Mysterious Cairo (35 page)

The real danger was, of course, the men and organizations he constantly informed on, and this was the beauty of the ruse. The criminal element of Cairo actually considered One-eye as one of their own, and had sometimes even gone out of their way to protect his "civil rights."

Besides, he wasn't above helping out those self-same crime lords in a pinch. Gunner hoped now wasn't one of those times.

He slid him a bag of coins under the table. Several of the bar patrons saw the exchange, and returned their attention to the various fluids which beckoned them.

One-eye grabbed the sack, but Gunner refused to release it. In low tones, Hayes asked "Thieves, thugs, something. Red outfits, red turbans, scimitars. Who are they, One-eye?"

One-eye swallowed hard. Over the years, Gunner had used One-eye's links to the Cairo underworld many times. Never before had he looked quite as startled as he did now. His one good eye, the right one, turned to stare into the gaze of the man who had asked the question. Soon, he broke the stare, returning to his lentil soup only when he realized that Gunner was serious. He whispered through his unkempt beard, "That product is currently unavailable."

Gunner caught on, saw that someone was watching, and replied, "Then when will it
be
available?"

"Never!"
he said quickly and started to rise, but Gunner grabbed the old man by the waist of his pants and slammed him back into the hard bench. The commotion did not go unnoticed.

"I said I wanted
two,
you old fool!" he grumbled in a voice just loud enough to seem as if it wasn't supposed to be heard.

Yishara noticed that Gunner had played this expertly. The other men in the bar were mostly Egyptians, men with good reason to hate any Yankee that came in here, especially one who was shoving around an old man. Their hatred for Gunner was almost as good as support for One-eye. Hayes was transferring their suspicion and their hatred onto himself.

"Then your figure is too low, American."

Gunner took a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket, shoved them towards the Arab and said, "Then name your price."

One-eye took the pen and wrote something in Egyptian, then passed the pen and the pad back. Hayes grabbed the items, stuffed them in his pocket, and added several more royals to the bag of coins, then offered the sack back to One-eye. One-eye took the money and passed back a small, clear bag with a white powder inside. The customers of the Drunken Dervish were satisfied, and returned their attentions once again to their own affairs.

Gunner stood, nodded at Yishara, and began to walk towards the door. One-eye placed his hand on Yishara's arm before she rose and whispered, "These men are not thieves." He glanced around one final time, "They are assassins." Yishara nodded, trying to disguise her shock, and followed Hayes out of the room. She managed to avoid the majority of the glares which probed at her nubile figure.

"Rough place," she said when she was back in the street.

"Yes," was the only reply. "And things are getting worse. Something's heating up in the Cairo underworld." Raven looked inquisitively at him, but Gunner was looking at the words written by the aging informant. "Nothing to do with us," he mumbled, still puzzling over the paper, "but this is."

"What?"
She asked impatiently.

He showed her the paper: two words, scrawled hastily — "crescent blade."

"Ever heard of this?" Gunner asked.

"No. But One-eye told me they were assassins"

Gunner looked offended, "When did he tell you that?"

"Just now, as we were leaving."

"Hmmph," he grumbled.

It was the funniest thing Yishara had seen in a while, and it almost brought a smile to her otherwise gloomy face.

"What are you going to do with that?" she asked suspiciously, poking the pocket containing the bag of white powder.

"I don't know. Probably make some cookies."

"What?" she demanded. "With opium?"

"No, with flour. Do you think One-eye is going to give away his valuable opium when I'm gonna pay him anyway?"

"
Touche
," she smiled.

They walked for a while, quietly theorizing about the mysterious Crescent Blade, the actions that they should take, and the best way to find out more about the them. The two walked through tangled meat markets and rows of stands selling everything from powdered lipstick to "authentic Arabian daggers." Their conversations were often drowned out by the emphatic bargaining of the men and women who haggled for lower prices, or the distraught vendors who tried to resist. Somehow, the hectic confusion of the Cairo marketplace and the casual conversation about their plans calmed the two of them, and Yishara noticed that the crazy man which lived behind Gunner's eyes seemed to nap for a while, giving Hayes a little time of his own.

They decided to check a few other sources, and on the way had time to tell each other of some of their previous adventures. Gunner told Yishara about his constant troubles with a weird scientist named Doctor Mangler and his strange biological creations, and Yis-hara told him about her encounters with a cat-burglar from the Cyberpapacy (of all places) who called himself "Midnight," or
Minuit
in French. They also talked about such famous criminals as the Asp, the infamous Tarot Gang, their occasional encounters with these villains, and the best way to defeat them.

By four in the afternoon, Gunner and Yishara found out little more. One other contact, a newspaper vendor named Ajim Alatar, confirmed that the Crescent Blade was indeed an ancient order of assassins, but insisted that their order died out hundreds of years ago. Apparently, many aspects of ancient Egypt had been revived under the axioms of the New Nile. Neither of Hayes' informants knew where the Crescent Blade might be basing their operations, and neither had known anyone rumored to be a member.

They arrived back at Gunner's apartment around five, and Yishara told him that she was going to go home, change, and meet him later. Hayes suggested sharing dinner at the newly opened Shadow of the Sphinx restaurant, and Yishara agreed.

The Shadow of the Sphinx was established primarily for European travelers. The recent war with Israel and the hostilities with the western world had restricted passage for most of Europe, but enough curiosity seekers and diplomats had crossed the channel from Spain to provide for a lucrative tourist trade. Besides all that, Cairo had been all but abandoned by the Pharaoh "because of the rampant crime and corruption" that sprang up since the axiom wash.

The Shadow of the Sphinx aimed at giving these tourists a "taste" of Ancient Egypt. The posh entrance way was lined with the statues of the gods; Osiris, Isis, Horus, Anubis, Thoth, Ra, and (to Gunner's discomfort) Set, all greeted the customer as he walked down the gauntlet of deities. The interior was typical of North African restaurants — the patrons generally sat around a long, low table with thick cushions instead of chairs. Fare consisted of such things as lamb shish ke-bab, vegetable soup, and water or soda, the latter a real treat in embargoed Egypt. Yishara and Gunner were seated, and apathetically watched the gyrations of a plump belly-dancer as they waited to be served. The waiter, dressed in traditional skirt, sandals, and headdress (a uniform remarkably similar to Mobius' shocktroopers) brought them hand towels. Gunner noticed that the colors of the waiter's headdress were gold and blue, an ambiguous combination of colors which could have signaled allegiance to Mobius or simply a throwback to such Pharaohs as Tutankhamen or Ramses.

"So what's our next move?" Yishara asked as the waiter retrieved the used hand towels.

"It would seem that a group such as the Crescent Blade would be in the employ of someone else. Do you agree?"

"Hmmm. Yes. I don't suppose assassins generally just look for people to murder without promise of payment from someone."

"Correct. So, what we must determine is the employer's identity. We have both agreed that the trap didn't seem to be set for you in particular. The nature of the ruse seems to indicate that the villains were looking for anyone who bothered to stick their nose into the alley. We also know that the big one was carrying something important in his sash, something that the others didn't want us to find, and something that only one of them had access to."

"Why can't we just stake out the alley again tonight and catch one? I can make him talk," Yishara asked impatiently.

Gunner glanced suspiciously at Yishara, and returned his gaze nervously to the steaming spearmint tea which was set before him. "Yes. I'm sure you could. And we will. But first, let's try to reason this out." He sipped his drink, found it was too hot, and blew into the cup. His breath rippled the murky liquid, and he said "Tell me again what happened before you got to me."

Yishara told him the events of the previous night once more, but this time she remembered an important detail. "Wait!" she yelped excitedly. "There was one other thing! When I tumbled off the roof onto the awning, I looked up and saw him doing something strange ... like he was cleaning his sword."

Gunner's eyes sparkled, "The sword with your blood on it?"

"Yes," she answered with a mixed look of confusion and revelation.

Hayes narrowed his eyes and stared balefully at the young girl. "Then you are in greater danger than I thought."

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"I can think of only one reason that someone would want your blood. I don't know the specifics of course, but I can only guess that someone is using your blood as the contagion for some arcane ritual."

Yishara had been following intently, but suddenly her countenance changed, and she looked doubtful. "The
what
for the
what?
How do you know?"

"Your blood could be part of a magic spell—to control or kill you," Gunner sipped at his drink calmly. "I know these things because I have studied the ways of Mobius and his priests. Such things are required for the dark miracles granted by the gods of the New Nile!"

He was beginning to sound a little melodramatic.

Yishara thought he reminded her of the radio shows which had recently been revived in the realm, but the Shroud had assisted her on more than one occasion, and had even been inducted into the insular Mystery Men. It had even been rumored that Dr. Alexus Frest himself had invited the Shroud into the ranks of such legendary figures as the Guardian and "Diamond Jack" Murphy. He had even been seen in the company of the Whisper — a loner by all accounts. With this in mind, she demurred to her senior's experience, and quietly finished her meal.

* * *

The rain struck again. It was unusual to have this much rain in North Africa, but the unexpected showers and the gloom which accompanied them provided excellent cover for the two figures crouched on a balcony overlooking the so-called "Alley of Death." The balcony belonged to a building which might once have been an office place, but was now only a broken shelter for rats and the occasional squatter who lived there. Both wore the costumes which hid their private identities from the public world, and the mystical cape hung limply from Gunner 's neck. The backside of the cape had been reinforced with heavy black denim to protect the ancient cloth from the elements and other natural hazards.

Yishara was again wearing her satin outfit, but had hastily added a long, hooded cape to shield her from the worst of the rain. She had designed it so that it could be removed quickly. A quick pull at a cord strung through the collar would cause it to fall instantly from her shoulders.

Both costumed heroes wore black leather boots, made muddy by the nightly rains. The only articles on the pair which weren't black were the silvery talons secured to the wrists and hands of the Raven, and these were kept well hidden by her newly designed cloak.

They had cased the alley earlier in the evening, shortly after their dinner at the Shadow of the Sphinx. The combination of abandoned building and strategically placed balcony had made their decision for them, and they had climbed the cluttered stairs inside precisely at 10:30 p.m. It was now 12:15 a.m. and Raven's patience was beginning to wear thin. Her side ached, and she wanted it over. This was the part of the hunt that she hated most, the waiting. Her hatred was fed by action and, particularly, by the violence which followed. She was just about to suggest that the previous night's fight may have ruined their trap when a lone man walked into the alley from the far entrance.

The figure walked slowly and appeared to wear a long, grey beard, though it was hard to tell in the perpetual gloom. The Shroud moved from a sitting position to a crouch upon his toes, and Yishara unconsciously ran her index finger along the sharp metal of the opposing talon. Adrenalin now pumping, the pain in her side went unnoticed. The figure walked slowly up the alley, occasionally pausing nervously as if he had heard of the street's reputation, but had dire business within its bowels. He reached a point not thirty meters from the balcony when the assassins struck.

Two red-suited, scimitar swinging figures leapt from a dark niche in the opposing street. Yishara swallowed hard, realizing that they had been virtually staring at the invisible killers. The old man saw their approach but froze with fear. The Shroud silently leapt the balcony's metal railing and landed roughly ten feet below, the Raven landing only inches behind him. They managed to reach the startled figure before the thugs and placed themselves between the hunters and their quarry. To Raven and the Shroud's horror, the two men stopped and laughed heartily. Realization dawned: they had been set up.