The Dream

Chapter 8: Cairo

Cairo, Egypt

Sydney sat in the van next to Dixon, wearing a pair of tight, faded jeans and a red, sleeveless shirt. The van was parked in a side street from where they could just see the bustle of the busy market on the main street. "You ready?" Dixon asked.

She grabbed her sunglasses and her purse. "All set," she answered as she headed toward the door of the van.

"Remember," Dixon said as Sydney reached out to open the door. "This guy is posing as a pottery vendor and our intel said he should be somewhere within a hundred feet of here."

"There're probably a million people selling pottery between this alley and the next," Sydney sighed and smiled at him.

He smiled back, "Just look for anything suspicious and get as many pictures as you can, but remember that you only have 46 pictures…"

"Because that's how many chromosomes are in the human body," Sydney interrupted him, grinning at Marshall's explanation for the reasoning behind the number of photos the camera could take.

"Right. Just get what you can and we'll send the photos to the techs and see what they come up with."

"See you," Sydney said, opening the door and putting on the sunglasses as she stepped out.

"Have fun," Dixon called after her.

Sydney walked out of the alley and into the commotion of the main street. She stopped for a moment and took in the sights and sounds. Booths and tents of all sizes and colors lined either side of the street and people and animals were taking up most of the space in between. Most of the voices she heard were in Arabic, either loudly crying out their wares, or engaged in more quiet conversation, but she could hear some broken English, and noted that there were quite a few people that were noticeably tourists.

Across the street and a few feet to her right, Sydney noticed a small booth that was filled with pottery. "I'm going to the right," Sydney spoke softly to Dixon. "Keep track of how far I go."

"Copy that." Dixon answered.

She walked up to the booth. A frail, tired looking, old woman was seated on a stool behind it. There was no way that this woman was selling high-tech weaponry to K-Directorate; she looked like she could barely sit up. Sydney picked up a pot and carefully examined it; the woman's eyes followed her movements. "What the hell," Sydney thought. "I've got some film to waste." She placed the pot back down and nonchalantly brought her hand up to her glasses, taking a picture. The woman's eyes still followed her as Sydney turned and continued walking down the street.

"How's it going?" Dixon spoke in her ear.

"Heading toward the second booth," Sydney answered. She walked further down the street and up to another pottery booth, this one run by a man. She examined this man's pottery just as she had the old woman's. He spoke to her in Arabic and she fought the urge to answer him in his native tongue. "How much?" Sydney asked slowly, holding up the pot with one hand and taking a picture with the other.

The man held up ten fingers and Sydney shook her head, "Too much."

She started to walk away and the man frantically waved eight fingers, shouting "Eight no too much! Eight!…Seven!…Five!…" Sydney ignored him and walked away.

She continued walking and stopping at all the pottery booths, first all the way down the street to her right and then turning and going almost as far down to her left. Although she strongly sensed that none of the people she had seen so far were selling goods to K-Directorate, she had still taken forty-five pictures of the various vendors with SD-6's camera. She didn't care if SD-6 found their man or not. "How much further, Dixon?"

"Just a few more feet."

"Copy th…" the rest of Sydney's reply was cut off as she gasped. About fifteen feet down the street, a man was standing with his back to her. A man whose brown hair was slightly spiked and whose clothes were dirtier than any she'd ever seen him wear, but, oh God, that didn't matter…

"Sydney?" Dixon asked, concerned, but she didn't hear him.

She was still staring at the man, her heart racing at the thought of their last moments together and her lips beginning to ache as she remembered his kiss. She didn't even stop to wonder why he had shown up as she slowly closed the gap between them, twelve feet, ten, eight…Before she could get any closer he turned around. On his cheek was a livid scar and his face was covered in dirt and grime. But she had barely noticed those features. As soon as he had turned around, her eyes immediately shot up to his. She had still been walking closer, but immediately stopped as his dark brown eyes stared sinisterly into her own. The man spat in her direction before turning and sauntering away from her.

"Sydney, what's wrong?"

She paused before answering, trying to catch her breath and slow her beating heart. "Dixon," she finally managed, fumbling for an answer. She obviously couldn't tell him that she could barely breathe because she thought she had seen the man that she had fallen head over heels in love with…Thankfully, though, her eyes fell on the sign over the booth that the man had been standing at: another pottery vendor. "I spotted another booth. I'm going in."

Sydney approached the pottery booth, behind this one was a man whose face was just as dirty and just as sinister looking as that of the man who had just walked away from her. He looked her up and down before speaking, almost without an accent, "You are American?"

"Yes," she answered, taking the last picture with her sunglasses and sliding them down her nose so she could clearly see him.

He laughed and she reached in her purse, fingering the lipstick Vaughn had given her. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered taking it from him, her fingers brushing against his.

"Can I help you with anything, my dear?" the man asked, and his words brought her back to reality. She forced any thoughts of Vaughn out of her mind and brought the lipstick out of her purse. She proceeded to apply it, taking pictures at the same time.

"No," she answered, putting the lipstick back in her purse and casually looking around at the pottery on his shelves. "You don't have what I'm looking for."

"Is that so?" He replied, his evil eyes flashing as he reached out and slid his greasy hand up her arm.

Sydney quickly and forcefully grabbed his wrist and flung his hand away from her. "What do you think you're doing?"

The man said nothing, but narrowed his eyes as his lips twisted into a grin. She returned his stare while slowly backing away. Just as she was turning to walk back to the van, she noticed him motion to one of the men that had been standing nearby, say something to him that she couldn't make out, and nod in her direction.

She started to walk away. "Dixon, I'm being followed. Get the van ready for a quick exit."

"Copy that. Be careful Syd."

Just as she heard those words, she felt a hand reach out and try to grab her elbow. She broke into a sprint, but the guy following her was fast and almost grabbed her.

Picking up speed, Sydney ducked into an alley and hid in a doorframe. The man saw her turn off of the main street and followed her. He almost ran by her, but she picked up a stick of wood that had been standing by the door and whacked him in the head. Stunned, he spun around and threw a punch at her. She ducked and his fist hit the wall. He yowled in pain and she kicked him in the stomach. His eyes were now glowing with anger and he lunged at her throat. She wasn't able to move away quick enough and his fingers encircled her neck.

Gasping for air as his death grip tightened, Sydney put her hands on his shoulders and kneed him forcefully in the groin. Surprised, he let go of her neck and she pushed him as he stumbled backwards. As he was fumbling for balance, she kicked him in the head and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Sydney ran out of the alley and towards the van.

The sound of familiar laughter broke her concentration and caused her to turn her head in its direction. What she saw made her stop completely, eyes wide. There, not ten feet away from her, stood the man from the pottery booth.

He took a step toward her and for a second, she froze. He took another step and another. He was reaching out his hand to her. In another second his hand would be upon her; he would be touching her; he would have her.

Then, something in Sydney clicked on. She felt the adrenaline rush as her fight or flight response kicked in. But this time, instead of bracing her for attack, her body chose the latter option, and her feet picked themselves up off the dusty ground and carried her away with lightning speed.

"Take care, my dear!" the man called after her fleeting figure. But she was running on auto pilot, and she didn't turn back.

She spotted the van in the distance; its form becoming quickly larger as her feet carried her towards it. Finally, she was there, and her hand shot out, slapping against the hot metal, and flinging open the door. She unconsciously grabbed Dixon's outstretched hand, he hoisted her into the van, and they quickly sped away.