The transition from the lush, humid "Green Hell" of the Amazon to the bone-dry, blistering heat of the Sahara was, in Gary's words, "a real skin-care nightmare." Chen Feng, however, was too deep into his Lupin persona to care about exfoliation.
He sat in the back of a vintage, rattling Land Rover that looked like it was held together by prayer and duct tape. He was still wearing the red blazer—now slightly dusty—and was currently trying to eat a melted chocolate bar while the vehicle bounced over dunes at sixty miles per hour.
"Boss, the internet is literally shaking," Gary screamed over the roar of the wind and the clattering engine. He held up a satellite tablet. "The headlines are saying you 'stole the sun.' Governments are arguing over whether you're an alien, a terrorist, or a very well-dressed hallucination."
"I'm a connoisseur of the forbidden, Gary," Chen Feng said, licking chocolate off his thumb. "And stop checking the news. It ruins the vibe of the heist."
Ring. Ring.
It was the "Gala Five" collective hotline. Chen Feng answered.
"Chen Feng!" Su Meiling's voice crackled through, sounding like she was standing in the middle of a command center. "We know you're in North Africa. We've tracked the heat signature of that Sun-Disk. The Egyptian military has scrambled jets. Just... give it back and we can tell them it was a prank!"
"A prank?" Chen Feng chuckled, looking back at the horizon where two faint trails of jet exhaust were appearing. "Meiling, I don't do pranks. I do 'unauthorized acquisitions.' Tell the pilots to watch their mirrors. I'm about to do something 'creative.'"
The Star of the Nile: A Headache in a Stone
They weren't just in Africa for the tan; they were hunting the Star of the Nile. Unlike the Sun-Disk, which was a giant glowing battery, the Star was a jagged, obsidian-colored diamond that felt cold to the touch.
As they neared the coordinates—a collapsed temple buried under a "shifting dune" that only appeared every fifty years—Chen Feng finally got his hands on it.
"Okay, Gary, the legends say this thing shows you five minutes into the future," Chen Feng said, squinting at the dark stone. "Let's see if I can find out if this Land Rover survives the next dune."
He touched the stone. Suddenly, his vision doubled.
The Vision: He saw Gary screaming as a stealth jet fired a warning shot that accidentally hit a cactus. He saw himself accidentally sitting on a scorpion. He saw Lin Xia calling him to tell him she accidentally burned his favorite tea leaves back in Asia.
The Reality: He was still sitting in the car, but he had a massive spiritual migraine.
"It's terrible!" Chen Feng groaned, clutching his head. "The future is just five minutes more of me being annoyed! Who would guard this thing? It's a curse of spoilers!"
The "life in Africa" portion of their trip mostly involved Chen Feng trying to maintain his dignity while Gary tried to trade the Sun-Disk for a "really fast camel" because the Land Rover's radiator had finally exploded.
"Boss, look! A village!" Gary pointed to a small cluster of mud-brick houses near an oasis.
The locals didn't recognize Chen Feng as a Sovereign. They recognized him as a "Red-Coated Madman." By evening, Chen Feng was sitting around a communal fire, wearing a local turban over his "I ❤️ Chicago" hat. He was trying to explain the concept of a "Gentleman Thief" to a group of unimpressed goat herders.
"So, you see," Chen Feng said, gesturing with a chicken leg. "I don't steal for money. I steal to prove that the universe's security system is outdated."
The Elder of the village blinked. "So... you are a very busy beggar?"
"No! I'm—"
"He's a beggar with a very expensive tailor," Gary interrupted, happily sipping mint tea.
Just as the sun set, the sky hummed. The "unprecedented security" had arrived. Three black-ops helicopters hovered over the oasis, their searchlights scanning the tents.
"Come out with your hands up, Sovereign!" a megaphone boomed.
Chen Feng sighed, standing up and brushing sand off his blazer. He looked at the Star of the Nile in his hand. He used its power one last time. He saw the path the soldiers would take through the tents. He saw the exact second the pilot would blink.
"Gary, grab the goat," Chen Feng commanded.
"The goat?! Why?"
"Distraction!"
In a blur of red and dust, Chen Feng didn't fight. He used the "Star" to time his movements perfectly between the sweeps of the searchlights. He swapped the Sun-Disk for a very heavy, yellow-painted rock in the back of the Land Rover, and by the time the soldiers breached the camp, the "Red-Coated Madman" was already five miles away, riding a very confused camel into the moonlight.
"Next stop: Europe," Chen Feng's voice echoed in the desert air. "I've always wanted to see the Vatican. I bet their security has excellent hats."