More bullets tore into the interior of the vehicle. As a result, Baahir dropped his phone. He didn’t know if the operator was still on the other line or not, and he wasn’t about to pull over and check. So, Baahir drove faster and came up with a plan of action, rather, he figured out where he was going to go. In his mind’s eye, he pictured himself examining the scroll.
“The museum.”
There were armed guards stationed at the museum around the clock. He’d be safe there.
Agent Rahal sprinted after Hassan’s vehicle, peppering it with nine-millimeter ammunition. Soon, the Egyptologist was out of range, speeding away with a squeal of rubber on road. Rahal spied the vehicle jerk around the nearest turn, tires continuing to wail in protest.
More lightning announced the next wave of rain and wind. As they each picked up in intensity, Rahal spun on a dime and marched over to his own car. He should have been more worried about losing the scroll for good, but the Egyptologist was a predictable man. His own interests would trump his safety. Instead of heading for the nearest police department, he’d go somewhere far less secure.
Rahal fell into the driver’s seat and shut the door. He sat for a moment to collect his thoughts before calling his superior. The phone rang twice.
“The Egyptologist has the scroll.”
Khalid Ayad sighed. Just with that subtle noise, Rahal could tell his boss was not happy. He could feel the man’s rage radiating through the phone.
“But I will regain it shortly,” he said. “I know where he is going.”
Rahal grinned. “Yes. He will take it to the museum in Cairo. I’d bet my life on it.”
Khaliq’s laugh was grating, menacing
Rahal swallowed. He began to answer, to clarify, but the call was suddenly disconnected.
Baahir made it to Nile Corniche without further incident. His vehicle was decimated and beyond repair. He knew he should have headed straight for a police station, but Baahir was frightened. There wasn’t anywhere in the world that he felt more comfortable than the museum. From here, it was a straight shot. He’d properly phone the authorities once he was inside. Speaking of which…
Baahir had dropped his phone some time ago, and he was too focused on not dying to retrieve it. Double-checking his surroundings, Baahir glanced down to the passenger side footwell. Nothing. He leaned into the steering wheel, and finally spotted the device laying facedown. Keeping his eyes on the road, Baahir reached down and to his right, stretching as far as he could without losing control of his SUV.
His fingers grazed it, but he couldn’t quite grab it.
“Dammit.”
He slowed and pulled off on the side of the road. He unbuckled his seatbelt, giving himself the extra range that he required.
Baahir took off, staying far ahead of the pursuing vehicle. He got off at El Tahrir Avenue and headed east toward Tahrir Square. At its center sat, what was typically, a busy traffic circle, though, at the late hour, it was mostly empty. There were only two other cars in the large roundabout. One whizzed by him, heading back the way he had come, and the other one exited the circle and went south.
Once more, Baahir was alone.
He followed the traffic circle around to the north and exited, spying the museum up ahead. It sat majestically against the Cairo sky along the west side of Meret Basha Street. Powerful exterior lighting illuminated its burnt-orange façade. Baahir was so lost in its aura that he didn’t notice the fast-moving vehicle quickly approaching from behind him.
Before he could do anything, the car clipped his rear fender and caused him to fishtail out of control. He skidded sideways, but somehow, didn’t crash. His tires recaught the pavement and he straightened out, beelining for the museum. It was just up ahead. He could just now make out the main entrance.
