27

"What's up with all the water?" was the first thing I said when the hotel doors opened, revealing dripping grey skies and, more importantly, water up to the hubcaps of the poor vehicles splashing through the streets.

"Not good, miss," said one of the hotel doormen, a younger man with a round face.

That was an understatement. I'd sort of gotten used to the road as a shallow stream, but it had grown so high that now I could detect murky waves of water on the sidewalk too. "Don't the storm drains work?"

"Sorry, miss."

Tucker held up his phone. "Says here that their sewage, drainage systems, and infrastructure are 'dilapidated,' and that the situation is even worse outside of Cairo, especially in the poorer areas.'"

"What, exactly, does that mean?"

"Flooding," said Tucker.

We met each other's eyes.

"I guess we could cancel our meeting," I said.

But I knew neither of us would renege on face time with Abdallah Hussein, even though we seemed to have waded into the origin story of the phrase "come hell or high water."

"Let me see if he'll meet us closer to our hotel," said Tucker, texting on his phone. "He was hoping we'd go to El-Malek Fouad."

"Where the heck is that, anyway?"

"Southwest of Giza. He said it was important. He had something to show us."

"Could you send me the name of that place? I have no idea how to spell it."

He texted it to me. I should've mapped our destination before heading off before dawn to God knows where. I used to rely on Ryan to tow me around, depending on his excellent sense of direction, but I was in Egypt with another man, for heaven's sake. Time to woman up.

I checked the map and shook my head. "Way too far and too dangerous."

"I'm trying to convince him of that right now."

"We might be able to meet him halfway. At the GEM, maybe."

"Maybe."

Tucker got him on the line, made pleasantries, and put him on speakerphone in time for Abdallah to say, "I don't know if I can travel to the city. I am very busy."

Busy, hell. At 5 a.m. on a Sunday? Irritation zapped through me. Try working in an emergency room with an unconscious kid after a transatlantic fight and an IED, and tell me you're busy.

Tucker uttered a soothing, "I'm sure. Dr. Sze and I appreciate your time and expertise."

Abdallah's voice warmed up. "Does that mean you will be able to contribute for my time?"

"Excuse me?" I said before I could stop myself. As Apu used to say on The Simpsons, What has been implied here?

"I work as a consultant and have established rates for my time. I'm asking if you and Dr. Tucker are able to compensate me for this visit, including travel."

Damn it. He wanted a bribe. From poor students.

Tucker snatched the phone toward his ear. I reached for it, but he walked away from me, shovelling charm. "Mr. Hussein. This is Dr. Tucker, I'm sure we can figure something out to our mutual convenience. We could treat you to a meal."

"No, I require more substantial compensation for my time," I clearly heard him say through the speakerphone.

The hotel lobby guy watched Tucker move to the edge of the overhang, toward the cars sloshing their way through the water.

I followed Tucker and called out, "How do we know you have anything that we want to hear?"

"You want to know about the bag."

The cobra bag. He was promising to tell us what was in the cobra bag. I decided to push a step further.

"Will you give us the bag?" I'd travel for that.

"Just a second, Hope." Tucker pressed the buttons, moving it off speakerphone and talking to Abdallah in a lower tone before telling me, "Good news. He agreed to a closer meeting place."

"With the bag? For how much?" I eyed the nascent river in the street.

"He wouldn't commit. Just said he'll meet up and we'll 'discuss.'"

"He wants more money."

Tucker grimaced. "I'll stop by a bank machine on the way."

"Tucker, this is blackmail. Or extortion. Something. Should we talk to the police and be done with it?"

After a long minute, while we watched the rain drip off the overhang, and we declined an umbrella from the hotel lobby guy, Tucker said, "I've heard the police want bribes, too. Sometimes you have to pay them just to open a complaint."

I sighed. "Plus what we saw on our first day at the hospital." I could still picture that poor doctor with the fractured nose and the crooked silver glasses.

"Yup."

Everyone here had a hand out. I understood why, but not how I'd fix their problem with my sad line of credit. "We can't go to the middle of nowhere, walk up to him, and say, 'Hey, we're rich tourists, take everything.'"

Tucker thought about it. "We need backup. I'll text everyone here where we're going and who we're meeting."

"They're sleeping, and he wants to meet us before they read their messages. All they'll know is where to search for our dead bodies afterward."

"We're meeting in a public place. Abdul Munir Riad Square. You remember the place where we first changed buses, near the Hotel of Horus?"

"Sort of. I remember the IED better."

We stared at each other. Finally, he said, "I really want to solve this, Hope. I don't think he's dangerous. Egypt is capitalistic, that's all. Rudy explained it to me. They usually won't mug you or steal your stuff. They look you in the eye. They want to work for money and get paid. They hustle, they may harass you, but it's not violent."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "An IED is more than a hustle, Tucker. I can't stop you?"

He shook his head. "I'm going, Hope. I'm texting our friends as backup, and I'm heading. You can stay here. Maybe that's better anyway."

"Are you nuts?"

Like I'd let my fiancé meet an informant alone. Even if it meant suicide for both of us. I texted my own crew: Kevin, my parents, Grandma, Tori, and even though he'd blocked me, Ryan. Hi. Heading to Abdul Munir Riad Square. Thinking of you. "Let's go."

We arrived ten minutes early, in front of a yellow and blue bus terminal sign still showing the same happy bearded dude. I twitched. The last time I saw this sign, we'd run into an IED.

A familiar man in sunglasses, jeans, and a rain jacket turned toward us.

"Tucker." I touched his elbow.

Tucker patted my hand and continued texting. "Just a sec."

"Tucker, he's here."

Abdallah Hussein's sunglasses hid his eyes, but I recognized the bulbous tip of his nose. He wore rubber boots that splashed the water in the square.

"Such a pleasure to meet you," said Abdallah, holding out his hand to me first. He had better manners than Luke Becker.

I took Abdallah's hand. His skin felt wet and slightly cold. He'd been waiting a while. His sunglasses slipped, and I noticed more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth up close, although he smiled nicely.

"You too," I said, giving him a once over to see if he wore the cobra fanny pack. Hard to tell under that rain jacket.

"The pleasure's all ours!" said Tucker. "Could we get you something to drink?"

Abdallah pursed his lips. "I would rather remain outside. Fewer ears."

"That's true." Tucker regarded him with respect, and we fell into step with him, with Tucker in the middle, already complimenting Abdallah's past work with museums and his research paper from four years ago.

I wore a rain jacket too, but it was semipermeable. My pants had already gotten soaked, and my hands started to sting from the rain. How long did we have to stroke this guy's ego?

Not long, as it turned out. Abdallah said, "You're too kind. I know you're wondering why Ms. Becker called me to the hospital on Wednesday."

"Absolutely," said Tucker. I nodded agreement as I blinked the rain out of my eyes.

Abdallah smiled, displaying an even set of teeth. "I am prepared to answer all your questions, as long as I'm compensated for my time, as any professional would be. We discussed a fee."

I stopped walking, even though I ended up right beside a tourist in an orange shirt taking a selfie beside a florist's display of red, white, mauve and candy floss-blue posies.

"I heard your fee," said Tucker calmly, halting beside me. "Are you able to give us some information first, as a sign of good faith?"

Abdallah stalked away from the tourist, and we followed him. Tucker didn't even flinch as Abdallah's boots splashed water on both of us. We strode west, deeper into the square. Toward the Nile. I suspected that the rain had driven most people away, although buses continued to pull up to the station, their engines grumbling and coughing exhaust.

Abdallah turned on us. "What kind of proof do you require? I've taken the trouble to meet with you when I could have continued my research on Akhenaten."

"Very true," Tucker agreed. "We appreciate it greatly. I was curious if you're able to explain the contents of the bag, or if they're still in your possession?"

Abdallah faced us. He was a few inches taller than Tucker, which made him half a foot taller than me.

"We're students," I explained.

Abdallah's upper lip curled. "Yes, of course. Student doctors from Canada."

I shook my head. "It doesn't mean we're rich. It means we owe people money. But we have connections, Mr. Hussein. We can help you talk to people in Canada, maybe other researchers who will appreciate your work and who might want you to help them with their exhibits, or speak on tour." Okay, I didn't know anyone like that, but Tucker might. And I could try to network with people both here and in Canada to make it so.

"That's a kind speech, but I can't eat your words. I require compensation for my time, as already discussed."

A pigeon fluttered its wings and landed on a statue in front of us, cocking its head to see if we'd feed it.

"If we do 'compensate' you, will you give us the cobra bag?" I asked him, straight out.

Abdallah sighed, pivoted toward Tucker, and held out his hand, palm up.

Tucker placed some Egyptian bills in it.

"Tucker!" I grabbed his arm, too late.

Abdallah had already palmed the bills, tallied them with a grimace, and pocketed them. "I'm sure you can do better than this, but I will offer you some information as a show of faith. Ms. Becker asked me to restore something to its rightful place."

I frowned. "That's very vague. Surely you can tell us more than that."

Abdallah scowled at me. "Your man has given me the equivalent of bus fare."

"Hey," said Tucker.

"Return bus fare," Abdallah allowed, and checked his watch. "Others have been far more generous. I should have known better than to deal with children."

"Please," said Tucker. "We're taking care of actual children. There's a little boy who's very sick in hospital. We're trying to raise money for him, so I don't have much to spare."

Abdallah raised one eyebrow, obvious even above his sunglasses. "What happened to the boy?"

I didn't want to break patient confidentiality, but this was the first question Abdallah had asked that didn't directly relate to money. "He thought he'd been bitten by a scorpion, and then he was … "

"Suffocated. They had to dig him out of the sand," Tucker finished.

Abdallah's spine straightened. "I see. Where was the boy found?"

Tucker shook his head. "The family didn't tell me. I'm not sure. He's in hospital now, though. He survived, but he may have, ah, damaged his brain."

Abdallah checked his watch. "I have to go."

"Wait! You haven't told us about the cobra pouch." I reached for Abdallah's arm, realized I probably shouldn't touch him aside from the proffered handshake, and dropped my arms back to my sides.

"I've got it, Hope." Tucker held up another bill. A large American one.

Abdallah's nostrils flared. "'O gold! O flesh of the god!'" His hand flashed.

"Hey!" Tucker stared at his now-empty fingers. "I didn't say you could have it."

Abdallah had already pocketed the bill and turned to go. "Thank you for my fee. My children will appreciate it."

Tucker stalked alongside him, matching him stride for stride. "I could call the police. I could tell them you stole my money."

Abdallah nearly laughed. "I have your texts agreeing to the consultation fee, which exceeded your payment. If anyone should complain, it's me."

"What consultation?" I shouted, but Abdallah hailed a black car and jumped in the passenger seat. The car took off, splashing us as I took a photo of its license plate.