"Pack your bags," Mayra said without a moment's hesitation, her voice now forged with a steely resolve that cut through the room's lingering fear. "We are going to Basra. Tonight."
Jerome looked at her in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape. "Basra? Mayra, are you serious? This is not a casual stroll through a Baghdad alleyway. We would be driving straight into a lion's den." His technical mind immediately began calculating the risks: open desert roads, predictable routes, and an unknown enemy who was clearly one step ahead of them. "They knew we had the seal, Mayra. They might already be waiting for us on the road to Basra."
"And that is a risk we have to take," Mayra replied, pointing to the anonymous message on her phone. "He has shown us the way. If we do not go, someone else will. The 'others' he mentioned. To hesitate now is to lose. We have a small head start, and we have to use it." Her logic was sharp and undeniable. The fear was a cold knot in her own stomach, but she knew that showing it would only paralyze her team.
Sara, who had been swaying between academic awe and genuine terror, suddenly found her footing in the world she knew best: history. "The old port of Basra… it makes perfect sense! In eighteen fifty five, that area was the main hub for the ships of the British East India Company. Their warehouses, their administrative offices… they would have had entire buildings dedicated to records. If any paper records survived from those five ships, any logbooks, any last minute cargo changes, they would be there!" Her eyes lit up with the thrill of the chase, momentarily eclipsing the danger.
Mayra nodded, her decision now solidified. "Exactly. We will go by road. Jerome, your Land Cruiser. Is she ready?"
A faint, almost proud, smile touched Jerome's lips. "She is always ready. I built her for the desert."
The hour that followed was a blur of controlled chaos. They moved with the efficiency of a seasoned field team, each member knowing their role. Jerome performed a final diagnostic on the Land Cruiser, checking fluid levels and ensuring the hidden compartments and electronic countermeasures were operational. Sara packed a small, carefully selected library of historical maps and linguistic reference books. Mayra gathered the essentials: water, high-energy food, a medical kit, and a small, unregistered handgun she kept for emergencies, a grim reminder of the world she now operated in.
An hour later, they were silently slipping out of the sleeping streets of Baghdad. The atmosphere inside the car was thick with unspoken tension. The city lights faded behind them, and soon they were enveloped in an endless, dark desert, a black void under a canopy of cold, distant stars. The paved highway stretched before them like a black ribbon. For the first two hours, the only sound was the low rumble of the engine.
"Do you think we can trust him?" Sara finally broke the heavy silence, her voice a mere whisper in the dark. "I mean… the stranger. The one who sends the messages."
"Trust?" Mayra said with a bitter edge. "I do not trust anyone. Not anymore. He led us to the seal, yes. But he also led the ministry to us. Or at least, he knew they would be there. This is a game to him, Sara. We are just pieces on his board."
"But what is his objective?" Jerome mused, his eyes scanning the dark road ahead. "If he is a 'Guardian,' why not just keep the knowledge hidden? Why lead us to it? It does not make sense."
"Perhaps he cannot access it himself," Sara suggested. "Perhaps he needs us." Our skills. Myra's archaeological knowledge, your technical skills, my… ability to read old, boring texts."
It was a plausible theory, but it was just that—a theory. They were driving blind, following the instructions of a ghost, into a trap that could be laid by their own government or some other, unknown player. Every pair of headlights that appeared in the distance in their rearview mirror sent a jolt of adrenaline through them. Was this it? Were they being followed? But each time, the vehicle would pass them by, a simple truck driver or a family heading to another city, oblivious to the high-stakes game being played in the old Land Cruiser.
After several hours of driving, the first rays of dawn began to spread across the desert landscape. Jerome turned the car off the main highway and onto an old, bumpy track. The ride became harsh, the vehicle shaking and rattling over the uneven terrain.
"The old port is a few miles from here," he said, his eyes on his laptop. "The river has changed its course over the last hundred years." This whole area was once a bustling waterfront. Now… now it is a graveyard."
Soon, they saw the silhouettes of crumbling buildings in the distance. It was a ghost town, an eerie relic of a bygone era. A strange melancholy hung in the air.
"This place is creepy," Sara said as they got out of the car. All around them were broken walls, arches half buried in sand, and a profound, deafening silence. The wind whispered through the ruins, sounding like the ghosts of the merchants and sailors who once walked these streets.
"Spread out," Mayra commanded. "We are looking for the main warehouse." It would have been the largest building here. Look for any remaining insignia of the East India Company."
They proceeded on foot, the sun climbing higher in the sky, beating down on them. The heat was becoming intense. After nearly an hour of fruitless searching among the identical-looking ruins, their hope began to fade.
"Mayra, look at this!" Sara suddenly called out, her voice echoing strangely in the silence. She was standing near a large, collapsed structure. On a heavy stone lintel that had fallen over a doorway, a symbol was carved. Time and weather had nearly erased it, but it was still recognizable—the insignia of the East India Company. They had found it.
The warehouse was a mess of fallen beams, sand dunes that had formed inside the walls, and debris. They began a systematic search, clearing sections, looking for any sign of a records room or a basement. It was back-breaking work under the punishing sun.
"This is hopeless," Jerome said after another hour, wiping sweat from his brow. "Anything made of paper would have turned to dust a century ago."
"Not if it was protected," Mayra countered, her resolve unbroken. "Basements, cellars, strong rooms. They would have had them."
It was she who found it. In a corner of the ruin, she noticed the ground felt… hollow. She began digging with her hands, pushing away the soft sand. A few inches down, her fingers hit something hard and flat. Wood. Working together, they cleared the area. It was a large, heavy cellar door, reinforced with iron straps. And in its center was a large, rusted iron ring.
The three of them gripped the ring and pulled with all their might. With a harsh, painful screech of protesting metal and splintering wood, the door lifted, revealing a set of dark stairs leading down. The air that rose from below was thick with the smell of dampness, decay, and old paper.
"Get the flashlights," Mayra whispered, her heart pounding.
They were about to descend when suddenly, the morning silence was shattered by the powerful roar of multiple engines. It was a sound that did not belong in this graveyard of history.
They froze. The sound was approaching fast.
Jerome scrambled behind a pile of debris and peeked out. The color drained from his face. "Oh no…"
Two large, black sport utility vehicles were speeding across the sand dunes, heading straight for them. They had no markings, but their aggressive approach made it clear they were not tourists. Their tinted windows reflected the harsh sun, making them look like giant, predatory insects.
"Inside! Now!" Mayra yelled. There was no time to think. They jumped down into the darkness of the cellar, and Jerome pulled the heavy wooden door down over their heads. It slammed shut with a deafening thud, plunging them into absolute darkness and the musty smell of forgotten time. They were trapped, caught red-handed at the door of the secret, with a new and unknown enemy just a few feet above their heads.