The Ghost Reapers

by Jackie Ferris

  “My father had no idea what seeds of rebellion he sowed in me. He knew nothing about the Reformers or Hawwa, or, if he did, he said nothing to me; but he did give something to Marcos.”

  “Marcos Santos, the one who was jailed because of the forged papers? It’s too much of a coincidence. Your father must have known about the Corporation or Hawwa.” Zach stood up.

  “Apparently not; I was chosen by the Church eight years later. Destiny has a funny way of working things out. My father gave Marcos a stone with markings on it.”

  “An inscription?” Zach was trying to visualise the stone in his mind.

  “Something like that. He also gave him a ring which bore the mark of Nefertiti.”

  “The two pyramids?”

  Id nodded. “He was an anthropologist, committed to furthering the cause of black Africa. He was a great advocate of the Dogon beliefs, probably because he suspected there was some link to the alien landing and the rise of Ancient Egypt. He hoped Marcos might uncover it.”

  “Do you really believe there is hidden evidence which proves the alien landing?”

  “My father did. The Dogon tribe weren’t the only ones with stories of the Visitation. Before Christianity and Judaism there were other beliefs. My father studied them. He was convinced treasures or documents were hidden. It may have started with my grandfather, who worked on Tutankhamun’s tomb. The white men paid little attention to black African workers or their beliefs. My grandfather took the ring and stone as mementos. He thought there was something odd about the ring.”

  Id put his hand on Zach’s shoulder. “Look around you, Zach; this land is steeped in history, unknown history. The first humans walked out of Africa. No one believes in Adam and Eve. The alien encounter Africa witnessed changed the human race forever, yet the African people are not revered. The sands of the Sahara and the depths of the jungle kept our secrets. Human nature, in the form of racism, did the rest. Ah want the truth to come out.”

  “I understand, but you said yourself we can’t do it.”

  “I am not suggesting that we do.” He grinned. “But I think there would be a certain justice if Francisco did.”

  “Marcos’s son?”

  “Marcos is dying. When he is dead, Francisco will act. Alistair will take him out once the missing evidence is retrieved. Make no mistake, Francisco will not be the only one he takes out.”

  “He would not dare touch us.” Zach pulled a face.

  “We are expendable. Alistair craves power, but I don’t care about him. I want to protect Francisco—he is on to something.”

  “We can’t go against the might of Nommo and the Reformers.”

  “I agree, two people alone are helpless. But I don’t think we are alone. I spoke with Anthony and Alexis in Geneva. They don’t like the direction the Reformers and Nommo are taking either. They know Hawwa will die out with their generation. I think we can persuade them to come in with us if I have you on my side.”

  Zach turned his attention back to the stars. He was thinking about his eldest son, who was a mummy’s boy, as a shriek from one of the cabins made him start. His eyes searched Id’s face for answers.

  “Husani. His nightmares don’t stop with his dreams.”

  Zach grimaced. “Count me in. What do you want me to do?”

  “Talk to Michael; he will listen to you, you have similar backgrounds. People deserve the right to know the truth. Anthony and Alexis will follow my lead.”

  “What about Abdul?”

  “Abdul’s ego will ensure that he arrives at the same conclusion we have.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Three weeks later, Friday evening, Cairo

  It was around eight. Well over an hour since Akhoum had lost Francisco. After calling Abdul, he had driven to Cara’s house. His car was parked, hidden from view under the shade of an ancient Lebanese cypress. As he waited for her to answer, he felt his heart pounding against his ribs.

  She picked up on the sixth ring.

  “Cara.”

  His husky voice whispering her name hurtled her back four years. She imagined his long black hair, his chin covered in stubble and his dark, memorising eyes. She could almost smell him. She coughed, needing to stay focused.

  A glance across to Hassid, who was reading the paper, revealed that it was unlikely he was listening. She dared not take the chance.

  “Hannah, it’s been ages,” she gushed into the mobile as Hassid turned a page – still engrossed in his newspaper.

  “Is he in the room?” Akhoum struggled to keep the emotion from his voice. It felt like four minutes, not four years. There had been other women since then, but Cara was the only one who had ever touched him.

  “I’ll tell Hassid you asked after him.”

  “I hope he rots in hell; unfortunately, that has to wait. I lost Francisco.”

  “What?”

  Hassid’s face appeared from behind the paper. “Is there something wrong, darling?”

  Cara put her hand over the phone. “Man trouble, it’s the only time Hannah rings. You should know that by now.”

  He proffered a stupid grin, then returned to his paper.

  “So what happened? Where did he go?” She hoped she sounded disinterested. It was hard with her heart in her mouth.

  “He walked straight through the hotel. I thought he was checking in. Schoolboy stuff, yet I fell for it. I have no idea where he is. You have to call him; it’s the only way we can get a trace.”

  “Hannah, you must be crazy, Steve won’t listen to me, he’ll know you put me up to it. I haven’t spoken to him in months.”

  Akhoum sucked in air, hoping to keep a lid on his frustration. “Francisco is only part of the reason I called.”

  “Go on.” Cara bit her lip, trying to stay calm.

  “I know who your father is.” He took another drag from his cigarette and threw it to the ground.

  “What?”

  Hassid looked up from his paper as she shrieked.

  She pulled a face in an effort to compose herself, then mouthed: “It’s girls’ stuff. I’ll finish the call in the kitchen. I don’t want to disturb you. Read your paper.” Hassid muttered under his breath, then returned his attention to the newspaper as she strode out of the room.

  “Sorry to spring this on you, but you need to know where you stand before you choose.”

  “Choose what?”

  “Which side you are on.”

  “Who is he?”

  Akhoum stretched his neck from side to side to ease the stress in his muscles. “I wish there was an easier way of doing this.”

  “Spit it out, who is he?”

  “Alistair, the head of Nommo.”

  “Alistair is my father?” Her awareness of her thudding heart made processing the information difficult.

  “Yes.”

  “You mean the head of the Reformers?”

  “Nommo controls the Reformers and Hawwa.”

  “Jeez, I always thought the Reformers were nothing but a bunch of rich sticks. What I don’t get is why Alistair made me marry Hassid if he’s my dad?”

  “All I know is, if he knows you are involved in this, I mean really involved, he will go crazy. He has no problem with your being a messenger, but the way things are going, you can’t be just a messenger.”

  “He thinks that is all I am capable of, a…” She paused then spat out, “messenger?” Anger replaced the bubble of suffocation she was drowning in. It was not how she had imagined she would feel. She had given up on meeting her genetic father a long time ago. Now, not only was it clear that she had she met him, but he knew who she was and he had said nothing. Worse, he had engineered her break-up from Akhoum. He had designed her life to be peripheral and condemned her to a loveless marriage.

  “We need to meet.”

  “You were the one who said you never wanted to see me again. You got married, not me.”

  “I have Alistair to thank for that, we both do,” she snapped back at him.
r />   “Then take your revenge.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Abdul wants you to call Francisco.”

  “And continue to work for those liars? I would rather expose the whole stinking lot.” She imagined his face and drowning in his eyes but she wasn’t sure he felt the same. It was four years, she had married Hassid.

  “You can’t do that?”

  “Why not? Look what they’ve done to me.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why?”

  “They are the most powerful organisation on earth. We can’t take them on. “

  “Yes, we can. They screwed up my life. I have a chance to grab it back.”

  “Alistair will never allow it. Make no mistake, he won’t care that you are his daughter. He will kill us.”

  He paused, hoping she would answer.

  “Cara, say something.” Her silence made him add: “I’m assuming you won’t let it go until you get to the bottom of it?”

  Her continued silence made him add: “Then we have to make them think that we are working for them for as long as we can… Or we could just leave.”

  “I can’t build a life on another pack of lies.”

  “Then call Francisco. There’s not much time.” His frustration spilled over.

  “I guess you are banking on Abdul calling you when he gets the trace.”

  “Right. We can meet tomorrow. You will want to discuss your father.”

  She heard him click off. He was angry. She hated that more than anything. She had thought she had known how much she had missed him. Hearing his voice made her grief, resurfacing for four years, raw. He had added to her confusion with the new information on her father.

  Her hand shook as she slipped her mobile into her pocket. She took a deep breath, then returned to the living room, relieved to see Hassid still buried in his newspaper.

  “Hannah is nuts; I don’t hear from her for months and then she calls me when she breaks up with Steve. She wants me to call him. It’s been a hell of a day. I need a drink.”

  “We still have half a bottle of the red. No one drank it. I put it in the bar. Why don’t you pour us both a glass?”

  “I want something cold. I´ll pour you a glass and get a glass of white from the kitchen.”

  Hassid’s attention had returned to the newspaper as she poured his wine.

  Knowing he was preoccupied, she decided against the kitchen and went into the bathroom and ran a bath.

  She pressed Francisco’s number, wondering if he would pick up, given her promise not to call.

  He answered on the eighth ring.

  “Francisco, sorry, I know I’m not supposed to call. I’m worried about the two of you. It was bad news for you as well as Jazz.”

  She heard him sigh.

  “If I’m brutally honest, I knew in my heart that the odds were stacked against my father’s beliefs being true. It’s probably why I’m okay. I wish I could say the same for Jazz. I built her hopes up about Dad. I should never have done it. She is devastated.”

  Cara took a deep breath, trying to supress the anger clouding her judgement. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You both need time. I’ll call you in the morning.” She clicked off.

  “I bet you will,” Francisco looked across at Jazz, whose mouth was open.

  “Why did you do that?” she demanded.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Damn right it does. We spent ages running from hotel to hotel. You said she would track the call. You were certainly on there long enough to let a novice get a good trace.”

  “I needed to know for sure if she is a spy.”

  She looked at him aghast. “Francisco, you can’t really think she’s working for the Ghost Stealers?”

  “She married Hass to keep an eye on me. I stopped confiding in him when Dad got out of jail. I made Hass think Dad was suffering from dementia.”

  “Pete and repeat – have you forgotten the video?”

  “I told you, it was an act.”

  Jazz sank back into her chair and put her head between her hands. “Erase and rewind. This is nuts, bona fide nuts.”

  “Look, Jazz, I know it’s hard.”

  “Hard? It’s impossible.”

  “Please go with it, at least for the moment. We have about fifteen minutes to get out of here.” His blue eyes melted into her.

  “Fifteen minutes!” She dropped his gaze.

  “Don’t believe me; I guarantee someone will turn up. When he does, decide for yourself.”

  She sighed as she picked up the papyri and put them back in their canisters. “What choice do I have?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The hotel reception was empty, except for the dark-haired woman minding the desk. Francisco barely noticed her bored expression as he strode up to her. “Our room is a disgrace; there are cockroaches everywhere.” He banged a room card on the desk, making the receptionist jump. “I will report you to the Tourist Information Board. You have not heard the last of this.” He stormed out of the lobby.

  Jazz had no time to protest as he indicated to the doorman to hail a taxi. One of the several cars waiting hopefully in the hotel driveway, nudged forward.

  Francisco shouted, “Nile Marriott,” as the doorman held the passenger door for Jazz.

  They had barely driven two blocks when he instructed the driver to stop. He elbowed Jazz out, then dropped the driver a fifty-dollar bill through the open window.

  “Anyone asks, you took us to the Nile Marriott.”

  The driver nodded, then drove off.

  “What are you doing?” Jazz demanded.

  “Going back to the Pyramid Hotel; it’s the only way to convince you.”

  Suddenly, she did not need proof. “What if they see us?”

  “They won’t.” Francisco grabbed her arm. “The back entrance to the hotel leads to the pool. I kept one of the card keys. We can use it to get in. I checked it out while you were having a bath.”

  Jazz followed him in disbelief as they made their way past the pool and took the lift to the roof top bar. He ordered two red wines, then led her outside to the wrap-around terrace.

  Jazz gasped. The view of the pyramids was spectacular, but there was no time to admire it as Francisco led her around to the back with its excellent view of the car park. The lack of tables and chairs meant the waiter was at a loss when he brought the tray with two glasses of wine and a bowl of pistachio nuts.

  Francisco leant across to Jazz and kissed her. His mouth felt soft and warm. He pulled away from her, then winked at the waiter. “We want to be incognito. If anyone asks, you haven’t seen us.” He pressed a twenty-dollar note into the waiter’s hand as he tapped his nose and grinned.

  “I understand perfectly, sir.”

  Francisco’s gaze made Jazz distinctly uncomfortable.

  “I wanted to give him the impression we are married.”

  “Married!” Jazz shrieked.

  “To other people.”

  Francisco pointed to a black Audi pulling into the car park.

  “It’s showtime.”

  Below them, Akhoum was uneasy. He had driven like a lunatic for a certain non-event. If Francisco had been expecting trouble he would be long gone. He hated playing catch-up almost as much as he hated being so obvious. More worryingly, Abdul had welcomed Cara into the fold. He would savour the opportunity of one-upmanship on Alistair, but Cara was playing for bigger stakes.

  He slammed the car door shut and ran towards the foyer, trying to focus on the task in hand instead of Cara. Like most of the other hotels in Cairo, the recent political changes and unrest meant the car park was full of the staff’s cars rather than those of businessmen and tourists.

  The single receptionist behind the desk was another sign of Egypt’s declining economic state.

  “I have a delivery for a couple of people who checked in probably an hour or so ago. My boss will kill me.” He tapped his forefinger against his brow. “I have forg
otten their names. The woman is English; thin, with blonde cropped hair. The guy is tall with black hair, speaks English with an American accent.”

  The receptionist nodded enthusiastically. “Mr and Mrs Sotans.”

  Akhoum felt his body relax, unable to believe his luck.

  “If you give me their room number I will take the delivery straight up.”

  “Sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”

  He let his hand rest on the desk, offering her a winning smile. “I understand, hotel policy… perhaps you could ring them?”

  Her black eyes darkened. “It has nothing to do with policy. They checked out five minutes ago.”

  Akhoum shrugged. “Just my luck, talk about one of those days, I have one of those lives. I don’t suppose they said where they were going?”

  “I think I heard them say the Nile Marriott.” She twisted a long strand of black hair around her finger.

  “I’d better get over there before my boss kills me.” His smile extended into a mischievous grin, in spite of seething inside.

  By the time he reached his car he was less convinced of their destination – Francisco would not have given out an address he intended to use. He called Cara, who picked up immediately.

  “Hannah, twice in one night.”

  Hassid folded his paper and pulled a face as Cara stood up and mouthed to him: “Girls’ talk.”

  She walked as slowly as she could into the kitchen then hissed through the mobile. “What is it? No, don’t tell me, they already left?”

  “They headed for the Nile Marriott as the pigs did a flypast.”

  “Very funny, I forgot about your sense of humour.”

  She was astonished how easy it was to slip back into their familiar banter.

  Suddenly he was happy. She could always make him happy, even in his blackest moments. “Seriously Cara, what are we going to do?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

  “How?”

  “Let’s say I took precautions. I hacked into her email when she was in Newcastle. I can track her. Francisco was not fooled by my call. Their flight proves it. He will ditch his phone but she won’t. Her laptop is here but she will hang on to her smartphone. He won’t think I took safeguards before she even got to Cairo.”