Mayra's eyes were fixed on the calm, smiling face of the stranger. A torrent of emotions swirled within her—fear, astonishment, and now, a rising tide of anger. She felt like a pawn in a game whose rules she did not understand, moved across a board by an invisible hand.
"What is this joke?" she finally said, her voice echoing in the vast, sandy silence. "First you send us cryptic clues, then these men with guns attack us, and now you stand here as if this is all just a game! Who are you?"
The man's smile deepened slightly. He cast a casual glance towards the black sport utility vehicles parked behind him. The armed assailants, who just moments ago were intent on killing them, now stood silently by their vehicles, disciplined and motionless like statues. It was a chilling display of absolute control.
"It is a game, Doctor Nassar," the man said, his voice calm and even. "The rules are just a little different. My associates were a bit… overzealous. They did not anticipate that you would be quite so resourceful."
My associates? The words hit Jerome like a physical blow. "Your people?" He looked from the man to the silent attackers and back again, his mind struggling to process the impossible truth. "They work for you?"
"Everyone works for someone, Jerome Daoud," the man replied, using Jerome's full name with an unnerving familiarity, as if he were reading it from a file. "The real question is, who will you work for? Your own ambition, or for a cause much greater than yourselves?"
With a subtle gesture of his hand, the man gave a silent command. Without another word, the three armed men got back into their vehicles. The engines started with a low rumble, and they drove away, disappearing behind the sand dunes as if they had never been there at all, leaving only tire tracks in the sand as evidence of the violent encounter.
Now, there were only four of them. Mayra, Sara, Jerome, and the stranger, standing alone under the vast, empty sky.
"The test," Mayra repeated, gesturing towards the leather satchel lying at her feet. "A test of what?"
"Of your intent," the man answered. "Of your purpose. To see if you are worthy of the knowledge you seek, or if you are just like all the others who were consumed by it." He turned, preparing to leave.
"Wait!" Sara spoke for the first time, her voice no longer filled with fear, but with a strange, academic curiosity, as if she had just found a missing piece to an ancient puzzle. "That seal… the word on it was 'Guardian.' Are you… are you one of them?"
The man paused, his back still to them. He seemed to consider the question for a long moment. Then he slowly turned, his eyes meeting Sara's. There was an ancient sadness in his gaze, a weight that seemed to belong to another time.
"Some stories are not just stories, Sara Haddad," he said softly. "And some guardians… do not carry swords. They carry questions, so that you may find the answers for yourselves."
With that, he walked towards his own Land Cruiser, which was parked discreetly behind a nearby dune, almost invisible against the sandy landscape.
"Our vehicle!" Jerome suddenly shouted, the practical reality of their situation crashing down on him. "You cannot just leave us here to die in the middle of the desert!"
The man opened his car door and paused before getting in. "If your minds can unlock the secrets within that satchel, Jerome, then they can also find you a way out of this desert. Reach the Al Ashar souk in Basra before the sun sets tomorrow. Do not be late."
His vehicle started and drove off, vanishing into the shimmering heat haze of the desert, leaving them completely and utterly alone. For a long time, the three of them just stood there, surrounded by the immense, silent emptiness. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.
Finally, Mayra knelt and picked up the satchel. Her hands trembled slightly. The old leather felt strangely heavy, filled with the weight of unknown secrets and impossible expectations.
"Open it," Jerome urged, his voice tense.
Mayra untied the leather cord. Inside, there were three items.
The first was an old, leather bound diary. Its pages were yellowed and fragile. The ink was faded in many places, but the handwriting was clear. It was written in English, and the first entry was dated eighteen fifty five.
The second was a strange metal device. It was made of brass and had a complex series of gears, dials, and a small lens. It looked like an ancient sextant, but far more intricate.
The third was a small, tightly sealed silk pouch, from which emanated a strong, spicy scent of cloves and some unknown dried wood.
"What is all this?" Sara asked, bewildered.
Mayra picked up the diary and opened it. On the first page, a name was written: Arthur Conroy, Captain, Royal Navy.
"Arthur Conroy," Jerome said, already typing furiously on his tablet, which still had a sliver of battery life left. He had downloaded several historical databases before they left. "He was the commander of that five ship convoy! The one who was officially reported as killed in the pirate attack!"
Mayra quickly flipped through the pages. The diary was written after the sinking of the ships. In it, the captain told his story—how the attack was not by pirates, but by a mysterious group whose goal was not to steal the treasure, but to 'hide' it.
Sara's eyes fell on a particular paragraph. She pointed to it with a trembling finger. Mayra, read this.
Mayra began to read aloud. Captain Conroy had written:
"They were not raiders. They were guardians, as they called themselves. They told me what we were carrying—'celestial knowledge,' a power that could create and destroy civilizations. They gave me a choice: join them in their cause, or die with my men. I chose the former."
But the real shock came in the next line.
"They explained to me that the real treasure is not the knowledge itself. The real treasure is the key to the prison in which that knowledge is contained. And that prison is not a place, but an object."
A prison? A key? What did it all mean?
They were no longer just searching for a lost treasure. They were now looking for the key to a mysterious prison.
And the sun was setting fast. They were alone in the desert, with limited water, and a new, even more confusing, puzzle to solve. How were they supposed to get out of here and reach Basra in time? Their only hope lay in the secrets held within that old diary and that strange, brass device.