AFTER EATING AT THE hotel's restaurant, a menu based on fava beans with lemon, kafta and the typical meat kebab and croquettes with mashed vegetables, Antonia decided to stroll through the streets of old Cairo, accompanied by Sephy, to see if they could both digest the food better.
They visited the Wekalet El-Balah bazaar — famous for its textiles — and Mohamed Ali Street, where they admired all kinds of musical instruments and also enjoyed a fascinating and unique experience at the dromedary market. After their sightseeing tour, a taxi took them to one of the few places in the city that served alcoholic beverages: the Al-Horreja café, in the Bab el Luq kiosk, where they enjoyed the popular Stella beer (low-proof beer) while sitting across from each other on the terrace.
The cryptographer, driven by her professional diligence, delighted the young German woman with an exhaustive dissertation on the different methods she used to decipher sets of encrypted words. She discussed secret and public cryptography, the properties of algorithms, and the modern and sophisticated decryption programs being developed in the world's most advanced countries.
Letting herself be captivated by the conversation, Sephy dared to ask a few interesting questions. In this way, she gathered information that could be very useful to her in the future.
— I wonder if you could decipher a cryptogram originating from Ancient Egypt.
This challenge only served to increase Antônia's presumption, who felt compelled to boast about her knowledge.
— It makes no difference, whether past or present — he said. — Hieroglyphics, which are symbols, have had the same meaning throughout history. It is the individual who determines their significance by deciphering their content, but not everyone knows how to make hieroglyphics speak.
— If you're referring to me, you're right. I'm very slow with riddles — Sephy admitted, somewhat embarrassed.
— Don't beat yourself up. It's my job, not yours — she replied sympathetically, and as she said this, she realized she knew nothing about the life of the young woman standing right in front of her. — And speaking of which... what do you do?
It was beginning to get dark and the cool afternoon air made Antonia feel a wave of chills all over her body.
— My profession isn't as edifying or mysterious as yours... Actually, I work at a car dealership. That's why I can afford to own a Corvette. It's on loan from the company.
He imagined her dealing with wealthy clients, searching for a prestigious icon, with the soul of a motor, to boast to her friends. Always attentive, always kind to those who led a better life than her. Beneath that gothic paraphernalia hid a young woman tired of experiencing the same old things, someone who needed to escape the daily grind and attract the attention of the rest of the world. Her lifestyle was merely a pose that gained importance in her spare time.
For the second time that day, he felt sorry for her.
Sephy, who had been waiting with unusual patience for the moment to make himself known, caressed the automatic razor he hid in his jacket pocket. The touch of the steel managed to bring him back to his senses: this was neither the time nor the place.
Antônia Sala was about to speak again, but refrained when she discovered they had a visitor. She glanced over at her protégé, who sensed the presence — behind her back — of the secret agents who had followed them to Cairo. As soon as she realized the suspicion was valid, her survival instincts kicked in.
The men occupied the seats on either side of Antonia. They had exchanged their traditional attire for clothes more suited to the country's climate, lighter and cooler. They wore flowered shirts, Panama hats, and white linen pants. They looked like three idiots making fools of themselves through the streets of Cairo, Sephy thought.
Antonia introduced them, although none of them opened their mouths to greet them, they just wore that mischievous, somewhat apprehensive smile that she had seen so often on some of her workmates: death written on their lips.
There were a few seconds of tension, a significant exchange of glances between the newcomers and the cryptographer. For a moment, the young German woman felt as if she had fallen into a death trap, from which it would be difficult to escape. Then, the man with the scar under his eyelid, named Eric, handed Antonia a packet of photographs.
There, he saw Gregory Evans sitting on the terrace of a café with a woman dressed in Arab attire. He informed him, in English, that she was Khalib Ibn Allal's wife and that the Hyperion detective was staying at the Nile Hilton.
— It'd be best if we left — Antonia said, standing up. — From now on, don't leave my side. — Her last words were addressed to Sephy, who, maintaining her innocent youthful demeanor, was trying to devise a strategy that would put her ahead in the initiative to follow Evans to the Ark of the Covenant. To do so, she would first have to eliminate the people who posed a threat to her safety. In the best way and at the right time.
After paying the bill, they headed as a group to Tahrir Square. The place was teeming with diverse characters, like a hive of noisy bees. The adjacent streets spewed out a huge number of cars, honking indiscriminately, like a melody inspired by confusion and anarchy. People's clothes were impregnated with the myriad aromas of the neighboring markets. An iridescent cloud of dust floated in the air, caused by the comings and goings of buses packed with passengers. Undoubtedly, this accumulation of routine events did nothing to affect Sephy's mind; quite the opposite: it gave him plenty of time to think.
Finally, they arrived where a white car was waiting for them. Eric got behind the wheel, and Antonia sat beside him. Another of the officers opened the rear door of the vehicle, standing at one end.
The third remained behind Sephy, forcing her to sit in the center. At that moment, she realized she had to eliminate them, for if she failed to do so, she risked being trapped between the two mercenaries. Perhaps Antonia knew the truth and had been pretending, as she herself had been, for, as a rule, the CIA investigated the lives of everyone involved in a major case. If her suspicions were correct, they would already know she worked for Life&D as a hired assassin.
Taking advantage of the shouts and insults of two shoeshine boys who were competing for the first place to serve a customer, a fact that caught the attention of the agent to his left, he took the razor from his pocket and, with feline agility, plunged it into his throat.
The attack caused the man to fall sideways next to her, his body shaking with convulsions and agonizing moans. By the time the rest of the group realized what had happened, Sephy had pulled his automatic from his back pocket and was coldly aiming it at the head of the assassin seated in the back of the car. He fired at point-blank range, without scruples, causing part of the victim's brain to scatter across the glass.
— Let's go! — she shouted angrily, pressing the gun to the back of Eric's neck. — If you even think about taking one hand off the wheel, you're a dead man. —
Antonia paled when she realized she had underestimated the young woman. No one acted like that without prior training. Sephy, strangely enough, was accustomed to killing.
— Listen well! — the mercenary of death exclaimed again, taking command. — From now on, you will do as I say. Keep driving... — she said to the still-living agent. — ...as for you... — she ordered Antonia. — ...you will tell me everything you know, starting with the wonders of the Ark. —