“With all due respect, Mr. President, if this plan isn’t successful, it won’t matter if you hold me responsible or not.”
Michaels watched Bozeman slip out of the room.
Returning to his seat, Michaels slumped in the chair. He waited a few moments before checking his watch. A knock on the door from his secret service detail let him know it was safe to come out.
But Michaels preferred to remain in the room, indefinitely if he could. But responsibility awaited him—and he dreaded the day when he’d have to own up to the decision he just made. It wouldn’t be pleasant.
CHAPTER 11
Cairo, Egypt
HAWK AND ALEX KNOCKED on the door of Dr. Tarek Ngozi’s office. It was situated on the fifth floor at the northeastern corner of the Cairo University archeology department building. After a few seconds, the door swung open and a man holding a gold pocket watch greeted them cautiously.
“May I help you?” he asked, his gaze bouncing between the time piece and the two visitors.
Hawk offered his hand. “Gerald McMurtry, and this is Ava Dawson. We’re graduate students from Stanford University, and we were interested in joining you on your current dig.”
Ngozi chuckled. “You could have sent me an email first. I hope you didn’t come all this way just to try and get on one of my digs because I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Dr. Ngozi, I have admired your work for quite some time,” Alex said. “It would be an honor just to talk with you about your current dig.”
Ngozi shrugged and gestured for them to enter his office. “If you’ve come all this way, I surely wouldn’t be so rude as to turn you away for a short conversation.”
“Thank you,” Alex said as she went into the room first with Hawk right on her heels.
“Please, have a seat,” Ngozi said. “Would either of you like a cup of tea?”
“Absolutely,” Alex said.
“Might as well,” Hawk added.
Ngozi smiled. “Excellent. I had just started heating up a pot. It will be ready shortly.”
He lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, while Hawk and Alex sat in the pair of chairs opposite Ngozi. Behind Ngozi, Hawk paused to study how the Cairo skyline provided a picturesque backdrop for the Nile River, which snaked its way southward just a block away.
Ngozi clasped his hands together and rested them on the surface in front of him. “So, Mrs. Dawson, how familiar are you with my current dig?”
“Familiar enough to know that it’s of great interest to me and my PhD research.”
“So I presume you want to become the next expert on early biblical texts?”
She nodded. “And the buzz on one of the archaeological chat rooms I frequent says you might have already discovered the Severus Scroll.”
Ngozi wagged his index finger and clucked his tongue. “Big mistake, Mrs. Dawson. You can’t believe everything you hear on those websites. After all, it’s the Internet where—”
Alex slammed a picture of Dr. Ngozi with the Severus Scroll on his desk. “Spare me the lecture, Doc. I know the rumors are true.”
Ngozi picked up the picture, his face transforming from a pleasant smile to a scowl. “Where did you get this?”
“That’s not important,” Hawk said.
Ngozi set his jaw and stood. “Who are you people really?”
Hawk ignored his question. “We need you to help us set up a meeting with Malik Bashir.”
“Who?” Ngozi said with a knit brow.
“Don’t play coy with us, Dr. Ngozi,” Hawk said. “We know you’re quite familiar with this man.”
“I’m afraid you’ve confused me with someone else. I have no idea who—”
“The Missile Man,” Hawk said. “You sold him a Dead Sea scroll under the table.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Ngozi said.
Neither Hawk nor Alex moved. From across the room, Ngozi’s mini electric kettle beeped, signifying the water was ready.
Hawk pulled the right side of his jacket out a few inches, revealing his gun. “But we haven’t even had our tea.”
Ngozi took a deep breath and shuffled across the room toward the kettle before pouring out three cups. He returned with Hawk’s and Alex’s mugs along with a small wooden box of tea bags that included an assortment of flavors.
The trio all selected a tea bag and dropped it into their mugs to let it steep. Ngozi settled into his chair and leaned back.
“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do,” Ngozi said. “That man is dangerous, and he’s going to kill me if he ever finds out we even had a discussion.”
Hawk bobbed his tea bag in the steaming water. “I’m going to make sure he never finds out.”
“And how will do that? You have no idea about his vast network of spies and incredible reach. It’s impossible to escape from his clutches.”
Hawk glanced at his gun. “I was thinking about a more permanent solution to that kind of problem.”
“I admire your confidence, Mr. McMurtry, but I have no idea how you intend to get close enough to Mr. Bashir’s compound to see him, let alone kill him.”
“Leave that to us,” Alex said.
Ngozi sighed and spun slowly in his chair, stopping briefly to stare outside. When he turned back around to face Hawk and Alex, Ngozi’s eyes were narrowed.
“I’m sorry,” he began, “but I can’t help you. No matter how much you threaten me—whoever you really are—it would pale in comparison with what Mr. Bashir would do if he ever found out I spoke with you.”
“I’d like to ask you to reconsider,” Hawk said as he slid his hand down toward his gun.
Ngozi shook his head and held out his right hand. “Stop right there, Mr. McMurtry. We both know you’re not going to use that gun on me. Besides, if you kill me, you’ll never get to meet the man you’re obviously so desperate to kill or steal from or whatever your intention is. And I happen to be one of the only civilians who has ever seen his mountainside home. I doubt you want to defeat the purpose of
