Leroy cast a glance at the headphones now lying idle on his desk—the video feed still frozen on his computer screen. The old preacher’s timing might have been better. Leroy wasn’t too crazy about leaving the country right when he’d backed Miz Rhonda into a corner. A lot could change in the time he was gone. He comforted himself with the thought that he could still monitor the antique shop from anywhere in the world. If Miz Rhonda decided to send up a flare while he was away, his smoke detector would tell him where to find the fire.
Chapter 36—Just Deserts
Cassie gazed out the rear side window of an SUV winging its way across the Sudanese desert. One thing you could say about the scenery—there wasn’t any. Just a long thread of blacktop road stretching off into infinity. It ran in a monotonously straight line over a monotonously flat and sandy terrain. There weren’t even any dunes to vary the scenery. Just an endless road through an endless desert. Thinking back to their trip to Nabta Playa, Cassie reminded herself to be thankful that they actually had a road to drive on at all. Not only did they have a road, but it was in very good shape and looked newly-paved. The air temperature was a balmy eighty degrees which felt like a significant improvement over the Egyptian desert of a few days earlier.
The Arkana team had arrived in Khartoum the night before. Ironically, the quickest way to reach the Sudanese capital was to fly all the way back from southern Egypt to Cairo. As aggravating as the two-day detour was, the ferry from Aswan to cross the border at Wadi Halfa would have been even worse. Stories abounded of people making the crossing from southern Egypt to Sudan via a crowded and not overly-hygienic Nile ferry, only to find they had to wait five additional days for their motor vehicles to arrive on a separate boat. After careful deliberation, the trio had decided that wasting two days in airports was infinitely preferable to taking the ferry from hell.
When they finally landed in Khartoum, they were pleasantly surprised. It proved to be a city of six million people complete with all the amenities of twenty-first century life. They were, however, only able to enjoy the trappings of civilization for one night before starting their trek northwards.
The next morning, they were met by their Arkana contact—a very slender black African youth who went by the name of John. This startled everyone until he explained that his ancestors were Coptic Christians who never converted to Islam. John was only a tyro at the Nubian trove, but his extensive knowledge of their destination qualified him to be their guide. He explained that the distance from Khartoum to Karima was over three hundred miles and would take several hours. His shy, soft voice coupled with a heavy accent made it difficult to understand him.
They all understood, however, when John gestured for them to climb into his SUV. Griffin yielded the back seat to Cassie and Erik without a word. This was in obvious deference to their personal relationship though none of them talked about the romance openly. It was an awkward topic which the trio side-stepped at every opportunity.
There was no conversation en route. John drove silently. Griffin kept rechecking his field notes while Cassie and Erik looked out of opposite windows at the nonexistent scenery. The monotony of the experience was only broken once when Cassie cried, “What’s that?”
Out in the desert about a quarter mile to the left of the car, a vertical column of sand was spinning in the air.
Peering out the window on her side of the vehicle, Erik said, “It looks like a dust devil.”
“To me, it looks like a tornado or maybe a water spout,” the pythia replied.
“Well, it’s the same principle. Only with sand,” the paladin retorted.
“They are quite common around here,” their guide explained. “We call them ‘ghost’s wind.’”
After that brief moment of excitement, they all lapsed back into silence.
About halfway through their journey, John pulled off the highway next to an odd little roadside establishment. It was a lean-to made of vertical sticks driven into the sand with adobe bricks and rocks piled up around the perimeter as makeshift walls. Overhead cover was provided by palm leaves stretched over a frame of more sticks. A few donkeys and camels were tethered outside.
Eyeing the structure skeptically, Cassie asked, “So, is this the desert equivalent of a Sonic Drive-In?”
“Sonic?” John repeated uncertainly as they all climbed out to stretch their legs.
“She means is this a place to stop and eat?” Erik explained.
“Oh, yes.” John nodded. “The coffee here is very good.”
Cassie grew alert at the magic word. “Coffee?” she echoed hopefully.
Even though she’d had more than one cup at the hotel that morning, her usual travel fatigue was kicking in with a vengeance.
“Yes, come inside and try some.” John led them into the shade of the lean-to.
The interior seemed cool and dark after the glare of the desert. A few men were seated on benches conversing with one another. They were dressed in the white cotton gown called a jellabiya which seemed to be the national costume in this part of the world. A woman in a black abiyah sat apart in the corner. Cassie did a double-take when she noticed that the woman held a cell phone in her hand and seemed to be texting someone. A man wearing a turban and a yellow jellabiya sat cross-legged on the ground where he tended an urn over a small fire. There were several clay dishes on the ground in front of him filled with powders of different colors.
“You can tell him what you want in your coffee. Point to the spice you like,” John instructed.
“Really?” Cassie bent down to examine the intriguing contents of the dishes. She recognized cinnamon and nutmeg among the mix.
The coffee vendor didn’t speak English, but after much smiling,
