Chapter 10

Republican Senator Aldan Nicholl had just finished his meeting with the Egyptian Prime Minister. He was now sitting in the back of an Egyptian cab, wiping his forehead. My God, this heat! Senator Nicholl thought to himself. Being from the cold state of Montana, he'd never experienced this type of dryness before.

It is all worth it, he thought to himself. Anything for the safety of my country.

Senator Nicholl was one of the biggest advocates for homeland security. While other senators had taken up issues such as the environment and stem-cell research, he felt compelled to save his country from things he felt were more threatening than liberals and global warming. Terrorist. Although thought to be under control, Senator Nicholl knew better. He'd seen the effect of terrorism first hand.

He winced at the thoughts that came to his mind, and did his best to push them away. Such pain would be what fueled him, not what crushed him. He was a strong politician. If doing his job to the fullest meant going into the heartland of the beast, then he would just have to do it.


"That's impossible!' Robert spoke after a few seconds.

"On the contrary," said Lieutenant Ashraf. "It's not, and we know you were with him this morning."

"I was," said Langdon, not refusing anything. "We were both on the plane over here. I haven't seen him since we parted at the hotel."

"He was supposed to be here at the conference today," said Indiya.

"But he never came," said Lieutenant Ashraf. He kept is stare on Robert. "Do you know why?"

"I have no idea," Robert continued, doing his best to sound completely honest. "We were about to leave and he backed out."

"Any idea why?" Lieutenant Ashraf continued to question him.

"No," said Langdon. "Actually, I thought he'd flipped. He seemed completely fine on the plane, and then...I don't know how to explain the way he acted. It could have been normal, I don't know? It was the first time I'd met him."

"Alright," Lieutenant Ashraf moved toward the door. "I'll be back later with more questions."

"How long are you going to leave us in here?" asked André.

"As long as I need to," Lieutenant Ashraf replied. "Don't think you're a special case. You're being questioned just like everyone else is." He shut the door.

"You are like a magnet," André said, as the door closed. "I can see why they've had us follow you around."

"Is my phone being taped as well?" sneered Robert.

"If it is, it's your fault," he replied. "You bring it all upon yourself."

"You honestly don't think I ask for this, do you?" Robert asked.

André simply shrugged, which caused Robert to sigh. He moved over to the nearest wall, he slid down it, and sat on the floor. His head rested against the cool wall. He could hear people passing by the room, going every which way. He was trapped. There wasn't even a window to climb out of. Trapped, again. Trapped in a spinning cycle of events, that seemed like they would never end. He was in this whether he liked it or not.

Indiya came to sit next to him. She stretched out her legs before her, placing her hands face down on her knee length skirt.

"What's that?" asked Robert, pointing to her middle finger. On it, tattooed in dark black, was a bold number three.

She gave a slight laugh. "It's a long story."

A buzzing sound erupted from the center of the room. André jumped up from the desk, and dug into his pocket, " J'ai oublié!"


André opened the phone, and knew there was no need to say hello.

"You must have career suicide," said Pane, his voice was stern.

"More like a death wish," said André.

"I was fit to fly a plane there and rip your head off myself when you hung up on me," Pane continued. "Then I got the update. All the big wig media stations are reporting that the Conference at the Museum has gotten canceled because of "unforseen circumstances". Care to share?"

"Four have been kidnaped," André replied. "And they are all linked."

"Are you sure you should be sharing that information?" asked Langdon, cutting into the phone conversation.

"No one said I couldn't," replied André.

"But they did say not to use the phone," said Robert.

André was about to snap back, but Pane cut him off. "Who is that?"

"Your golden boy," André replied, looking directly at Langdon, who gave him a suspecting look after he said this.

"That's not-"

"Yup," said André.

"What'd I tell you, André?" said Pane. "I told you there was a story wherever this guy went."

"He doesn't have anything to do with it," said André. "I'll call you back." He hung up the phone before Pane could object. "Happy?"

"If my perceptions are correct, yes," Robert replied. "Why'd you do it?"

"Quite honestly," André stood up and walked to the map on the wall. "I don't need him telling anything to the main media outlets just yet. If someone's going to break the true facts about this story, it's going to be me."

"Not at the expense of others, of course?" asked Indiya.

"There is no love in the media," said André, he turned to Robert. "You should know that. To get truth and fact you must go to all means."

"Sometimes you get things wrong," said Robert, remembering all to well the BBC reporter from the Vatican. "And it can do serious damage."

"Yes, it can," André replied, with honesty. "But sometimes, don't you need to take risk? You two are historians, right? Wouldn't you go though great means to save history?"

"Yes," replied Robert, because he already had. "And what does a Journalist save?"

"Conversation," said André, he began pacing across the room. "In our grasp we have the fate of many things. We can kill an event by not talking about it, therefore causing others not to talk about it as well. Talking always keeps the ball rolling. While there is conversation, there is hope for understanding. We are messengers, in another since. Passing down stories to the generations that will come. We are not to different from the Egyptian wall painters. They wrote their history, and so do I."

"That's an interesting point," Indiya smiled.

"And very true," said André. "The improvement of understanding is for two ends. First, our own increase of knowledge. Secondly, to enable us to deliver that knowledge to others."

"John Locke," said Robert.

"Smart man," replied André.


The room around Zahi was dark and cold. His head was throbbing in pain. It took a few minutes for him to collect his thoughts.

"Where am I?" he wondered aloud.

"That will remain disclosed for now," said a voice from the corner.

Zahi was startled, and jumped away from the direction in which the voice spoke. His eyes were still adjusting to the lack of light, but he didn't need to see the man to know who it was.

"I don't understand," said Zahi. "I don't even know you."

"But I know you," said Bradley Ruckford. "And I have long since waited to ask you what I am about to."