I put my toilet kit in the suitcase. “It sounds like he was paying someone a salary.”
“Or a bribe.”
“Bribes are more irregular. Salary is consistent.”
“Not always.”
I stood in front of my closet, trying to decide what else to add to my suitcase. I’d put a couple of things in yesterday, including underwear, socks, pajamas, a pair of sandals and a sweatshirt for the cool desert nights.
“A hat,” Slash reminded me. “Long pants or long skirts, lightweight material, if you have them. Modest tops. Shorts and low-cut blouses are out for women in Cairo unless you want to receive a lot of unwanted attention. I’ve got the suntan lotion.”
I trusted Slash’s judgment on the fashion front. “Okay. Hat first.” I grabbed a floppy burlap hat I’d bought for a vacation at the beach I’d taken with Basia. I tried it on my head and looked at my reflection in the mirror. “I’m going to look exactly like an American tourist.”
Slash rearranged it on my head. “It covers your entire face, but it’s not discreet. Do you have a smaller hat or cap?”
I leaned over and rummaged in a box in the bottom of my closet. “How’s this?” I pulled out a black cap that said Don’t Drink and Derive. I stuck it on my head.
“It’ll do,” Slash said. “Better than the beach hat.”
I tossed the ball cap into the suitcase. “So, want to know what I found?”
“I do.”
“I think I know to whom Arthur Zimmerman might be paying a salary.”
“Really?” Slash raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to say Khalfani are you?”
“No, it couldn’t possibly be that easy. It’s someone else at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know—a museum employee. I think he was working with someone while he was there. All I found was a name Z. Wahgdi.” I grabbed a lightweight blouse from the closet and held it up against me. “That name was linked to Arthur’s records during his examination of numerous museum exhibits and artifacts. At first I thought it might be a clerk who checks in and out artifacts for study. But a quick review of Wahgdi’s file indicates he’s a research assistant often assigned to help researchers at the museum. He’s been there for about three years.”
“Good work. That could be useful.”
“Right. Mr. Wahgdi and the museum could be a good place to start when we get to Cairo.” I put the blouse on the bed. “Wahgdi might have been the last person to see Arthur before he disappeared.”
“Or, at the very least, can help us zero in on what he was doing before he disappeared.”
I chose the rest of my clothes, pulling them from the closet and putting them on the bed. The blouse, an ankle-length cotton skirt, a couple of T-shirts and an extra pair of jeans. I folded everything and stuck it in the suitcase. “Done.”
“Quick, efficient and light.” Slash nodded approvingly. “Impressive.”
I closed the suitcase and Slash carried it to the door.
We stood by the door examining our pile of luggage. “You ready to go?” Slash asked. “We can catch a bite to eat at the airport.”
“Perfect. Do you want to take your car or mine?”
“Mine.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Time to say goodbye to your apartment, cara. This is it.”
I looked around at the furniture and stacks of boxes. My apartment was small and cramped, but it had been mine—my first home as an adult. I’d paid for every cent of my rent and I’d been happy here. The walls had served as my matrix of safety, the one place where I could retreat when the real world became too much for me. Now it was becoming a symbol of my past. I didn’t want to dwell too long on that.
I turned around and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. “I’m ready.”
Slash covered my hand on the suitcase handle with his, stilling me. He’d sensed something in my voice. “It’s not the end, cara. It’s a new beginning. I felt the same way when I left Italy.”
I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze. His brown eyes were sympathetic and warm. “I know, Slash. It just feels like I’m leaving a little part of myself behind.”
“You will. That’s inevitable with change. But you’ll also find a new part of yourself. I’ll miss this place, too. It’s where I fell in love with you.”
Somehow, that made me feel better. I managed a small smile. “At least I can take my memories with me.”
“There’s that.” He patted my shoulder once more. As if sensing I needed a moment, he shouldered both his laptop bag and mine and wheeled his suitcase out in the hall, leaving me alone for one final look.
“Goodbye, apartment,” I whispered.
I slid my purse on my shoulder, then pulled my suitcase out the door and walked into a new Chapter of my life.
Chapter Fourteen
When we arrived at the airport, Slash didn’t head for the main terminal.
“Um, Slash, you do realize you just missed the turnoff to the long-term parking area.”
He didn’t deviate from the road. “I know. We’re not going out of the main terminal.”
“We’re not?”
“No. I’ve chartered a plane for our trip.” He drove along a side road ringing a runway and turned onto a road leading to a two-story glass building. There was a parking lot in front with several trucks and cars already parked there.
“You did? Do Elvis and Gwen know?”
“They do. Elvis is bringing Gwen. They should be here in about an hour and a half.”
After we checked in at the terminal, Slash took me by the elbow and directed me toward a restaurant. It was a small setup with a handful of tables. A waitress led us to a table by the glass window so we could look out at the planes.
“It was nice of you to charter a plane for Elvis,” I said as I sat. “I guess this is why you didn’t ask me for my credit card number.”
“It was the easiest arrangement for everyone and gave us the most flexibility.”
“That was thoughtful. Thank you.”
He reached across the table and took my hand. “Look, cara. I know you are nervous about flying again so soon after the accident. But I’m with you this time. About fourteen hours until we are there. Okay?”
“Okay.” I squeezed his hand. “I won’t lie. It means a lot that you’re here.”
We ate, sipped our wine and talked. When the waiter cleared our table, Slash pulled out his laptop and opened it.
“Something you said earlier made me curious,” he said. “I’m going to download the exhibits Khalfani was caught examining at the British Museum, cross-referencing them with those Arthur Zimmerman was viewing at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. Once I’ve downloaded the data, we can examine it on the flight.”
“Great idea,” I said. It helped to think I’d have something to do other than just look at the window and remember the last time I’d been on an airplane.
The entire operation took him twenty minutes, just about the time Gwen and Elvis joined us.
The two of them walked into the restaurant, dressed in jeans, T-shirts and tennis shoes. Elvis’s hair was windblown, his glasses askew. Gwen’s sweatshirt was crooked and she looked around the terminal with wide eyes. Both were carrying laptop bags over their shoulders. They looked more like teenagers than brilliant young scientists.
Gwen set her laptop bag on the floor next to me and pressed her nose against the window. “Wow! Is that a Gulfstream?” she asked staring at one of the airplanes. “I’ve never been on one. I saw one in the movies once, but it’s hard to say what is real and what is added as an extra prop for the purpose of the script.”
Slash pointed to the one of the left. “That one is our plane.”
“This is going to be so cool. A Gulfstream! I’m going to cross so
mething off my bucket list today.”
Both Gwen and Elvis declined Slash’s offer to get something to eat, so Slash put away his laptop. We stood and headed for the exit. I almost wished I hadn’t eaten anything because my stomach jumped. No question about it, despite Slash’s assurances, I was nervous.
I knew Slash had come early to the airport for that very reason. He’d set me in front of the airplane, giving me time to look at it and process. He’d then wined and dined me in an effort to relax me. I appreciated the effort. Statistically, the chances of being in a plane crash two times in a row was unlikely to a point of nearly being impossible. But the universe was funny and I did have a little black cloud that liked to follow me around. Still, walking with my hand in his, I felt safe.
I could do this. I would do it.
Accompanied by a young man who greeted us when we entered the terminal, we exited the building and walked onto the tarmac. We headed for the plane Slash had pointed out to us from the restaurant. As we boarded, a young, male flight attendant with short brown hair and a wide smile greeted us. He was dressed in a crisp blue uniform with a white shirt and blue tie.
“Welcome aboard. I’m Peter and will be your flight attendant for the duration of the trip to Cairo. It’s my pleasure to serve you.”
Everyone found a seat in the leather recliner-type seats. Slash led me to the back to a section with four seats and a folding worktable. Along the left side was a large flat screen television and a glass credenza that held crystal, real plates and silverware. I had a flashback of myself rooting through the broken glass of a similar credenza looking for something to help me and my friends survive after the crash. My fingers crept up to touch the faint scar on my forehead—my reminder I was a survivor. I took a deep breath to calm myself and slid into my chair.
The pilots came back to introduce themselves and before I knew it we were taking off. I gripped Slash’s hand as we rose into the air, but as the flight continued without incident, I began to relax.
Gwen, however, was the picture of excitement. Smiling, oohing and aaahing over everything in the cabin. She examined every inch of the plane, taking pictures of everything with her smartphone. Despite my protestations, she somehow snapped a selfie with me and her.
“Perfect,” Gwen said, tapping. “Angel will love this. In fact, she’ll probably blow this up, and use this as the cover photo. Before we left, she texted we have twenty-seven new Lexicons since yesterday. We’re really becoming a small fiefdom.”
I winced. “Just. Stop. Talking. I beg you.”
Elvis and Slash seemed amused. I tried not to be too cranky about it because at least it took my mind off my nervousness about the flight.
After a while Gwen finally settled down and she and Elvis started playing cards. Slash booted up his computer. At some point Gwen laughed loudly, throwing down her cards and slapping Elvis on the shoulder. Elvis grinned at her and gave her a big goofy smile.
I leaned over toward Slash, lowering my voice. “What do you think is the deal with those two?”
He didn’t look up from the keyboard. “Don’t get involved.”
“I’m not getting involved. I’m asking a question.”
“Asking questions is getting involved.”
“That’s not true. I’m asking you the question, not Elvis or Gwen. If I were asking them, then I’d be getting involved. Technically, I’m just expressing my curiosity to my boyfriend.”
“Those are not the kinds of questions you ask your boyfriend.”
“They aren’t? Why not?”
“Because those questions are none of our business.”
“Of course they are. Elvis is our friend, right?”
“Right.” Slash looked up from the screen. “Which is exactly why we leave him alone, cara. You like Bonnie, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, how would you react if she asked you if you knew something was going on between Elvis and Gwen?”
I considered. “She’d do that?”
“She might.”
“Well, even if she asked, that’s the problem. I don’t know anything. That’s why I’m asking you. Is something going on? I can’t tell.”
“If we don’t ask, we don’t know, right?” He went back to tapping on the keyboard. “Honest deniability.”
I pondered his words for a bit and decided Slash was a wise guy, indeed. I figured Elvis would tell me if he wanted me to know.
After a while Slash became absorbed in what he was doing and Gwen fell asleep. I went to sit on the other side of Elvis.
“How are you doing?” I asked him.
He set aside his book and hooked his glasses on the front of his T-shirt. “Okay, I guess. Gwen is doing a good job of keeping my mind off the task at hand—confronting my father.”
“Do you know what you’re going to say to him?”
“Not really. What do you say to a man who has been absent and unemotionally unavailable to you pretty much all of your life?”
When I remained silent, he sighed. “That’s not even the worst part. You know what I worry about the most, Lexi? That I’ll turn out like him. That I already am like him. Xavier...he’s always been more like my mom in terms of temperament and personality. He’s not afraid to say what’s on his mind and open himself up to others. Look at him. He’s getting married in a week to the girl of his dreams. I’m both thrilled and horribly envious of him. I... I can’t do that kind of thing so easily.”
“Being cautious in relationships is a lot different than being emotionally unavailable.”
“I know. It’s just that I don’t even know my father anymore. Maybe I never knew him.”
I put my hand over his and squeezed. “I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know you. You might have been shaped in part by your father, but you aren’t defined by him. I don’t subscribe to the theory of tainted blood. I think it’s pretty simple at this point. You hold the cards to any kind of reconciliation with your dad. Either you’ll forgive him...or you won’t.”
We sat for a few more minutes in companionable silence before I returned to my seat. Turning down the light over my chair, I reclined and drifted off to sleep. Despite the fact that I was flying on exactly the same type of airplane that I had crashed on several weeks prior, I didn’t once dream of falling out of the sky.
Chapter Fifteen
I may have survived the flight to Egypt, but there was a good chance I was going to die on the streets of Cairo.
After we disembarked from the plane, gathered our luggage and went through customs, we rendezvoused in front of the terminal where Slash had secured a van to drive us to the hotel. A quick glance at my watch indicated it was just after eleven, approaching the hottest time of the day. The heat was thick and oppressive even though we were standing in the shade. I almost cheered when the van pulled up, even though the sides had so many dents and craters, it reminded me of an asteroid. It did not, however, have air-conditioning. At least the driver was cheerful and spoke some English.
Unfortunately, he drove like a freaking lunatic.
As we left the airport, we watched in horror as he weaved through traffic without slowing or adjusting his speed even once, nearly hitting a half dozen cars in the process before pulling onto a crowded bridge. Gwen clapped a hand over her mouth after several small shrieks.
“Cairo is beautiful city,” our driver said in heavily accented English. Apparently he was oblivious to our terror. “It has thousands of mosques. See there?” He nearly sideswiped a black sedan as he took his eyes off the road to point at the numerous minarets dotting the city skyline in the distance. Since all the windows were open, I could hear the muezzin calling the faithful for afternoon prayers. I could also hear screams from what I assumed were other tourists in taxis. But before I could comment, our driver squeezed betwee
n a bus and a Mercedes with barely an inch to spare.
I sat in the back, sandwiched between Gwen and Elvis while Slash sat in the front. He had his hand braced against the dashboard while Elvis, Gwen and I had resorted to holding hands and murmuring prayers. My foot kept pushing an imaginary brake every time we barely avoided a collision, which was about every three seconds. Gwen finally just closed her eyes. Elvis’s skin took on a faint green tinge.
“In case you didn’t know, Cairo was built more than one thousand years ago,” Slash suddenly said.
I exchanged a confused glance with Elvis. Why in the world had Slash decided to play unflappable tour guide when our lives were hanging by a thread?
The driver swerved to the right and pulled alongside a large truck, sandwiching us between the truck and the concrete side of the bridge. As the van shot forward, the door handles scraped the concrete, shooting off sparks. I held my breath and tried not to scream my head off.
Slash continued to point out the sights of the city as we hurled along as if we weren’t moments from impending death. “Cairo has resided on the same spot on since its inception. It was perhaps the most prosperous city in the world for many centuries until a plague ravished the city in 1348. Its location is prime since it sits at the juxtaposition between the Nile Valley of Upper Egypt and the delta of Lower Egypt.”
I was about to tell him where he could stick his juxtaposition when Elvis screamed, “Look out! That’s a red light!”
We exited the bridge and shot through an intersection without slowing down, barely avoiding a dump truck and another cab. Additional cars followed right behind us, riding our bumper and screeching past us without staying in their lanes or showing any kind of road courtesy. It occurred to me that no one in the city was obeying any of the traffic signals or signs whatsoever.
The driver suddenly slammed on the brakes, hit the horn and let loose a stream of what I had to assume were swear words. He stuck his head out the window and shouted at the car in front of him, making several hand gestures. Before I could catch my breath from the sudden whiplash, he slammed on the gas again, streaked around the offending car, shot over the curb and into the city.
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