate and pass along information from the safety of his desk at Langley. With his incessant coughing, thick Egyptian accent, and quiet voice, it had often been hard to make out what the man was even saying.
There was no name on the door from behind which the coughing was coming. Ned knocked on it, avoiding the large Pharaoh-era statue that was leaning diagonally across half the door. It seemed to have been so long since Baniti had left that room that artifacts were piling up in front of it.
The knock was ignored. Ned tried again. A cacophony of coughing came from behind the wood, and Ned decided he had heard a “come in” among the spluttering. He pushed the door open. The place was like a cave made entirely of books. In the single, thin ray of sunlight that lasered across the office, Ned could see thick dust swirling and lifting. Books were also piled up and scattered all over the floor.
Baniti looked up. Startled, he jumped so hard that his bottom entirely left the seat. Ned realized the knock had not been heard. There was no noise in the room, so Baniti was either now deaf or had been so lost in concentration, delving into the tome in front of him, that he had simply failed to notice.
“Professor, I’m so sorry,” Ned said, holding up his hands.
“Wh-who are you?”
“My name is…” — Ned couldn’t remember the alias he had used all those years back. He mumbled something unintelligible. “Many years ago, I worked with you on an operation to retrieve valuable artifacts from a criminal organization that planned to sell them and use the proceeds to fund terrorism.”
Baniti was squinting at Ned’s face through round eyeglasses.
“We spoke many times on the phone,” Ned added.
“You’re. You’re Mark?”
“Yes!”
Suddenly, Ned’s alias came back to him.
“It was a successful mission,” Baniti confirmed.
“It was. And now, professor, if you don’t mind, I would like to ask you to return the favor.”
“What favor?”
“The favor of helping you to get your artefacts back.”
“No. No, no. I was helping you. I helped the CIA to stop terrorism.”
Ned paused.
“Okay. Okay, we helped each other.”
“Yes. The favors are complete.”
Ned paused again.
“Well...then, I need to ask another favor.”
“What is it?”
“I believe you have contacts across the continent, and in the remotest parts of the Sahara Desert. You worked at the Nubian pyramids in Meroe, Sudan, where even the bravest of archeologists rarely venture.”
“I did.”
“I need you to help me cross the desert. Find a guide who will...keep me alive.”
“I know of such guides.”
“Great!”
“And what is your favor to me?”
“My favor?”
“The favors are now unequal.”
Ned was starting to think this guy was a little too smart for his own good.
“Okay. Please tell me what you need. As long as it’s not tidying up.”
“I need your eyes.”
Ned frowned. The comment was terrifying, but he was sure the professor couldn’t be talking literally. Unless he wanted to display a pair of human eyes alongside the creepy stuffed owl that was perched on top of one of the bookshelves.
“Uh. What does that mean?”
The professor patted the tome in front of him.
“My eyes are failing me. I can barely see the words. I am too ashamed to tell anyone.”
“You want me to read for you?”
“Yes. I must finish this book before morning, I have to give a lecture to some very important people.”
“Uh. Ok. I was sort of hoping to catch some belly dancing tonight, but...how many pages?”
“Fifteen-hundred.”
“Fi...fifteen-hundred? Tonight?”
“Yes, please. I will get you the finest guide. A military man who was discharged with honor. Start here,” Baniti said, dragging his bony finger along the top of a page.
Ned crouched beside the professor. He realized he wasn’t even going to be offered a chair.
It’s for Haley, he told himself. It’s for Haley.
20 122 Fahrenheit
Pulling his baseba
ll cap down once more, Ned darted down a narrow, graffiti-lined alleyway and into the bustling hookah bar. Filled almost entirely with men, it had chairs and tables positioned seemingly randomly and shoved as close together as possible, taking up most of the cramped room except for the large cushions on the floor where customers reclined with their legs outstretched. Smoke and vapor filled the air.
Ned had been given a minimal description of the guide Baniti had arranged for him to meet. An older gentleman with white, wavy hair, and a red bow tie. Ned’s eyes, tired though they were from reading until 4am, quickly landed on the gentleman in question. He stopped in his tracks. The guy looked like he should be wrapped in bandages and displayed in a glass case at the museum. He looked to be a hundred years old.
Ned sat down beside the man and whispered the code word: Hatshepsut. The name of the woman who had been fifth pharaoh of the Eighteenth Dynasty of Egypt, during the 1400s BCE.
The man nodded to confirm.
“I am Abrax,” he said. I know the Sahara like I know my own children. And grandchildren. And great grandchildren.”
Ned thought to himself that at least dying in the Sahara Desert was a remarkable way to go.
“That’s good. I need all the help I can get. Thank you, Abrax.”
“Call me Abe.”
The man smiled a warm but unsightly smile.
Ned wasn’t sure what to say next. He didn’t want to elaborate on his reasons for being in Egypt or wanting to traverse the desert. He was becoming increasingly wary of tails. At least in the open expanse of the desert they would be easy to spot, though less easy to lose. In Cairo, they would be impossible to make out. Well, maybe not for Chris or Tsu, but for himself.
“I heard you are a military man, sir?”
“Yes, I served with the Egyptian military during the Suez Crisis.”
“That was 1956!” Ned declared, then realized he had raised his voice in shock.
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