No Living Soul

by Julie Moffett

  “Other than the pyramids and museums, one of the best-kept secrets of Cairo is the Khan al Khalili open market,” Slash said calmly, pointing out the window in a vague direction. “There are a collection of old-time shops, selling anything from soap to soup. Most of them are folded into small courtyards and presented in a style quite similar to what you might have seen in medieval times.”

  I lifted my hand to smack him when our driver careened around a corner, slamming all of us to the left. Elvis’s head bounced off the window as we came within inches of flattening a pedestrian, two dogs and a café table with two patrons. We straightened and I gasped for breath as Elvis gripped my shoulder to steady himself. Then the driver took a hard right and my stomach bottomed out. The green tinge to Elvis’s face turned purplish.

  “I’m going to be carsick,” Gwen said, her eyes still closed. “Right now.”

  “Me, too,” Elvis added.

  “Slash, tell him to slow down,” I begged. “Gwen and Elvis are going to throw up and I’m a sympathetic vomiter. Things could get ugly back here.”

  Our driver took two more hard rights and the van abruptly squealed to a halt next to a large, black gate manned by several security guards. After I recovered from the whiplash, I stared out the window at the red stone building flanked by two large red towers on the other side of the gate.

  The Cairo Marriott.

  The guards at the gatehouse stuck their head through the windows and asked for our passports. While checking them against our reservations, another guard examined our luggage in the back. A German shepherd walked around the van sniffing. Other guards used mirrors to look under our van. When we were cleared, the gate was opened and we pulled up to the front of the hotel with a screech. A bellman leaped forward to help us remove our luggage from the trunk.

  We staggered out of the van on shaky legs. Gwen clutched her stomach and leaned over, resting a hand on my shoulder to brace herself. “That was the worst car ride I’ve ever been on. I don’t mean to be rude, but who drives like that?”

  My own stomach was still roiling around and I’m pretty sure I’d left my tonsils on the bridge. “Apparently everyone in Cairo. At least we got here in one piece, so that has to count for something.”

  Slash paid the driver, then put an arm around me, lowering his voice. “Sorry for that. I had to take over as tour guide or our driver would have insisted on doing it. I felt as if it were a better idea to let him focus solely on the driving. Short of knocking him unconscious and taking control of the wheel, which I admit I was seriously considering, there wasn’t much else I could do until we got to the hotel.”

  “I would have voted for knocking him unconscious. Seriously.”

  Slash patted my shoulder. “For the record, we survived.”

  “Barely.” I blew out a breath and glanced up at the hotel. “It’s beautiful. It looks like a castle.”

  “It was built as a guest palace in 1869,” Slash said. “It’s a historic landmark.”

  We walked into the hotel holding hands. Elvis walked beside Gwen and the bellhop with our luggage on a cart trailed behind us. We were met by even more security guards and a magnetometer machine inside the entrance.

  “Welcome to the Marriott. Please place your purses and bags on the machine. Empty your pockets of keys, jewelry, cell phones and any other assorted items that might set the machine off.”

  We did as he said and each of us walked through a machine while we were checked for weapons or illegal contraband.

  “All clear,” the guards declared. We were permitted to retrieve our items, bags and luggage. A bellman loaded them onto a cart and led us to registration.

  “Wow. I didn’t expect that level of security,” I said in a low voice to Slash.

  “The price of safety these days.”

  Not that I didn’t appreciate it, but it made me wonder how Slash had been permitted to come. What exactly had he told his bosses at the NSA? Had he given them a hint about the danger of the endospores? Had this become another secret mission for him?

  “By the way, the Marriott is a five-star resort,” Elvis said coming up to walk beside me. “The Wi-Fi connection isn’t what we’re used to, but it will have to do. I brought several Wi-Fi enhancers, so hopefully that will help. By the way, I’ve already paid for everyone’s rooms in advance.”

  I opened my mouth to argue when he frowned at me. “Don’t argue, Lexi. Slash paid for our transportation here and you and Gwen took time off to come to help me out, so the least I can do is pay for the accommodations. I think everyone will be comfortable. There are fifteen restaurants, an outdoor pool, a Jacuzzi, six acres of gardens, a fitness center and tennis courts. Not like we’re going to have any time for any of that, but by God, we’ve got them if we want them.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I just snapped my mouth shut. Slash looked around the lobby and nodded as if satisfied. “Security is good and there are plenty of exits.”

  “Wait,” I said. “You checked out the security and exits in the short time it took us to walk into the hotel?”

  “I did.” He grinned, leaving me to believe that he might have also checked things out in advance, too.

  We headed to registration. The bellman motioned to us, so Slash and Elvis took Gwen’s and my passport and went to check us into our rooms while we stayed with the luggage cart. After a few minutes the guys and the bellman returned, handing us our key cards and passports.

  “We got the Executive Suite with two connecting bedrooms,” Elvis said. “Slash and Lexi can have the suite bedroom, and Gwen and I will each take one each of the adjoining rooms. Our suite is situated in the Gezira Tower, fifth floor. It’s air-conditioned.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” I said, fanning myself.

  “The suite has a large living room with multiple desks and tables where we can set up our computer equipment. It also has a safe where we can store said equipment. Best yet, there are ceiling-to-floor windows with an excellent view of the Nile.”

  “It sounds perfect.” Gwen was looking around with so much excitement and enthusiasm, it was hard not to smile.

  We rode the elevator up and entered the suite. The bellman removed our luggage from the cart and left as soon as we tipped him. The setup was just as Elvis had described with a large joint living space and adjoining bedrooms. The hotel had left a large and lovely basket of fruit and dates on the coffee table with a warm message welcoming us to Cairo. The dates looked inviting, but I couldn’t help but recall the last time I had seen a similar basket. In that movie, a poor monkey saved the hero by eating a poisoned date from the basket. Suddenly, they didn’t look so appetizing.

  While Gwen and Elvis took their bags to their respective rooms, I went over to the window and looked out. “Slash, come see the view. It’s spectacular.”

  He joined me at the window and we stared down at the ancient river framed by large buildings on either side of it. The sun glinted off the water creating a golden shimmer and making it look ethereal. It was humbling to realize the river had been here for thousands of years, surviving all the wars, conflict and economic growth that had happened on its shores.

  “The Nile, forever new and old,” Slash murmured. “Among the living and the dead, its mighty, mystic stream has rolled.”

  When I looked at him questioningly, he put an arm around me. “Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.”

  Before I could respond, Gwen and Elvis returned. We turned around just as Elvis took a deep breath and spread his hands. Guess he wasn’t wasting any time getting the ball rolling. Not like we had any time to waste.

  “Okay, we’re in Egypt, so here’s my plan,” he said. “Yesterday I made an appointment with Mr. Haji Saraf, the Director of the Research Department at the Egyptian Museum. He’s the museum’s contact for Oxford University. My father would have been required to go throug
h him to get approval for access and research at the museum.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “Especially since Slash and I have been doing some research on your father’s activities at the museum.”

  I caught him and Gwen up on what Slash and I had found about his father having a possible assistant from the museum helping him out.

  “Good idea,” Elvis said. “We can ask Mr. Saraf about this Wahgdi guy. Are you guys sure you’re feeling up to accompanying me to the museum?”

  Slash nodded. “Time is critical. We must find your father as quickly as possible and determine if he has any more of the endospores in his possession. That has to take priority in terms of our activities.”

  I agreed wholeheartedly. Arthur Zimmerman’s whereabouts were paramount. “I’m good to go, guys.” I meant it. Jet lag hadn’t caught up with me...yet.

  Gwen leaned a hand on the back of the couch. She looked a lot better now than when she had been in the van. “I’m in, too.”

  “Good,” Slash said. Now that the decision was made, he was all about logistics. “It’s about a half hour walk to the museum. Anyone vote for a cab?”

  Not a one of us was ready for that, but the thought of trudging for a half hour in the hot desert sun at midday had me reluctantly voting for a cab. Gwen and Elvis finally came around to the cab idea, so we returned to the front of the hotel and waited while hotel staff summoned one. Maybe we’d become inured to the crazy driving, because it didn’t seem that bad this time around. We arrived at the museum inside of ten minutes, mostly because the streets were so jammed no one could move at hardly more than a crawl.

  The museum was an imposing building with gaggles of tourists congregating in whatever shade they could find. We went through security—another magnetometer and a bag search—before Elvis informed one of the guards we had an appointment with Mr. Saraf. We were instructed to wait a few minutes in the entrance area before the guard returned.

  “Follow me, please.”

  We followed him down a hallway filled with fascinating exhibits. Despite the urgency of our mission, it took everything I had not to stop and look at each of the displays. I saw Slash and Gwen were having the same problem. Gwen was looking sideways when she ran into the back of Slash, who had stopped to examine something. Only Elvis seemed oblivious to the ancient treasures on either side of us, his mind solely on his father.

  We went up a flight of stairs to the administrative offices before the guard stopped in front of a nondescript brown door with a clouded window. He rapped twice on the window and someone called out in what I presumed was Arabic. The door opened and the guard motioned for us to enter.

  As we entered, a thin man with a mustache wearing a white shirt and blue tie stood up from behind a cluttered desk. “Greetings. I am Haji Saraf. I didn’t realize there were so many of you. I will get more chairs.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Elvis said. “The ladies can sit and we’ll stand. I’m Elvis Zimmerman, the one who sent you the email.” He stepped forward and shook Haji’s hand. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.”

  “It is my pleasure. I hope your journey was satisfactory.”

  “It was fine. Thank you.”

  Elvis motioned for Gwen and me to sit, so we did. The men remained standing. It felt like an old-fashioned arrangement, but we had more important matters on which to focus so I didn’t say anything.

  “You said you are here about your father,” Haji said. “You actually look a lot like him.”

  Elvis stiffened, but I don’t think anyone but me noticed. “Did my father come here often?”

  “He did, indeed. We have a very good arrangement with Oxford University and, of course, the British Museum. Your father is quite well regarded. I was alarmed to hear he is missing.”

  “Well, he may not be exactly missing. I’m just not sure how to find him. I hoped you might help. I believe he is still in Egypt. When was the last time you saw him?”

  He thought for a moment. “I think it was about four weeks ago. Maybe a bit longer, I’m not sure. We had a brief discussion on a royal chariot, of all things.”

  “Really? Do you happen to know what my father was studying?”

  “Many things. He taught a course at Oxford on Egyptology, so naturally his interests were varied.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “You wouldn’t happen to know a man named Merhu Khalfani, would you?”

  He thought about it. “No, I’m afraid I do not know that name. Should I?”

  “No, I just wondered. We’re trying to put together as many pieces as we can with Mr. Zimmerman’s disappearance and what he was studying. Do you know anyone named Z. Wahgdi?”

  He brightened. “Oh! Now that name is familiar. Please, wait a moment, I will be right back.”

  He stepped out of his office and we looked at each other.

  “Okay,” I said. “That was odd.”

  A minute later, Haji returned, carrying a chair. “Your father’s assistant will be here momentarily.”

  “Thank you.” Elvis gave me a hopeful glance. This was a promising lead.

  “Mr. Saraf, do the researchers, by any chance, pay the assistants?” I asked.

  “No, it’s part of their studies. We assign student interns to assist the researchers and fetch items they require. However, if the researcher would like to use the time of the intern outside of their hours at the museum, they are welcome to do that and could conduct their own arrangements, including payment.”

  Haji set the chair next to me when there was a knock on the door. Haji rushed to open it. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen stepped in. She was taller than me—and I’m five eleven—and was dressed in a silky white blouse and teal skirt that fell just below her knees. Thick, shiny black hair spilled down to her waist, covered by a teal scarf that matched her skirt. Her striking green eyes were offset by long, dark eyelashes, perfectly applied eyeliner and arched eyebrows.

  Holy modern-day Nefertiti.

  “Hello,” the woman said with a smile. As she spoke, I noticed dazzling white teeth, heart-shaped lips and a small mole at the corner of her mouth. She carried a cell phone in her hand, as if we’d just interrupted her in the middle of call.

  Haji stepped to her side. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to introduce Zizi Wahgdi, one of our best research assistants here at the museum.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  This is Z. Wahgdi?

  I slid a glance at Slash and saw he was mesmerized. He stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed against his chest, but his eyes were locked onto her face. She noticed him, too, because her eyes lingered on him while they swept over the rest of us.

  An unfamiliar sensation tugged at my stomach.

  Jealousy.

  “You’re...a she,” I blurted out. Thank God for my high IQ.

  She turned those remarkable green eyes on me. I felt myself blush under her scrutiny.

  “I am. And you are too, I see.”

  Wow. This was getting off to a real awkward start. “I’m Lexi Carmichael. I’m here with Elvis Zimmerman. He’s looking for his father.” I swept my hand toward Elvis, who still stood staring at Zizi, his mouth slightly agape. I tried to get his attention, but he wasn’t looking my way. I slid my foot out and kicked him lightly on the ankle. He blinked and closed his mouth.

  Gwen was glaring at Elvis, not that he noticed. Was she jealous, too?

  “Uh, nice to meet you, Ms. Wahgdi,” Elvis said. He put a lot of emphasis on the Ms. and then glanced at me as if it were my fault she wasn’t a he.

  “Please, call me Zizi.” She looked around the room, her gaze again noticing, then settling on Slash. “All of you.”

  “Sure, okay, Zizi.” Elvis’s face turned bright red. “You call me Elvis. I mean if you want to. Y
ou can actually call me anything you’d like. I’m good like that.”

  Jeez.

  I was just about to kick him again when Haji insisted Zizi sit. She slid into the chair, crossing her long, smooth legs and leaning back. No one in the room, including me, could take our eyes off of her.

  “You’re Arthur’s son,” Zizi said to Elvis. “Arthur never said anything about a son.”

  “I’m not surprised. We aren’t close. And he has two sons. I’m a twin.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She studied Elvis. “But you do look like him.”

  Again he stiffened. “I understand you’ve been working with my father.”

  She smiled again and the entire room seemed brighter for it. “Yes, Arthur and I have worked together. He’s quite a hardworking man and so dedicated to his study.”

  “Do you happen to know where he is?”

  “I’m sorry, no.” She frowned. “I presumed he returned to England. Did he not?”

  “No. He didn’t.”

  She thought for a moment, then sighed. “I did think it odd he didn’t say goodbye. I do hope he is okay.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Elvis said. “To find out.”

  “Of course. Then please consider me available to help as required. I truly consider Arthur a friend.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said. “By the way, did Arthur specifically ask for you when he started his research here?”

  “This past time, he did, indeed.”

  “Why?” I asked. As soon as I said it, everyone in the room stared at me like I was an idiot.

  Duh, Lexi. The woman is freaking gorgeous.

  My cheeks heated. “I mean, do you have a particular background in some field?”

  “I’m a microbiologist, which I believe is why he specifically requested me to help with his research. Here at the museum I support archeological research through the analysis of pollens, grains and mummy DNA found in and on the artifacts.”