Chapter 8

Missing people? André sat up in his chair, his eyes bolting open. Ceci est grand! Maybe he would get a story after all. He had the sudden urge to pick up his cell phone and dial Mike Pane's number, but repelled from doing so. With police filing into the room, he didn't want to seem suspicious.

André's journalistic mind was beginning to tic. Whether this turned out to be something big, or just another flop, it was something that he could engage in for the time being. Finally, after waiting for months, he had something to do.

His pocket vibrated, and André pulled out his phone. He looked at the caller; Mike Pane. André smirked, talk about good timing, my American friend.

"André, are you there?" He had an eagerness in his voice.

"Well, I did pick up the phone," André spoke with sarcasm.

"You know what I mean," said Pane. "Are you at the conference?"

"Yes," André said, slightly sinking in his chair. He was sure no one cared who he was at the moment, due to the confusion, but he didn't want to make himself noticed just yet. "Keep your voice down." André said, thinking that maybe his conversation could be picked up on.

"Listen to this," Pane began. "I was doing my routine, checking some of the terrorist website's, and I found something. You might get a story there after all."

"I know," André spoke in a whisper. He was sure Pane didn't here him because he just continued talking.

"Both Al-Gama'at al-Islamiya and Egyptian Islamic Jihad are saying that something big is going to happen today," Pane continued. "Now, you know my Arabic is a bit iffy, so I had to get one of the interns to translate it fully. He said it didn't give full details, so I don't know anything more than that. So, my suggestion to you is to get out of there. You might want to go stop by the CNN office. Maybe they have a lead on the story already. They're affiliates, they should give it to us."

"I can't," André spoke through his teeth. Two guards were standing no more than ten feet away from him.

"What do you mean you can't?" Pane was screaming. "You've been on the phone everyday saying you want to go to Jerusalem and that there are no stories there. Now something happens, and you say you can't?"

"No," said André, fighting the urge to yell back. "You don't understand. I-"

"Excuse me, sir," someone tapped on André's shoulder. He turned and came face to face with a young guard. He shut his phone, cutting off Pane's voice. I'm sure he didn't like that, André thought. He kept his cool, and straightened in his chair.

"Oui?" André said. Maybe he could pull off the old tourist act. It always seemed to work when he got in a jam. Like the time he almost got arrested for taking pictures of two men playing chess in Tehran. He was a newbie, and didn't know he needed a permit to take pictures of Iranian citizens. He played it off, pretending he didn't know any language but French, and they let him off with a warning.

"Didn't you hear?" the guard said, his facial expression was a bit naive. "You aren't aloud to use your phone right now."

"No phone?" André pointed at his cellular device, and tried to look as puzzled as possible.

The guard looked a bit puzzled himself, he sort of looked around. Probably looking for an escape route, André thought. Looks like it'll work again.

"What is your native tongue?" Another, much larger, guard walked up to him.

André raised his eyebrows and leaned closer, pretending he didn't hear him correctly. It seemed like this one would be a bit harder to convince.

"He speaks English." The man who had awoken André earlier had walked up to them. In fact, looking around, André saw that there were more eyes on him than he'd wanted. "He is from TIME magazine." So much for his cover.

"You speak English, do you?" The larger guard looked at him, acting surprised. André wasn't fooled. "What, you thought it'd be fun to play a game."

André didn't reply. His journalistic mode seemed to be on shut down.

"Let's pull him in for questioning," the guard said, turning to the others.

"Que moi?" André was standing up now. A guard had gently grabbed him by the arm and begun to pull him away from his chair. André contemplated resisting for a moment, but then thought other wise. He didn't need to get himself killed.


"We all know what's going on," said Lehner, who was in a deep conversation with the people around him. "It's a terrorist group."

"Such an American," said an Italian man sitting behind them. "So quick to blame."

"What's that suppose to mean?" Lehner turned to face the man.

"Mr. Langdon, maybe you could tell them that you spoke with Zahi this morning," Indiya Becker had broke in, and ended the pending conversation.

Langdon nodded. Although he'd love to help, he'd been hoping to keep himself quiet. He didn't want to get involved in any of this. All he wanted to do was get out. This was all getting ridiculous. It seemed like everywhere he went, a shadow followed. Maybe Boston Magazine was right when they called him Harrison Ford in Harris Tweed, at the moment he sure did feel like it.

An Egyptian Guard walked up to the podium. "At this time, we'd like to ask if anyone in the room recently spoke with either Dr. Zahi Hawass, Dr. Kent Weeks, or Kevin Dean?"

Langdon could feel the eyes on him from those around him. A few people raised their hands, and he felt he had to do the same.

"If you could please move to the back of the room," the guard finished, and walked away.

Langdon got up from his chair, and turned down the isle, towards the exit. He heard light footsteps behind him, so he turned his head. Indiya Becker was there.

"Who did you speak to?" Langdon asked.

"I spoke with Zahi last night, and I spent most of the morning with Dr. Kent Weeks," she said. Langdon nodded, and turned back around. There was something about Ms. Becker that bothered him, but he couldn't quite place it.

There was about a dozen people who had walked to the back of the large conference room. A young guard began taking down their names. "Robert Langdon," he said, as he stepped up. The guard sat a moment, with pen in hand, and then looked up at Robert. Please don't say you recognize me, Robert thought.

"How do you spell your last name?" the guard stared at him blankly.

"L-a-n-g-d-o-n," Robert said, with much relief. After giving his name, he was ushered out of the room and down a hallway. He passed tables full of maps, and guards radioing to one another. He knew that Dr. Hawass was an important man, along with the others, but he was surprised at the magnitude to which this was being carried out.

"This way," said the guard who was leading him. He opened a wooden door, and Langdon walked inside.


Indiya was doing her best to keep up with the guard in front of her, but he was walking a bit too fast. I knew I shouldn't have worn heels, she thought to herself. After winding around the numerous hallways of offices and restoration rooms in the Egyptian Museum, the guard finally stopped and opened a door. She entered, and found herself in a storage room, filled with numerous artifacts that were waiting to be displayed.

"Have a seat," said the guard, he pointed to a chair at a nearby table. "Someone will be in here to speak with you shortly."

She smiled courteously at the guard as he left. Once the door was shut, she turned her attention to the numerous shelves around her. As she lifted up worn fabric to peek at what might lie beneath, she began to think.

How could this happen? Zahi couldn't possibly be missing. It was only just last night she had spoken with him. They spent hours talking about his recent quest to retrieve the famous bust of Nefertiti from Germany. It had been something Zahi was hoping would happen soon. He felt he had the duty, as both a native Egyptian and Egyptologist, to return the replica of the famous queen to her home.

Indiya smiled, thinking about her mentor. She didn't know how she'd come to be so lucky. She had worked with some of the greatest historians of their time. And now, all of that could be fading away. If it was a terrorist group that had carried out this act, there was a small chance of getting any of the three men back. Just thinking about these words made Indiya cringe with anger. How could these men be taken? They did nothing wrong.

She wanted to hit something, or at least do something. She couldn't just sit in a room answering questions while one of the greatest people she'd ever come to know could be in trouble. Indiya was a firm believer in action. She was a part of the "blink" generation. At the moment though, blinking couldn't solve anything.

The door opened, and from it, a large Egyptian guard emerged. Indiya smiled politely, but it seemed to be a waste, seeing as the guard could have cared less.

"Have a seat..." He looked at him clipboard. "Ms. Indiya Becker."

They both sat at the only table in the room. The guard took several minutes looking over his notes before he spoke. What notes could he possibly have?

"Tell me who you are associated with," he said, not bothering to look up.

"Well," Indiya began. "I speak with Dr. Hawass regularly, we both work together. And Dr. Kent Weeks, I-"

The guard raised his hand, and cut her off. There seemed to be yelling coming from the hallway. He stood up and walked out the room. Indiya felt compelled to do the same.

The commotion was coming from a little ways down the hall. The guard walked fast, and Indiya did her best to do the same. There was a small crowd gathered around three men. Two of them were in uniform, the other was in jeans and a blue shirt. The third man was being held back by one of the guards, while the other held a gun pointed at his face.

"Just tell us," said the guard with the gun.

"Tell you what?" The man being held yelled at him, his french accent ringing through the hall. "I don't even know what you are talking about. I don't even know who these people are."

"What is going on?" The guard who had been questioning Indiya had spoken up.

"Lieutenant Ashraf, we are sure this man has some type of affiliation with what's going on," the guard with the gun answered. "He knew about the warnings."

"I told you," the French man was trying to rip away from the guard restraining him. "I am a journalist, my editor called me and said that there were warning of a possible attack."

"Then why are you here?" said Lieutenant Ashraf, in a suspicious tone. "If you had a lead about a possible kidnaping you should have tipped us, even if it was anonymous."

"I just happened to be here," the French man began to settle down. "I had no idea anything was going on until I got here."

"We'll have to take him into custody," said Lieutenant Ashraf, turning to a group of guards standing near by.

"Je ne pense pas si!" the French man ripped his arm from the guard restraining him. Indiya's attention was immediately diverted to a sudden movement to her right. The guard with the gun moved closer, and was set to pull the trigger.

"No!" another guard screamed. Moving forward, with great speed, he pushed the gun away from the french man. The mouth of the gun was pushed directly at Indiya's eye level. She looked straight into the black hole, and became motionless. She felt her arm being pulled away, and then a shot rang.

Note: I appreciate all of your reviews! I hope to have the next chapter up shortly.
If any of you have been watching the news, there was an attack near the Egyptian Museum, and two women were shot. The Egyptian government asked American tourists to stay away from sightseeing in Cairo for awhile...talk about Ironic? It makes me feel like I am predicting the future. You might want to look it up on CNN if you haven't heard about it.