Chapter 4

Khan al-Khalili Market is the largest not only in Cairo, but throughout Africa. It dates back to the 14th century and is set in narrow, covered streets. Today, Khan al-Khalili is a conglomeration of markets and shops, where you can buy everything from blankets of all sizes and colours and multi-coloured scented soap bars to the most precious stones and handmade jewellery of undoubted authenticity. Millions of people swarm here all day long. Everywhere you turn, you hear the calls of “Hey, madam, sir, come and see for free”, which are used by the vendors to lure tourists in for a profit. The traders in this market are probably some of the best salesmen and persuaders you will find in Africa. People are constantly amazed that you can buy anything your heart desires here and if one of the vendors doesn‘t have what you need, just wait a minute and he will find another shop that has the item you need. Not only in this market but in any Egyptian market,  you can buy spices or herbs that you have never heard of. It is also fresher and better quality than its packaged counterparts in the West and at least four or five times cheaper. Buying and selling here is a game of skill and patience between buyer and seller, as the price of each commodity depends on the buyer’s bargaining skills. It is simply incomprehensible to traders if the buyer does not try to bargain, as it is part of the job, and some traders may even be offended if tourists do not try to lower the price by trying to bargain. This is one part of an interesting and old cultural tradition that is not worth trying to avoid. It is probably why there are constant disputes amid the noise of passionate bargaining.

Jake felt like this was his market. Khan al-Khalili was a paradise for all kinds of villains, pickpockets, and petty thieves. Purses, jewellery, handbags, watches, and expensive cameras were the target of scoundrels. No wonder at the end of each day, lines of tourists lined up outside the nearby police station, having lost their valuables while wandering around the market. Today, the young man had only been diving among the tourists for a couple of hours, but he was already enjoying a more successful start to the day than ever before. In his bag were several wallets, a few seemingly expensive watches and a brand new mobile phone that some foolish tourist had put on the counter while grabbing an antique vase. It took only a moment for the unfortunate man never to see his phone again.

“Great,” thought Jake, “time to take a break and grab a bite to eat. It looks like a promising day”, he said to himself particularly as the first police raid was about to start and it was better not to be seen at that time. Three times a day, the police combed the market area, and each time they would come across a petty novice thief who didn't know anything about the local "fishing" rules. Jake had taken up his trade at a very young age and had never been caught by the police before. In high spirits, he headed towards his favourite café where he would drink delicious coffee and watch some unlucky pickpockets' careers come to an end before they had even begun. The café was in a perfect location, right next to the market, so you could see everything around you, and in case things went wrong, there were several narrow side streets that could be used to disappear within a matter of a few seconds.

Jake was just over six feet tall and 23 years old. A solidly built guy, he was dressed like most young men of his age. He wore fashionable grey jeans, little frayed, black comfortable trainers, a youthful white T-shirt and a black, lightly worn leather jacket. The jacket was unnecessary as the sun grew hotter and hotter and rose to its zenith, but it was much more convenient to hide the prey that had been snatched in a flash. Jake was no different from other young men in Cairo, except for being an American. But nowadays it was a perfectly normal, unobtrusive phenomenon in Arab countries, especially in a city like Cairo, where almost half the rest of the world‘s population visited every year. Short dark hair, stylishly dishevelled, regular facial features and eyes as blue as the surface of the ocean, eyes that had seen a lifetime of injustice. He found himself in Cairo through his fake alcoholic father, who couldn‘t find work in his native Boston. So 12 years earlier, they were forced to move to Cairo, where Jake‘s father got his first long-term job in many years at one of the city’s many museums. Despite his constant drinking, he was a great expert in his craft and restored old and expensive paintings belonging to museums. Unfortunately, a new job and a new country did not cure Jake's father's illness, and five years later he ended up in hospital, where within a week, the man died of cirrhosis and Jake was left orphaned in a strange country. With no mother or relatives to take care of him, he was picked up by local social workers immediately after his father's death and taken to a children's shelter on the edge of town. He knew even then that he would not be there long. The locals really didn’t need another orphan and another American, so it would only be a matter of time before he was sent back to the United States. Jake was 16 years old at the time, and the plans of the care workers to send him back to America were not going to come to fruition. He loved Cairo. He had many friends who taught him how to take care of himself, so he escaped from the shelter and ever since has been living in the city, cleaning out tourists’ wallets. His extraordinary abilities and quick reactions have provided Jake with a good deal. He rented a small apartment in the central part of the city and in his hiding place, near the museum where his father used to work, he had a good amount of savings for a rainy day.

In the café, he sat at the same corner table as usual, enjoying black coffee and warm, locally baked muffins. The tourists sitting next to him blew huge plumes of smoke into the air as they exhaled the hookah and enjoyed a traditional Egyptian red tea. Jake rose from his seat more refreshed. With the threat of the police gone, he made his way through the market, towards a shop a few blocks away, where he could dispose of stolen goods and get cash. Of course, he knew that he would make a lot more money selling them himself, but he would run a huge risk of getting caught, and the old crook in the antique shop never asked questions and paid cash on the spot after a short negotiation, which Jake always lost. That was the life of a thief. He robbed unsuspecting tourists and was robbed by Marat, the buyer of stolen goods, who smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke.

*******

With trembling hands, the old man opened the safe door and looked around nervously. There were no cameras here. In the vault of a private bank, he was alone, apart from the security guard standing behind the door, who escorted him down the stairs.

It was one of the oldest and most respected banks in Egypt, whose unbreakable privacy policy has been extremely beneficial to the bank’s customers for many years. The richest businessmen, politicians, and well-known men of dubious reputation, whose dirty money also lay safely in the secret underground vault of the building, kept their wealth here. The bank used it to its advantage, and its managers loaded the assets while protecting the privacy of their customers and guaranteeing the integrity of their assets.

            The old man had already entered his eighties and his age was reflected in his dim, tired eyes, which had seen many secrets and hardships of life. The weight of age had bent the old man‘s back, and there was no longer any sign of the firm, soldierly posture he had once had. Years ago, he had placed in this safe something he hoped never to see again, but now, with those trembling hands, he picked up the small black bag that had been lying there and quickly slipped it into the pocket of his slightly wrinkled tweed jacket. His long-time friend and companion had been found dead less than two days earlier, his mutilated body dumped in a muddy alleyway before his death. This had caused the old man to come here and recall long-buried secrets. He could not just wait and take the risk. This was not what he had spent his whole life trying to do, this was not what he had sworn a sacred oath to the Brotherhood for, only to see everything fall apart in the twilight of his life. He was determined to do everything in his power to ensure that his years of hiding his identity and protecting one of humanity‘s greatest secrets would not be in vain. The burden must be passed on to someone new and stronger. He had a plan. The bag must be in a new and safe place as soon as possible. As he left the vault, he thanked the burly guard, thrust a few notes into his hands and silently prayed that it would not be too late.

As soon as the vault door was closed, the same guard took out his mobile phone and entered the speed dial number. After a few rings, he heard a familiar voice and then said, “The old man has left. You were right. He took something from the vault.” and ended the call.

“Perfect!” Martin said quietly to himself as he put the phone on the table. “Christmas has come early.” He discreetly checked that the gun tucked in his belt was in place and with a smile, walked towards the narrow street where he soon saw the guardian of the world moving slowly like a tortoise. “It’s your last hour, old man,” he said to himself as he followed from a distance.

*******

Nick and Cameron inspected the crime scene where the body was found. The police were long gone and life on the narrow street went on as if nothing had happened. But this was nothing to be concerned about. Bodies of beggars were often found in places like this, stabbed by another homeless man who didn‘t want to share his last remaining cigarette. The two men worked meticulously, taking several photographs, their trained eyes picking up every pebble and misplaced bottle. Now, successfully posing as sensationalist journalists, they were asking locals about the tragedy. Unfortunately, their methods did not work. The locals would not talk, and those who did talk would spout all sorts of nonsense about the vengeance of the ancient Egyptian gods or alien spaceships. After a while, the men lowered their hands and after deciding to continue a little later, headed towards a nearby eatery selling a traditional Egyptian bean stew called ful medames. The dish, while not appetising to look at, is certainly tasty and is usually eaten with bread and hard-boiled eggs.

“Food will help you concentrate. I’m as hungry as a wolf," said Nick. Cameron just smiled and followed his starving colleague.

*******

For the assassin, time was moving slowly, just like his victim. Martin was impatient. He felt as if he had been born under a lucky star. Soon history would change and he, a simple mercenary, would be the one to change events irreversibly. His name would be forever written in the book of honour and for hundreds of years, he would be remembered as the one who led the Lightbearers to the eternal Olympus of glory.

Martin had been a mercenary all his life. He earned a living by doing the bidding of various crime bosses and eliminating unwanted people. Until one day, THEY found him. An organisation that changed Martin‘s life. Changed his narrow worldview by revealing incredible secrets and giving his meaningless life a purpose. He became an executioner who changed history and felt elated by the honour bestowed upon him. For fifteen years Martin had been loyal to this organisation and at last, his boundless devotion and blind loyalty were bearing fruit. He had come closer to achieving what his predecessors had failed to do for hundreds of years.

With all his patience, he slowly pursued his victim, like a wild predator stalking its helpless prey. It could have been finished sooner, but then the pleasure Martin felt in continuing the inevitable would have been lost. Besides, he had to act without being noticed, and there were plenty of people around. The executioner was waiting for the right place and time.

The old man hurried as fast as his tired body would allow him towards Cairo‘s grand market. With a trembling heart, he carried the heaviest burden of his life, always looking away. A burden that demanded everything of him. The old man knew how important his burden was and hoped that nothing would stop him from walking to a place at the other end of the Khan al-Khalili market, where he could pass on the burden of his life to another. A man who will henceforth sacrifice his life for the Brotherhood. His time as a guardian was over.

The market continued to look like a giant hornet‘s nest that had been accidentally moved. Thousands of people jostled for space at one stall or another to buy the tiny souvenir scarabs that are the symbol of Egypt.

The crowd of people made it a little difficult for the tired old man to move forward, but it was also a great cover to stay unnoticed. He did not feel safe. An inexplicable bad feeling had been plaguing him from the moment he left the bank and caused him to keep looking over his shoulder, expecting every now and then to see strange types walking toward him. But he didn‘t. Looking around, he failed to see the young guy in front of him and turned too late to avoid a painful head-on collision. The old man‘s heart nearly leapt out of his chest, but he quickly calmed down and refocused on his goal, realising that through his sick paranoia and clumsiness he had come up against a mere child, not a hired killer. The guy smiled broadly and helped him to his feet. The young man still seemed to be trying to ask if he was all right, but the old man was no longer paying attention and moved on towards the meeting point.

An hour later, after navigating the tourist jungle of noise and smells, the victim and the hunter turned off the main street and headed down a narrow alleyway leading to one of Cairo‘s major museums. “This is where it all ends”, Martin thought. He expertly wove through the tourists moving towards his prey, looking for a convenient spot where he could finish him off quietly so as not to attract undue attention. There was just such a place opposite.

Martin came within arm‘s length. He walked like that for a minute until he came to an abandoned building on the right of the street. The place was just perfect.

He looked around calmly, waited for the moment when no one was looking in their direction, and in one swift movement, as if a spider were attacking its prey, dragged the old man inside the abandoned building. The old man didn’t make a sound. He felt a violent blow on his temple, which immediately darkened his eyes and left his already weak body with the last of its strength. He was unconscious but completely helpless. He felt his attacker‘s hand clamp tightly over his mouth and he squatted down to see if anyone was running away. Realising that he had not attracted anyone‘s attention, the attacker dragged his victim further into the building, where there was a strong and unpleasant smell of ammonia. The old man felt strong hands dragging his body somewhere. Somewhere from which he would probably never return.