Nag Hammadi, Qena, Egypt
If Marcianus had been expecting keen agreement from Aqmal on the change in their plans, he was quickly stripped of his delusion. No sooner had the Arab man shifted the car into gear and begun to follow Emily, Michael and Chris out of Cairo, than he began to voice his discontent. That discontent was now at its peak, as they watched the vehicle they had been tracking move off into the orange-brown dunes.
‘Absolutely not,’ Aqmal finally said. Marcianus tore his gaze from the trio’s car and glared angrily at Aqmal in the rearview mirror.
‘Excuse me?’
‘This is not what I agreed to,’ Aqmal emphasized, waving towards the vehicle ahead of them as it veered around a dune and out of sight. ‘The plan was to kill them on arrival in Egypt. We’ve already delayed, but I’m not continuing this trek any further.’
He slowed the small car to a halt, then disengaged the clutch and reached for the rifle, checking that it was loaded and ready.
‘Your ignorance is blinding you,’ Marcianus answered back, enraged at the other man’s insolence. ‘Ingenuity is not to be ignored, even in one’s foes. It’s to be taken advantage of. I will let them lead me to the keystone.’
‘Keystone?’ Aqmal’s eyebrow was raised. That was the second time Marcianus had used the word. He had never heard mention of it before this conversation.
‘It’s an . . . artefact.’ Marcianus spoke simply for the man whose renewed involvement in their plans he was fast coming to regret. ‘A significant artefact. All you need to know is that it’s extremely important to me and to my people, and Emily Wess knows where it is.’
Aqmal took another drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it, his motions emphatic and deliberate. The rifle was loaded and ready. He could take out Michael, Emily and Chris from fifty metres, he was fairly certain.
‘The desert, a keystone. I should have fucking known better.’ At last he turned to face Marcianus with his full gaze, his hollow eyes stern, glaring back at him from his awkward angle in the front seat.
‘The answer is no. I agreed to a quick trip into Cairo. In and out, as a favour to you. Nothing about going into the desert after some pointless piece of history. It’s ridiculous I’ve let you drag me this far. We end this, now.’
Marcianus drew in a long breath through flared nostrils. Their current deadlock was a classic example of why a cause could have only one leader. Strong wills did not intermix. He realized now that Aqmal was intractable. He would not change his mind, nor alter his precious plans in order to accommodate the new advantage they had at their disposal. Their discussion had come to its productive end.
‘I want to thank you, Mustafa,’ he said calmly, exhaling his long breath. Aqmal, attempting to light another cigarette before driving further after their prey, did not remove his gaze from the windscreen. ‘For the help you have been to our cause. Your role in procuring supplies was essential, and your Arab background will prove more helpful than you know. And you have helped bring me here. For these things, you will always have my thanks.’
Aqmal grunted disinterestedly. He did not notice Marcianus slightly alter his position in the seat behind him, nor the subtle motion at his waist.
‘But I’m sorry your mind is so fiercely made up on our present course. That is . . . most unfortunate.’ As he spoke, Marcianus finished removing his belt. It was not the ideal weapon, but a gunshot in the car would be loud and messy.
‘What is at stake matters more than your plans. And it matters more than you.’
Before Aqmal could answer, Marcianus lurched forward, raising the belt over the seat-back before him. Its two ends wrapped around his clenched fists, he caught Aqmal’s neck in the resulting loop and snapped the makeshift garrotte backwards, pulling the Arab’s head flush against the seat’s headrest. Immediately, Marcianus realized that the belt’s width prevented it from functioning as a proper garrotte, and he hadn’t had enough distance to snap the man’s neck.
Aqmal’s life would have to be choked out of him.
Marcianus raised his knee and pressed it into the seat-back, using the extra force to pull more firmly on the two ends of the leather noose.
The Arab man fidgeted frantically, struggling with both hands to gain purchase beneath the belt strap, but Marcianus’s grip was too tight. Feeling his larynx collapse and sensing his vision start to lose clarity, Aqmal stared up at the rearview mirror in helpless terror.
Marcianus stared back, gazing a final time into the hollow, brown eyes that had so long set him on edge.
‘May your spirit be free,’ he said, his voice almost a chant. He pulled back further on the belt.
A moment later, Aqmal’s eyes rolled back in his head, his breath and his motion fully gone.
Marcianus released his grasp, and the Arab man’s head slumped against the dash.