The Anubis Plague полностью

The sirens grew louder, and they had multiplied significantly in a short time. Zahra could have just as easily stayed put and sought medical attention, but she didn’t — she couldn’t. Police would question her and delay her ability to respond to the attack. Baahir and Grant didn’t have that kind of time, and if her brother’s assessment of the situation was accurate, the entire world was at stake.

Get. Your ass. Moving.

Slowly, carefully, Zahra pushed herself to her feet. She wobbled and headed west, following the sidewalk to the corner of Great Russell and Bloomsbury. Just as she turned north, she glanced back to see the first of several police cars arrive on the scene. Zahra hurried around the corner, feeling a little like Dr. Richard Kimble.

She knew she should have at least clued in the authorities as to who was responsible for the blast, but she couldn’t. If the Ayads found out it was Zahra who ratted them out, then Baahir and Grant would be goners.

Emergency vehicles weren’t too far behind the police.

Zahra kept her head down and fast-walked up Bloomsbury Street. Her car wasn’t too much further ahead. Some nights, Zahra and Dina, and even Grant, would walk home. None of them lived all that far away from work.

Suddenly, another wave of dizziness propelled Zahra to the ground. She tripped on nothing and went down hard. Hacking deeply, Zahra was unable to catch her breath. Instead, she crawled out of sight and slumped into a row of shrubs. Even if she did get to her car, it wouldn’t be safe for her to drive.

Zahra sighed. There was only one person close enough to the museum that would come to her aid at this time. Pulling out her phone, she dialed the number.

“Z? You okay, love?

“Hey — um, no, I’m not okay.”

She heard rustling on the other end. “What’s wrong, Zahra?”

A police car whizzed by Zahra’s cover.

“I need your help.”

Even given the early morning hour, The Pharaoh's Lounge was hopping. People from all walks of life were enjoying the atmosphere. While on the surface, the patrons didn’t look like they had much in common, they did in one way. Money. Everyone here was extremely wealthy, and by the looks of it, not all of them had made their fortune legitimately. Baahir recognized a number of faces. Two local politicians, one famous television star from London, and a Grammy Award-winning singer from America. The cornucopia of higher-ups was currently gracing Baahir with their presence in the upstairs private bar.

Khaliq Ayad’s private bar.

The fact that these particular people were granted permission to be here told Baahir all he needed to know about them.

They were all scum.

And they were all members of the Scales of Anubis, he thought, shocked by the revelation. Khaliq had recruited far outside those typically associated with violent, zealot-filled organizations. Only half of the people here were even locals! That’s what scared Baahir the most. Khaliq’s group spanned more than just specific pockets in Egypt. What started out as an ancient society centering around a singular bloodline had morphed into a global, serpentine entity.

He could almost hear Khaliq as he gave his pitch to join his group.

Think of it as a business opportunity you can ill-afford to miss!

“Dr. Hassan.” Baahir was thrust out of his daydream and found Khaliq standing over him. “Are you comfortable?”

Considering the events of the last few hours, yes, Baahir was very comfortable. He had been looked after — fed superb, award-winning cuisine, was clothed in an exquisite suit, and his injuries had been treated with the utmost of care. Whatever Khaliq had in store for him, he wanted the Egyptologist to be healthy for it. The plush leather chair Baahir now sat in probably cost more than Baahir had accrued in the last month. Everything inside The Pharaoh's Lounge — forget the treasures within the private bar — was expensive and immaculate. Even the exclusive upstairs retreat held at least a dozen pieces that any museum on planet Earth would have loved to have had on hand.

Khaliq wasn’t just some maniacal madman. He was also a person of good taste.

“You should count yourself lucky, Dr. Hassan,” Khaliq had said upon entering the private bar.

“And why’s that?” Baahir replied.

Khaliq spun and looked at him. “Because most men in my position don’t treat people in your position with such care.”

It was true. In this part of the world, extremists weren’t exactly known for their hospitality. So, Baahir kept his mouth shut, and he waited.

But he had to know.

“Why are you going out of your way to take care of me?” It was an honest question. And, as expected, Khaliq gave Baahir an honest answer.

“Because I need you at your best for the next part of my plan to work.”

“The map?”