Chapter 4 - Shadows in the City
The local police outpost at the desert oasis was baffled by my presence, but Tariq stood beside me like a protective uncle, shouting in rapid Arabic until an officer who spoke English was summoned. I knew that if I filed an official police report in the middle of nowhere, the bureaucracy would take days, Tyler would be notified through consular channels, and they would hop on the first international flight out of Cairo before anyone could stop them.
I made a calculated choice. I asked only for a phone and transportation to the American Embassy in Cairo.
It was nearly midnight when a state patrol cruiser dropped me off at the fortified gates of the embassy near Tahrir Square. My clothes were torn, my face was sunburned raw, and I looked like a vagrant, but the moment I gave the duty officer my Social Security number and the name of James Morrison, the wheels of government began to turn. Within three hours, consular staff had verified my identity through digitized passport records, provided me with an emergency travel document, and arranged a secure room at a nearby hotel.
At six in the morning, I sat by the hotel window with a cup of strong coffee, dialing James Morrison’s private line in Minneapolis. Because of the eight-hour time difference, it was ten o'clock the previous night at home.
"James," I said when the line clicked.
"Sarah? Good heavens, are you alright? Madison called me four hours ago in hysterics!" James’s voice was breathless with alarm. "She said you wandered away from your tour group near the Giza plateau during a dust storm. She said the local authorities were dragging the canal and that they feared the worst!"
A cold smile touched my lips. "Did she ask about the power of attorney, James?"
There was a long pause on the other end. "Sarah... how did you know that? Tyler called me right after Madison hung up. He asked if there was an emergency provision to unfreeze your primary checking accounts so they could hire private search teams."
"Listen to me very carefully, James," I said, leaning toward the glass, watching the sun rise over the minarets of Cairo. "They didn't lose me. They drove me eighty miles into the desert, told me they needed Robert's money now, and drove away laughing. If two farmers hadn't found me by an irrigation ditch, I would be a corpse right now."
I heard the sound of papers scattering on James’s desk, followed by a low, furious curse from a man who had known our family for thirty years.
"They tried to murder you," James whispered, horrified.
"Yes," I said calmly. "And they think they succeeded. Where are they now?"
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"They booked a flight back to New York on EgyptAir, leaving Cairo tomorrow afternoon," James said, his voice now sharp as an icepick. "They told me they were too traumatized to stay in the country. Sarah, what do you want me to do? I can have the FBI waiting at JFK the second their plane lands."
"No," I replied, feeling Robert's meticulous patience settling into my bones. "An arrest at the airport will turn into a messy jurisdictional dispute over foreign soil. They'll claim it was a misunderstanding, that I got lost, that they panicked. I want them to think they won. I want them back in Minneapolis, sitting in your office, signing the paperwork they crave so much. I want to look Madison in the eyes when the trap springs."
