Shoving her belongings back into the cross-body bag, she slung it over her shoulder, grabbed her backpack and set off for her hotel on foot. It was less than a mile away and she wanted to get a feel for the city. Tomorrow, she’d be up early and visit Taposiris Magna in person.
Walking through the streets of Alexandria, Dallas felt a frisson of excitement. On these very streets, the queen of the Nile had walked. Or maybe been carried by young men fanning her with palm leaves? And this, Dallas thought, is where Cleopatra’s younger brother’s devious plan to win over Caesar had famously backfired when the teenage boy had produced the head of Caesar’s enemy, Pompey, to the Roman ruler as a gift. Rather than be grateful, Caesar had been disgusted and saddened shortly after aligned himself with Cleopatra after she snuck into his chambers and seduced him.
Dallas inhaled deeply. The air had the briny scent of the nearby Mediterranean Sea combined with cardamom, coffee, and falafel. The scent of food made Dallas’s stomach grumble. She veered off to a small sidewalk cart and thrust her money at the older man in exchange for a falafel and fava bean sandwich that she ate as she walked.
In her excitement, she dialed Colton. It went straight to voice mail. He was most likely on his transatlantic flight right then.
“Colton? I wish you were here. I’m in Alexandria. I’m freaking out a little. Cairo was great, of course, but this was Cleopatra’s home! Did you know it was once one of the greatest cities in the world? The only city bigger and richer was Rome.” She paused for breath. “Yes, I am fully nerding out—oh my God! I can see the fort where the lighthouse was. I can’t believe I’m seeing one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. O.M.G. And the water, it’s so blue. Better go now. This call might be costing me a fortune. Hurry up and get here already, McCloud!”
She hung up and continued, walking wide-eyed through the city centre. She’d wished she’d brought a better scarf instead of the flimsy pink one on her head so she could fit in with the local Muslim women and not stand out like the tourist she was. She stopped and bought a giant scarf and wrapped it around her head and then felt more incognito, which was how she wanted to feel after being targeted in her home town and in Egypt. Dragging a suitcase behind her with it clunking along on the street behind her didn’t help her case, either.
When she reached her hotel, she realized it was basically a hostel. A tiny room with a bunk bed. The bathroom had mismatched tiles and exposed green piping sticking out of rough patches of plaster in the wall, but it was clean and didn’t appear to have bugs. And frankly, she’d slept in worse in North Dakota as a kid. After a long day of driving and then visiting Mt. Rushmore her parents found the hotel they’d booked online. The online description failed to mention the dead cockroaches brushed behind the bathroom door, nor the flimsy lock or broken down full-size refrigerator with the door hanging off it that stood ominously at the end of the beds. (They’d slept in sleeping bags until about two in the morning when her mother couldn’t take anymore and packed them up to start driving home.)
She was glad she hadn’t been fooled by the fancy name of this Egyptian hotel. The Alexander the Great House, was a steal for $20 a night in her book. Especially when she drew the curtains. Holy smokes. There it was—the Mediterranean Sea. Blue for as far as she could see. Awesome.
Dallas set up her laptop while perched on the edge of the bottom bunk bed and searched through her bag for the small embroidered patch. Propping it up on the pillow so she could see it as she typed, Dallas searched for information on it.
Twenty minutes later, she’d discovered that an identical image that was on the patch was the symbol of the Daughters of Isis.
Dallas thought back to the women in Tahrir Square who had taken her bag.
She had to assume the older woman was a decoy and accomplice in the robbery.
Maybe the two women had felt bad when they realized Dallas wasn’t some rich tourist and that’s why they returned her bag and money. But it still didn’t explain why they left that patch inside and took the SIM card. They hadn’t seemed to wish her harm. The patch clearly had to be some sort of message. But what had they been looking for in the first place?
Dallas was nearly certain that the crimes—the two burglaries back home and the robbery in Cairo—were not connected. That meant two people—or two groups—were after something she had. But what?
It had to be connected to her hunt for Cleopatra. Were they interested in her findings, her research, her theories on Cleopatra’s tomb? Or something else?
The sun was growing low, and although she wasn’t super hungry after her falafel and fava sandwich Dallas also didn’t think it would be wise to go hunting for food in the dark of a new city—not after her Cairo experience—so she headed out to look for some food to bring back to her room for a late dinner.
Outside her hotel, Dallas paused, trying to decide which direction to head. But then decided to head toward the waterfront. It was a good call.
She was soon armed with a large, fragrant, paper-wrapped bundle containing a fava bean dip, baladi bread, and a squid dish with tomato, onion, chili, and cilantro.
Dallas settled into her room and
