Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu Page 9

  Home address: Sohnstraße 15 D-20173 Düsseldorf, Germany.

  Last known place of work: French company, AirCo. Engineer.

  Suspected of being an accomplice to Günther Schulze.

  Asim whistled through his teeth. The same company! Now, it was becoming clear to him why Fischer’s profile was displayed next to Schulze’s.

  When Asim finished reading, he leaned back in his seat and grinned. These two were on a slippery slope indeed, engaging in the business of theft. It would make sense that Fischer was Schulze’s accomplice—they were both Germans and worked for the same company. Already one of them had paid with his life. Asim imagined that he would be eliminating the other one, as soon as he received his chief’s call to fill in the necessary, missing details. Well, they both have chosen their own destiny, mused Asim as he switched off his PDA and gazed back out the window.

  While Asim was admiring the illuminated facade of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, his cell phone’s ringtone broke the silence. Looking down at his phone, he smiled as he recognized the number. Finally!

  “Yes, Great Chief.”

  “We have finally located the place in Alexandria where Karl-Heinz Fischer is staying,” replied his chief. “I believe you have already arrived in Alexandria, right Asim?”

  “Yes, Chief. I am waiting for your instructions.”

  “Excellent. This German, Fischer, was Schulze’s friend. They both worked for the same French company in Cairo. This company, AirCo, is currently engaged in some business in Alexandria. That’s why I have sent you there.”

  “Yes, Chief. Your will is my command!”

  “The hotel where Fischer is staying is the Darison Blu Hotel, room 219. How long will it take you to get there?”

  Asim quickly alerted his sleepy driver and asked him to turn on the portable GPS. Once the GPS had calculated the shortest path to the hotel, Asim turned his attention back to the phone call. “Chief, I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  “But, Asim, remember that we need information this time. Make sure you get it from him first. His death won’t solve anything. Schulze is dead and we’re not a centimeter closer to getting our stele back.” Chief Jibade frowned and paused to catch his breath.

  “Great Chief, I will get the information we need, even if I need rip him apart.”

  “Yes, yes, but do it quietly. We don’t need any publicity. Just remember, they are both Germans and worked together on the same project in the Great Pyramid. He must know something!”

  “Chief, you will not be disappointed.”

  “Keep me informed. Don’t forget, his room is 219.”

  Asim clicked off the cellphone and alerted the driver. The streets were empty so they made it to the hotel in less than twenty minutes. Leaving his driver, Asim stepped out into the night air and opened the side door of the Darison Blu Hotel. His steps echoed in the stairwell as he made his way up the stairs to the second floor. He paused and looked at the number on the first door: 201. He strode soundlessly down to the end of the long, dimly lit hallway. Knocking firmly on the door with the number 219, Asim momentarily considered pulling out his gun, but decided that he could probably resolve the issue without it.

  The door opened a bit and a sleepy, heavy-set man with a swollen face appeared in the doorway. Asim recognized his face from the PDA photo file. His gray hair bristled and stuck out in all different directions. He wore a white T-shirt with a faded Dusseldorf red lion mascot that stretched to his knees and almost hid his gray linen shorts.

  “Is your name Karl-Heinz Fischer?” asked Asim as he stared down the yawning man in front of him.

  The man stared at him as he squinted and stared at the late night intruder, “Yes, and who are you?”

  “The plague,” Asim answered abruptly, shoving the man backwards into the room and slamming the door. He forcibly grabbed the man by his shirt and dragged him toward the desk chair by the window.

  “What is the meaning of this? I’m a German citizen. You don’t have the right—”

  “Shut up!” Asim muttered decisively, shoving Fisher.

  “This is outrageous! Get the hell out of here before I called the police—”

  Asim did not wait for the end of Fischer’s tirade, but instead nonchalantly grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down. Fischer toppled into the chair with his arms waving ridiculously as he fell. Although its wooden legs desperately creaked, the chair survived the perturbed German’s rough landing.

  “Get out of my room!” Wide-awake now, Fischer attempted to get up, but Asim immediately threw him back down into the chair.

  Asim thrust his face into Fischer’s. “Sit down and stay down!” he commanded with quiet intimidation.

  Now that he was finally able to see the face of his late-night intruder clearly, Fischer’s anger vanished only to be replaced by fear. As soon as he met his intruder’s opaque gray eyes, his chest began to swarm with clammy dread. He will kill me. God, this guy will kill me! More intuitively than consciously, Fischer obeyed, deciding it was better to follow his visitor’s commands than to die in a hotel room. “What do you want?” Fischer asked warily, looking up at the strange, tall man standing over him. “Do you want money? Jewelry?”

  Sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, Asim leaned forward and calmly studied Fischer, who quietly moaned as he backed himself further into his chair.

  “I see that you are ready to talk, am I correct?” Asim asked politely a few moments later.

  “What? It’s two-thirty in the morning! Tell me what the hell you want and get out!” Fischer spoke brusquely; but his heart was racing so hard it was about to burst.

  Asim shook his head slowly, his eyes fixated on Fischer’s.

  “Do you want me to break something?” Asim asked thoughtfully, making a show of slowly considering Fischer’s soft body in its disheveled, white T-shirt. “Perhaps your arm or your leg?” he added coldly.

  Fischer went silent. Looking up into Asim’s cold eyes, he pictured himself lying on the floor with unnaturally twisted arms and legs in a puddle of his own blood that slowly spread out from under his head.

  “OK, just tell me why you came,” Fischer said meekly in the hopes of getting rid of his terrible visitor with the least amount of bodily harm.

  Asim’s calm eyes flashed with satisfaction. He was ready to use more drastic measures, but that did not appear to be required at the moment.

  “Schulze,” Asim pronounced the name carefully while staring intently at Fischer’s face. He noticed that Fischer’s face immediately became an obstinate mask. Asim added sharply, “Do not deny that you were familiar with him. Schulze stole the holy stele belonging to my tribe.” He watched Fisher expectantly.

  Fischer remained silent.

  “In some countries, like Turkey for example, in ancient times they used to cut off a thief’s hand.” Asim grinned, as a mental picture of chopping off Fischer’s hand came to his mind. But, Fischer is not a thief – at least not yet. He might be an accomplice though. His eyes sparkling dangerously, Asim collected himself and continued, “But in my country we punish thieves by death. So I just have one question for you: Where is our stele now?”

  Fischer’s face tightened instinctively as his brain worked feverishly. This crazy bastard looks like he knows a lot. But how? Fischer decided to play the fool. “I don’t know anything about this. Schulze is dead. Unfortunately, he died of heart attack, otherwise you could have asked him.”

  Asim laughed menacingly. “He didn’t die of a heart attack. I poisoned him,” he announced coldly.

  Losing his poise, Fisher blathered rapidly, “Why should I tell you about them? What guarantee do I have that you won’t kill me too, even if I tell you?”

  Asim’s predatory grin caused a chill to run down Fischer’s spine. “There is no guarantee.”

  “But if I tell you then they will kill
me!”

  “Who are you talking about? Who are they?”

  “The antiquities smugglers.”

  This time the chill ran down Asim’s spine. He suddenly remembered hearing about an antiquities smuggling ring on the news a couple of days before. It consisted of four men who had allegedly smuggled a multitude of ancient Egyptian artifacts out of the country over a two-year span. According to Egypt’s Minister of Antiquities, this was one of the most significant cases of antiquities smuggling in recent history. Asim recalled that the indictment alleged that a prominent New York collector of Egyptian antiquities had conspired with three antiquities dealers—two in the United States and one in Dubai—to steal sarcophagi, Egyptian boats, limestone figures and thousands of ancient coins. The stolen collection was estimated to be worth on the order of 2.5 million in U.S. dollars. Asim could not recall if had heard about any steles being smuggled on the news. The very thought was Asim’s worst nightmare.

  “Tell me all that you know, or I will kill you right now!” Asim commanded perilously.

  “Günther was going to sell the stele to the smugglers. He told me he needed money to pay off some gambling debts he had back in Germany.”

  “Did the smugglers get the stele?”

  “I don’t know,” said Fischer quietly. “All I ever did was to accompany Günther on his first meeting with them.” Fischer slowly shook his head. “I told him not to get involved in that shady business. I told him those people were dangerous. But he didn’t want to listen to me.” Fischer shook his head again and sighed. “We met with them late one evening several days ago. Günther was negotiating the price, but I stood aside not wanting to get involved. So, I don’t know what they settled on.”

  “Have you seen the stele? Did he have it with him?”

  “Oh no, he didn’t have the stele with him. He never did show me the stele either, even though I asked him many times to show it to me. I have no idea where he got it.” Fischer paused, thinking. He thought at this moment that it was probably for the best to pretend that he had not seen the stele. That way no one could accuse him of aiding and abating the thief of an ancient artifact.

  “Where did you and Schulze met with the smugglers?”

  “No, I will not tell you!” That would be equivalent to putting my head inside the hangman’s noose! His mind and body were engulfed in terror, “They will kill me!”

  “That’s not my problem. And soon won’t be your problem either.”

  All the color drained from Fischer’s face as Asim pulled out an Egyptian Helwan 9mm Parabellum pistol and coolly switched off the safety. The 9mm Parabellum was the Egyptian police’s standard service pistol. It was a copy of the Italian M1951 Beretta, which was developed shortly after World War II and incorporated a pivoting locking block inspired by the Walther P.38 pistol. The pistol, like the earliest Italian-made guns, had a short slide from which a short section of muzzle protruded. As Asim pointed the pistol at his captive’s face, Fischer noticed the pistol’s serial number was scratched out.

  “Wait!” Fischer cried desperately. “I will tell you, just put away the gun!” While he was afraid of the smuggler’s retaliation from revealing their location, the gun in Asim’s hands scared him much more. The thought of Schulze being killed by this merciless stranger was already haunting him as he choked on the bile rising in his throat. “We met at their warehouse, in the village of El Alamein. In a small, grey building. It had a sign with a small pyramid that had the all-seeing eye inside it. That’s all I know.”

  Asim stared at him sternly. “You better not be bullshitting me.”

  “I’m telling the truth, I swear. That was all Schulze. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “If you have lied to me, I know where to find you,” Asim stated flatly as he slowly got up from the bed’s edge. Fischer shook his head, feeling like he might survive this ordeal after all. And to hell with the smugglers, as long as this moron with the icy eyes leaves me alone. Perhaps they will kill each other, thought Fischer.

  As he watched Asim rise from the bed and head for the door, the only desperate, screeching thought in Fischer’s mind was Go away! Go away! Only when the door clicked shut behind the stranger, did Fischer allow himself to get up from his chair and stagger to the portable fridge as relief started to flood his body. While he poured out the Rumple Minze Schnapps, the bottle intermittently pounded and clinked on the edge of a low-cut glass. Death itself came after you, Karl-Heinz. He swore he heard a squeaky voice in his head. Death itself, Karl-Heinz. Gripping the slippery glass, he hissed forcefully “Go back to hell!” He steamily drew it to his trembling lips and drank.

  Bang! The door flung open and Asim reappeared in the doorway, his unsheathed crusader sword glinting in the moonlight. “I’ve got a better idea,” he barked, resolutely striding inside. Fischer’s stomach lurched. “I don’t trust your words,” Asim growled menacingly. “You will show me the way.” Fischer’s heart sank as he shakily set down the Schnapps.

  Chapter 11

  El Alamein, Egypt

  Tuesday, September 19

  4:55 a.m.

  Seventy miles later, the taxi arrived at the Porta Marina on El Alamein’s outskirts. From there it did not take long to find the old, grey warehouse with the sign depicting a pyramid with the all-seeing eye. Asim instructed his driver to park around the corner and be ready for a swift departure. Fischer lay captive inside the trunk. Asim had gagged him and bound his hands tightly behind his back with a rope that snaked its way around his torso and pinned his arms to his sides.

  Giving a nod to the driver, Asim stealthily exited the cab and crept in the shadows toward the warehouse. As he approached the front door, the sign’s all-seeing eye stared back at him, prompting him to glance around several times. The old building had large double sash windows on both sides of its front door. Upon closer inspection, Asim realized the door was slightly ajar. He stood there for a moment and listened. Deciding that there was no noise coming from inside, he decided to cautiously push the door open and take a step inside.

  Zing! A chain whizzed over Asim’s head. Fortunately for him, it was aimed too high. I should have anticipated that, Asim scolded himself. Moments later the end of the chain came whistling through the air toward him again. He called upon his warrior training and accelerated his perception of his surroundings. Narrowing his eyes, Asim carefully watched the chain as it approached his face. As he steadied his breathing, time drew itself out as he watched the chain’s end coming closer and closer. With lightning reflexes, Asim’s hand shot out and grabbed it, the metal links quickly wrapping around his fist. Summoning all of his strength, Asim jerked his fist to himself. Not expecting such a response, a stocky man rolled out from around the corner, following the whiplashed chain. The man dropped the chain and quickly jumped to his feet.

  “Who the hell are you?” the chunky, red-haired man demanded.

  Holding onto the chain, Asim remained composed, watching the man carefully. He stepped fully inside the building, steadily and resolutely striding toward the man. “I came here for the stele you received from the German, Schulze. Where is it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man huffed in anger.

  “Oh?” Asim’s eyes gleamed angrily. “Let me explain it to you then!”

  Asim launched himself at the stocky man, but he was more nimble than he looked and managed to dodge Asim. Thrown off balance, Asim stumbled forward, knocking an antique-looking ceramic oil lamp off a nearby shelf. Recovering quickly, he managed to catch it just before it crashed to the floor. Steadying the oil lamp on the shelf, Asim appraised the situation; his red-haired opponent was surrounded on both sides by metal shelving filled and piled high with cardboard boxes.

  It did not take the stocky man long to realize he was trapped, but this did not prompt him to give up. On the contrary, his face darkened and filled with rage as he looked around for
an escape route. Asim calmly pulled his Helwan 9mm Parabellum out and pointed it at the redhead.

  “Don’t even think about shooting in here!” the man shouted. “Don’t you know what’s inside these boxes?”

  Asim kept his eyes and pistol trained on his opponent.

  “Ancient statues and sarcophaguses! If you miss, you will destroy ancient Egyptian heritage!”

  “I never miss,” Asim replied calmly, keeping his pistol steadily aimed at the man. As the red-haired man had determined correctly, Asim cherished his Egyptian heritage and would take every precaution not to destroy any artifacts. Keeping an eye on the smuggler, Asim cautiously looked around. His eyes jumped from some alabaster statues on a top shelf to a pair of sarcophagi with hieroglyphic writing, unceremoniously leaning against the shelving. Three small animal beds, various chests and even a few thrones adorned the room. On the far right side of the dimly lit room, Asim could make out a golden canopy shrine, various chests and a golden cow’s head. The spacious room was eerily silent, as his opponent seemed to hold his breath.

  “Where is the stele?” Asim demanded again.

  Suddenly grinning, the redhead responded, “Try to find it,” as his eyes shifted to something behind him

  Instinctively Asim bent sharply to the ground. Seconds later, Asim heard a muffled whistle as a bullet passed where his head had been. The bullet clanged off a metal beam and ricocheted away with a loud clatter.

  Spinning around to face his new opponent, Asim saw a tall bald man aiming and preparing to fire again. Asim managed to dive between some cabinets as the new man fired another shot.

  “Don’t shoot, you idiot!” the redhead shouted at his friend as he fled between the shelves and hid behind some high steel boxes. “Don’t let him escape!”

  Momentarily distracted by his boss, the tall bald man did not notice as Asim seized his opportunity, carefully taking aim and shooting him in the leg. The bald smuggler fell to the concrete floor, writhing and howling in excruciating pain, “Help! Help me!” he howled. Asim’s bullet had inadvertently penetrated his femoral artery, and he was unconscious within seconds.