The Pharaoh's Secret

40

Riots had broken out in the city. With the lack of water, the threat of a civil war was looming. The emergency room was overflowing when they arrived. Some patients had been stabbed, others beaten and still others had been shot.

Paul and Gamay found an unoccupied corner to wait in and were soon joined by a member of the Libyan security service. He spent an hour interrogating them about the events at the pumping plant. They explained what they were doing there and how they’d been working with Reza in hopes of determining what was happening to the aquifer.

The agent seemed skeptical. He mostly nodded and took notes even as the other workers from the pumping station confirmed the report. He paid particular attention to their description of the attack and escape.

Tense silence followed, broken only by shouting when another group of injured men was brought in off the street. The government agent eyed them with a sense of foreboding.

“When did all this start?” Gamay asked, surprised at how full the hospital was.

“The protests began as soon as the government cut off water to some sections of the city. They turned violent this afternoon. Severe rationing has begun, but it won’t be enough. People are desperate. And someone is stirring them up.”

“Someone?” Paul asked.

“Many are interfering in Libya these days,” the agent said. “It’s been well documented that Egyptian spies and agents have spilled into our towns. Why? We don’t know. But it’s growing.”

“So that’s why you don’t trust us?” Gamay said. “You think we did something to Reza?”

“There was an attempt on his life last month,” the agent said. “And for good reason: he’s the key to getting the water flowing once again. He knows more about the system and the geology than anyone else. Without him, we may be lost.”

“All we’ve done is try to help,” Gamay said.

“We shall see,” the agent replied, giving nothing away.

As he finished speaking, a surgeon finally came out of the operating room and looked their way. He walked tiredly toward them, pulling a mask away from his face. He had dark circles under his eyes and the haggard look of a man who’d worked too long already with no end in sight.

“Please give us good news,” Gamay said.

“Reza is alive and recovering,” the surgeon said. “A bullet went through his thigh and a bit of shrapnel nicked his liver, but the main shard of metal missed anything vital. Fortunately — or, perhaps, unfortunately — our surgical teams have become experts at dealing with this type of injury. The civil war has seen to that.”

“When can we talk with him?” Gamay asked.

“He’s only just woken up. You should wait at least half an hour.”

“I will see him now,” the agent said, standing and holding up his ID badge.

“It’s not a good time,” the doctor said.

“Is he coherent?”

“Yes.”

“Then take me to him.”

The surgeon exhaled in mild frustration. “Fine,” he said. “Come with me. We need to put you in a gown.”

As the surgeon took the agent back into the dressing area, Gamay’s phone rang. She looked at the name on the screen. “It’s Kurt. Probably wondering why we missed work the past two days.”

Paul took a quick look around and motioned to the balcony. “Let’s get some air.”

They stepped outside and Gamay hit the answer button on the phone.

“How was your vacation?” Kurt asked.

The night air was warm and soft, tinged with the scent of the Mediterranean. But the sound of helicopters circling and the rattle of distant gunfire could be heard. “Things haven’t exactly been relaxing,” Gamay replied.

“That’s too bad,” Kurt said. “How about a second honeymoon in the French countryside? All expenses paid by NUMA.”

“Sounds lovely,” Gamay said. “Though I’m sure there’s a catch.”

“There always is,” Kurt said.

Paul was listening in. “Tell him we need to stay here.”

Gamay nodded. “Any chance we can get a rain check? We’re onto something out here. Something that needs further investigation.”

“What’s that?”

“A major drought in North Africa.”

Kurt was silent for a moment, but then said, “Isn’t that kind of standard for the Sahara?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Gamay said, realizing she hadn’t been clear. “Not a drought as in lack of rainfall from above but drought as in drying up from below. Spring-fed lakes turning into mudflats. Pumps and deep wells that have been running for decades suddenly drawing only a trickle of water.”

“That does sound unusual,” Kurt said.

“It’s causing riots and who knows what else.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kurt said, “but someone else will have to address it. I need your help in France. We’ve chartered a flight out of Benghazi to Rennes. I need you both on it as soon as possible.”

“Care to tell us why?”

“You’ll find out when you get to the plane,” Kurt said.

She covered the phone. “Something big must be going on, Kurt’s not normally this tight-lipped.”

Paul glanced back to where the Libyan agent had been interrogating them. “Let’s just hope we’re allowed to leave town.”

Gamay wondered about that too. “We may have some trouble with the authorities. It’s a long story, but we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Keep me posted,” Kurt said. “If you can’t get away, we’re going to need someone else — and fast.”

Kurt hung up and Gamay put the phone back in her pocket. “It never rains but it pours,” she said.

“Not here,” Paul replied. “This is a desert.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said with a sad smile.

By now, the Libyan agent had come back from the operating room. He made his way over to them and stepped out onto the balcony.

“My apologies,” he said. “Not only did Reza confirm your story, he insists you saved his life and were very helpful at the pumping station.”

“Glad to hear we’ve been cleared,” Paul said.

A flash lit up a distant part of the city. The boom arrived seconds later. Some type of explosion had gone off.

“Yes, you’ve been cleared,” the agent said, “and Reza is still alive, but the damage is done. Two other pumping stations have been hit and the rest are operating at a fraction of capacity. Reza will be here for days, and it may be weeks before he can continue his work. By the time he’s back on his feet, this country will be tearing itself apart for the third time in the last five years.”

“Maybe we can help,” Paul said.

The agent looked off into the distance. Smoke was rising in the night, obscuring the lights. “I suggest you leave now while you still can. Before long, it will become difficult for anyone to get out. And you may run into others in the government who are not as open-minded as me. They’ll be looking for scapegoats. Do you understand?”

“We’d like to say good-bye to Reza,” Gamay insisted.

“And after that,” Paul added, “we could use a ride to the airport.”