The night they were to set off on their dangerous, almost suicidal, journey, the air on the island grew still. Even the water of the Tigris seemed to hold its breath, its surface as black and calm as a sheet of polished glass, waiting for the coming storm.
Mayra, Sara, and Jerome had loaded all their necessary supplies into the old Land Cruiser that Captain Saad had prepared for them. With the focus of a skilled mechanic, Jerome had checked the vehicle's engine multiple times, examined the oil and water levels, and securely fastened the extra canisters of water and fuel to the back of the car.
"Remember," Captain Saad said as he bid them farewell, his weathered face looking like an ancient stone statue in the darkness of the night. "Never trust the wind that comes from the sand, and certainly not the people whose eyes do not meet yours. Chart your course by the stars, not by maps. Maps are made by men, and men lie."
They nodded. Saad's words sounded like old proverbs, but they knew that in the desert, these proverbs were the law.
They were ferried to the mainland and climbed into the old Land Cruiser. Jerome was in the driver's seat. He took a deep breath, turned the key in the ignition, and the engine came to life with a heavy, reluctant rumble.
Their journey had begun.
Within a few hours, the last remaining lights of Baghdad and the final traces of civilization were left far behind, and they were enveloped in an endless, black darkness. There were no roads here, only uncertain tracks forged through sand and rock over centuries of travel. Jerome was relying entirely on his GPS and the satellite images he had downloaded while on the island.
The atmosphere inside the car was like that of a submarine moving silently through enemy territory. No one was talking. The only sounds were the rhythmic hum of the engine and the crunching of gravel under the tires. Mayra sat in the front passenger seat, her eyes trying to pierce the darkness, searching for any unexpected danger. Sara had fallen asleep in the back, wrapped in a blanket, or perhaps she was only pretending to sleep to escape the tension.
"Do you think we can do this?" Jerome finally asked after several hours of silence. His voice was subdued, as if he were afraid to disturb the tranquility of the dark.
"We have to, Jerome," Mayra replied in a flat voice, without looking at him.
"No, I do not mean that," Jerome said. "I know we will get there. But… do you really think there will be a ship waiting for us behind that stone door? It all feels like a dream. A crazy dream. We are chasing a riddle set by a man we know nothing about, except that he is extremely dangerous and likes puzzles."
"We know him, Jerome," Mayra said, a strange conviction in her voice. "Maybe not personally. But we know his work. He saved us from the Syndicate. He gave us the commander's diary and the key to open it. He wants us to succeed. He is just making sure that we are worthy of that success."
"Or he is just using us," Jerome muttered under his breath.
Their conversation was suddenly cut short when Jerome's laptop, which was placed on the dashboard, began to emit a slow, but quickening, warning beep.
"What is that?" Mayra asked, sitting up straight.
Jerome's face turned pale, as if he had seen a ghost. "It… it is my proximity sensor. I set it to detect the specific radio signature used in the Syndicate's vehicles, the one we tracked in Basra. Someone is near us. Very near."
Before Mayra could say anything, two bright headlights switched on in front of them, about half a mile away. They shone in the darkness like the eyes of a giant, predatory beast. And they were coming straight towards them. Very fast.
"We have been caught!" Jerome yelled and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The old engine of the Land Cruiser roared in protest and the vehicle lunged forward, bouncing over the sand.
A classic chase had begun. But this was not a Hollywood movie. This was a matter of life and death. The vehicle behind them, a modern black sport utility vehicle, was much newer and faster, and it was rapidly closing the distance between them.
"They are going to shoot at us!" Sara screamed, now wide awake and looking out the rear window.
"No!" Jerome shouted, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. "They do not want to damage the vehicle. They know we are in it. They want to capture us alive. And that thought is even more terrifying."
He was a skilled driver, maneuvering the old car through rocks and dry shrubs with an expert's touch, but the enemy was constantly getting closer.
"That way!" Mayra shouted, pointing to a narrow, rocky canyon on their right. "That path will slow them down! They are in a bigger vehicle!"
Without a second thought, Jerome veered the car to the right. The car's wheels skidded in the sand and it nearly overturned, but he somehow managed to control it. They were now in a tight canyon, where a single vehicle could barely pass at a time. It was a trap, but a trap for both hunter and hunted.
"What do we do now?" Sara asked, her voice filled with clear panic.
At that very moment, Jerome's laptop beeped again. It was a blue notification—an incoming video call. A cold feeling of dread washed over Jerome. A name was glowing on the screen: "Unknown Caller."
"It is the Syndicate," Mayra said, her heart pounding. "They are playing mind games with us."
"So what should I do? Disconnect?" Jerome asked.
"No," Mayra said firmly. "Answer it. We need to know who we are fighting against. We need to see our enemy's face."
Jerome took a deep, trembling breath and touched the green button on the screen.
For a second the screen was black, and then a face emerged. As the connection was established, Jerome's diagnostic software began to run in the background. His eyes widened in shock. The level of encryption… it was something he had never seen before. It was above military grade.
It was the face of a woman. About forty years old, with chiseled cheekbones, sharp, intelligent eyes, and a calm, controlled smile. She was sitting in a luxurious leather chair. Behind her was a large screen, showing a real-time, top-down video of their vehicle, likely captured by a drone.
Mayra's breath caught for a moment. She had seen this face before. Years ago, in the libraries and debate halls of Oxford.
"Doctor Eleanor Vance," Mayra whispered, and the name seemed to suck the remaining air out of the car.
"Hello, Mayra," Eleanor's voice, as smooth as silk but with an edge of steel, echoed from the small speakers of the laptop. "I am glad you remember me. It has been a long time. I hope you are enjoying your little tour of the desert."
Mayra's blood boiled, but she kept her voice calm. "What do you want, Eleanor?"
"The same thing I have always wanted, my dear. Progress. Knowledge. What you have," Eleanor said. "The commander's diary. The snake seal. And your brilliant mind. But now… now I want you too. Alive."
"So you can torture us for what we know?" Mayra said with bitterness.
Eleanor laughed. A cold, lifeless laugh. "Oh, Mayra. You are so naive. You still think this is a treasure hunt, do you not? I do not want your secrets. I want your cooperation. Just imagine what we could achieve together. No riddles, no mysterious guardians. Just pure science and history. We will bring the lost knowledge to the world… on our terms."
"For your Syndicate?" Jerome interjected.
Eleanor looked at Jerome for the first time, as if she were looking at an irrelevant insect. "You children would not understand this game. This is a game of building and breaking empires. A game of bringing order to chaos." She looked back at Mayra. "The vehicle behind you will not harm you. It will only escort you to me. You have a choice. Either stop the car and come out with dignity. Or… we will wait until you run out of fuel. This canyon is not going anywhere. And neither am I."
Her threat hung in the air, like an executioner's sword. They were surrounded. There was no escape. No hope.
No one was coming to save them.
Was this the end? Did they finally have to kneel before the devil they knew?
Or was there a spark of hope left in this darkness, something they had not yet seen?