by Tom Hunter
The bored receptionist kept his gaze on the game of Candy Crush he was playing on his cell as Akhenaton came to stand in front of the desk. He waited for a few moments for the man to notice him, but when the receptionist started a new round, Akhenaton cleared his throat to get his attention.
“Yeah?” The receptionist rolled his eyes as he put down his cell. “Whaddaya want?”
“I believe some friends of mine are staying here?” Akhenaton began.
“And?” The receptionist picked up his phone again, tapping at the screen to take advantage of a power-up.
Akhenaton took a deep breath, restraining himself from reaching down and snatching the phone. “I was wondering if you could tell me which room they’re in. They should have checked in under the name McCarthy. They’re expecting us.”
“I’m not supposed to give out that information,” said the receptionist. “If you don’t want a room of your own, you’ll have to leave.”
“Alright. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way after all,” muttered Akhenaton before leaning over to grab the man’s shirt at the neck. Pulling, he lifted him out of his chair. The receptionist paled as Akhenaton twisted his hand, tightening the chokehold on his collar. “I need to know where my friends are. Tell me which room they’re in or I’ll shove that phone so far up your-”
“Apartment 14,” the receptionist broke in, sweat beading on his forehead. “They’re in apartment 14.”
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Akhenaton let go of the receptionist and went back out to join Waleed.
“We need to get ourselves over to apartment 14 stat,” he told Waleed, doing his best to look casual as he hurried along. “There’s a good chance the receptionist is on the phone to the cops right now.”
“Seriously?” Waleed threw back his head and laughed. “And you were worried about me!”
“Yeah, well, you can gloat about it later when we’re far away from here,” said Akhenaton as he counted his way past room numbers until they reached 14.
“Open up, guys. It’s us.” Akhenaton and Waleed banged on the door until Josh opened it for them.
“We need to get into the car and get the heck out of Dodge,” Akhenaton announced as he and Waleed barged in, slamming the door behind them.
“Nice to see you too,” snarked Josh, leading the two men into the lounge area.
“How did it go?” asked Samuel when he saw they’d returned.
“We’ll fill you in when we’re safely on the road,” Akhenaton replied. “Let’s just say that we’re not exactly welcome round here anymore. However, we did manage to get the guns you wanted. I just hope the price was worth it.”
“What do you mean?” Samuel frowned.
“Er… guys?” Shafira pointed to the television that was on in the corner of the room. “Do you know anything about this?”
They all turned to watch. Underneath the footage of a familiar-looking burning building, a banner ran across the screen that read “BREAKING NEWS!” Shafira pressed a button on the remote control to turn up the volume so everyone could hear what was going on.
“Reports are coming in of a terrorist attack in downtown Atbara,” reported the journalist standing a safe distance away from the fire. “Our brave police force were called in to investigate a suspected rebel cell only to uncover a large stash of explosives. A police source has been quoted as saying that there were enough bombs to level an entire neighborhood.
“It is believed that the rebels were planning a number of suicide attacks co-ordinated throughout the city and it is only thanks to the hard work of the police that a major disaster was avoided. Most of the perpetrators were arrested at the scene, but, unfortunately, the ringleaders were able to escape through a tunnel that was subsequently discovered leading away from the building. They are still at large in the city and people are asked to keep their eyes open for two men with dirt-covered clothes. Should you spot these suspects, you are urged not to approach them, since they are to be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Instead, vigilant citizens are advised to call the number on your screens.”
Shafira switched off the television as everyone turned to stare open mouthed at Akhenaton and Waleed.
“Why the heck didn’t you keep Waleed out of trouble?” gasped Josh. “We were relying on you, and now we’re wanted terrorists?!”
“I’m sorry.”
Waleed grinned at Akhenaton’s obvious embarrassment.
“I don’t know why you’re apologizing for me,” he said. “I’m not the one who roughed up the receptionist.”
“Wait- what?!” Samuel shook his head in disbelief. “You guys better fill us in and fast.”
“There was an unexpected police raid,” Akhenaton explained. “It would appear that Waleed wasn’t quite as observant as he could have been. By the time we realized the cops were there, we had no choice but to escape into a tunnel the gang had built for just such an occasion. Waleed had the bright idea to blow up the building to create a diversion, but I don’t know where they’re getting this idea that it was caused by some rebel cell setting off a bomb. It was just a couple of handfuls of bullets and your typical sordid drug dealers.”
“And the receptionist?” Waleed prompted.
“I didn’t hurt him!” Akhenaton protested. “I was just getting frustrated when he wouldn’t tell us which room we needed. It’s been a long night.”
“And it’s not over yet,” observed Samuel. “You two stick out like sore thumbs looking like that. If that receptionist watches the news, this place will be swarming with cops any second.”
“I think we’ve got a bit of time,” Akhenaton told him. “He seemed more worried about passing the next level of his game than keeping up to date with current events.”
“You’re all making a big fuss over nothing,” said Waleed. “The main thing is that we got the guns we wanted and it didn’t cost us a penny. Here you go, Shafira.” He handed over his backpack, still bulging with notes. “As soon as we get someplace else that’s safe, you can put it back in the bank.”
“How did you pull that one off?” asked Josh.
“Does it matter?” exclaimed Akhenaton. “The police are going to be mounting extra patrols soon, regardless of whether our friend at the front desk tells them we’re here or not. We need to get going if we don’t want to be stuck in this city for days. And if the Bruard are monitoring news reports for strange activities, this is a beacon that will broadcast our location worldwide.”
“Good job we didn’t unpack our cases then, isn’t it?” commented Basile, as the group prepared to leave. “I had a feeling something like this would happen. The moment you involve guns, you’re asking for trouble.”
Sixteen
Pin stood with Gord to one side of the runway on his island, passively observing his men as they dashed about, preparing his VTOL for departure. He was dressed for the desert, his sand-colored military uniform designed to offer protection against the powerful sun while keeping him as cool as possible. As seemed to be permanently the case, St. Augustine’s hat was tucked under one arm, and he frequently reached over to fondle it with the other hand, gaining reassurance from the feel of its fabric at his fingertips.
“I’m impressed you finally got the old woman to talk.” Gord leaned towards Pin, keeping his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I didn’t think she’d tell us anything, even with the threat to her hospital.”
“Yes, well, I’ve found that every individual has a weak spot,” Pin replied. “You just have to identify it to take full advantage.” He patted the papal cap in gratitude, seemingly unaware of the gesture.
“Do you really believe everything she was saying, though?” Gord continued. “How can you be sure that she’s not just sending us off on a wild goose chase looking for artifacts that don’t exist?”
“She wouldn’t dare,” retorted Pin. “She knows that my threats were nothing compared to what I’d do if she was lying to me. No, I have every confidence th
at there is indeed a scepter hidden in Meroe, guarded by more members of her secret organization. Once I’ve recovered that, there’ll be no limit to what I can achieve.”
“What about the lineage thing she mentioned?” Gord asked. “She seemed to think that it was really important that only those descended from St. Augustine should be allowed to wear his hat. Do you want me to put together a team to research it more, maybe round up a few people for experimentation?”
“There’s no need.” Pin shook his head. “Whilst I’m sure Fatima genuinely believed what she was saying about the lineage, I’m more inclined to categorize it as the same type of superstition as the belief in feudal Europe of the divine right of kings, or how the Egyptians thought their pharaohs were gods rather than mere mortals. No, I suspect that there is no real merit to confining the use of St. Augustine’s secret to an elite group of people. I think that little piece of mythology is more to do with wanting to keep his power to himself and his relatives than having any basis in reality. That was her feeble attempt at doing what she could to stop me using the hat.”
He smiled as he gazed fondly at the hat. “Besides, since I have proven myself capable of successfully using the artifact, I am proof there is no need to be of St. Augustine’s line. She may have fervently believed what she was saying, but she’s deluded.”
“So there’s no chance of you being descended from a saint then?” quipped Gord. “And there was me thinking that you were all holier than thou.”
Pin’s only response was to glare witheringly at him. “Keep your focus on the task at hand,” he advised. “Once we’ve recovered the scepter, I’ll be able to use it as a focus to strengthen my command over other’s minds.”
“And teach the Bruard how to do the same,” Gord added.
“Of course, of course. That’s exactly what I meant,” Pin agreed, his grip on the hat tightening.
A servant approached them, bowing low before Pin.
“Esteemed Master,” he said. “I am sorry to interrupt, but the Bruard has called for you and wishes to speak with you as a matter of the utmost urgency.”
“Thank you,” nodded Pin. “I shall be there momentarily. Gord, continue to oversee preparations while I see what the Bruard wants.”
“Let’s hope he’s happy with your progress,” called Gord, as Pin stalked away.
Seventeen
Pin hurried towards his private chambers. For all his bluster, not even he would dare keep the Bruard waiting a moment longer than necessary.
“It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine,” he muttered to himself as a mantra as he practically ran through the corridors, clutching the papal cap so tightly his knuckles were white.
Arriving at his bedroom, he went to his writing desk by the window, placed there to take full advantage of the stunning views across the ocean. Opening a drawer, he took out a portable communicator, placing it square in the middle of the desk.
He put St. Augustine’s hat next to the communicator so that it was out of sight of the holo-field display, but within reach should he have need of its comfort. He reached out to pat it once more for one last bit of reassurance.
“It’ll be fine,” he repeated, before pressing the button to accept the call from the Bruard.
Pae Bruard Min-Soo, the head of the Bruard dynasty, appeared on the screen. His close cropped hair combined with his straight bearing hinted at a military background, although he had never personally served in the army. His dark, dark eyes glared at Pin, seeming to pierce through the screen to penetrate deep into his soul.
Pin fidgeted surreptitiously, hoping that Pae wouldn’t pick up on his nerves.
“Glorious Leader.” He bowed, keeping his head low for the five seconds protocol dictated. “To what do I owe this immeasurable pleasure?”
“I have noticed that your recent reports were rather scant on detail,” Pae told him. “I thought it was time to receive a personal account of your activities.”
“My reports have been light because there has been little of note to report,” Pin replied smoothly. “I have provided you with a number of artifacts, which have been documented, including my suggestions for suitable buyers, so that you could dispose of them appropriately.”
“Ah yes.” Pae nodded. “The relics you recovered from that mysterious caves. You are to be congratulated for that particular find. We have already found eager buyers for most of them, garnering considerable wealth on the black market. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that the money has already been put to good use in supporting the war effort.”
“That is, indeed, excellent news, Glorious Leader,” agreed Pin. “And I trust that we are close to victory as a consequence?”
“Alas, despite the positive auguries and many promises from my generals, our efforts on the Mongolian line are slowing down.” A slight twitch belied Bruard’s annoyance at this development. “As a consequence, I am forced to consider a certain amount of restructuring and shifting our resources to where they will be the most effective. It is regrettable, but such are the fortunes of war.”
Pin’s stomach muscles clenched in anticipation of what the dictator was about to tell him.
“What does that have to do with my operations?” he asked. “I have always produced the results you desired. I would argue that my team has been one of the most successful in your entire army.”
“This is true,” conceded Pae. “However, given that there are still more of your artifacts to be sold, I have no need of further treasure hunting at the moment. Until we have realized those assets, your current mission can no longer be justified. The funds that have been funneled into your quest to recover ancient relics will be forestalled for the foreseeable future. You must prepare yourself to return to the front line at a moment’s notice, ready to fight for the motherland.”
Pin blinked multiple times, desperately fighting to bite back the sarcastic retort that threatened to break free. Only a fool disagreed with the Bruard, and Pin was no fool. He’d hated being around the foot soldiers at the best of times, and this would be his lot were he to be sent back to the field.
He tapped his finger on his desk, out of sight of Bruard, risking a quick glance at the papal cap. Once he’d recovered the scepter, he’d have everything he needed to take the power and prestige he deserved. He just needed a little more time.
“Keep your calm, Pin,” he thought.
“You don’t seem very enthused at the prospect of winning more glory for me on the battlefield,” Pae observed. “Do you have another idea on how I could break the backs of the insolent Mongols? Give me a good enough alternative to using your current funding on paying more mercenaries and I am open to being persuaded to letting you continue on your current course.”
Pin risked looking more openly at St. Augustine’s hat, hoping that this would appear as though he was considering the Bruard’s request rather than actively debating whether to show the papal cap to him. When combined with the scepter, the hat could potentially enable nationwide mind control, ending the war at a stroke. Countless soldiers’ lives would be saved and the Bruard would be free to march forward unimpeded on their journey towards global-wide dominance.
“I am currently following a lead on some major weapons trades,” he finally replied. “I may be able to send along powerful munitions instead of joining the fight myself. I think they would be a more effective way of fighting those who resist us. I am but one man. There are only so many bullets I can fire. The weapons that I have my eye on will have an impact on thousands.”
“Intriguing,” mused Pae. “I admire your desire to improve our arsenal, but short of atomic weaponry or their equivalent, providing me with hundreds or even thousands of rifles pales into insignificance in comparison to the millions of dollars I have given you to outfit an entire island for yourself and your operations. My return on investment has been less than impressive when you take that into account.”
Pin took a deep breath, working to remain calm. “Forgive me, Gl
orious Leader,” he said. “But may I ask if your mission for the dynasty has changed? That may well have an impact on my advice to you moving forward.”
“I don’t see how it will do any harm to tell you that I have been reconsidering my position,” Pae confirmed. “Holding national relics hostage will only get us so far. That strategy on its own has no real merit unless it is backed up with military might to prove that we are the only ones truly worthy of carrying forward the legacies of the past. If my dynasty is to take up the position in history it truly deserves, I have to be open to the possibility of accommodating a new strategy to see our conquest continue. I think we have gained as much advantage as we can from mining the past. It is time to look to the future.”
“I would advise caution against abandoning our current course.” Pin chose his words judiciously, being fully aware that the Bruard’s mercurial nature rarely took kindly to anyone disagreeing with him too openly. “My research suggests that we may yet find relics of unique ability and advantage, ones that will eclipse everything I had provided you with thus far. Whilst I have worked hard to be as discreet as possible, it has proven impossible to work completely under the radar. It could cause irreparable harm to our campaign if we were to change direction, only to leave the way wide open for one of our enemies to swoop in and profit from our preparatory work. Rumors of fabled items imbued with immense power have spread like wildfire. There are plenty of men out there willing to risk everything to see if there is some truth behind them.”
“Is that so?” Pae cocked his head to one side. “Might I presume from what you are saying that you have encountered at least one such relic that could turn the tide irrevocably in our favor?”
Pin reached out for his beloved papal cap, surreptitiously pushing it further away from the screen.
“Unfortunately not,” he replied. “Or at least, nothing concrete so far. However, I am following a few leads and I have every confidence that I will have something more positive for you by the time we next converse.”