Some people, like Zahra, had their limits. She could never take an innocent life. The people she had killed over the years deserved it, or at the very least, had it coming, eventually. Human life was something to cherish. It crushed Zahra to have to resort to violence. Unfortunately, there were people that could only be stopped through deadly force. The Scales of Anubis, for instance. None of them were going to just lay down their arms because Zahra asked nicely. Fanatics like that would happily die for their cause. It’s what made extremist organizations so dangerous. It wasn’t the way that they operated. It was the fact that they had zero problems dying to do what they believed was right, no matter how many innocent people died in the process.
Zahra could never be so coldhearted. She looked at her father, then Wally and Ali. She pictured what she would be like if she had been raised in a place like this instead of the United States or England. Her influences had been much different, even with her mother being murdered at such a young age. She still had her father to teach her what was right and wrong. George had done his best with both Zahra and Baahir, but hadn’t been the loving, consoling parent.
“Are you seeing this?”
Cork’s question caught Zahra off guard. She looked up at the taller woman, confused by what she said. Cork glanced back and forth between Zahra and the room they had just entered.
“Earth to Zahra.” Cork softly patted Zahra’s cheek. When she didn’t reply, the pilot grabbed her face between her thumb and forefinger and turned it to the left. “Look.”
At the bottom of the hidden staircase was a second bustling shipping and storage facility, only this one handled goods of an illegal variety. Everything weapons related was represented below the Suez Shipping Company. What really caught Zahra’s eye were the RPGs hanging along the right-hand wall. They were a match to the one that had been used to take down the Port Said lighthouse.
“Geez…” Zahra said, turning and staring at Wally. “So,
He shrugged. “If you want to make a living selling weapons, I suggest you do so in the Middle East.” Wally glanced at his son. “Lots of clients here.”
Ali nodded, then started shouting at the group of men standing around doing nothing. The younger man’s mousy demeanor had flipped on its head once they had entered the underground sanctum. As Wally had said, this was his son’s domain.
George didn’t have anything to say. He just stood there dumbfounded.
“You okay, Dad?”
He didn’t answer.
Zahra was worried that all of this was going to mentally break her father. This was a world he had never really been a part of. Her mother’s past was something George had accepted, but not one he had participated in all that much. Once she had faked her death and come stateside, all George needed to do was love the woman.
“I’m sorry you have to be here.”
He closed his eyes and turned his face up. He released his tightly clenched fists and blew out a long breath.
George turned and faced his firstborn. “Well, that makes one of us.”
Zahra didn’t know what to say. So, she stayed silent and allowed her father to explain.
“Zahra, this is our family’s history, regardless of if we choose to accept it or not.” He looked out over the facility. “I was too late to the party, but I’m here now. I didn’t trust you at first — I thought you were being reckless.”
Zahra swallowed, tears in her eyes.
“But you’re right. This is
Cork pretended to gag. “You guys are barmy!”
Zahra looked at her dad and shrugged. George didn’t know what the word meant, either.
“It means
“That we are.” Zahra joined her father and watched the workers move about. She grinned. “That we are…”
Luckily for Baahir and the others, the tombs of Qarat Qasr Salim weren’t hard to locate. The often-visited archaeological site had been built into a low plateau and owned a somewhat manicured pathway up to the top. Signs pointed the way, ushering Baahir, Khaliq, Ajmal, and one other man, Feroz, higher. No guns were visible, but the three captors each carried imposing pistols beneath their jackets.
The tomb was smack-dab at the center of a neighborhood. The entrance had been cut directly down into the rock. A single man greeted them, wearing the sweat-stained uniform of a park ranger.
“Hello,” he said, waving, “and welcome to the tombs of Qarat Qasr Salim! My name is Daniyal, and I will be your guide!”
Baahir wiped the sweat from his forehead.
