Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu

by Alexander Marmer

  “Hey!” Anna reached up and tapped the driver’s shoulder. “We’re gonna duck down and you’re gonna slam on the brakes!” she shouted. The driver obeyed, slamming on the brakes as Michael and Anna jumped down, curling into a fetal position. The steering wheel locked firmly in place, the tires screeching.

  The BMW’s driver, who obviously did not expect such maneuver, had no time to react and with a loud, metallic BANG the vehicles collided.

  After their taxi came to a stop, Anna and Michael lifted their heads and peered out the rear window. The BMW’s hood was smashed and the airbags had deployed.

  “Now! Floor the gas pedal!” Anna commanded the driver, who was still in shock. Michael quickly ducked his head back down.

  “You will be paying for the repairs!” The driver yelled angrily, but obeyed her order. The wrecked BMW remained behind.

  A few minutes later, Michael heard Anna sigh with relief. “What, are we still alive?” He opened his eyes and looked around. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at his hands.

  “Are you OK?” asked Anna. “How are your fingers?”

  “What the worst that can happen? Besides putting them in a cast,” he joked, carefully moving his fingers one by one. He looked over at Anna, “At least it wasn’t my head that got smashed.” She grinned back at him.

  Meanwhile, the driver pulled onto the nearest side road, then onto the next one and the next one.

  “We’re not gonna get lost now, are we?” Michael asked, looking up from his fingers.

  “Who cares? The main thing is to lose them!” Anna exclaimed.

  “Well,” Michael said, looking at Anna with admiration, “that was amazing! I never knew you were an expert on street racing.”

  “You don’t know a lot of things about me,” she joked, “but no, that came from hours of watching NASCAR and, of course, the simple physics of braking distance,” she explained. “I was an A student in school, and every fifth grader knows that the braking distance is the distance that a vehicle travels while slowing to a complete stop. So, obviously, the higher the speed of the vehicle, the longer it will take for it to stop. Simple.”

  “Simple indeed,” replied Michael with a broad smile.

  The driver turned onto another street, under an arch.

  “Do you really think I play cat-and-mouse games every day?” the driver asked his passengers sternly. He drove across a courtyard, turned the corner and then discovered that the street was a dead end.

  “Damn it!” the driver pounded his fist on the steering wheel in frustration, “We have to get out of here!” He put the car in reverse, slowly moving backwards.

  At that precise moment, the black BMW with its smashed hood and steamy radiator appeared out of nowhere and parked right behind them. Their only escape route was blocked.

  “He’ll kill us!” Michael and Anna gasped as they looked out the rear window nervously; a trio of streetlights illuminated the scene.

  “Not quite yet,” stated the driver, to their surprise.

  The BMW’s passenger door swung open and the Medjay, with his bushy hair slightly waving in the breeze, jumped out of the damaged vehicle. His driver remained inside.

  “Distract him,” the taxi driver whispered to them, keeping his eyes on the BMW.

  The Medjay swaggered toward the taxi. “Get out of the car!” he ordered menacingly in a heavy Middle Eastern accent.

  Anna and Michael exchanged bewildered glances and looked discretely, but curiously at their driver as they got out.

  “Well, we meet at last,” the Medjay spoke to his captives with an evil grin. “I see you are a couple of brave ones.”

  “What do you want from us?” Anna demanded angrily.

  The Medjay flipped back his cloak to reveal the handle of his long, silver sword. “You will go with me,” he declared. “Get in the car!” he commanded, pointing his finger at the BMW, his eyes cold and intimidating.

  “Let them go!” their taxi driver demanded from behind them. Michael and Anna whirled around to see him holding his left hand behind his back.

  “What’s this?” demanded the Medjay.

  Anna looked at Michael in total bewilderment and saw that Michael was just as puzzled as her. As far as they were concerned, their driver should be running away.

  “Hey, taxi driver,” the Medjay shifted his attention to their cabbie, “You can take your taxi, and get out of here.” The Medjay shifted his glance back to his captives. “Get moving!” he demanded. With a flourish, the Medjay pulled out his sword and started walking toward Michael.

  “Let them go!” the taxi driver suddenly shouted again. Michael turned to see the driver leveling an enormous silver pistol at the Medjay. The Medjay stopped, stunned. He shouted something in Arabic.

  Abruptly, an average-sized man, well into his 40s emerged from the BMW. This new man was dressed entirely in black, including his trench coat. His face was hard and thin with a thin scar running down his cheek. Michael’s heart sank as he realized he was looking into the cold, sinister eyes of a mobster. They spoke in Arabic.

  A window on the ground floor of the nearest building opened noisily. An old woman pushed her head out, calling out in Russian.

  Anna turned and quietly asked the taxi driver what the woman had said.

  “She is complaining about us waking her grandson,” interpreted the driver with a small twitch of his face. Anna turned back to face her persecutors, realizing the driver had a clever plan in place.

  The driver interchanged several phrases with the woman from the window, his voice unnaturally loud. While they were having their small discussion, the windows on the ten-story apartment building started lighting up like mushrooms after a spring rain.

  “Now she is saying she will call the cops,” the driver reported calmly from behind Anna and Michael.

  Anna startled everyone by yelling, “Call the police! Help!” More and more windows opened up as the building’s occupants were curious by the screaming and commotion. The Medjay took a threatening step toward Anna, his hand gripping his sword. The taxi driver shouted something again. Then Anna let loose with a disturbing scream that must have been heard for miles.

  Suddenly the lady from the first window screamed hysterically herself, slamming her window shut.

  The BMW driver spoke urgently to the Medjay; it sounded like an argument.

  Staring down Anna and Michael, the Medjay threatened, “I will be seeing both of you real soon.” He turned and jogged back to the crumpled BMW, stopping at the passenger door. “Consider yourselves lucky,” he added angrily, his eyes icy cold.

  The two-tone signal of the local police wafted through the twilight air. Both pursuers dove inside their vehicle. Tires squealing, the black BMW backed up quickly and dashed away.

  “Thank you for saving our lives,” Anna was breathless from screaming. She walked over to the taxi driver and hugged him.

  “Thank you so much,” Michael said, warmly shaking his hand.

  “We don’t even know your name,” said Anna.

  “Victor,” said the driver, visibly overwhelmed.

  “Victor, that was a quick thinking back there,” said Michael.

  “Well, I’ve been a taxi driver for the past five years on the mean streets of Moscow,” he said proudly.

  “And you did live in Chicago,” Michael added as they both chuckled. “We need to figure out how much we owe you for the vehicle damage and everything else.” Michael was mentally trying to figure out how much of a hit his credit card would take.

  “Are you kidding me?” responded Victor, a broad grin spreading across his face. “I got at least 30 witnesses who will testify I was held at gun point by the two robbers who slammed their BMW into my taxi. You know how much insurance money I will get out of this?” he laughed out loud.

  “I’m guessing it’s gonna be a big a
mount,” smiled Anna, relieved she was not going to be footing the bill.

  “That’s right,” replied Victor, “I can buy myself a new taxi,” he added with a huge smile.

  “Victor, I just have one question for you,” Michael was not able to fight his curiosity any longer. “What did you say to that woman in the window that made her so hysterical and shut her window?”

  Victor smirked, “They have a gun.” Anna and Michael burst into laughter. The driver leaned into his trunk, pulled his pistol out of his back pocket and carefully hid it under the spare tire. After he shut the trunk, he grabbed his radio and said, “Now, I’ll call another cab for you.”

  The new taxi arrived quickly. In short time their new driver was pulling up to the stretched building of the Kursky railroad station. Michael noted that it still bore the official seal of the former, glorious USSR.

  Chapter 36

  Kursky Railway Terminal, Moscow, Russia

  Saturday, September 23

  10:34 p.m.

  The Kursky railway station, the largest railway station in Moscow, dates back to 1860 when the first building was constructed. Leo Tolstoy’s immortal novel, “Anna Karenina,” describes the character Vronsky as departing to war from there. Unfortunately, the building did not entirely survive to the present time. In 1972 the train terminal was rebuilt while retaining some of its old accommodations, including the colonnade and rich modeling inside. The building now has glass panels spanning the impressive fifty-foot high front that faces the station’s square. It is covered with plicate roofing, an industrial modern style that is folded in a box-like fan configuration. The roof extends thirty feet past the roof like a visor, spanning the front of the station. The terminal’s spacious halls can accommodate eleven thousand people simultaneously.

  As soon as the taxi rolled up to the entrance, Michael and Anna ran inside, looking for the information booth. Even at this hour of the evening, there was a line. While they waited Anna pulled out her iPhone, tapped on her language app and typed, “Where are the storage lockers?” When they arrived at the window, the agent inside looked at them expectantly. When Anna held her iPhone up, the metallic Russian voice amused the man. Grinning, the agent pulled out a station map. Gesturing toward the escalators, he indicated they should ride it down to the lower level. Pointing to the map, he made a big “X” for the location of the lockers. When Anna’s iPhone said, “Thank you,” the agent laughed and nodded in response. Michael and Anna smiled back, grateful for this way of communicating. Michael took the map, and they found their way to the giant escalators, located in the center of the grand hall.

  After their escalator ride they walked wearily to the lockers. When the rows of lockers came into view, however, they suddenly felt energized. Stepping up the pace, they hurriedly started checking the numbers and finding their way through the maze. Michael was walking rapidly down a row, counting off the numbers when Anna pointed at a rather ordinary looking box, crying out, “Here it is! Number fifty-seven.”

  “There it is,” Michael replied, feeling relieved. He shuffled inside his pants pockets, and then pulled them inside out, visibly frustrated.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Anna, her smile fading.

  “I think I’ve lost the key.” He reached back and checked his back pockets.

  “What?”

  He shook his head as he frantically patted and checked his jacket pockets.

  “Please don’t tell me this,” Anna groaned.

  “Here it is!” Michael said slyly, holding up the key.

  “Oh, come on Michael, that’s not funny,” Anna put her hand to her forehead. “I’m so tired.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. Just wanted to see your reaction, that’s all.”

  She punched his arm as he laughed merrily at her. She grinned and started chuckling herself, shaking her head.

  Michael slowly inserted the key inside the lock, and it was the perfect fit. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to turn the key in either direction, it remained in the upright position, despite all of his efforts.

  “Maybe it’s the wrong key?” he wondered out loud. He wiggled the key and pounded the door. “I could break this door open with no problem.”

  “Oh, really,” said Anna sarcastically. “Look around you. You see those black domes on the ceiling? Those are called surveillance cameras. So, if you want to spend the rest of your vacation in the Gulag, then, please, break this lock.”

  “OK, so what do you suggest?”

  “Hold on, I’ll be right back,” she turned and started striding down the aisle. In a few minutes she returned to Michael, visibly excited. “Hey! There was a nice couple from England a few rows down, newlyweds backpacking through Europe.”

  “Oh, I see,” he said, chuckling, “I’ll bet you’ve talked them into breaking into our locker. That for sure will spice up their honeymoon!”

  “I’ll bet that certainly would, or if you put some coins right here in this slot, then the key will magically turn.”

  Michael just looked at her, surprised.

  “And, yes,” Anna added with a smug smile, “The couple gave me some coins as well, so you’re welcome.”

  “Ooohhhh.” Michael could not believe he had missed the coin slot on the locker. He stepped aside as she inserted the coins. Michael turned the key and the door swung open. Reaching inside he retrieved a small wooden box.

  “Wow,” said Anna, stunned. “That’s an old Cuban cigar box. My father used to smoke Cuban cigars just like these.”

  Michael looked closely at the box lid, which was held in place by black tape. Suddenly a family walked down their aisle.

  Anna leaned forward, whispering, “Let’s just take it back to our hotel room.”

  Michael nodded as he stuffed the box inside his backpack.

  As soon as Michael and Anna emerged back on the street outside the station, a fresh, chill wind gently brushed their faces. It started raining. A train had recently arrived, and the passengers were crowding the square. It seemed as if every one of them needed a taxi. Every attempt Michael made to signal a taxi was simply in vain.

  “Let’s try over there,” Anna suggested, pointing in the direction of a movie theater, about a hundred feet away. They started walking down the street. When they were almost to the movie theater, Anna suddenly pulled hard on Michael’s left sleeve and clandestinely moved her head slightly toward the other side of the road.

  “Don’t say anything,” she said whispering, not looking at him, “just carefully look across the street.”

  Michael scratched his head, turning slightly, spotting the man who gotten Anna’s attention. He wore dark pants and a brown sweatshirt with a hood, which was up, covering his hair.

  “Do you think it’s him?” asked Michael.

  “Of course it’s him, who else might that be?”

  “I mean, that could be him, but it’s almost impossible to tell. There’s a shadow across his face, and his hair is completely covered up.”

  “I’m telling you Michael, it is him. I have a gut feeling, trust me.”

  At that same moment, a strong gust of wind blew across the road. The stranger’s hood blew back, revealing his bushy Afro hair. Michael’s heart sank. Looking ahead he saw a trolleybus approaching. “As soon as this trolleybus gets closer and he can’t see us, we’re gonna run, you got it?”

  Anna nodded as she continued to look straight ahead. As soon as the approaching trolleybus interrupted their view of the Medjay, both Michael and Anna bolted to the entrance of the nearest subway station.

  Chapter 37

  Kurskaya Subway station, Moscow, Russia

  Saturday, September 23

  11:04 p.m.

  If subway commuters were asked whether they liked using the subway, it would sound like a trick question. To the many daily subway passengers who spend more than an hour traveling to work
and then an hour to get back home, who do this while choked on every side by a dense crowd, who must run to make the connection from one subway line to another, who oftentimes are flying to cram themselves inside a crowded car, at the last moment, one arm holding the closing door open while using the other to squeeze inside the last few square inches of a tightly crammed space, this may seem like an inane question. This is how they travel day after day, year after year, for their everyday life. What can a subway passenger answer to this question? The same as the passengers of the Tokyo, London, Paris and Moscow subways, “Do we have a choice?”

  Even after many years of daily riding the New York City MTA subway system with two-hour rides, Michael still had not lost that mystical and mysterious feeling of his first experience with the subway. When five-year-old Michael first opened the doors leading to the subway, an enchanted underground world was unlocked for him. The realm of the subway held a comfortable, lingering nostalgia of childhood for him, where, as is commonly believed, people were different, houses were different, and the subway was also, well, different. Those nostalgic feelings accompanied Michael throughout his life, and he always felt at home on the subway trains, even when compacted to a state of almost complete immobility in a crowded subway car. For some people the subway is just the usual part of the urban landscape or one of the types of its infrastructure. But for others, and Michael belonged with no doubt to this category, the subway was not just a mode of transportation, but something magical and special.

  As they dashed to the entrance and scrambled down the stairs, this was Michael and Anna’s first time to use the famed Moscow subway system. Built during Stalin’s rule, these metro stations were supposed to display the best of Soviet architecture and design in order to show off the privileged lifestyle of the Russian people. Often called “the people’s palaces,” they were elegantly designed with a lavish use of marble, mosaics, sculptures and chandeliers. During World War II the city’s metro stations were used as air raid shelters. Many of the larger stations were used for important political and tactical meetings. Today the Metro system has grown into an enormous network of twelve interconnecting lines and over 185 stations, with new stations opening almost every year.