Scorpion Scheme Page 9

  "What about them?"

  "Please, Dr. Sze. It's better for you, it's healthier—" She winced at her own phone's incessant bleating and walked away from me. She waved and called over her shoulder, "It's safer for you and Dr. Tucker to leave all of this alone. Please!"

  15

  "I could treat you to a cup of tea or coffee," said Muhamed, the tour guide from the bus, who wore a grey turban and caftan again today. He gestured toward a restaurant on the other side of the road, opposite the hospital. We'd have to cross a minimum of two smoggy lanes of traffic and two lanes of parked cars to get to it.

  "Oh, I should treat you. I'm the one who invited you." I felt awkward without Tucker, who had to stay late to chart on the acute side, even though both of us had technically finished our shifts.

  "You are my guest. Please." He stood still, waiting for me to decide. Despite the exhaust fumes and a siren in the distance, he emanated a sense of calm.

  "That's okay. I don't really drink coffee or tea." I took a few deep breaths and migrated toward the shade of a lone tree. The rain had paused, and the sun briefly poked its head out.

  Muhamed nodded gravely. "Would you like to go for a walk instead?"

  I nodded. I'd have to carry my back pack, but I get depressed when I'm stuck in-hospital all day. "I'd also like to see the city, if that's okay. Dr. Tucker said he'll text me when he's done, maybe in the next half hour."

  "Of course. I would be happy to see him."

  As we walked along the sidewalk, trying to avoid the three inches of water that had accumulated in the road, I studied Muhamed's lean and weathered but sincere face. Just standing beside him felt good. He didn't feel pressured to chit chat. His calm somehow overrode the cacophony of a truck honking, a motorcycle beeping, and the construction grinding further up the block.

  I took a deep breath—mistake. Smog—and began. "I’ve been trying to figure out what happened with the IED."

  Muhamed inclined his head, thinking about it too. "Yes, I find it very troubling. We all pray the rest of the tourists will be well and that we may move on from this tragedy."

  "Do you have clear memories leading up to the IED?"

  "Yes, I was speaking into my microphone. I explained that the Grand Egyptian Museum contained an unprecedented number of artifacts, including the complete collection of King Tutankhamun, and had been built only two kilometres away from the Giza Pyramids. And then, the explosion."

  "Where were you sitting?"

  "I was sitting behind the driver, on the left."

  The bus had caved in on the middle of the right side. Muhamed had been somewhat protected. Before I could pursue that thought, he added, "If only Allah had seen fit to hit my side instead of Mr. Becker's."

  "Gosh, Mr. Muhamed, I don't think—"

  "When a tourist dies, it is bad, very bad. But if an old Nubian man dies ... " He shrugged.

  "You’re not old." I’d guess he was 50, give or take a decade. "Your family would miss you very much."

  He nodded. "That is true." He added a phrase in Arabic, and I thought I caught the word Allah. "It was His will that you and Dr. Tucker were there."

  "Oh. I’m glad you think so. I was trying my best to look after Mr. Becker. His daughter said he was talking about—" I hesitated, then decided to go for it. "A mongoose and treasure. Do you know what a mongoose is?" I held up my phone, ready with a picture of what, to me, looked like a brown ferret or a weasel with tiny, sharp teeth, standing on its hind legs.

  His eyebrows lifted toward his turban. "Rudyard Kipling wrote about Rikki-tikki-tavi, a grey mongoose who becomes the pet of a British family in India. He said they're very curious."

  "Right! I remember Rikki-tikki-tavi killing the cobras that threatened their baby. Do you know of mongoose—mongooses—in Egypt?"

  He tilted his head to the side. "It's possible. I've not heard of them in Cairo."

  "You do have cobras, though?"

  "There is an Egyptian cobra, sometimes called an asp, which was most famously implicated in Cleopatra's death, although scholars say this may be more legend than fact. The Egyptian cobra is the second largest cobra on the continent of Africa." He chuckled at my face. "Don't worry, Dr. Sze. I have never seen a cobra except at the Giza Zoo. Even the scorpions don't like Cairo. Too busy!"

  I forced a laugh. I've been checking my running shoes every morning regardless.

  "As for treasure, you have to remember that ancient Egypt lies beneath our feet. Modern Egypt was built on top of it. We've located 30 percent of Egyptian monuments, but 70 percent are still underground. We're still finding monuments in Aswan or Heliopolis," he said.

  Oh, he was good. He'd anticipated exactly where I was going.

  "Many tourists assume we've already found everything, particularly in Cairo, but did you hear about the 26-foot statue of King Psamtik I, extracted from the mud in 2017?"

  I shook my head.

  "It made international headlines. Colossal quartzite statue of ancient Egypt's most powerful ruler pulled out of the mud of a Cairo slum! They believed it was a depiction of Pharaoh Ramses II, but later learned it honored King Psamtik I, who came to power in 664 BC, uniting the empire by seizing control of Upper Egypt from the Nubian Twenty-Fifth Dynasty, fighting off Libyan marauders, and encouraging Greek settlers."

  My brain balked, trying to harness all these facts, and paused on one I could grasp. "How could you hide 26 feet of statue in a Cairo slum?"

  "The reporters called it a slum or a working class neighborhood, Dr. Sze. I would call it El Matareya." The syllables rolled off his tongue. "You'll find it east of the Nile, in the northern part of Greater Cairo, closer to the airport. During the Pharaohs' reign, Matareya formed part of the ancient city known as On in the Hebrew Scriptures, later called Heliopolis by the Greeks. It's the site to worship the sun gods known as Atum and Ra, sometimes merged and called Ra-Atum or Atum-Ra."

  "Wow." I paused to absorb the most Egyptian history of my life and was startled to see at least six grey, skinny cats with white bellies and legs who were leaning in the shade of a short concrete wall. I admired them but didn't dare approach them as I tried to formulate my thoughts. "So I guess there are a lot of archaeologists in Matareya."

  Muhamed smiled and shook his head. "Far more ordinary people live in the area. In southern Cairo, the archaeological site of al-Ma'adi, which predated even the pharaohs—has been turned into a car park."

  I gasped. One cat zipped further down the wall, as if I'd scared it. Two others stared at me.

  "Yes, and looting is everywhere. An entire tomb was taken from the Giza Plateau in 2014. So to answer your question briefly, Dr. Sze, we have many treasures in Egypt, but even more people who want to relieve us of them."

  Guilt stabbed me. Tucker and I wanted treasure too, but the antiquities here already belonged to the people. The heat seemed to rise off the wet pavement and steam my skin. "I understand."

  He tilted his head from side to side. "It's funny, I didn't hear Mr. Becker talking about a mongoose. Or treasure."

  "Oh! You understand Afrikaans?"

  He nodded as one cat yawned and began licking its paws. "To some extent. I was a translator before I became a tour guide. My focus is mainly on Arabic and English, but I developed a basic understanding of a few other languages in order to facilitate relationships."

  "Wonderful." Embarrassment flooded through me. I had never asked this distinguished man why he spoke such good English. Of course it would be adaptive for an Egyptian to learn maximal languages in a tourist-based economy.

  "He was mainly talking about his bad luck," said Muhamed, ignoring my discomfort.

  A cat, slightly bigger than the others, stared past me and hissed, revealing its sharp canines.

  "His bad luck," I repeated blankly.

  The fierce cat's tail twitched. A car honked, as if in reply.

  "'We are so unlucky.' 'This is all my fault.' 'I knew this would happen.' 'I never should have done it.'"

  I perke
d up. "Never should have done what?"

  He shook his head and checked the time. "I didn't hear an explanation." He smiled at the cats. "Did you know the first kitten was named Nedjem, which means 'sweetness' or 'sweet one'? It lived during the reign of Thutmose III, which ended in 1425 BCE." Then he beckoned me to turn back toward the hospital, leaving the cats behind.

  "Cute. I mean, how sweet." I struggled to make a nice segue back to the IED and gave up on subtlety. "Did you hear Mr. Becker say the word Kruger?"

  Muhamed shook his head and ushered me to the inward part of the sidewalk as an overburdened truck drove by with a mattress tied to its roof. The truck's wheels splashed his legs. "No, but I had others to care for. We wanted to bring the ambulances and the police in without too much coverage from the media. He did say something about his hand."

  Hmm. I hadn't noticed anything wrong with Mr. Becker's hand, but I might've been distracted by the nail in his head.

  I sighed. The most obvious explanation why Mr. Becker was "so unlucky" and "never should have done it"? The bombed bus. Dead end. Literally.

  I shielded my face from raindrops that had started to fall once again. "Thanks for your help, Muhamed."

  "You're welcome, Dr. Sze. It's an honour to help you."

  I half-laughed. "An honour?" Maybe his English wasn't quite as good as I'd imagined.

  He smiled at me as the hospital's palm trees came back into our view. "I should also mention that my granddaughter likes to follow you on Instagram."

  "Oh!"

  "She says your brother maintains the page, but even so. We enjoy your adventures."

  That made my cheeks burn. "You knew who I was before we met?"

  "No, not me. I didn't know your name until I met you on the bus, but she was excited to see you on the news. She may even have followed your page before that."

  "See, that's very strange to me. I don't know how old your granddaughter is, but why would she be interested in a Canadian doctor?"

  He chuckled. "A Canadian crime-fighting doctor. She says you're better than reality TV, and that you have some very funny TikToks."

  Thanks, Kevin. "Ah. Thank you."

  My phone buzzed with a text from Tucker: Almost done. Meet you in 10.

  Muhamed raised his voice above the traffic. "Dr. Sze, I remember one other thing Mr. Becker said. It was something about a body."

  "A body?" I squeaked. Then I caught myself. "You mean his own body, because he was hurt?"

  "Ah, no. Perhaps my language skills are not … if I understand correctly, he was referring to the body of a god."

  "A god's body. As in a corpse?"

  Muhamed gestured one graceful brown hand in the air. "I'm not certain. I apologize if I'm confusing the issue. He was muttering, and the sirens were so loud. I may have misinterpreted it all. Please forgive me."

  "Not at all. Thank you so much for taking the time to see me."

  He grinned. "The pleasure is all mine. Would it be too much trouble to ask you for a selfie of us together? My granddaughter was asking."

  "Sure, if you want." I have no idea why strangers want pictures of me, but I'm cool with it. "I have one last question, though. Did Mr. Becker mention money?"

  He frowned. "Money?"

  "Yes. A … collection of money." I'd already mentioned Kruger. I didn't want to say "millions," but I couldn't resist pointing him in the right direction.

  "No, nothing about that."

  And then we took six different selfies. Somehow, although he insisted his granddaughter would be delighted, I looked strained in all of them.

  16

  No sign of Tucker as we approached the hospital.

  Muhamed wouldn't leave me alone on the sidewalk. "It's best not to leave a young woman unaccompanied."

  I checked my watch, trying not to notice that I was thirsty, tired, and now getting rained on, while car engines roared in my ears. "It's not even 6 p.m."

  "It happens in broad daylight." Muhamed hesitated. "I'm afraid that foreign women can be at higher risk."

  "Higher risk?"

  He looked pained. "There have been complaints of harassment against women. We don't see this on my tours, of course. We keep you very safe."

  Now my fatigue mingled with a bit of fear. I'd never been alone in Egypt. My post-bomb adrenaline had ebbed, and my knees sagged. Time to sleep. Stat.

  Muhamed walked me into the lobby. Then he bowed slightly and said something in Arabic, which he explained meant goodbye, but also "go in peace 'very much.'"

  Although the hospital air smelled slightly like stale sweat and body spray, the doors sealing behind me also minimized the noise and pollution. Mixed blessing.

  I yawned and texted Tucker. You ready? I'm done.

  Almost, he wrote back.

  So I wouldn't fall asleep in front of the security guards, I perched on a wooden bench beside my back pack and made notes on my phone.

  Becker: mining. Treasure. Mongoose. Lord Carnarvon. Osiris. My fault. I shouldn't have done it. Kruger millions?

  Why did Gizelda Becker give away PB's cobra pouch?

  Why did Sarquet Industries pay for our trip?

  A body. The body of a god.

  All of this could be important, or none of it.

  I tried not to resent Tucker. Medicine is a harsh mistress. And Ryan never complained when he waited for me.

  Googling "god body" pointed me to a conspiracy theory, so I added the key word "Egypt." This led to Egyptian mythology. I clicked on Osiris. His name kept coming up. Why?

  "Hope!" Tucker hustled to my side twenty minutes later, laughing at my screen. "You checking out green dudes now? I better buy some body paint."

  I touched his arm, but avoided kissing him, so as not to offend any pious onlookers. The springy curls of hair on his arm cheered me up a tad. "Hey. Are you telling me you don't recognize this guy, so I know more about Egyptian history than you? Score."

  He raised his eyebrows at me. "Never! I present to you Osiris, Egypt's Lord of the Underworld. Judge of the Dead. His name means 'powerful.'"

  "Okay, I'll give you two points for that and take away one for tardiness."

  "Sorry. Charting, then Dr. Sharif—"

  "Dr. Mostafa Sharif? You finally got to meet the chief of the ER? What's he like?"

  Tucker shrugged. "He seemed like a nice guy. He wanted to meet you, actually."

  I flinched and dropped my phone in my pocket. Laziness is a cardinal sin in medicine. "You tell him my shift was over?"

  "Yeah, I said you'd already stayed late, but had an appointment, and you'd be in first thing tomorrow." He frowned. "I was a little surprised he showed up. Friday's the holy day in Islam."

  I groaned. Tucker and I had been scheduled for the same shift hours, but acute care means more complicated cases, so he'd stayed late to chart, which meant he'd met the chief of ER. Everything conspired to make me look like a giant sloth bag.

  "Don't stress. You'll knock 'em dead tomorrow. What'd you find about my man O?"

  It took me a second to realize Tucker was making a joke about Osiris, not orgasms, although the way his brown eyes twinkled, it was yet another double entendre.

  I drew him away from a man pushing a cleaning cart. "I guess it all started with the sun god, or gods, who created the world. Side bar: Muhamed told me that there used to be a huge Atum-Ra worship site northeast of Cairo."

  "Yeah. Heliopolis, right? They found a giant statue, but they're fighting a losing battle against looters." Tucker smiled and nodded at the cleaner, who nodded back.

  "How did you know that?"

  "I know everything." Tucker dabbed, an iconic dance move which is so over that Kevin groans if he catches it on YouTube.

  The cleaner dabbed back, left arm bent, right arm toward the sky.

  Okay, maybe it's not over in Egypt. We both grinned and waved at the cleaner while I said, "I don't know why Osiris gets top billing in this story, because a lot of the plot comes down to his wife."

  Tucker winked
at me. "Yep, behind every great man lies an Isis. And I don't mean the terrorist group."

  "Shh!" Pretty sure ISIS wasn't a joke here. "I mean the five thousand-year-old goddess Isis."

  "Who saved her brother-husband's life."

  I grimaced. "Yeah, they really did marry their siblings. Kept the wealth and power concentrated in the royal family."

  Tucker held out his arms. I nestled against him as he patted my head and said, "Don't worry. We're not related."

  "Praise be." A mother in a head scarf glanced at us and pulled her three children closer to her, so I disengaged from Tucker and towed him toward the door, even though I knew I'd have to yell over the traffic.

  Sure enough, the doors opened to a wave of humidity, rain, and noise, as I asked, "Did you know that Osiris and Isis had three siblings?"

  Tucker shook his head. "Two, right?"

  "No, actually. The five kids were Osiris, Isis, Set, Nephthys, and Horus the elder. Anyway, King Osiris and Queen Isis led Egyptian civilization to new levels of art and agriculture. And then wham!"

  Tucker's forehead pleated, partly in response to the jackhammering in a nearby apartment. "Remind me."

  "Well, there are different versions. To them, written words had the power of creation, so they didn’t write down the really terrible stuff."

  Tucker sniffed the air. We'd turned left instead of right, and food carts dotted the main road.

  Barbecued meat smelled mighty tempting, even as a neo-vegetarian. I distracted myself with the story. "In one version, Nephthys dressed up like Isis and seduced Osiris. He thought he was sleeping with his wife, but he was—"

  Tucker raised his eyebrows. "Banging his other sister?"

  "Who was also his sister-in-law. Nephthys had married Set. Now, Set had always been jealous, but when he ran into his brother-king and Nephthys's flower fell out of Osiris’s hair—"

  "Boom," Tucker said.

  "Right. Revenge time. Set threw a party and displayed a magnificent, custom-made wooden chest. Everyone took turns lying inside it. The chest fit Osiris perfectly. Then Set locked King Osiris in it and threw it in the Nile."