That Time in Cairo by Logan Ryles (books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📗

Dirt filled his mouth, and he skidded along the rough surface, rolling through rocks before coming to a stop twenty feet beyond the tunnel.

He came to rest on his back, his arms still outstretched, and he heard the beat of footsteps nearby. Dirt exploded next to his head as somebody’s knees crashed down only inches away. A gush of water descended on his face, washing away the dirt and running over his dry lips in a glorious, unbelievable surge of pure goodness. He gulped at the stream and caught his breath, sucking in as many mouthfuls as he could before the water was suddenly taken away.

Then someone leaned over him, blocking out the sun.

Megan.

“Wolfgang! Are you hurt?”

Megan’s eyes filled with a level of concern he’d not seen before. Despite the pain that still throbbed through his body, Wolfgang felt suddenly awkward, as if she’d walked in on him in the bathroom.

He ran his tongue over busted lips, then offered a sheepish grin. “Hey, Meg. Found that tomb we were looking for.”

14

Wolfgang waited on the Gulfstream, a glass of Sprite in one hand and an ice pack in the other. He moved the pack every few minutes from his neck to his shoulders, then his thighs, then his back.

Absolutely everything hurt. Every joint, every muscle. It was like a giant had grabbed him by the feet and slung him into a block wall multiple times, then stomped on him for good measure. All his major joints were swollen, and aggressive rope burns ran down the length of his right arm. No matter how he adjusted himself in the plush seat of the private jet, Wolfgang couldn’t get comfortable, but all things considered, he wasn’t too worried about it.

I’m alive.

The single thought raced through his mind over and over, like a CD with a scratch on it, repeating the same lyric from the same song for all of eternity. When he closed his eyes, he saw the sand again, closing in all around him, and all he could think was . . .

I’m alive. I shouldn’t be, but I am.

He adjusted the ice pack to his neck and glanced to the tail of the plane, where Lyle was busy disassembling what remained of his drone. The motors were cooked, apparently—something about overstressing them with too much payload. After dropping Amelia on the dirt outside the tunnel, the drone had crashed into the ground and wrecked half of its propellers, along with some of its superstructure. Lyle was pissed, but Wolfgang figured he’d get over it.

As of yet, nobody else was on the plane. Wolfgang and Lyle had sat there for the better part of the morning, alone except for Charlie Team’s pilots, who never left the cockpit while Edric worked to clean things up with the Egyptians. There was apparently a lot of confusion and no short amount of angst about what had happened near the airport, and even though Charlie Team used a private airfield outside the city, the Egyptians would not let them take off until certain questions were resolved. Questions like: “Why was there a gunfight in the middle of the desert?” “Are you responsible for the invasion of the IronGate tower?” And Wolfgang’s personal favorite: “Who’s going to pay for the mess?”

Wolfgang had a pretty good idea that SPIRE would not be paying for any mess. Sure, there was a network of gaping holes in the desert near the airport where various tombs and tunnels had caved in, but if what Amelia said about those tombs was true, it was probably just as well if they remained buried. After Wolfgang slid down the chute into the first room and found Amelia, everything that transpired above ground was pretty much as he had guessed. There was, in fact, a second and a third man, and after covering the hole to keep it out of sight, they had gone back to the city to get some rope. Apparently, Amelia’s car wouldn’t start, so they walked back to the road and caught rides, then returned in a large stolen truck.

The gunfight that resulted when they attacked Kevin and Megan ended when Kevin accidentally shot out the gas tank of the truck, which eventually set off an explosion and triggered the cave-in. During the course of the gunfight, both men had been shot—probably by Kevin, although he wouldn’t admit to it—but neither man was killed. They were now in Egyptian custody.

Wolfgang turned to the nearest window at the sound of a car grinding to a halt outside, and watched as Edric, Megan, and Kevin piled out. They were accompanied by an Egyptian police officer, who shook Edric’s hand and said a few words before the three of them climbed the stairs and entered the plane. Edric proceeded immediately to the cockpit and said a word to the waiting pilots, then walked to the minibar and poured himself a drink.

Wolfgang eased the ice from his neck to his right thigh, watching Megan out of the corner of one eye. He remembered the look on her face when he’d first seen her, only moments after being saved from the mouth of the desert. The concern in her eyes . . . the sincerity in her voice.

She’d have looked that way for anybody on the Team. Don’t read into it.

Wolfgang told himself that multiple times, but he still wanted to read into it. He still wanted to think that maybe . . .

“That was one hell of a mess,” Edric said. He took a seat across from the others as the plane’s door hummed shut. Only moments later, the aircraft began to roll, and Wolfgang fastened his seatbelt.

Edric took a sip of the drink and shook his head. “Dr. Pollins is in the hospital being treated for a broken leg, a couple fractured ribs, and no small amount of shock. Her sister is with her.”

“So, is it true?” Lyle asked.

Edric swirled the drink and cocked his head. “About the plague?”

Lyle nodded.

“It’s true that we didn’t find the tomb of a pharaoh,” Edric said.