Chapter 3

Private airport. Cairo, Egypt.

The sun had not yet risen when ”Aerion”, one of the world's few private supersonic aircraft, landed on the runway of the private airport. It is a luxurious and very fast business jet that could fly 1.6 times faster than the speed of sound. At that speed it meant you could fly from New York to Paris in four hours and across the Atlantic in just two. "Aerion“ had been designed to meet as many environmental, noise, and individual airport requirements as possible. So, unlike its predecessor Concorde, it could land in any corner of the world.

A Land Rover with tinted windows was already waiting next to the giant hangar where four people had just disembarked. The hotel where the group was staying was half an hour away. The men hurriedly loaded their belongings into the boot of the car and wasted no time in moving towards Cairo’s city centre. They had to hurry, because there would be no time to rest. In two hours Darren would be at the City Commissioner‘s office, where a local detective would be waiting for him. “It‘s going to be a long day”, Darren thought as he sat in the front passenger seat. He hadn‘t slept for sixteen hours and his not-so-young body was showing signs of fatigue. His back ached and his neck hurt. When he was young and serving in the French armed forces, he slept only a few hours a day, but he always felt invigorated and rested. Apparently, the last ten years of sedentary life had taken their toll. A friendship with Nathaniel Thorne, a late breakfast at the most luxurious golf club in Paris, a comfortable office in the French Security Department and long, lonely nights at home were not the recipe for maintaining soldierly discipline. But Darren honestly felt he deserved it. He had no remorse for this way of life. During his time in the army, he had experienced and lived through things that are scary to even remember today. And then there were all those secret missions, during which he often had to get his hands dirty and the blood of people on his hands. Blood that Darren believed was not always the blood of bad people. He was just doing his job. He blindly followed his superiors‘ orders, never questioning or doubting. It is precisely because of these qualities that he is who he is now. He did not like to admit it, but he liked it. He liked the power that he had, and liked the recognition of his authority. When sometimes, in his lonely hours, thoughts of what he had done a strange feeling of guilt would come over him, Darren would calm down and say quietly to himself, “I‘ve been through too much and sacrificed too much to regret what I can‘t change. I deserve it.”

The other three members of his team were also military. They were the best in their field, not only as soldiers, but also as specialists in computers, biology, and chemistry. These men did not ask unnecessary questions and never stuck their noses where they did not belong. They were just as Darren himself once was.

The car stopped outside the main entrance of a luxury five-star hotel. Nathaniel made sure his team received the best service in town, even if on this visit there would be precious little time to enjoy it.

“I'll meet you in the lobby in an hour,” said Darren. Without a word, the men picked up their travel bags and went to their rooms.

Darren had hoped to have breakfast and a shower, but a message was waiting at reception asking him to call Nathaniel when they arrived. They had a lot to discuss. “I guess I‘ll have to postpone breakfast until lunch,” thought Darren as he headed towards his room.

*******

“I hope you understand that there can be no mistakes this time. We have never been so close to the goal. Nathaniel Thorne's people have already arrived in Cairo. You have to be careful and move faster than them. It is not for nothing that we have not been able to get this close for so many centuries. Do not underestimate them. Keep me informed. Good luck!” A cough could be heard on the telephone receiver. “And... And, Martin, don't let me down.”

“Yes sir”, replied the voice on the other end of the line, and the conversation ended.

*******

After half an hour with Nathaniel Thorne, Darren had time to shower, shave, and take the elevator down to the hotel lobby. His team was already waiting downstairs and also seemed quite energetic, given the circumstances, and ready to do his bidding.

“Bruce,” Darren began, “you‘re staying in a hotel. Connect to the satellite link. Check all flights to Cairo in the last few days. Look for passengers with criminal backgrounds, mercenaries, and military personnel who have entered the country. Check the records of private airports. I don‘t think I need to tell you what to do. Just find me someone we can hook up with.

“It will be done, boss,” replied Bruce attentively.

“Nick, Cameron, I want you both to go to the place where the body was found. Check it out, ask the locals. Someone must have seen something in a town like this,” Darren continued, “just try to stay under the radar. This is Africa. Our hands, unfortunately, don't have much power here. Leave the field car here as it is too conspicuous. Use a taxi.”

“And what about you, boss?” Bruce asked.

“I'm going to the City Commissioner's Office to meet the local detective in charge of the investigation,” Darren continued after a short pause, “Fine if you have no further questions, let's go. Oh... Yes, I almost forgot, we only talk on the phone if we really have to. We'll meet here at five o'clock today and see what we have found out.” The men split up and went about their mission.

The sun had already risen when Darren left the hotel and headed out for a taxi. Fortunately, there were plenty of them near the hotel. All of them were taking the opportunity to give a lift to the tourists staying in the expensive hotels and to make some good money. Darren got into the first car he saw and handed the driver a piece of paper with the address of the police station written on it. The driver‘s movements and facial expressions indicated that he knew the address, so he settled comfortably in the back seat and watched his taxi merge into Cairo‘s traffic jungle in peace. The view was truly spectacular. The city was simply dense with buildings, people, and cars, all making thousands of different sounds that filled the urban space. The view of the streets was simply breathtaking.

“It was for that reason alone that many say half of Cairo‘s population bought their driving licences,” remembered Darren as he watched the cars go by. There were no traffic rules and no pedestrian crossings at all. Drivers pay no attention to traffic lights, which are almost non-existent here too. Drivers signal all their manoeuvres using a car horn, which is why the street is constantly deafened with the sound of car horns.

Pedestrians on Cairo‘s streets are like rabbits lost in the woods, completely ignored by drivers. Crossing the street requires skillful manoeuvring between speeding cars. Even passenger vans and buses drive around with their doors open and do not stop to pick up or drop off passengers. They simply jump in and out of the moving public transport. As Darren turned into one of the many wide streets, he couldn‘t help but smile as he watched one woman, grabbing the ladder at the back of a bus, scrambling up onto its roof, and continuing on her way. Darren found such incredible sights to be fascinating in their own way. He loved Egypt. Cairo itself had something attractive and alluring about it. It was a city full of contrasts, chaos and noise, a fusion of eastern and western culture, ancient traditions and modern buildings, luxury hotels and shanty towns.

Suddenly, Darren‘s mind flashed back to some facts he knew about this country and city. Once upon a time, Cairo was the site of the magnificent city of Babylon. Although people had lived here for thousands of years, Cairo was founded in 969 by the Fatimid dynasty. When the best location for the new city was chosen, legend has it that ancient astrologers waited for a sign from the heavens as to when would be the right time to start building. The signal to start was to be given by bells attached to a rope surrounding the site, but quite by accident a large black raven landed on the rope and the bells rang. At that time, the planet Mars was influencing the sky and was called Al-Qahir in Arabic, which means 'the victor'. This is how the city got its name, Cairo.

Darren had always loved history, the stories of the oldest and greatest civilisations, the legends of heroes and their exploits. He was proud that in addition to all his talents, he had an excellent memory, thanks to which he retained the material from the history books he had read in his youth. Who knows, maybe such knowledge would be useful in the right circumstances. On very rare occasions, Darren regretted not having chosen a different path, not having given up the opportunity to start a family, to raise children but that was only in moments of weakness, which were too rare for any self-reproach to have any effect. Although he did not want to admit it, he had a sensitive soul and occasionally thought that the day would come when the mighty Darren Bolt would tell the world the truth. That would probably be his death sentence, and such a risk had to be weighed carefully. He was not yet ready for it, nor was he willing to give up the benefits of his life. The taxi driver brought Darren back from his philosophical musings by stopping the car and announcing that they had arrived at the police station.

The building looked like something from a ghost town. Faded walls, rusty bars on the ground floor windows, which looked as if they hadn‘t been cleaned in a century, and what Darren assumed were many warning signs, were posted everywhere, but he couldn‘t make out what they said in Arabic. Even though the building looked like an abandoned factory, the whole area was full of modern CCTV cameras recording every movement. As Darren had expected, two armed security guards appeared moments later and demanded to see him and explain what he was doing on private property. After checking his documents, the men showed him where to go and one of them mumbled something in Arabic over a shoulder-mounted walkie-talkie.

Once inside, the feeling that the building was old grew even stronger. Here too, everything was in need of a complete overhaul, and the flashing halogen lamps signalled faulty electrics. Darren was met by another security guard armed to the teeth and was gestured to follow. They walked through a maze of corridors deeper into the ghost-like factory, and then the guard stopped at a large steel door at the end of the corridor, secured with an electronic palm scanner and a combination lock. The Arab put his hand on the scanner and entered an eight-digit code on a lit-up keypad. The lock clicked and the door opened automatically. Darren hadn‘t expected what he saw. It was like a completely different building. A huge laboratory, state-of-the-art equipment and everything around it seemed more than sterile. There were also four armed guards on duty inside. The whole feeling of cleanliness was somewhat unpleasantly spoiled by the smell of formaldehyde in the air because this laboratory was also used for autopsies, but Darren didn’t care. He turned to the woman who approached him and shook her hand.

She introduced herself, “Welcome. I'm Detective Margaret Forbs. Forgive me for saying so, but due to the constant terrorist attacks and shootings across the country, security has been stepped up considerably. I hope you’re not uncomfortable?”

“Not at all, guns don’t scare me. I’m Darren Bolt, French…” he started, but the detective stepped out of the way, preventing him from finishing.

“I know who you are. The victim must have been an important person if they sent the Director of the Security Department himself?” she added.

“Well, it’s complicated and of course, confidential is that, Miss...?”

“Forbs. Margaret Forbs” continued the detective.

“Yes, excuse me. I‘m having trouble remembering names. Could I see the body and the coroner’s report?” – Darren asked as politely as possible. “The autopsy has already been completed, right?”

“Straight to the point,” said the detective mockingly, “Mr Bolt, hundreds of people die every day in our city. We only have one morgue, and the number of specialists working there is limited. To be honest, if it weren’t for your extensive acquaintance, I wouldn‘t waste my time here. I have a lot of work without this,” the detective continued in a direct tone, “The coroner’s report will be finished soon. He is working on it right now. While we wait, we can have a coffee in the adjoining office and talk about this... confidential matter,” Forbs had finished and without waiting for a reply, walked over to the coffee machine.

“Well, it‘s going to be harder than I thought,” speculated Darren. But he followed the detective without saying anything.

“A strong cup of coffee would not hurt,” he said a little louder, “cream and sugar-free for me, please,” and entered the small room, which looked like the interrogation room of a prison camp, and sat down on an uncomfortable chair next to the table.

A minute later, the detective came into the room carrying two cups of black coffee. She closed the door with her foot and placed one of the cups in front of Darren, then sat down on the opposite side of the table.

“Sorry, no cream.”

“No big deal, black will do. Thank you.” Darren replied.

After a brief uncomfortable pause, the woman smiled, showing smooth white teeth, and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Well, Mr Bolt, will you tell us why the French Government cares about the death of some poor librarian so far from his homeland?”

Darren watched the woman’s movements in silence. “If she wasn‘t dressed like a man, she‘d be quite attractive, maybe even beautiful,” he thought to himself.

Margaret Forbs was a five and a-half-foot tall, dark-skinned, Arabic-looking woman, perhaps a little over thirty-five. Her coal-black hair was in a ponytail, so impossible to tell how long it was. She wore army boots and a work uniform, through the thick layers of which you could imagine a well-trained and robust body. She wore no make-up, only a lightly applied glossy lip balm, but even without these accessories, she looked very attractive. Darren knew how to assess a person just by looking at them. His years in the Secret Service had taught him to be a lightning-fast judge of situations and their participants because in many cases his own life and the lives of others depended on his quick reactions and the right decision. But at this moment, Darren couldn‘t decide whether the Chief Detective of Cairo Homicide sitting in front of him was trustworthy or more dangerous. He put his confusion down to fatigue and decided that it would be better if he showed who was really in charge, even though it didn‘t bode well for the beginning.

So he gave her a cold look and calmly replied,

“Detective Forbs, I think it‘s better if we lay down some rules right away, so listen carefully,” he began. “First of all, you‘re talking to a much more senior officer, so show more respect. The man who was found dead is a French citizen and has worked for the government for years. Naturally, he knew a number of things that need to be kept secret, especially in such troubled times. So this is a matter for our country, and you have been asked to help until the body is returned to the French Government.”

Forbs was about to interject, a little overwhelmed by the direct nature of her guest’s remarks but Darren silenced her by raising his hand, indicating that he wasn't finished.

“And yes, you were right when you said that I have, as you put it... big acquaintanceships. Therefore, I will only say it once and I hope you will understand me correctly if you do not want to spend the rest of your life working as a security guard at a museum because of my great acquaintanceships, you will give me all the information I ask for, and you will do it as soon as possible. So now get off your arse and go and see where the bloody coroner's report is,” Darren concluded with a smug smile, and then, to make it perfectly clear that he was not going to go any further, he added, “and bring me another cup of black coffee when you get there.”

The woman lost her mind after hearing this, but she was well aware that she had no other choice. Yesterday‘s late call from her captain made it clear that the authorities are willing to cooperate and get rid of these people as soon as possible. The captain made it very clear that there should be no questions. Forbs smiled artificially at Darren, got up from her chair and walked out the door. “We'll see. I'll find out what you're hiding, you asshole…” she muttered quietly so that nobody could hear.

 Darren didn‘t want to do that, but it was very important to keep the investigation running smoothly and quietly under the circumstances, although at another time and place he would have been quite happy to be accosted and maybe even flirt with a detective. Cold-blooded as Darren was, he knew how to appreciate a woman‘s beauty. Pulling out his mobile phone, he called one of his team members. “Bruce, it‘s Darren. What did you find out?”

“Nothing suspicious, boss. I've checked all the passenger arrival lists in Cairo, and now I'm checking the private airports. Their bases are a bit harder to break into. No mercenaries that we know of, no military, no strange groups. A few priests, two former but not dangerous prisoners, and that's all I found,” the computer specialist replied.

“Priests, you said?” Darren wondered. Nathaniel had told him many times that the Lightbearers do much of their dirty work with the help of the almighty church. “Gather all the material you can on these priests, their families, whatever you can find out. I will want to look at it when I return.” And without waiting for a reply, Darren put the receiver down, as Forbs entered the room.

“The coroner's report will be brought to you in ten minutes. Here's your coffee,” she said with a cold face and placed another cup of steaming black coffee in front of Darren. The detective sat down in the same place where she had been sitting before.

“Mr Bolt…”

“Call me Darren, Detective. What’s with the ceremony?”

“Mr Bolt,” continued the detective, as if she hadn‘t heard anything, “I understand that, due to some strange circumstances, you have to keep everything a secret. But I cannot help you unless you give me more details.”

“What do you want to know, Detective Forbs? Why the formalities?”

Darren smiled. He liked that the woman was trying to show how tough she was, but he was too tired to play word games, so he just continued without waiting.

“The man whose body you found, as I said, used to work for our government. He had been retired for many years, and before this incident, we were not even sure that he was still alive... He was... Anyway, these are dangerous times. The injuries that have been reported on his body indicate that he may have been tortured, and that is cause for concern. We don't know whether the victim may have had any information that would be of use to people who killed him. We must therefore investigate this crime thoroughly and find out why a simple librarian could have been brutally murdered in this way.”

“Which people are you talking about? Are you referring to a specific terrorist group or a political opponent?” enquired Forbs.

“Neither,” said Darren. “I think that is what we need to find out. The authorities just want to make sure that this terrible event is not linked to a more serious threat.”

A security guard knocked on the door and handed the detective a binder as he entered. “Here's the coroner's report you've been waiting for,” said Forbs, pushing the binder towards Darren. “Would you like to read it privately?”

“Yes, please,” he replied, and the detective and security guard left, leaving Darren alone in the room. He started reading the findings and laid out all the photographs in the binder on the table, showing the wounds on the body. Darren studied the photos for a long time, wondering who could have done such a cruel thing to a helpless old man. Even when he was in the army, he had never seen a prisoner of war being tortured in a similar way during interrogation. The sight was horrific. It seemed to be a warning. He was well aware of what it meant. The game was on. A game that would probably claim many more lives in the near future. The enemy had made the first move, thus declaring that there was a huge threat that was best left unchecked. Nathaniel was right, after such torture, even the most loyal soldier would reveal all his secrets. The coroner's report stated that the victim was constantly stimulated with strong narcotics, which meant that they were preventing the poor man from losing consciousness. He must have felt that every second was like an eternity right up to the end. "Lord, have mercy on his soul," thought Darren. It seemed that years of peace had come to an end.

Darren put everything back in the binder and got up from his seat. He walked out of the stuffy room and looked at Margaret standing by the coffee machine. “Tell them to start preparing the paperwork for the body as soon as possible. I want it sent to Paris before nightfall. Now, escort me to the victim‘s workplace. I would like to have a look,” said the Frenchman firmly.

“Ok, but the place has already been inspected. You can read all about it in the investigation report,” the detective suggested as she walked towards the door.

“I will read it. But for now, I want to see his office for myself. Extra eyes won't hurt anyone,” Darren concluded, indicating that there was no need to try to persuade him otherwise.