“Wolfgang! Better late than never,” Edric called from the far side of the room.
Wolfgang blushed, glancing around the room to see Lyle sitting behind a computer at the table and Kevin standing next to the minibar, mixing a cocktail. Megan sat by herself next to the window, right where she had the first time he’d met her four months prior. She leaned against the wall with her legs crossed and stared out at the gleaming Gateway Arch only a half mile away. She wore yoga pants and a loose-fitting shirt that fell an inch short of her waistline. She was beautiful in a simple, elegant way. He loved that.
“Like a drink, Wolf?” Kevin’s commanding voice boomed from the minibar, and the big man offered Wolfgang a reserved nod.
“A Sprite would be great,” Wolfgang said.
Kevin reached for the soda as Wolfgang settled into a chair. This was Charlie Team—an elite detachment of SPIRE, a company specializing in professional espionage services. They worked for whoever could pay their hefty fees, conducting specialized undercover missions around the globe. Their diverse capabilities were prominently advertised in their name: Sabotage, Procurement, Infiltration, Retaliation, and Entrapment. SPIRE did it all.
Wolfgang joined Charlie Team earlier that summer after working for SPIRE as an independent operator for three years, conducting corporate espionage and entrapment rackets in mostly American cities. Now his missions would carry him around the globe. In June, the team had barely survived a delicate operation in Paris, which almost cost a great deal more than their own lives. Wolfgang thrived on that mission, winning the respect of the rest of the team, but failing to win everything he really wanted.
As Megan sat next to the window, he heard her words play back from moments before they left Paris. “I like you, Wolfgang. But you should know . . . I’ll never become involved with somebody on my team again.”
Wolfgang looked away, shoving his feelings deep inside a mental box and locking them there. Megan was right, after all. They were a team. They had a job to do. Getting involved with each other didn’t play a part in that.
“Here you go.” Kevin offered Wolfgang the Sprite with another reserved nod.
Kevin was Megan’s half-brother, and prior to the Paris mission, he was about as friendly with Wolfgang as a dog with a burglar. Wolfgang could still feel the awkward tension between them, fueled predominantly by Kevin’s suspicions that Wolfgang was making a play for his sister, but at least Kevin was handing him drinks now instead of throwing punches. Wolfgang could appreciate the progress.
“Thanks, Kev.”
Wolfgang sipped the soda as Edric approached his favored whiteboard and produced a red marker. Edric’s right arm rode in a sling, almost recovered from his two-point break in Damascus a few months prior, but still limited in mobility. The injury had hamstrung Edric in Paris, and Wolfgang wondered how much it would limit them on whatever mission lay ahead.
“I hope guys had a nice break. We’re back at it, and we’re going someplace warm.”
Edric started scratching on the board, and Wolfgang wondered why he bothered. It seemed needlessly time-consuming and repetitious.
“Cairo,” Edric said, stepping back. “We’re going to Cairo.”
Edric grinned at the room as if he were awaiting a standing ovation, but Cairo wasn’t exactly the warm, exotic locale Wolfgang had imagined. Nassau or Fiji would’ve hit the spot. Havana, even. Cairo?
Edric sighed, then turned to the board and drew a large triangle. “Cairo,” he said. “Great Pyramids?”
Lyle started slow-clapping, and the others quickly joined in. Edric rolled his eyes and motioned to the table. “You’re all jerks. Gather up.”
Megan, Kevin, and Wolfgang joined Lyle at the table.
“Three weeks ago,” Edric said, “a construction worker laboring on an apartment building in the Libyan village of Al Jawf uncovered a stone case that housed an ancient papyrus scroll inscribed with hieroglyphics. It seems he didn’t really know what he’d found, but he thought it might be valuable, so he went into town and found an American W.H.O. worker and tried to sell it. The American had enough education to recognize the extreme age of the scroll and bought it from him, then called Libyan authorities.”
Edric wrote on the board the entire time he spoke, sketching words such as scroll and W.H.O. and connecting them with a mess of lines that, at first glance, made the entire story appear to be the structure of an elaborate bank heist.
“The Libyans deployed some researchers to take a look, and they determined the scroll to date back to around one thousand B.C., possibly a relic of the Library of Alexandria. Obviously a valuable find.”
“Why do I detect the sordid stench of impending corruption?” Kevin asked.
Edric just smirked. “The Libyans confiscated the scroll from the W.H.O. worker and contacted Egyptian authorities. Apparently, Libya hasn’t got much interest in ancient literature, but they thought they could make a quick buck. After some haggling, Egypt agreed to purchase the scroll. They sent scientists to authenticate it, then placed it in a protective, vacuum-sealed case . . .”
“And lost it,” Megan finished.
Edric jabbed the marker at her. “Bingo. Someplace between Al Jawf and Cairo—amid a thousand kilometers of Sahara desert—the case went missing, along with its escorts.”
“They drove straight through the desert?” Megan asked.
“Yep. The research team from Cairo hasn’t been seen or heard from in six days, but one of the Land Rovers used in convoy turned up in southern Egypt earlier this week, riddled with bullet holes.”
“Shit,” Kevin muttered.
“What’s the value of the scroll?” Wolfgang asked.
Edric shrugged. “The Egyptians bought it for one hundred twelve thousand Libyan dinars. About twenty-five thousand dollars, US.”
“Not a lot to kill for,” Wolfgang said.
“No, not really,” Edric said. “Except the Egyptians believe the scroll was worth more than ancient porn. Almost none of it was readable without restoration, but what snippets they gathered indicate the document to be some kind of burial record. The map
