Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu Read online

  The redhead bolted out from behind the steel boxes like a raging bull. Producing a short-barreled gun, he aimed it directly at Asim’s chest.

  They fired simultaneously.

  The bullet leaving Asim’s pistol tore a chunk out of the redhead’s palm but did not prevent the shotgun from spitting out a short burst of its own. Asim felt a burning sensation in the lower right side of his torso. Glancing down, he noticed a bright red spot spreading on his white cloak. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain, Asim looked up and fired again. The second shot did the trick as it hit the redhead in the shoulder, forcing the shotgun out of his hand. Asim watched as the redhead slowly collapsed on the floor.

  Kicking the abandoned shotgun away, Asim found some rope and quickly tied the injured redhead’s wrists together and then dragged him over to his wounded friend. Ignoring the dizziness that attempted to cloud his mind, Asim positioned the redhead next to the bald guy and then bent over to tie him up completely. When the bald guy gave a deep sigh, Asim looked over and realized that the man was sitting in a widening pool of blood. Asim reached down and grabbed his wrist: dead.

  The redhead suddenly moaned, summoning his strength in an attempt to get up, “I'll kill you!”

  Asim punched him in the face without hesitating. With the heavy blow the smuggler slipped into unconsciousness. Asim carefully stood up and was watching the men carefully when he found himself swaying slightly from side to side. Swinging his cloak open, he determined that the bullet had merely grazed him. Even so, his side was torn up; fresh blood was leaking out with every heartbeat. Trying to staunch the blood flow, Asim used his cloak to press down firmly on the wound while glaring at the unconscious men lying on the floor near him. Staring at the pools of blood surrounding their broken forms, Asim gave a satisfied smirk as he gradually turned to view the warehouse.

  The morning sun found him thoroughly searching the warehouse. He had carefully investigated every box and ransacked the little office when he realized something: the stele was not there. Either they had already shipped it out of Egypt or the smugglers had not received the stele after all. He nervously flipped open his RAZR cellphone, What will I say to the Great Chief?

  “My fearless warrior,” the Chief responded softly after receiving the latest news about Asim’s ordeal. “You accomplished your mission and I praise you. I will immediately give a call to the Inspector and inform him about this warehouse. As for the stele, I truly believe it’s still in Egypt and soon will be ours again. Start making your way back to the tribe.”

  Back at the waiting cab Asim woke up the driver and opened the airless trunk. Although sluggish, he dragged a bound and frightened Fischer out onto the pavement. With a few precise strokes of his sword, Asim skillfully cut the ropes binding his captive.

  Fischer stood quietly, his breath catching in his dry throat, preparing himself for the worst. However, Asim waved him away and turned his back to the German.

  Fischer fled.

  As he escaped his nightmare, Fischer was filled with the terror of the ordeal and relief that he was still alive. He had no idea of anything but the simple pleasure of being alive.

  It was not physical pain that troubled Asim’s heart as he leaned heavily on the cab door. Whilst fresh drops of blood slowly trailed down his cloak, it was the thought of his tribe’s sacred and beloved stele hidden in the belly of a ship sailing away from the Alexandria’s docks that sank his heart.

  Chapter 12

  Police Station, Cairo, Egypt

  Tuesday, September 19

  7:20 a.m.

  The police station looked like a shed. Its dirty, mottled windows seemed permeated with misery and depression. Once Michael stepped inside he saw that the interior differed little from the exterior. The small, dimly lit room was sparsely furnished with a couple of chairs and a moth-eaten sofa. A lone, beat up desk, with an old-fashioned black rotary dial telephone, was placed at one end of the room. A dulled nameplate, bearing the name, ‘Setkufy Suliman, Police Inspector,’ was seemingly the only indication that he was indeed in an actual police station. A tall, heavy-set man with a balding pate sat at the desk.

  Peering over his old-fashioned, black-framed glasses, the man curiously studied Michael. “I’m Inspector Suliman,” he declared imperiously without rising from his chair. “You are Michael Doyle, correct?”

  “Yes,” Michael answered uneasily, still on edge about this unexpected meeting that had dragged him out of bed so early in the morning. I should have contacted the American Embassy. This could go very wrong. The inspector motioned for Michael sit down on the rickety chair in front of his desk. “That’s all right, I will stand. Hopefully this won’t take too long.”

  “Mr. Doyle,” the Inspector said quietly. “You can relax now. This is not an interrogation,” he flashed a short-lived smile at Michael, attempting to put him at ease. “This is just a friendly talk.”

  Realizing this meeting was anything but friendly, Michael decided to go with the flow. He nodded quietly and set his chin. Wow, I don’t think I’m going to enjoy this little talk one bit.

  The desk phone rang just then, and Michael found himself with a brief respite, as the Inspector was inclined pick up the receiver and bark imperious orders and instructions. He obviously relished being in charge. Michael glanced around the room. The wobbly ceiling fan was spinning rapidly, but the room was progressively becoming hotter and dustier. Michael was already starting to sweat profusely. The inspector unplugged the phone jack from the receiver and pulled out a notebook from a drawer, slapping it on the desktop. “How long have you known the German engineer Schulze?” the Inspector asked, flashing a not entirely sympathetic smile.

  “I don’t actually know him at all,” Michael replied.

  The Inspector folded his hands under his chin and arched his eyebrows questioningly. “What do you mean? You went to the hospital, no?”

  Michael nodded awkwardly before answering, “I didn’t know Schulze before yesterday. He was having difficulty breathing inside the Great Pyramid. I found him and gave him CPR until the paramedics came.”

  “I see,” said the inspector, unmoved. “What were you doing inside the pyramid?”

  Michael’s facial expression mirrored his disbelief. Hello! We’re in Egypt! Are you seriously asking me what I was doing inside the pyramid? However, he restrained himself, “I’m a tourist,” Michael explained patiently. “I arrived in Egypt two days ago.” He watched as the inspector jotted down notes. “This is my first time in Egypt. I was on a tour to the pyramids. While I was inside, I saw the man suffering from a health problem. I intervened and tried to help. Was that the wrong thing to do?”

  “No, no, of course not. Mr. Doyle,” the Inspector smiled genuinely. “You acted like a gentleman and did the right thing.” He paused and asked, “Did you call the ambulance?”

  “No, another tourist did.”

  “I see,” said the inspector, writing something in his notebook. “You went with Schulze to the hospital?”

  “No, but I went to see if he was OK later that same day.”

  “And, what happened at the hospital? Did you get to see Mr. Schulze there?”

  “No, by the time I got to the hospital, he was already dead.”

  The Inspector sighed deeply and wrote something else in his notebook. “Yes, unfortunately he had a weak heart and being in a claustrophobic space such as the Great Pyramid didn’t help.” As he spoke, the Inspector avoided Michael’s eyes, which left him feeling ill at ease. Since he had entered the room, he had felt the constant, cold, penetrating gaze of the Inspector’s brown eyes. “Mr. Schulze is accused in the theft of an ancient artifact, and you were the last one who saw him alive.”

  Michael was startled, “Are you saying that Schulze was a thief?”

  “Yes, and we are working hard to establish the safe return of what was stolen.”

  “What
did he steal?”

  The Inspector paused, looking at Michael carefully, “A very important ancient artifact: an ancient stele. That is all I can tell you. This is a private matter and we want to keep it that way.”

  “I understand, Inspector.”

  “Mr. Doyle,” said the Inspector, and Michael felt that penetrating look again. “Did Mr. Schulze say anything or give you anything?”

  Ever since his brain had woken up on the way to the police station, Michael had anticipated this very question. As much as Michael was afraid of the question, at the same time, he had been eagerly waiting for it. At that moment he knew that his answer to this very question could change everything. “He only said to ‘find four ways,’” Michael answered quietly.

  The Inspector’s eyes widened as he sat back, his chair creaking and groaning in protest. “Find four ways?” the Inspector repeated the phrase with a surprised and puzzled look. “What does that mean?”

  “Inspector, your guess is as good as mine.”

  Inspector Suliman sat up and quickly wrote the phrase in his notebook. After taking a moment to study the phrase, however, the inspector looked as confused as before. “Did he say anything else?”

  “No, unfortunately, his condition got worse. After that, the rest of his words came out as gibberish.”

  “That’s too bad,” sighed the inspector.

  Turning away from Michael, he shouted something in Arabic. Suddenly a young officer donned in a crisp white uniform appeared in the doorway. Inspector Suliman barked some instructions and moments later the officer, tightly clasping the sheet of paper torn from the inspector’s notebook, ran out the door.

  As soon the door shut behind the departing officer, the Inspector said, “Mr. Doyle. You were a great help. That phrase might help us expedite the safe return of the artifact. Every street and traffic policeman is already on the lookout for the stolen stele.”

  Michael had no doubt about that. He had seen thousands of police officers in their crisp white uniforms since arriving in Cairo. He had read that Cairo had more police per capita than any other city in the world, and just walking down the streets of Cairo confirmed that statistic. His thoughts wandered slightly. It seemed white was an unfortunate color in a city where pollution, dust and sweat made for a disadvantageous combination.

  That combination had clearly gotten the better of Inspector Suliman’s uniform as he dabbed his brow with a handkerchief he pulled out of his pants pocket. He pulled a few blank sheets of paper out his notebook and handed them to Michael. “I need you to write down the statement you gave me. Just a tiny formality…you understand?”

  Michael took the offered paper and sat down in the chair in front of the Inspector’s desk. He took the Inspector’s pen and carefully began writing. He could feel the Inspector’s cold hard stare on his every word. Everything about Schulze claiming to be poisoned, the business card and notebook were left out as planned. There was definitely foul play involved in this case, and Michael was not about to risk losing the rest of his precious vacation by getting involved in the criminal proceedings of a foreign country.

  Once Michael finished, Inspector Suliman took the papers and began transcribing the statement into Arabic, his hand slowly shuffling across the page, leaving behind a trail of stylish script. Once two copies had been written out, as there were no photocopiers in the office, he sat back in his creaking chair, let out a long sigh and admired his handiwork.

  “Mr. Doyle, thank you. Here is a copy for you,” the Inspector handed Michael one of the papers and got up from his chair.

  Michael grasped his Arabic-translated statement and stood up, “Thank you, Inspector. I’ll find my own way back.”

  “Mr. Doyle, I hope you understand the need to keep all of this private.”

  “Yes, absolutely.” Michael nodded as he turned to head for the door.

  “We’ll be in touch in case we need anything else,” added the Inspector. Michael nodded and stepped out of the police station into the bustling streets. Schulze is a thief? I can’t believe that. He looked like a very respectable and considerate person to me.

  Michael wracked his brain in an attempt to come up with a possible explanation. Everything seemed strange: the sudden death of Schulze, his phrase “I was poisoned,” the hospital report that he had died from a heart attack and now the weird conversation with Inspector Suliman. Considering all the facts he knew, all Michael could determine at present was that something was really fishy, and it was likely bigger than it had initially seemed.

  Back in the small, dusty police station, Inspector Suliman was already on his rotary phone.

  “Chief, the American claims to have heard the German say ‘find four ways’ when they spoke inside the Great Pyramid.”

  “What does that mean?” asked the guarded voice on the other end.

  “I can’t come up with an explanation. My men are working on it as we speak.”

  “Good, good. Hopefully it will lead us to the stele. Did you search Schulze’s hotel room yet?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately the stele was not found.”

  “We need to find it as soon as possible.” The voice was thick with frustration. “The faith and livelihood depends on it! Keep monitoring the American.”

  “It’s already done,” Inspector Suliman paused for a second. “I have a feeling that the American didn’t tell us the whole story. I will have my men following his every move.”

  “Good, good.”

  “We are also tracing Schulze’s activities from the past few days. Hopefully we will turn up another clue.”

  “This ancient stele was safeguarded for many generations, so we must expedite its safe return. I know Allah will be great to you, and what the foreigner stole will be returned safely,” said the voice, sighing deeply. “Inform me of any progress that occurs. Thank you, my friend.”

  Chapter 13

  Berlin, Germany

  Tuesday, September 19

  4:20 p.m.

  The phone had been stubbornly silent for the past three days. Picking up the phone the German lady listened to the dial tone for a moment before angrily slamming it back onto its base unit. He should have called, she thought. The phone squeaked compassionately but refused to jingle its familiar ringtone. She rewarded it with a look of distain, and then shoved it across the desk.

  Anna Schulze, age twenty-five, sat inside her Berlin apartment staring at the phone, her big, green, almond-shaped eyes glistening with tears. Anna’s beauty laid precisely within her eyes, in the vitality of her manners and in her facial expressions. A person’s eyes are the mirrors of their soul. They are the only part of the face that nothing can disguise. You cannot paint over them or even sprinkle them with golden dust: they will always remain windows.

  Her basic personality traits were not as easily recognizable. While she came off as cool and kept a low profile with most people, they saw her goodness and sincerity in her eyes. Although she did not have many friends, she was ready to give anything that was required. With her close friends, she was usually cheerful and enjoyed playing practical jokes. It was well known that she never put up with lies and hated hypocrisy the most.

  Anna pulled the phone cord out of the jack in the wall and opened up the drawer in her nightstand. She shoved the entire thing, handset, base unit and long cord, inside with a disdainful look. “I don’t deserve your silent treatment!”

  While Anna was addressing her phone, this poignant speech was in actuality addressed to her new boyfriend, Seth. They had been dating for about a month, and she could not believe he could not find the courage to apologize. All it would take is three simple words: ‘I am sorry.’

  They met at a party thrown by one of her work colleagues. Seth’s Middle Eastern accent and his 19th century Spanish toreador look had definitely cast a magic spell on Anna. She found him staring at her from across the crowded dance
floor, and before long he was next to her, asking for a dance. After several whirling dances Anna felt exhilarated and breathless, delighted that his gorgeous eyes followed her every move. When they danced to a slow sweet song, he confessed that when he had caught sight of her, he had been overtaken by a giddying belief that he would spend the rest of his life with her: the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He said it so beautifully; his eyes so mesmerizing, that Anna had stepped into his spell willingly. He found her a drink and they walked away from the crowd and onto the balcony, the city lights and noises sparkling and echoing around them. They ended up spending the entire night chatting until the morning sun began to peek up in the sky. Prior to meeting Seth, Anna had thought that the idea of love at first sight was a load of rubbish. Yet, as soon as she met Seth, she knew she had to be with him.

  Anna opened the nightstand drawer and stared at the mutinous phone. Sighing, she pulled the base unit and phone out of the drawer and gently reconnected its cord back to the wall jack. Otherwise, how was she going to find out whether he had called? She listened tensely for its ring as she walked into the bathroom and turned on the bathtub faucet. The phone remained silent. As the water slowly started filling up the bathtub, Anna thought of her magical time with Seth. It did not make sense that he did not call.

  Their first days could have been directly lifted out of a fairytale. He met her with a bouquet of freshly cut red roses every day after work, and they would head for the city park where they would walk, chatting and laughing. It seemed like the fairytale romance would never end, but about a week ago Seth’s personality had changed literally overnight. One night she asked him about his Egyptian friends who often lurked in the shadows of their relationship. She found it strange that he would not introduce her to them since they seemed to be a big part of his life. Anna asked if she could accompany him to one of their meetings, but got a fierce refusal. He told her not to bother as they would be talking in Arabic, and that it did not concern her. He was adamant that she was not to meet his friends, which put Anna ill at ease. Two days ago, Seth had promised to call her the next day and clarify everything. He still had not.