The Egyptian

by Layton Green

  A tingle ran through Grey. Cellular senescence. The word Al-Miri had told him to watch for. Aging at the cellular level, he remembered from his research.

  Stefan continued, “At first no one believed him, but his research proved correct. This limit on cell division is known as the Hayflick Limit.”

  “Why do they stop dividing?”

  “It was discovered that when a cell divides during mitosis, the double helix of each chromosome must unravel, like Rapunzel’s hair, so that a copying enzyme known as polymerase can travel down each single strand like a train running along its track, copying the DNA that will form the new cell. But when this train comes to the end of its track, the piece directly underneath where the train comes to rest fails to get copied. This happens each time a human cell divides.”

  Grey said, “Sort of like trying to chop the end of the carrot you’re holding onto with your own hand. You always leave a little bit.”

  Stefan cocked his head. “Something like that, yes. Human chromosomes are linear and, after fifty such divisions, the DNA in the cell’s telomeres—the region of the chromosomes we’re discussing—has been critically shortened, and can no longer replicate. We knew this, da, but no one could explain why somatic human cells were subject to the Hayflick Limit, and why human cancer and germ-line cells, and the soon to be discovered embryonic cells, were not. It is a great puzzle—these other cells are, in essence, immortal. How do they make it past the Hayflick Limit?”

  He paused to attend to his wine and cheese. Grey found himself waiting for Stefan to continue, sensing the story connected to the missing test tube in some way. But why tell them about it? To gauge their reaction? Find out how much they knew? Grey enjoyed Stefan’s company, but he also knew he had his motives.

  “It was later discovered that a particular enzyme helped repair and maintain the ends of telomeres of cancer and germ-line cells. This enzyme, also known as the immortalizing enzyme, was named telomerase. The point of my story, and the great stride for which my lovely guest has asked: not too long ago, the two genes that code telomerase, the enzyme which allows certain cells to surpass the Hayflick limit and thus potentially avoid cellular senescence, were identified.”

  Veronica was staring so rapturously at Stefan that Grey couldn’t tell if she was still acting. She said, “Why haven’t we heard about this?”

  He laughed lightly. “Because you’re a vigorous young woman, and don’t bother with dry biomedical journals. There is also a large problem. While science has identified telomerase in the human body, we have failed to reproduce it, or to activate the two genes that code for it. Without this knowledge, there’s no way to repair the telomeres of aging cells.”

  She pouted. “And is your company working to change that?”

  “We have ideas,” he said evasively.

  “You’re worried someone will steal the research,” Grey said.

  Stefan gave an embarrassed shrug.

  Veronica leaned in. “Can you make any predictions? Tell me my life span will

  double? Something to make me sleep better?”

  “I predict that within our lifetimes, we will see significant advances. Very significant.” He leaned back and smiled. “Enough of me. You have yet to tell me what brings you across the world. It is difficult to find a global perspective in Veliko, and I enjoyed my conversation with Grey very much the other evening. But I ignore my duties; would you care for another drink?”

  “That’d be lovely,” Veronica said.

  Grey stood. “Can you point me to the restroom?”

  “But of course.” Stefan pointed towards a hallway. “Turn right at the end, then the first door on the left.”

  Grey gave Veronica an intimate squeeze on the back of the neck as he left the patio. He wanted to take a look inside the house, although he didn’t think there was anything to find.

  He reached the end of the hallway and turned right, and a huge room spread out before him. A woven rug covered the floor, and wooden bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling on the walls to his left and right. Wide French doors on the far wall provided a view of the surrounding forest.

  Grey had planned to do a quick search of the house, but he could only stare at the forest. It was going to be nearly impossible to get a look at the lab without Grey taking action he wasn’t willing to take in these circumstances. He had enough circumstantial evidence to take to Al-Miri. Al-Miri didn’t need Grey anymore, he needed a lawyer. It was time to return to the patio, enjoy the evening, and call Viktor and Al-Miri in the morning.

  He turned to reenter the hallway, and then stilled. He thought he had heard a faint mechanical click coming from the opposite end of the hallway, towards the front door.

  He edged closer, and the noise grew louder, now unmistakable.

  Someone was picking the lock.

  – 26 –

  Al-Miri sat cross-legged on the floor of his suite, atop a buttery Persian carpet. Incense from four golden bowls placed at the cardinal points swirled and perfumed the air. Four candlesticks, set in perfect formation between the bowls, illuminated the room. A small stone statue, similar to the image on his medallion, faced Al-Miri from a short pedestal in front of his feet.

  He was faint from hunger and thirst; he had partaken of no substance for thirty-six hours. The silk of his fresh robe felt cool against his oiled skin, and the iridescent green shimmered in the flickering candlelight.

  He had washed, oiled, fasted, prayed. He was purified. He was ready.

  At precisely noon Nomti entered the room, carrying a golden cup on a golden tray. He approached Al-Miri, head bowed, and sank to his knees. Al-Miri reached out with a delicate hand and plucked the cup off the tray. Nomti retreated, and Al-Miri took the cup in his hands. His lips hovered over the cup as he recited a litany of words in a forgotten tongue.

  He closed his eyes and, with a reverent shudder, drank from the cup. The contents slid down his throat with a viscous, almost slimy, consistency. It did not burn, or cool, or quench. It had no taste. It simply was.

  He breathed deeply and rose to his feet. Nomti supported him and led him to the dining room, where a full table awaited. Al-Miri slipped into a chair and sighed. His body felt no different.

  But he knew.

  Al-Miri indicated for Nomti to join him at the table. “That was the last vial,” Nomti said.

  “I must return. You will join me when it’s done.”

  “Yes.”

  “Soon we drink together.”

  Nomti inclined his head, and they dined. Al-Miri ate a delicate amount that would not have satisfied an infant. Nomti shoved food into his mouth with abandon. After the meal Al-Miri retired to his bedroom.

  He removed his robe and replaced it with a thicker green robe. He sat on his bed and turned to the bedside table. On the table rested a scroll and a locket. He opened the scroll and read from the hieroglyphs within. His gaze rested on the last line of the passage, as it had for many nights, for many months, for many years. “O you of Nun, O you of Nun, beware of the Great Lake!”

  He replaced the scroll and opened the locket. The face of a beautiful young woman, contained within a tiny oval outline, peered back at him. A single long braid swept her hair off her face, and platter-sized caramel eyes demanded attention. An overly coquettish smile expanded her mouth, the expression of innocence in bloom, of a young woman who does not yet command her sexuality.

  Al-Miri adjusted his pillow and lay on his back. He closed the locket, placed it on his chest, and rested his hands over it. He felt her, the weight of her memory, gently pressing down on him.

  She was here, she was here.

  – 27 –

  Grey had a few snap decisions to make. The first was whether to return to the patio and protect Stefan and Veronica. The problem was, if he did that, Grey would be trapped with them, and he’d lose the element of surprise on whoever was coming in the door.

  Grey was guessing whoever was at the door had scouted the house, and thought ever
yone was still on the patio. If Grey stayed in the house, he could use that to his advantage.

  But if there were more headed for the patio, and something happened to Veronica, he’d never forgive himself.

  He chose a compromise. He backed into the hallway leading to the patio, just around the corner from the room leading to the front door. He could see Veronica’s back, and could rush down the hallway if she screamed.

  More importantly, he didn’t expect anyone to approach the patio first. The men at the door wouldn’t bother picking the lock unless they were trying to surprise them. They would shoot or kick the door in. No, these men wanted to enter quietly and trap everyone on the patio. One man with a gun could hold them all on the small patio, while the others searched.

  Or maybe they just planned to shoot everyone.

  The door creaked open. Grey crouched in the hallway. The eyes went high first, and then low. It was why he liked to start a fight with a snap kick to the knee. No one expected it, and if he caught the knee as the weight planted on the front foot, when the knee was locked, the patella shattered. Game over.

  He knew it was rarely that simple. Fights are fluid and chaotic. And with this situation, he had to assume the intruders had firearms.

  He heard footsteps and whispering. Two men, unless more waited outside.

  They were almost to the hallway. One of them would step forward and Grey would be in a fight for his life. He’d been there enough times not to freeze up, but no amount of life or death situations would ever quell the nervous energy coursing through him.

  Maybe there would be too many men, maybe this time there would be one or more who were better than he was. Maybe, maybe, maybe. His life depended on maybes.

  Focus.

  They were steps away. Grey had decided on a plan of action, based on how he expected the situation to unfold. But that could change in a heartbeat. He raised his crouch to mid-level.

  He glanced at the patio again. Still calm. Good. He could hear Veronica and Stefan conversing. They must be wondering where he was by now.

  He took silent deep breaths. On the third one the barrel of the first gun rounded the corner, chest high, as he suspected it would. It was what people were trained to do.

  Two hands clutched the slender grip of the handgun, so Grey didn’t even look at the person holding the gun. Grey’s universe had shrunk to one thing: disengaging the firearm in front of his face. There was at least one more intruder to worry about, so Grey had to think ahead as well, but his primary purpose remained the same. If he got shot by the first gun, it didn’t matter how many other men there were.

  As soon as the gun appeared Grey rose, kept to the side, and grabbed the barrel with both hands. He stepped back and tugged on the weapon.

  The human brain is conditioned to respond in certain ways to certain situations, and Jujitsu is designed to exploit these conditioned responses. When Grey tugged, the man immediately tugged in the other direction. His brain thought Grey was trying to take the weapon, so he pulled back. As soon as Grey felt the movement, Grey reversed his own motion, with a small twist. When Grey pushed towards the man, there were no more competing forces on the gun, and Grey flipped the weapon in the other direction, back towards the man.

  The man retained his grip before Grey had the gun fully trained on him, and avoided getting shot with his own weapon. But when the man reacted, Grey acted again, still a step ahead of the man, and thus in control.

  Grey threw a kick at the man’s knee. He missed the kneecap and struck him on the thigh, but the kick had only been a distraction. The man bent down, lost his concentration on the gun ever so slightly, and Grey shoved the gun into the man’s forehead and kneed him in the groin. The man flinched enough for Grey to rip the gun out of his grasp.

  Grey didn’t hesitate. He put the gun in the man’s stomach and screamed at him. “Move! Backwards! Move!”

  Grey could have shot him and stepped back into the hallway, but then it would have been a brand new fight with the others, without the element of surprise, and without cover. It needed to end now.

  He forced his captive towards another man who was backing towards the door. There were only the two men. The man by the door was waving his gun around, but he had nowhere to shoot. If he tried to step to the side, he would open himself up to Grey.

  Grey kept screaming, both to keep his captive moving and to add chaos to the situation. The man he was holding stumbled backwards as fast as he could. Grey couldn’t shoot him yet, because he might jerk and expose Grey to the other man’s line of fire.

  The intruders had closed the door behind them after entering. Again, part of standard training, but in this case it was a mistake. The one backing towards the door couldn’t shoot at Grey without hitting the man Grey was leading, and he didn’t have time to open the door and back out.

  Grey and his captive were steps away and closing rapidly. Grey kept screaming at his man to move. The other intruder looked panicky. When Grey was four feet away from the door he shoved his captive straight into the other man.

  They crashed into each other, and Grey scurried backwards in a crouch and shot them both.

  • • •

  The second gunman had gotten off a wild shot before dropping his gun. Grey kicked away the weapon, then patted them down as their blood poured out and they writhed on the floor.

  Grey had fired four bullets. He hit the first man twice in the stomach, and the other man in the arm and upper right chest. He held the gun up. Beretta nine millimeter, military issue, equipped with a silencer.

  These men had come to kill.

  Stefan and Veronica rushed into the room. Stefan’s eyes popped, and Veronica covered her mouth. She started to heave but took deep breaths to bring her stomach under control.

  “Call an ambulance,” Grey said, his voice rough. “They might live if it’s fast.”

  Stefan reached for his cell with shaky hands. He spoke into the phone and then shut it. He walked to the men. “Who are you?” he said. “Why would you do this?”

  Neither answered. The one with the stomach wound was gasping and fading. The other was taking short quick breaths and trying to staunch the blood flow. Both were dressed in green and black camouflage. Both looked Arab.

  Grey asked Stefan to bring him a few shirts. The stomach wound was bad. The man with the chest and arm wound might be fine if he got help; on closer inspection, it was more of a shoulder wound than a chest wound. Stefan brought the shirts and Grey bent to wrap the shoulder wound. Stefan helped peel the bloody shirt back from the man’s shoulder, and then Grey cursed.

  The man had a tattoo. A tattoo with the same design Grey had seen on Al-Miri’s medallion. The same design Al-Miri had said was on the test tube.

  Stefan went white, and Grey knew that he knew.

  They checked the other man. Same tattoo.

  “How fast is public service?” Grey asked.

  “The ambulance could be long. The police will be even longer. Maybe much longer.” His voice turned frantic. “My friend you have to help me.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Stefan hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. After Grey wrapped the wound Stefan pulled Grey out of earshot of the men. “I don’t know who you are, or what you do. But whoever you are and for whatever reason you’re here, I trust you. And I need your help. Now. We must go.”

  Grey didn’t move. Stefan hesitated again, then his strong jaw clenched. “There is a lab, hidden on the hill. There are scientists inside. I cannot explain now, but these men—” his eyes moved to the men on the floor, “these men were sent to steal something in the lab. If they know where the lab is, and there are more men, then I think we both know what will happen.”

  Stefan walked over and nudged one of the men. “Are there more of you?” Neither answered, and Stefan said something in Bulgarian. Still no response. Stefan turned to Grey. “Please, we must go now. I will go myself if I must, but you can…” He looked Grey in the eye. “W
ill you help me?”

  Grey glanced at Veronica. She was huddled in a corner, and she met Grey’s gaze. Her eyes narrowed into determined blue warriors. “Do what you need to.”

  Grey didn’t like it. At all. But if Stefan was telling the truth, he had to do something, or at least try.

  Stefan picked up the gun on the floor and held it gingerly. Veronica walked over and snatched it out of his hands. “I can handle a gun.”

  Stefan didn’t protest, and they both looked to Grey. He swore.

  “Get us there,” he said to Stefan. “Quickly and quietly. Both of you do exactly what I say. If anything happens drop straight to the ground unless I tell you otherwise. Veronica you do not shoot unless your life depends on it. Which it might, and then you do.”

  Grey nodded at Stefan, and they started for the door. When Grey stepped over the man with the stomach wound, the man whispered something in a heavy accent. Grey bent to hear, and the man gurgled his words in pain. “Maybe I die, but you are already dead.”

  – 28 –

  Stefan led them down the long drive and into a copse of trees at the base of the hill. After pushing through the trees a sliver of an earthen path appeared, and they followed it up the hill. The night was black and eerily silent. The breeze had faded.

  Grey’s mind spun as he climbed. Al-Miri didn’t want to pursue legal action. Al-Miri had sent two men with silencers to Stefan’s house.

  Grey wanted to spring up the hill, but he had to balance the group’s safety with that of the innocent lives in the lab. Were there more men? Did they know about the lab?

  What was in that test tube?

  Stefan knew the hill intimately, and they made good progress. They saw no one, heard nothing, said nothing. They delved like moles into the darkness of the hill.

  Twenty minutes later Stefan stopped next to a stone ledge that stretched for ten feet and then simply ended. “It’s just around this wall.”