The private jet of the Veritas – team was over the Atlantic for some hours now. Solomon talked with Maggie about sonar archeology and the latest archeometric mapping of the respective area around the step-pyramid. Surrounded by computer screens and large printouts, their seats looked more like in a University's office than in an airplane. Juliet sat on the couch and went through her notes on the old manuscript once again.

"It's somewhat ironic," she said in Calvin's direction. "That person, probably a follower of the ancient Egyptian cults, wrote down his precious knowledge of Imhotep's burial place to save it – and his account ended up almost destroyed as well, by the new faith. Some monk just buried the text under a new one, like the sand has buried the remnants of the tomb itself."

"It waited for us!" The answer hadn't come from Calvin, who was too absorbed in his 3-D-scan-preparations, but from Nikko, who leaned in from the opposite seat. He hadn't meant this to sound very serious and grinned.

"It has." Vincent's voice. Sounding very serene.

Nikko's grin froze for a moment, and then he just sneered and stuck his nose in his comic again.

=== Cairo / Airport ===

Only a few machines stood on the area reserved for private airplanes. While the team packed and got ready to leave, Vincent went into the cockpit for a quick perimeter check. His experienced military gaze literally scanned the area, the building to the west, the service vehicles and the play of light and shadow in between. He couldn't discern any suspicious movement.

"Everything's clear!"

Wishing the pilot good-bye, Vincent joined the others on the gangway, his right hand at the weapon in his shoulder belt, though. Of course it was forbidden to carry firearms in the airport area. But of course, Vincent knew the right people at the right places - people who didn't dare making a fuzz considered that one of DORNA's most lethal agents (even if ex-agent, in his case) was involved.

A friendly customs officer awaited them in the hall, and in exchange for a considerable baksheesh, he made the procedure a very short one. Then, the team was on its way to the parking deck.

Suddenly Vincent stopped, listened and then signaled the others to move on fast toward their in advance rented transport. Almost the same instant, shots echoed through the concrete structure. Vincent drew his weapon and dove into cover behind a parking car. "Solomon, plan B!"

Zond nodded and led the others not to the prepared van, but to another transport waiting in the opposite aisle. Despite the situation, Nikko smiled. Vincent really was a crack! There wasn't a situation he hadn't prepared a plan B and C for, it seemed! Probably transport A had posed as a bait to lure out the enemy all along!

Solomon opened the door and Maggie climbed in, followed by Cal, who lifted the bags into the car. More shots, answered quickly by Vincent.

"Nikko, get in!"

When he didn't move fast enough, his father pushed him in.

"What about Vincent?" Cowering on the ground next to the door, Juliet glanced back over her shoulder, tried to spot their comrade. Sounds of a hand-to-hand-combat was all she could discern, but she didn't see anyone.

"Vincent does what he always does." Maggie grabbed Juliet's hand and dragged her inside. "He takes care of himself."

The rear door of the van slid shut. Shots splashed against the vehicle's side, however without doing any harm, as it was armored. Solomon started the engine.

=== Cairo / Al-Gezira ===

Vincent does what he always does. He takes care of himself. Maggie's confident statement sounded somewhat stale meanwhile. The team had occupied its rooms in a little hotel in the embassy district. Without Vincent. First, they had been sure he'd catch up with them any minute, with just a shrug, keeping the bloody business of their defense to himself as usual. But the hours passed and Vincent remained missing.

Juliet stared at her papers, pretending to work. Nothing could've happened to Vincent, could it? He had saved them several times; he was smart, strong, fast and well trained. He couldn't simply go MIA!

The hieroglyphic fragments danced in front of her eyes. She blinked and turned the page automatically, her thoughts elsewhere. The occasional glance out of the window revealed the darkening sky and the already lit windows in the buildings nearby. Where was Vincent? Juliet's view wandered over the faces of the other crew members, who were sitting together in this suite, worried more and more as well.

"I'm going to lie down for a while," Juliet decided and went into the adjacent bedroom, not daring to move into her own room. Without any distraction, her mind only focused more on Vincent. The days in Tibet… How they tried to get their hands on the Da Vinci - diaries…

Good Lord, had it been a crazy plan to pose as Vincent's wife! She had been sure everyone would see through that disguise within a few minutes. The more she had been surprised to discover him as skilled in high-society manners as in combat. He walked among those business tycoons and nobility as if he'd never done anything else than wearing expensive suits and drinking Champaign. Maybe it was then, when she… well… fell in love with him… a bit at least. As long as he hadn't his 'scary moments'. That festive evening, he had been simply too good looking for not catching a poor girl's heart. Of course this had been part of the whole performance. Work aside, Vincent didn't seem interested in that kind of relationships at all. Juliet didn't remember having him heard mentioning any girlfriends - or boyfriends, for that matter - in those 4 years they were already working together. His personal life was just as shrouded in mystery as his past.

Juliet sighed and stared at her wrist watch. Half past 10 pm. Where was Vincent?

=== Cairo / Anno Domini 1218 ===

Finally, even the restless, bustling city of Cairo had found a few hours of rest after the heat of the previous day. It was flooding season, and a foul stench rose from the water that slopped lazily against the old walls. Myriads of flies plagued men and animals. Rats scurried through junk piling up in narrow passage ways.

Against his will, forced by exhaustion, the young deserter by orders from the battlefield of Damietta had dropped down on some bundles of hay. He wore the simple clothes of the natives, with a hooded Bedouin cape that shielded his fair hair from curious eyes. While he had still lived with his Templar brethren, he had kept his head shaved as the order's rule demanded. But he was under way for three weeks now and a curly light brown hair cap framed his sun-tanned features. He understood and spoke Arab - his old Templar friend had taught him - but still his accent betrayed him as foreigner. And his knowledge of the indigenous culture was limited. It was difficult and dangerous to travel like that in these times. He could've been imprisoned or hanged as a Christian spy very fast.

At least, the young man had managed to reach the vicinity of Saqqara and the supposed burial place of Imhotep! These were his last thoughts before he fell asleep that night. He dreamt about the engraving he had seen on the Holy Grail. Would they guide him to the seal of Imhotep indeed, like his mentor had said? You are our only hope. Find the seal of Imhotep before they do.

…

The two scoundrels stopped in their tracks. One of them lifted the little oil lamp he was carrying and took a closer look at the human figure on the ground.

"It's a stranger. An infidel. Look at his hair!"

"Allah may curse them all!" He bent over the sleeping man, who didn't wake up despite the greedy fingers searching his robe. "Nothing of value." The would-be-robber spit out and thus shooed some nearby sitting rats.

"Let's take him!" whispered his partner in crime. "They pay well for fair-haired, beardless boys on the slave market!"

Now the young Templar in disguise awoke, startled - and tried to break free from the firm hands that had grabbed his arms. He managed to shake off one of the men and to fetch his dagger. His movements were fast and he knew what was at stake. But in a darkness only dimly lit by an oil lamp and squeezed in a narrow alley, he could only do so much. He supposed he had wounded one of his opponents, because he heard him screaming. The next moment the other man was on his knees, gasping for air. But when the young Templar stroke out to finish his enemy, something hit his head and he went down himself.

=== A compound near Cairo / Present day ===

Splat. Every time a blood drop fell on the stone floor, it made that sound. The older, dried ones had a dark, almost black color by now. The fresh ones gleamed in the shine of the lonely light bulb at the ceiling.

Splat.

Vincent took a deep breath, as deep as possible with bleeding nose and lips, and focused on the way the stream of air took to his lungs, through his body. Providing strength, endurance, tranquility. He was in control of every cell of his body. Focus. There are more important things than pain.

Another hit, out of the blue, from behind. "Why are you here?"

Splat - splat - splat.

"What are you guys searching for this time? ANSWER!"

Pain is not important. Pain is not real. It can be shed like dust. Focus. Vincent closed his eyes. The dirty naked wall in front of him gave way to the landscape of a calmly flowing river and sun bathed hills. He was in control. His mind was stronger than their violence. Another deep breath.

The man standing behind the prisoner hissed a curse, when he turned to his comrade, who had just opened a little suitcase with several 'instruments of persuasion'. "Give him an injection, dammit! I don't wanna waste the whole night on this bastard!"