With my arms free, I do the only thing that I know will stop him. I swing my hand down in a hammer blow and connect hard with his crotch. His grip falters a little and I quickly hit him with another and another… Eventually, his hands fall free as the adjoining door cracks open. Leaning forward from the triple knock to his junk, Beefcake grabs my shirt and falls with me. The added momentum sends us both careening into Dad’s room, knocking him to the ground as well.
“Harrison!” he shouts, his eyes wide in shock. The reason I can see them is because we are nose to nose on the ground, him on his back and me on my stomach with the bellhop on my back.
Surprisingly, Dad leaps to his feet and starts beating on the guy’s face. I’m not sure if he’s doing anything of significance, though. I’m just doing my best not to pass out. I’m having a hard time breathing.
I’m slowly dragged to my feet and wait for an opportunity to wriggle free of the killer’s grasp. But as we stand, I decide to take matters into my own hands. I throw my head back, slamming it into the guy’s face. He lets go and I drop to the ground, croaking, desperately trying to refill my lungs.
A growl gets my attention back to the fight and I lash out from the flat of my back and kick him right in the nuts. I don’t fight fair and I never plan on doing so. Four ball shots should do the trick. There are no style points more valuable than your life. He shouts and lists forward with outstretched hands, intent on taking us all out.
Us all… Ben!
I’m suddenly showered in glass and liquid as something large and bulbous obliterates my attacker’s face. Whatever fight was left in him is gone as he collapses to the floor, out cold. Still on my back, I tilt my head up and see an upside-down Ben holding the remains of a large bottle of champagne. Looking further into Dad’s room, I see that his and Ben’s doors are open. Ben must’ve heard the commotion and came in swinging. Literally.
Staying on my back, I watch as Ben rushes to the phone and calls down to the desk, screaming at whoever answers. As he does that, Dad lifts me up by my armpits and checks me for injuries. Not finding anything serious, he eyes the unconscious man.
“What do we do with him?” he asks.
I put my hands on my knees and try to catch my breath. “Not…sure… We need to…tie him up or something.” I stand and stretch my neck and back. “We don’t want him waking and going berserk again.”
Dad nods and glances at me. “Speaking of that…”
I shrug. “No idea. I called down for room service expecting a sandwich, a beer, and a girl. Instead, I get Shrek over here.” I think back to just before the accident. Until now, I wasn’t sure what was going on, but now, I’m certain. “Someone is trying to stop us from opening Menkaure’s tomb.”
I quickly retell what I saw during and then following the wreck. Dad just stands there and listens, his eyes never leaving me.
“It all makes sense,” I say. “Ben said that an inscription on the tomb’s entrance described a curse of some kind. Whoever it is, they’re trying to scare us—”
“Or kill us,” Dad adds.
“Either way, whoever it is, they obviously believe the legend is true. They believe that whatever is inside Menkaure’s crypt has the power to wipe humanity from the face of the Earth.”
Something tells me to roll the man over on his back and when I do, I see something I wish I hadn’t. “Great…” I say, rubbing my forehead.
“What is it?” Dad asks as Ben rejoins us.
“The tattoo,” I say, pointing to the guy’s forearm, “it’s the same one the guy in the car had.” I meet Dad’s worried eyes. “We’re being hunted.”
4
With an icepack on the back of my head, I watch as Ben opens the door to Dad’s room. In strolls a man who looks like he’s in charge, and once the other man from the front desk embraces him, I realize that he is.
“Alab,” the desk clerk says, patting the man on his shoulder. “Father, it’s good to see you.” He then turns and introduces him to us. “Dr. and Mr. Boyd, this is my father, Abdelrahman Ghannam.”
The police chief is of average height and weight but his demeanor is that of a man of action. He’s roughly Dad’s age too, mid-to-late forties. He walks with a confidence that I wish I had. Without asking him flat-out, I have no idea what could cause someone to be so in control.
“Please,” he says, his voice deep and thunderous, “call me Abe.” He glances to the still unconscious man on the floor. “My son tells me you were attacked by this man.”
“Almost killed me,” I say, standing, moving the icepack from the back of my head to my neck. I feel like I’ve just gone a round with a wrecking ball, remembering that I was basically used as one during our scuffle. “Thankfully, he wasn’t too quick on his feet and couldn’t take a shot to the balls.”
“Four of them, actually,” Ben says, trying to hold back a smile.
Even Abe smiles. “Well, Mr. Boyd, Tarek here,” he glances at his son, “tells me you also had a run-in on the highway earlier today.” I nod. “Seems you gentlemen have had yourselves quite a day.” He looks at me. “Even if you failed to mention the other car…”
“And then some,” I say, pretending not to hear him. I stretch my neck and get to the point, tilting my chin at the man on the floor. “You know anything about the tattoo on his arm?” It’s a combination skull and Egyptian Eye of Horus. By itself, the eye usually means “protection” or “royal power.” But when you combine it with a skull…I haven’t the foggiest.
Abe kneels and inspects the marking, his eyes widening as he sees it. “Why do you think this is of any importance?”
“No particular reason...”
Still silent, I can tell Abe is thinking of what to say, choosing his words carefully. When he does speak, it’s not what I thought he’d say. “They call themselves, Zill Allah, the Shadow of God. We’ve had some run-ins with them in the past.”
“Who are they?” Dad asks, stepping up next to me.
He shrugs. “Very little is known about them, unfortunately.”
“Very little?” Ben asks. “So, you know something?”
“Yes, but—”
My attempted murderer stirs as Abe is about to answer, cutting him off. Groaning awake, the bigger man fights against his bonds, earning a hard kick to the ribs from the police chief.
“These thugs,” he says, answering Ben, “have been wreaking havoc on Cairo for years. From what I can tell, they don’t have a common belief of any kind but they are well-organized and well-funded.” The brute grumbles again. “I’ve wanted to apprehend one with a loose tongue for some time now. Regrettably, they don’t like to talk much.”
“Good luck with this one,” I say. “Beefcake here doesn’t seem like the talking type either.”
“Why are you so hellbent on finding them?” Dad asks as the bearded man’s face boils with rage.
“Because,” he replies, his eyes narrowing, “they killed my predecessor.”
“His brother,” Tarek says, meeting his father’s serious eyes, “my uncle.” Just speaking of the man softens the elder Ghannam. Until then, he’d been all business. Now, I see a personal side of him too. He wants to bring the organization to justice for more than just the safety of his city. He also wants to do it for his fallen brother.
“My condolences,” Dad says, earning a nod out of Abe.
The police chief skirts around the conversation and gets back at it, speaking to the now awake man in Arabic. I don’t understand a word of it but Ben helps Dad and I out and quietly whispers what is being said.
“Why did you try and kill these men?” Abe asks.
The henchman spits a mouthful of blood on the floor, getting an annoyed retort out of Tarek. He’s no doubt responsible for the cleanup here. I feel bad for the guy. We made a terrible mess of things.
“I will not speak to a dog like you,” the bound man replies, again spitting, aiming at Abe’s feet.
The older man quickly reacts by kneeing him in the face
. Abe looks at me and grins. “We do not do things the same as in the States, Mr. Boyd. We believe in getting answers as soon as we can.”
“Hank,” I quickly say, hating it when people call me Mr. Boyd. “And by all means, kick the crap out of him.”
He smiles and continues. “Since my brother was killed by these swine, I have taught my men to be fearless when in close proximity to such filth. Especially their leader, Hamza Abdul-Sharif.”
Beefcake’s eyes glance up to Abe.
“You know him, don’t you?” I ask, likewise kneeling next to the prone man.
“He should,” Abe says, standing. “Abdul-Sharif is a brutal soul—a mercenary in every sense of the term. He kills who he needs to no matter the price it pays. He has no qualms in ending someone’s life if it meets his goal. The only problem is the crimes are never linked directly to Hamza himself.”
Dad coughs, getting our attention. “May we continue this conversation in private?” He motions to Ben’s room, getting a nod from Abe. The police chief orders two of his men to watch Beefcake as we move into the adjoining room.
Once it’s just Dad, Ben, Abe, Tarek, and I, we pick up our conversation where we left off. Ben takes over, knowing the police chief will listen to him without fault. The two men have known one another for some time, apparently.
“Is there a chance these people have anything to do with an old king from the past?” Ben asks, getting an interested look out of Abe. “Do you think they could be protecting something, silencing anyone who gets too close to their charge?”
Abe shrugs. “If they’re fanatical enough, sure, anything is possible. What did you have in mind.”
Ben glances at Dad, the man in charge, getting a quick nod from him to explain our reason for being here. “As you know, we are here because of a dig found outside of Giza.”
“Yes, I know.”
“But,” Ben says, “what we didn’t tell anyone is what we think we found.”
“And that is?” Tarek asks.
I step in. “We think we found Menkaure’s tomb.”
Abe’s face blanks. “His true tomb?”
I look at Dad and Ben then back to Abe. “You know of the false one?”
“Everyone here does, it’s our history. It’s said that the body within Menkaure’s pyramid may not have been his, but other than that, nothing else is known since no other body was ever found.” He eyes me. “Until now.”
“We aren’t even sure it’s him,” Dad says. “Our research and evidence tell us it could be him. Either way, we found something historic.”
“And worth killing for,” I add, getting Abe’s attention again.
“There was another car involved in our accident. Well, sort of involved. One of the men had the same tattoo as the guy next door—a skull with the Eye of Horus.”
“There was no report of a second vehicle involved,” Abe says.
I shrug. “I didn’t think it was important until now. How many people have this group’s tattoo? Plus, what are the chances we’d see two of them in the span of a couple of hours, all while trying to not die?”
“He’s right,” Tarek says. “We should talk to—”
“Hady!” Abe shouts, silencing his son.
I glance at Dad and Ben and then turn Abe. “What was he going to say?”
Abe grumbles, annoyed by his son’s tongue slippage. “We know someone that might be able to give us some insight on what’s going on here.” He looks at Tarek who nods. Facing me, Abe continues. “But I must warn you, he is not someone to take lightly—a very dangerous man.”
“Who is he?” I ask.
“The leader of Zill Allah, Hamza Abdul-Sharif… The man we seek is his father.”
My eyes widen. “Where is he?”
“Incarcerated,” Tarek replies, “for the death of my mother.”
The three of us are quiet, unable to speak. We had no idea we’d get wrapped up in anything like this. How could we? Thankfully, the unnerving stillness is broken.
“After my brother was killed,” Abe explains, “I led an effort to apprehend the younger Abdul-Sharif. But instead of finding him, I found his father, a man who’d all but disappeared for years.” Abe looks at the floor, the wound still fresh. “When I was approached, I wasn’t even working. I was out with my wife, Sara. Hamza’s father, Eslam, threatened our lives if we pursued his son further. He looked at Sara but spoke to me.” Abe breathes hard and returns his attention to us. “I attacked him, right then and there. Sara was my everything and no one threatens her like that. I was also fueled by hate and wanted someone to pay for Mido’s death.”
“Right,” I say, “Hamza was never connected to his death.”
“Correct,” Tarek says. “He shot my father in the shoulder.” He continues, choking up a little. “The wound… It wasn’t life-threatening, it barely bled actually. But the bullet, however, slipped through his flesh and found my mother’s.”
“She died in my arms,” Abe finishes, a tear running down his sun-kissed skin.
“And the shooter?” I ask. “What happened to Eslam?”
“I had someone from my department following me, just in case something happened. We’d been getting threats for a few days but nothing too severe to act on. Up until then, they were nothing more than empty promises. The officer wounded Eslam and we took him into custody.”
“How is he still around?” Ben asks.
“Because,” Abe explains, “he has information on the group—their hierarchy and base of operations. His intel is too valuable to us. Hamza took over when we took his father. That was almost ten years ago now.”
“My God,” Dad says, turning away.
Mom’s death was hard enough to deal with but she wasn’t taken from us by another person. Cancer isn’t a bullet from an assassin but it is sometimes just as effective.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “We don’t need to go down that road. I’m sure we can figure out—”
“No!” he shouts, flustered. He smiles an apology. “I am sorry…” He glances at his son. “We will help you. We owe you that much.”
“And yourselves,” I add. “Hopefully, it’ll bring the closure you seek.”
5
With a police escort, Dad, Ben, and I exit our hotel with a whole new set of questions. While we found out who the other interested party was, we’re still in the dark with who exactly they really are. A quick internet search turned up nothing more than what Abe revealed earlier. We also know that they operate out of the shadows, having agents all over Egypt.
And in hotels, apparently.
Beefcake was cuffed and taken to the same place as Eslam Abdul-Sharif, the same place Abe is going now. Tora Prison—more specifically its supermax wing dubbed, The Scorpion. It holds the area’s most notorious criminals. Tora has other sections too. It's light, general, and maximum-security divisions are impressive from what Abe says but the Scorpion facility is where you go to die in peace. The worst of the worst go to solitary confinement if they aren’t executed for their crimes instead.
Thank God, we aren’t going, I think, sitting in the backseat of a reinforced police issue SUV. Our driver hasn’t said a word since we got in, only doing what he was told. Abe ordered him, plus five additional men to head for our site. They are to provide us with protection until we have finished exhuming whatever is down there.
Abe doesn’t believe in ancient curses or any other supernatural mumbo-jumbo, and quite frankly, neither do I. Like Dad, I need to be able to see it and touch it to believe it exists. Maybe someday I’ll be proved wrong.
Hopefully not…and not today.
Making it back to D.C. in one piece would be a good thing right about now. I just got in my first real scrum in my young life. My youthful stamina, as Ben says mockingly, my strength, and willingness to fight dirty, are the reasons I’m still standing, not to mention a little bit of luck. If Beefcake had brought a gun, I’d be dead.
Huh…
“Question,” I say, getting Dad
and Ben’s attention. Dad is next to me in the back and Ben is up front with the Arabic speaking driver. “Why didn’t the man at the hotel bring a gun?”
“I’m not sure why it matters,” Dad replies.
“Just humor me, will ya?” He gives me a look that says, fine, go ahead... So, I do. “If these Zill Allah guys are so bad, why wouldn’t Beefcake just get down to business and shoot us instead of beating up on us?”
“You think he had no real intention of killing you?” Ben asks from up front. “Looked like he was trying from where I stood.”
“Me too,” Dad says.
Sitting diagonally from me, Ben turns and faces me. “What makes you think he wasn’t?”
“I don’t know but put yourself in their shoes. If you wanted to keep some ancient secret from being found and you had the reputation Abe described, wouldn’t you think they’d be more like a shoot-first kind of mafia?” I look at Dad. “Maybe they were only trying to scare us.”
“And the highway?” Dad asks.
I shrug. “I’m not saying they wouldn’t try to kill us, but even then, we stood a good chance of surviving that wreck. If we died, it would’ve been more chance than anything else. We were involved in a standard rollover accident, purposely caused or not. There are thousands of those happening all the time and plenty of people walk away unscathed. They could’ve just as easily done a drive by when they were next to us—”
“But instead, they left it to fate,” Ben finishes.
“What about what Chief Ghannam said earlier, about them being ruthless?”
I look at Dad. “Without knowing him better and understanding what he and Tarek have gone through, I’m not sure if there’s a natural angst brewed in there that doesn’t belong. Yes,” I quickly say before Dad can interrupt, “they killed his wife and brother but that was Eslam and Hamza. Maybe they are truly the merciless ones and not the rest of the group.”
“I guess anything is possible,” Ben says, facing forward.
The Cursed Pharaoh (The Hank Boyd Origins Book 1) Page 4