Once I’ve removed the old dressing and patched Bes back up, I settle in my seat. Cairo rushes past me in a warm blur as we rattle down the main highway. I’m grateful for the silence; it allows me to mull over all that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.
When I travel with Nonna, she’s always one step ahead of where we need to be, what we need to do, who we need to meet. Now, I can’t decide if that’s because she prepared as much as she claimed, or because of her connections—ones that go deeper than I realized.
But, the truth is, I don’t care. Despite my curiosity about the amulet being piqued with the appearance of more God Men, I again cling to the chance that I might make it out of Egypt on my own once we get to the docks. That I can leave this nightmare behind me. Some desperate part of me believes that my troubles will end once I’m no longer in Cairo, far away from these men and their ties to the German Third Reich.
The car ride to the docks in Alexandria is blessedly uneventful.
Bes drives with less urgency than I’m comfortable with, but he reasons we’ll draw unwanted attention to ourselves if we go too fast. Which I refuse to admit aloud is smart thinking.
Unfortunately, his shrewdness does nothing to dissuade my paranoia.
The moment we merge onto the main road, headlights blaze across our rear view mirror. My pulse jumps, head swiveling, certain we’re being chased by the God Men. I’m not an anxious person by nature, but I’ve been given good enough reason to fear them in the last twelve hours alone, not considering the little I’ve read about the Third Reich back home. Given my earlier assessment of being surrounded by enemies was immediately proved true, my unease mounts the further we travel through the crowded streets of Cairo.
Once we leave the city behind and the comforting darkness of the vast desert envelops us, my shoulders loosen an inch or two. It helps that Cec fills the long hours by talking andtalking,regaling us with exaggerated anecdotes of his and Bes’s exploits at university.And I thought trying to keep up withBeswas exhausting.
In all honesty, though, I’m barely listening, unable to focus on anything beyond what happened at the museum. I can’t stop reliving it in my mind’s eye: Bes shooting Klaus at point blank range and killing him instantly, with no show of regret or remorse.I mean, the man was part of the Third Reich for Christ’s sake—that’s not what bothers me. It’s not knowing what they were speaking about before I approached them. And why Bes made it seem like it was his duty to kill him. To rid the world of demons like him, he said.
And then I was dumb enough not to kill Ingrid when I had the chance.
But, God help me, I’m not a murderer. Claude was in self-defense, and a lucky shot; taking Ingrid’s life when she was unarmed and unconscious would’ve been wrong. I have no doubts that she would’ve seized the opportunity to dispatch of me if given the same chance, but I prefer not to count myself among the company of fascists. Perhaps I’ll do things differently the next time the situation presents itself. And I’m certain there will be a next time.
A sick feeling in my stomach warns me we’ll be seeing Ingrid again, and soon.
Unless, of course, I manage to escape and get back to the States before she can track us down.
Until then, I’m going to do everything I can to maintain whatever integrity and morality I have left. It’s a tall order, and impossible to maintain if my hand is forced. But I have to try.
Then… there’s the Amulet of Amun. Through all this mess, I’ve kept the relic in my possession. My stomach turns at the thought of parting with it, knowing there’s a chance I’ll never know if it can do what people claim it can if I leave now.
No.I refuse to let my morbid curiosity get me killed.
Cec finally pauses for breath, and Pierre takes advantage, pivoting in his seat to regard me. “Miss Hawkins, what do you know about the German Third Reich?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” I admit, unsurprised by the question despite its abruptness. “However, I had no idea about the Thule Society or the God Men until Bes told me at the Temple of Seti. American newspapers mostly report on the global economic depression. But a couple years ago, when the Nazi attacks on the Jewish community in Germany worsened, our journalists stationed there submitted reports about what they saw: the boycotts of Jewish businesses, the law removing Jews from public employment, the”—I clench my jaw—“book burnings.”
A sharp pain draws my eyes to my lap, where I’ve torn and bloodied a cuticle. I grab the back of Bes’s seat to settle my anxieties.
“It’s gotten worse over the last year, ever since Hitler passed both the Reich Citizenship Law—taking away political rights from those deemed racially impure and legally defining them as a separate race—and The Law for the Protection of German Blood and German Honor—stripping away the right to love and marry whoever you want. They claim any children from these unions would undermine the purity of their Aryan race.”
I sigh. “Unfortunately, there are some eugenicists in the States who’ve welcomed the Nazi ideal of racial pureness.”
“A right shock, that is,” Cec interjects, sarcasm dripping from his words.
“But once the American journalists were pulled out of Germany, I suppose the general population figured it was no longer our problem, so our newspapers stopped reporting on it. I get my news from the English papers posted weeks later. Last I read, Hitler appointed Heinrich Himmler as Chief of the German Police.”
Bes flexes his grip on the wheel.
Pierre continues his questioning. “And Hitler? What do you know about him?”
“Only that he’s seized as much power as he can by being inhumane. From what I hear, Himmler takes pleasure in arresting anyone considered a threat to the Nazi party and sends them to labor camps.”
I pause, not wanting to say what else I know. Not because I don’t want to tell them, but because I hate saying it out loud.
“And he has a special hatred for the Jewish people. In Mein Kampf, he calls them”—I flinch—“the destroyers of culture.”
I hated Nonna for making me read that poor excuse of a book. After learning of his rise to power, she asked a German friend of hers to translate the manifesto into English. When I fought her on it, she insisted we need to know what’s going on in the world at all times. I can’t remember being so sickened by the written word in all my life.
Pierre clears his throat. “Mein Kampf is only the beginning. He has much more planned to bring his ideations to fruition. Including his interest in your country’s sordid history with the Native Americans. The Jim Crow laws as well: he wants to implement them into the Third Reich, with one major difference.”
