FOR ABDELAZIZ, a private soldier in the Egyptian army since the age of eighteen, guarding monuments over forty centuries old, which were presumably built as tombs for kings of the past, was an unpleasant task to which he was not accustomed.
He describes himself as a man capable of facing anything, even the worst of deaths, but there were certain fears linked to the superstition he'd carried since childhood that he couldn't shake. He knew by heart the stories that passed from mouth to mouth through the alleys of Fustat, the neighborhood where he was born.
His grandmother used to tell him that Abu-el-Hol would awaken from his lethargy in the future to free himself from the stone prison that bound him, and that then man would be his food. So, each night he faced the Sphinx's spell with no other resources than his rifle, his hair stood on end and his teeth began to chatter madly with anxiety.
It was panic he felt. He'd give a month's pay to be a thousand miles away, fighting a stupid war again if necessary. Anything but doing the night patrol.
To allay his fears, he decided to analyze the unexpected visit of the director of the Archaeological Museum. It wasn't exactly the most appropriate time to enter any of the pyramids— he could have done so during the day — nor was it logical for him to be accompanied by a group of strangers. But the fact that he had a special pass, signed by Adel Hussein himself, was reason enough to let him pass without having to ask for an explanation.
Besides, I knew the man loved what he did. Perhaps he was working in secret, with some of his foreign colleagues.
He felt a slight chill. He attributed the sensation to the ambient temperature, for the desert was especially deserted that night. The howling of the wind, sweeping furiously across the plateau, brought to mind the crazed laughter of a tormented soul.
He looked at his companion, who was sitting inside the guardhouse reading the newspaper. He thought it was like being in another world. Hassan was lucky to be the son-in-law of a famous minister. Not everyone enjoyed such remarkable and beneficial influence, but he, the son of a simple carpet weaver, if he were to earn any favors from his superiors, it would be through his own merits.
He paused in his painful thoughts as he noticed the headlights of another car approaching. He had a feeling that this night would be special.
— Stop the car a few meters from the guard post and bend down, with your hands up, where I can see them.
As he whispered to Eric what he had to do, Sephy reached inside his jacket and stealthily took out the pistol's silencer and screwed it onto the muzzle.
— What are you going to do? — asked Antonia, anticipating the young German woman's maneuver.
— Wait and see — he replied icily. — But I warn you, if you try to run away, it will be the last thing you do alive... — He frowned. — Do you understand?
The cryptographer had grasped the message. It was dangerous to contradict her. She would have time to devise a plan that would benefit her interests.
The car stopped a safe distance from the security area established by the Egyptian army. Sephy pressed hard on the back of the agent's neck, forcing him to step out, as the guard's imminent arrival loomed. Eric obeyed immediately, willing to cooperate in any way possible, fearing he might end up with a bullet in the head.
The hitwoman, in turn, did the same: in a synchronized manner, she got out of the car, sticking herself behind Eric who, strategically, was between her and the sentry.
Sephy acted swiftly and professionally, shooting first at the soldier reading the newspaper in the guardhouse, while grabbing the officer's shirt for protection. Abdelaziz, alerted by the young woman's violent reaction, opened fire without hesitation. Eric was shot in the neck and chest, and at that moment the German woman took advantage to eliminate the Egyptian soldier with a well-placed shot to the face.
It was all over in a few seconds, as if it had never even begun.