The Egyptian (11 page)

“If you were sorry you’d let me go. Don’t waste my time trying to convince me of your humanity. I’ve got places to be tonight.”

Al-Miri called the bodyguard by name, and Nomti stepped in front of Jax and rammed a hairy, grapefruit-sized fist into his midsection. Jax collapsed into the chair, and his breath came in wheezes. “A few more of those,” Jax said, holding his left side, “and you won’t have anyone left to interrogate.”

Nomti reached back again, and Jax put a hand out. “Simmer down, brother. I’m no hero. Let’s talk.”

Al-Miri gestured, and Nomti folded his arms. Al-Miri reached into his robe and withdrew a gold medallion, grasping it with habitual familiarity. “And I am not a villain. Let us not forget that you have stolen from me.”

“Sorry about that.”

“There is an easy solution. Tell me what you’ve done with my property, and I will free you.”

Jax started to chuckle, then stopped and grabbed his side. “Gents, I’m going to let you in on a secret. Please keep it to yourselves. Thing is, I’m a coward when it comes to this sort of thing. I have absolutely no interest in not telling you what you want to know, and even less interest in being tortured.”

“Excellent news,” Al-Miri said.

“But there’s a problem. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I see no reason for you not to kill me after I’ve told you.” Al-Miri started to speak, and Jax held up a hand. “Nothing you say’s going to change my mind about this.”

Al-Miri flicked a hand, and Nomti struck Jax across the face.

“Listen, damn you! I’m just trying to make you see it from my point of view. You need to figure out how you can let me go, and also extract my information. For instance, I can make a call and have one of my associates pay off the new owner and deliver your property right to this room. I leave with my associate, and you keep your property.”

Nomti struck him again, and Jax’s mouth filled with blood. He spit out the blood, then shook his head to clear it. “As much as I hate to do it, I’ll have to take my chances with torture and keep my bargaining chip. I’ve been tortured before, and I know the score. You’ll eventually break me, because everyone breaks.”

Jax’s voice firmed. “But you’re going to have to finish before someone from the hotel decides to come in here. I can last that long. You won’t kill me before I talk, because you’ll never find your property. And I don’t think you want to deal with getting me out of this hotel. So why don’t you start figuring out how we can do business, and this’ll all be behind us. You’ll get your property back, and you’ll never see me again.”

Al-Miri said nothing for a moment, then spoke to the bodyguard in his native tongue. Jax recognized the Arabic. Nomti grunted his responses.

If Jax were in Al-Miri’s shoes, he’d say to himself, “you can tell us and we can kill you quickly, or we can start taking digits and limbs off with your own boot knife until you tell us.” Then he’d gag himself, call the front desk in front of himself and pay for the room for a few more nights, and stay in this room and torture himself until he told himself what he wanted to know.

Which was very well what Al-Miri might decide to do. Jax knew that if he didn’t get out of this hotel room very soon, he’d never get out. Jax also knew that his bargaining chip was a bluff. He’d picked up the package in Cairo and delivered it halfway across the world to a warehouse in Bulgaria. He had no idea what had happened to the package after that.

But Nomti and Al-Miri were still conversing, and thus the first part of Jax’s two-pronged escape plan had succeeded: he’d caused Al-Miri to divert Nomti’s attention from Jax, however briefly. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Now it was time for part two.

V
iktor tipped the taxi driver, feeling quite silly giving two Euros to someone driving a Mercedes who could hold his own with Viktor discussing Kant and Hegel in both English and German. If Berlin didn’t have the most educated taxi drivers in the world, he didn’t know which city did.

He decided to go across the street to the inestimable Café Kranzler before returning to the Swissotel. Viktor came from money, old money, and despite his obsession with the metaphysical, he was extraordinarily adept at enjoying the finest this world had to offer. The thought brought a smile to his lips: when he did unearth the eternal mysteries for which he had spent his entire life searching, he hoped they promoted his extravagant standard of living.

Viktor pondered what he had learned over his cappuccino. That golden medallion. A representation of a green figure with the bearded face of a man, a palm frond staff and a mummified lower half. Depictions of mummification typically related to Osiris in some manner. Osiris, god of the dead and the afterlife, was one of the older Egyptian gods, part of the Great Ennead. A variation of his name had been found on the Palermo Stone, circa 2500 B.C.E. Discussions concerning ancient Egyptian concepts of immortality typically focused on Osiris.

But there were older gods still. Viktor’s research had uncovered that the upper half of the figure was a representation of Nu, an ancient god of the Ogdoad. The Ogdoad was a group of eight deities that represented the primeval forces of chaos. Nu was the deification of the primordial waters that preceded creation. Viktor didn’t know much more about Nu, except that he was sometimes depicted as a bearded man with a greenish body. As far as Viktor was aware, no one knew much more about Nu.

Viktor took another look at the notes he had made from Grey’s description. Shimmering green robes, odd mannerisms, nothing characteristic of either Muslim or Coptic Christian origin in the hotel suite. Why was Al-Miri carrying an amulet adorned with the image of an Egyptian god that to Viktor’s knowledge hadn’t been worshipped in thousands of years?

Perhaps the medallion and the attendant oddities were the toys of an eccentric businessman, but Viktor thought not. Viktor had developed a sixth sense for his profession. Grey’s description of Al-Miri, combined with the specific religious symbolism, likely meant one thing.

Al-Miri was part of a cult.

Cults ranged from the serious to the ridiculous, from dangerous collections of sexual predators and religious fanatics to misguided teens in a basement pretending to be vampires. They numbered in the tens of thousands. He’d seen more examples of cult behavior, both base and profound, ridiculous and deadly, than perhaps anyone alive. It was his profession and his passion.

But he hadn’t seen this one.

He needed guidance on the subject matter at hand. Professional guidance. His eyes flicked to a piece of paper. Professor Gunther Krantz, Berlin Museum fur Naturkunde, 4:00p.m., Thursday.

Soon he would see what an Egyptologist had to say.

“C
ancel that beer and come with me,” Veronica said. “My side of town is much better.”

“Better is a relative term,” Grey said.

“Not in this case.”

“I’ll admit I’m curious as hell to know what you’re doing here and how you found me, but I’m spent. I just want to drink this beer. There’s another seat right there.”

“I have a taxi waiting. Ten minute drive.”

“Look me up tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere.”

Veronica stood in her smart cocktail dress, hands on her hips and lips parted in disbelief. She swept a hand around the dim establishment. The other patrons had left off their beers and were staring at her. “You don’t speak Bulgarian, and this place is about as exciting as a Russian winter. Are you honestly going to choose sitting here by yourself over getting into a cab with me? You should know there’s something else my watering hole of choice has which this one doesn’t: a key piece of information concerning your case. Although I can’t believe I’m having to bribe you to come with me. Are you meeting someone else later? Maybe that’s it. These Bulgarian girls are quite attractive.”

“It’s not personal. It’s just been a long day. But if you know something, let’s talk.” He patted the stool next to him.

“You enjoy your five-star Bulgarian beer that you can get in any bar or restaurant in a thousand-mile radius.” She lowered her voice. “I’m sure your investigative skills have already led you to a certain top dog at Somax and his mysterious new product, so you don’t need me anyway.”

His eyebrows rose.

“I won’t be in Sofia tomorrow. I have a lead to follow. Cheers, Dominic.”

Grey looked at the bartender, who had a hand hovering over a pull. Grey held a finger up and wagged it, then stood with a weary sigh.

“Call me Grey.”

•  •  •

They took a taxi to the far end of Vitosha, to a place called the Buddha Bar. Grey wondered if Veronica had brought the Buddha Bar with her from Manhattan. It was an impossibly chic scene. They sat in wicker lounge chairs on the outdoor patio and watched the surly wait staff strut around, beautiful waifish girls with almond-shaped eyes and long black hair and miniskirts. A huge projector screen on a wall across the street displayed continuous fashion shows from Paris and Milan.

Grey ordered another Kamenitza at three times the price of the first bar, and Veronica ordered a vodka martini. She looked him over. “Do you own any shirts that aren’t black?”

“I have a brown shirt. I think.”

“I guess black suits you. But you could brighten up a bit. Maybe trim the hair, shave, thin the eyebrows? I suppose then you couldn’t brood as well.”

Grey’s mouth formed a lopsided grin. “How do you find these places?”

She stretched like a cat. “A girl has to know where to go. Although if I stop to think about this place I might start feeling self-conscious.”

“Trust me, you have no problem fitting in.”

She unstrapped her shoes and curled her feet onto the cushion. “So you
can
be charming.”

“How do you walk in those shoes on cobblestones? Do you wear heels in the jungle?”

“Careful tough guy. I bet I’ve been in more jungles than you.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“I dress appropriate to the situation. We’re in a cosmopolitan city, and I’m making a first impression.”

“Sofia?”

“Look at the people, not the buildings,” she said. “They dress like rock stars. You wouldn’t notice though, would you? For an observant guy, you have a funny way of not noticing certain things.”

He shrugged, and took a long swig. It tasted so good he almost swooned.

She touched his arm and smiled. “Since we’re here, and neither of us knows anyone else in this country, we might as well get to know each other.”

“As in, I let my guard down and give you lots of information?”

“I didn’t mean that at all. God, you
are
touchy.”

“Not touchy, Veronica. You didn’t come to Bulgaria because you wanted to get to know me better.” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “So what’ve you got?”

“A good piece of information can’t be rushed. You remember the rules. It’s only the first round.”

She still had her hand on his arm. The warmth of her skin was sending a pleasant tingle through his nerve endings. He finished the last half of his beer in one long swallow, and signaled the bartender. “Let’s hear it.”

She removed her hand and covered her mouth in mock surprise. “I didn’t think it was possible. Did you mean for that to be a joke? Was it an accident? Do you need to rest now?”

‘”A joke is a very serious thing.”’

“A fighter and a philosopher? My God, I’m having drinks with a Renaissance man.” She leaned forward, and puckered her lips. “Are you good with your sword?”

His clever response came to Grey far too late, long after Veronica was already cackling at him. She said, “That was worth the price of my plane ticket.”

Grey laughed with her. It had been a long day. “Speaking of your plane ticket, let me guess. You knew I was looking into Somax. I wouldn’t put it past you to jump on a plane to Sofia to chase a potential story, but I’m guessing you either had me followed to the airport or got a hold of the flight manifest. Being an investigative reporter, you probably have police contacts.”

“Clever boy.”

“In Sofia you did one of two things. You staked out Somax headquarters until I arrived, although that’s tricky, because I’ve only been once and it may have been before you arrived in Sofia.”

“Keep going. I’m enjoying this.”

“The only document I’ve signed since I’ve been here was with my hotel. They’re required by law to send the log to the police, so my guess is you got hold of that somehow. Probably by smiling.”

“Not bad, inspector, not bad. Although a smile’s not enough these days. It cost me quite a few leva.”

“I’m surprised. You’ve got a formidable smile.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it, as if she’d expected him to say something different. “If you can guess the rest, I’ll really be impressed. But not yet. I gave you something. Now it’s your turn.”

“You didn’t give me anything. I guessed.”

“I confirmed your guesses.”

“I’m not giving you my client. You’re wasting your breath.”

“Who said anything about that? I’d never ask you to break client confidentiality.”

“Good then.” He grabbed a menu. It was in English.

“God, you’re impossible. I just want to know what you do. Who employs you, where’s your office, do you have a 401K? Or is that confidential and privileged information?”

He twirled his beer between his palms, then shrugged to himself. He didn’t have a government job anymore. Why did he have such a hard time with basic personal questions? “I don’t ever want to see my name or story in print, in any form.”

“You have my word.”

“For the last four years I worked as a DSO, as you know. It wasn’t a bad gig, travel perks were great, but I was fed up with the bureaucracy. I’m not what you’d call a company man.”

“I’d never have guessed.”

He hesitated, struggling with the internal weight of his next sentence. “I was posted in Zimbabwe.”

“That must have been interesting, given the political climate.”

“Yeah. I was assigned to investigate the kidnapping of a retired American diplomat. He was kidnapped by a religious cult.”