And that is what saved him.
* * *
Captain Achtiri carefully stuck his head into the chamber and saw no sign of the spy. His flickering torch could not penetrate the darkness of the room, but soon he heard a terrible rustling, as if someone had jumped quickly out of bed, getting caught up in the sheets in their haste. He crouched back behind the corner of the entrance, his pistol raised. Abu-Dahmi, who had been following closely, saw him kneel and also froze in his tracks. The two men heard a strange sound, like . laughter, but it was deeper, slower, and more ominous. Achtiri peeked around the corner but something was wrong. The light from his torch seemed to emanate only a few feet before stopping abruptly, as if blocked by a black curtain. It was.
Gunner held the shroud before Achtiri, away from himself. The captain saw Gunner's coal black hair, a single white streak running from his left temple to the base of his neck. He saw his crazed eyes, glaring red in the firelight. And then he saw the death shroud, and his own worst fears.
Achtiri stared for a few moments and then lay crying at Gunner's feet like an infant. The glazed eyes of Gunner Hayes looked momentarily at the Captain's pistol before the fingers of his shaking hands wrapped around it. Only a few meters down the hall, the terrorist named Abu-Dahmi had glimpsed into the dark material of the shroud, but had managed to look away before it had taken a hold upon his psyche. He raised his Uzi and held his finger on the trigger, spraying the floor, the left wall, and the back of Captain Achtiri's head with random shots. Gunner hardly moved. The terrorist had seen less than either he or Achtiri within the inky folds of the shroud, but it had been enough to spook him.
Gunner raised the Captain's Luger, and put a round into the Arab's shoulder. Abu-Dahmi recoiled in pain. Gunner fired again, twisting his opponent in the opposite direction. Abu-Dahmi, both shoulders pierced, managed to fire off the last burst of his weapon, catching Gunner in the right leg and calf. His maddened eyes showed no acknowledgement of the rivers of red which ran down his legs.
The terrorist screamed in defiance, an Arabic curse that Gunner could not understand and didn't need to. He fired again, gut shooting the airport bomber twice. The terrorist dropped to his knees, glanced once at the cloak, then again at the eyes of his executioner. He screamed one final time before his skull turned into a fine, red mist.
* * *
It was always here that Gunner awoke, usually screaming. That night he had become the Shroud, a dark avenger of justice whose greatest power was also his greatest fear. Since then he had learned more about the mysterious artifact, and converted it into a more manageable cloak. It had once belonged to an ancient priest named Seth Amon.
Amon was an ambitious cleric who worshipped the evil god Set. Through arcane rituals and dedicated service, his patron deity eventually rewarded him with a black cape which had the power to show mortal men their deepest fears. Seth Amon used this to terrify nomadic tribesmen into serving him and his god, and then had marched that army against his Pharaoh in an attempt to assume the royal throne.
After several bloody battles, the Pharaoh proved victorious and was able to capture the would-be usurper and the majority of his disciples. His punishment was, ironically, to be wrapped within his foul cape and entombed alive with his followers and his ill-gotten gains. The powers of the shroud had remained dormant for literally thousands of years until the axioms of the New Nile had washed over the land and restored faith in the gods of old. But now it was back. And with a vengeance.
Since the invasion, Gunner had met only a few men who could look into the folds of the shroud and shirk off its eerie powers. Such individuals were rare, and he had only recently discovered that the few who resisted had been devout followers of whatever god or gods they worshipped. Animals too, were strangely immune to its powers. Gunner reckoned that minimal human intelligence and a sincere lack of faith were the optimal conditions for the insatiable death shroud.
* * *
When morning came, Yishara was awakened by the smell of sizzling pork. Her obsession with Cairo's criminal element had left her with little time for proper meals and she awoke with thick saliva in her mouth and a gnawing hunger in her gut. Gunner strolled into the room. He seemed much more relaxed, though ill-rested; resigned was the word that came to Yishara's mind.
"I thought maybe we could check a few contacts around town after you eat. Maybe find out who these guys were and what they were up to," he said as he sat a plate down in front of his guest.
"Sure. That'd be great." The pork was tough, but delicious and she was only slightly embarrassed by the rapidity with which she wolfed it down. "Oh, I noticed something strange last night. I think. My head was cracked pretty good, but I thought I saw the one that got away reach into the big one's sash and take something."
Gunner's face tightened into a grimace. "Did you see what it was?"
"No, it was pretty small. But he smiled just before he left like they had succeeded at whatever it was they thought they were doing."
"Where did you meet them?"
"Over by that street the Clarion is calling the 'Alley of Death.' I was staking it out last night when these clowns jumped me." Yishara slid the plate back, signifying that she was through, and smiled a quick thanks. Hayes picked it up and walked back into the kitchen.
"What else have you heard about the alley?"
"Only what the papers have said. Everyone thought it was just a small-time cutpurse when the first few merchants got their throats slit. But then that beggar was killed, and the Priest of Isis, so I decided to check it out."
Hayes was staring intensely, he seemed to be analyzing every word, searching for some clue as to the identity of Raven's assailants. Yishara began to get nervous under the tangible pressure of Hayes' gaze, and shifted in her seat. Gunner noticed and turned away quickly, "Sounds like a trap."
"A trap? But how? Absolutely no one knew I was going to be there."
"Yes," he rubbed his chin and strolled to the large bay window in his apartment. "Then perhaps the trap wasn't for you."
Raven began to ask just who the trap was for when Gunner turned suddenly. "Get yourself cleaned up and we'll hit the streets. If we don't find out anything from my contacts, maybe we can set our own trap tonight."
Raven smiled. Despite the dull ache in her side, a rematch would suit her just fine — but she wasn't sure she wanted the company, at least not his company.
Something about him still scared her.
* * *
An hour later, Yishara and Gunner found themselves walking the bustling streets of Cairo. Their dress was casual, but still attracted attention from the local children and street vendors. They both knew that if they were to show any cash that they would quickly find themselves swarmed, mugged, or both.
"So where to first?" Yishara asked. She had borrowed some of Gunner's clothes and rolled the sleeves and cuffs up to make them fit. In Europe, she might have been considered trendy, but in Egypt, she just felt like a slob.
Gunner stopped, smiled, and raised his hand towards a seedy gin joint called the Drunken Dervish. Yishara shrugged and walked to the splintering door. She imagined that many men had flown head first through this battered door. Perhaps she would get the chance to throw one through herself.
Inside, the joint looked just as Yishara pictured it. A long bar ran across the left-hand wall. Behind it was a burly Egyptian, swabbing out a drinking glass with a dirty rag and an unhealthy amount of spit. His balding, bearded head remained fixed to the front, though his eyes slid over towards the door as the couple walked in. All around the bar were plain wooden tables inhabited by men in dirty white shirts and baggy cotton pants. Some wore traditional turbans, others wore only their jet black hair combed to the side. Empty glasses and a few piles of playing cards loitered about the surface of the tables. Lining the rear and side walls of the room were long booths, covered in what Yishara believed must be perpetual darkness.
She stuck her hands in the back pockets of the loose fittin
g jeans borrowed from Hayes, and spoke in Egyptian, ordering a shot of whiskey. The bartender filled a glass and left the bottle. She grabbed it and followed Hayes to the back of the room toward a dark and occupied booth.
When she arrived, she saw Gunner seated at the table and speaking to a one-eyed Egyptian. On the man's shoulder was a tiny monkey, picking some food matter from the man's long grey-black beard. The Egyptian was eating soup, drinking cheap whiskey, and paying very little attention to Gunner or Yishara.
Hayes spoke in a lilting voice, "Hello One-eye. How's the soup?"
"Ungh," he slurped. "What do you want, Yankee?"
Hayes sat, motioning for Yishara to seat herself on the other side of the aged man. One-eye scratched the skin around his black eye patch and turned his head to better see the girl which sat beside him, propping her slender legs upon a nearby chair.
One-eye had managed to sell information and stay alive over the years by way of an interesting subterfuge. He pretended to, and did in fact, sell opium to the many agents who used his knowledge of the underworld. In this way, strange men — white men — could enter the Drunken Dervish and speak with One-eye without drawing too much attention. The old police, of course, had secretly protected him, and the soldiers of Pharaoh Mobius were much too preoccupied to concern themselves with such a small-time dealer. His business' small size also put him beneath the notice of men like "Nails" Nash, Maxwell Burban and the rest of the Cairo crimelords — at least in the realm of drug-dealing.
The real danger was, of course, the men and organizations he constantly informed on, and this was the beauty of the ruse. The criminal element of Cairo actually considered One-eye as one of their own, and had sometimes even gone out of their way to protect his "civil rights."
Besides, he wasn't above helping out those self-same crime lords in a pinch. Gunner hoped now wasn't one of those times.
He slid him a bag of coins under the table. Several of the bar patrons saw the exchange, and returned their attention to the various fluids which beckoned them.
One-eye grabbed the sack, but Gunner refused to release it. In low tones, Hayes asked "Thieves, thugs, something. Red outfits, red turbans, scimitars. Who are they, One-eye?"
One-eye swallowed hard. Over the years, Gunner had used One-eye's links to the Cairo underworld many times. Never before had he looked quite as startled as he did now. His one good eye, the right one, turned to stare into the gaze of the man who had asked the question. Soon, he broke the stare, returning to his lentil soup only when he realized that Gunner was serious. He whispered through his unkempt beard, "That product is currently unavailable."
Gunner caught on, saw that someone was watching, and replied, "Then when will it be available?"
"Never!" he said quickly and started to rise, but Gunner grabbed the old man by the waist of his pants and slammed him back into the hard bench. The commotion did not go unnoticed.
"I said I wanted two, you old fool!" he grumbled in a voice just loud enough to seem as if it wasn't supposed to be heard.
Yishara noticed that Gunner had played this expertly. The other men in the bar were mostly Egyptians, men with good reason to hate any Yankee that came in here, especially one who was shoving around an old man. Their hatred for Gunner was almost as good as support for One-eye. Hayes was transferring their suspicion and their hatred onto himself.
"Then your figure is too low, American."
Gunner took a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket, shoved them towards the Arab and said, "Then name your price."
One-eye took the pen and wrote something in Egyptian, then passed the pen and the pad back. Hayes grabbed the items, stuffed them in his pocket, and added several more royals to the bag of coins, then offered the sack back to One-eye. One-eye took the money and passed back a small, clear bag with a white powder inside. The customers of the Drunken Dervish were satisfied, and returned their attentions once again to their own affairs.
Gunner stood, nodded at Yishara, and began to walk towards the door. One-eye placed his hand on Yishara's arm before she rose and whispered, "These men are not thieves." He glanced around one final time, "They are assassins." Yishara nodded, trying to disguise her shock, and followed Hayes out of the room. She managed to avoid the majority of the glares which probed at her nubile figure.
"Rough place," she said when she was back in the street.
"Yes," was the only reply. "And things are getting worse. Something's heating up in the Cairo underworld." Raven looked inquisitively at him, but Gunner was looking at the words written by the aging informant. "Nothing to do with us," he mumbled, still puzzling over the paper, "but this is."
"What?" She asked impatiently.
He showed her the paper: two words, scrawled hastily — "crescent blade."
"Ever heard of this?" Gunner asked.
"No. But One-eye told me they were assassins"
Gunner looked offended, "When did he tell you that?"
"Just now, as we were leaving."
"Hmmph," he grumbled.
It was the funniest thing Yishara had seen in a while, and it almost brought a smile to her otherwise gloomy face.
"What are you going to do with that?" she asked suspiciously, poking the pocket containing the bag of white powder.
"I don't know. Probably make some cookies."
"What?" she demanded. "With opium?"
"No, with flour. Do you think One-eye is going to give away his valuable opium when I'm gonna pay him anyway?"
"Touche," she smiled.
They walked for a while, quietly theorizing about the mysterious Crescent Blade, the actions that they should take, and the best way to find out more about the them. The two walked through tangled meat markets and rows of stands selling everything from powdered lipstick to "authentic Arabian daggers." Their conversations were often drowned out by the emphatic bargaining of the men and women who haggled for lower prices, or the distraught vendors who tried to resist. Somehow, the hectic confusion of the Cairo marketplace and the casual conversation about their plans calmed the two of them, and Yishara noticed that the crazy man which lived behind Gunner's eyes seemed to nap for a while, giving Hayes a little time of his own.
They decided to check a few other sources, and on the way had time to tell each other of some of their previous adventures. Gunner told Yishara about his constant troubles with a weird scientist named Doctor Mangler and his strange biological creations, and Yis-hara told him about her encounters with a cat-burglar from the Cyberpapacy (of all places) who called himself "Midnight," or Minuit in French. They also talked about such famous criminals as the Asp, the infamous Tarot Gang, their occasional encounters with these villains, and the best way to defeat them.
By four in the afternoon, Gunner and Yishara found out little more. One other contact, a newspaper vendor named Ajim Alatar, confirmed that the Crescent Blade was indeed an ancient order of assassins, but insisted that their order died out hundreds of years ago. Apparently, many aspects of ancient Egypt had been revived under the axioms of the New Nile. Neither of Hayes' informants knew where the Crescent Blade might be basing their operations, and neither had known anyone rumored to be a member.
They arrived back at Gunner's apartment around five, and Yishara told him that she was going to go home, change, and meet him later. Hayes suggested sharing dinner at the newly opened Shadow of the Sphinx restaurant, and Yishara agreed.
The Shadow of the Sphinx was established primarily for European travelers. The recent war with Israel and the hostilities with the western world had restricted passage for most of Europe, but enough curiosity seekers and diplomats had crossed the channel from Spain to provide for a lucrative tourist trade. Besides all that, Cairo had been all but abandoned by the Pharaoh "because of the rampant crime and corruption" that sprang up since the axiom wash.
The Shadow of the Sphinx aimed at giving these tourists a "taste" of Ancient Egypt. The posh entrance way was lined with the statues of the gods; Osiris, Isis, Horus,
Anubis, Thoth, Ra, and (to Gunner's discomfort) Set, all greeted the customer as he walked down the gauntlet of deities. The interior was typical of North African restaurants — the patrons generally sat around a long, low table with thick cushions instead of chairs. Fare consisted of such things as lamb shish ke-bab, vegetable soup, and water or soda, the latter a real treat in embargoed Egypt. Yishara and Gunner were seated, and apathetically watched the gyrations of a plump belly-dancer as they waited to be served. The waiter, dressed in traditional skirt, sandals, and headdress (a uniform remarkably similar to Mobius' shocktroopers) brought them hand towels. Gunner noticed that the colors of the waiter's headdress were gold and blue, an ambiguous combination of colors which could have signaled allegiance to Mobius or simply a throwback to such Pharaohs as Tutankhamen or Ramses.
"So what's our next move?" Yishara asked as the waiter retrieved the used hand towels.
"It would seem that a group such as the Crescent Blade would be in the employ of someone else. Do you agree?"
"Hmmm. Yes. I don't suppose assassins generally just look for people to murder without promise of payment from someone."
"Correct. So, what we must determine is the employer's identity. We have both agreed that the trap didn't seem to be set for you in particular. The nature of the ruse seems to indicate that the villains were looking for anyone who bothered to stick their nose into the alley. We also know that the big one was carrying something important in his sash, something that the others didn't want us to find, and something that only one of them had access to."
"Why can't we just stake out the alley again tonight and catch one? I can make him talk," Yishara asked impatiently.
Gunner glanced suspiciously at Yishara, and returned his gaze nervously to the steaming spearmint tea which was set before him. "Yes. I'm sure you could. And we will. But first, let's try to reason this out." He sipped his drink, found it was too hot, and blew into the cup. His breath rippled the murky liquid, and he said "Tell me again what happened before you got to me."
Mysterious Cairo Page 25