Zahra looked down to spot her landing. She did so just in time too. Ehsan appeared directly beneath her, and looked up, obviously confused by the rappelling cord’s initial appearance. The timing couldn’t have been better… Zahra lashed out with a strong kick and caught the bleeding murderer in the face, spilling him to the floor as she landed.
Tommy’s new design worked like a charm.
At the same time Zahra touched down, she looked up to see the spring-loaded hook disengage, now free of her weight. The device fell harmlessly back to earth.
She heard a shout from the other gunman.
He had just swung his legs over the banister in an attempt to pursue Zahra. Tommy’s warning replayed in her head.
Zahra turned away from the edge as the assailant landed with a slap and a crack.
“That makes three,” Zahra muttered, catching her breath. She had no idea how many of them there were. She knew there was at least one more, the leader of the group, Ifza. “No way I’m that lucky.”
This time, Zahra was given the opportunity to disarm Ehsan, relieving him of his weapon, a Russian-made Kalashnikov assault rifle. The select-fire AK-103 featured its signature “banana mag” that held thirty rounds. Zahra guessed there was about half of that available after the man’s destructive salvo back at the Rosetta Stone. Still, it was better than nothing.
She released the magazine and confirmed the round count.
Zahra slammed the magazine back home, mumbling to herself. “Now I have a machine gun. Ho, ho, ho…”
She shouldered the AK and got moving, going straight rather than heading right and returning to Room 4. The commotion she and Ehsan had created would surely bring unwanted attention. In a blur, Zahra made it to Room 24 and its massive Easter Island head — a Mo’ai — without conflict. The stunning stone monument sat dead center in the middle of the
A soft knock at the door caused Grant to stand bolt upright. His bladder tingled, threatening to release its payload then and there. Until now, Grant hadn’t heard a peep out of anyone or anything. The underground office space was typically silent, naturally soundproofed by the tons of concrete surrounding it. A voice followed the third knock, but its owner was speaking in too hushed a tone for him to understand what was being said.
Grant tiptoed closer, stopping within two feet of the door. He was under strict orders not to open the door for anyone besides Zahra. The voice picked up again. The speaker was female. Grant reached for the deadbolt. Just before his shaky fingers met it, the woman, Zahra or not, shouted loudly.
“Open the door. It’s me!”
The lady’s voice sounded a touch different than Zahra’s did. It was lower and laced with gravel. Maybe he was overthinking it. She could just be out of breath or thirsty…or hurt.
He decided to stay quiet. The woman’s long, drawn-out inhalations caused him great concern. If it was Zahra, and he kept her from safety because of his fear, he’d never forgive himself.
“Please, open the door! They’re coming!”
Grant couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to help his boss. “Okay, Zahra, I’m here.”
He gripped the deadbolt’s latch with his thumb and forefinger and snapped it left. The door lock disengaged. Just as quickly as it did, the door was opened and thrown into his face. The impact dropped Grant to the floor. He held his nose with one hand and groped a nearby counter with the other, attempting to arrest his fall. A miasma of papers, snacks, and tools spilled to the floor around him. Grant felt liquid run from his nostrils into his open mouth. The impact had broken his nose.
He scurried backward as a woman — not Zahra — entered. She resembled his superior in a way, though. The newcomer, likewise, sported jet-black hair and striking eyes. This woman, however, also owned a series of scars that ran vertically just outside her left eye, starting within her eyebrow. Other than the blemish, she was just as attractive as Zahra.
“Who — who are you?” Grant stuttered, spitting plasma from his mouth.
The well-built woman’s eyes bore holes into Grant’s soul. They were much more intense than the ones belonging to his boss. These oozed with rage, whereas Zahra’s emitted confidence with an underlying dose of mischief.
The ‘other Zahra’ finally broke her laser-like focus when she noticed something directly above Grant. He followed her gaze and saw it.
The Kane’s canopic jar.
Grant launched to his feet and seized it. He held it high over his head and did his best to portray someone poised to destroy it. He failed miserably. Grant visibly shook with fright. The woman saw straight through his act.
“What will you do?” she asked, glancing up at the jar. “Will you destroy your friend’s most-valued possession?”
