A Game of Gods: The End is Only the Beginning (The Anunnaki Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

20

There was complete silence inside the van. Pakhi’s eyes had filled up and it was about to rain outside. Events from the recent and long-gone past reeled in her mind. She picked the cellular phone lying dormant on the dashboard and made a call that was answered shortly.

‘I was about to call you.’ A female voice spoke from the other end of the line.

Pakhi did not respond.

The voice continued, ‘The situation in Northern Africa is getting more and more intriguing. I have to send my best person to cover the story. Only two news networks from Asia have been approached for this. We are one of them. If I do not proceed with someone’s nomination, I will lose it to INN. This is huge, Pakhi Dutta! This will be your breakthrough international story.’ The voice forced to breathe and then asked, ‘Are you in.. or not?’

Pakhi sulked the tears stealthily. She had to make a decision and her career depended on it.

‘Yes, I am in. Sagrika, I will do this.’ Pakhi affirmed.

‘Brilliant!’ Sagrika exclaimed jubilantly, ‘Just leave whatever you are doing right now and get your hard ass in my office at 6 pm, sharp. We have to meet an important representative from the client’s side.

‘Sure.’ Pakhi said and disconnected the phone. She looked at Narendra. He passed an approving smile with a straight face.

Indeed, this decision would be having a great impact on her career, however, the decision would also leave an unsold dent on her personal life, but then she had to make that choice.

21

Alexandria, Egypt

The sun ascended from the bed of a calm Mediterranean Sea and yawned rays of gold into the clear sky that stared blankly at the land of Egypt. The port of Alexandria was one of the busiest ones in the world and had been so for ages. An Armada of Herculean vessels from Spain to tiny fishing boats from the local shore, all of them converged at the legendary harbor. The
Reina de Agua
entered the harbor and anchored at the dock of Horus. For centuries, the dock had been serving as the entry point for Spanish merchants. Reina de Agua, or the Queen of Blue, was one of the many Spanish merchant vessels that returned to pick up Egyptian handloom and perfumery, which are the most popular consumer products in Barcelona and Andalusia. Cristiano Hernández, captain of the Reina de Agua, was a stout middle-aged man whose skin was as pale as a peach and hair short, straight, and dark brown. The captain scurried down the stairs and rushed towards the dock supervisor’s office. He ignored the greetings of the dock officers and janitors. He was a well-known figure here, better known for his courteous nature, however, today he decided to ignore the unnecessary handshakes, for he had a something far more important and disturbing matter at hand. The supervisor’s office was a hexagonal block on the right side of the dock. The name, Hussein Al Atrash, intricately engraved on a wooden signboard outside the door that led to the office. Hernandez pulled down the latch with his right hand and entered the room that smelled of vintage cigar. The two people inside the room immediately stood up and welcomed the beloved foreigner into their office.

‘I am sorry for the smoke Captain Hernandez. Signore Vetra here brought some cigar from Tuscany, and I could not resist the call of the divine leaf.’ A harsh voiced Al Atrash spoke as he pressed the glowing tip of the cigar on the ceramic ashtray in front of him.

‘Signore Leonardo Vetra…’ the captain lifted his hat and greeted the Italian counterpart. He turned towards the dock supervisor and said, ‘Mr. Al Atrash.’

‘How are you my dear captain?’ asked an overjoyed Al Atrash.

‘I have to show you something, would you come with me.’ The captain’s voice was stern as a mountain.

Hussein noticed the seriousness in the Spanish captain’s voice and immediately took leave of Leonardo Vetra, ‘please excuse me Signore Vetra. Make yourself comfortable in my humble office, I promise to return soon to finish another round of the charming Tuscanos.’

The two men immediately stormed out of the room. While Captain Hernandez was a man of tall stature, about six feet and three inches from the ground, Hussein was a short man. The top most strand of hair on his head hardly managed to touch Hernandez’s chest. Hussein’s hair was black and skin brown, owing to all the exposure to the Egyptian sun, the little strip of moustache was in the fond memory of one German dictator.

‘What is it Captain? You look so serious. Is everything alright?’ he asked.

‘If everything was all right then why would I look serious?’ The captain implied. After a brief pause he revealed, ‘It is a woman, Hussein.’

‘A woman?’

‘Yes, one of our crew members found a woman struggling to stay up on the surface of the Mediterranean Sea while undoing the mast few days ago. We immediately brought her aboard. She had already lost consciousness, but we were glad we could save her before her last breath.’

‘A woman aboard? It is a symbol of bad luck.’

‘Oh come on, Hussein, aren’t we carrying female passengers for centuries now?’

‘Passengers are different.’

‘I could not leave her to die in the sea. She had stab wounds in her abdomen and had lost lot of blood. She has not gained consciousness since then.’ The captain explained as they ascended the stairs that were temporarily laid out of the great Reina de Agua. He continued, ‘Our medical officer has been constantly monitoring her, he believes that she immediately needs blood to make up for all that is lost.’

‘What blood does she need?’

‘I do not know.’ They entered the medical room of the vessel and there on the far corner of the white lit room lay a bed, and on the bed lay a woman, still as motionless water… white as bloodless satin.

‘Excellent!’ The dock supervisor said as he studied the woman’s face. She was not a native, but looked strikingly familiar.

‘As per the immigration laws, we are not allowed to carry this woman onto the shores of Egypt, for we do not know of her identity.’ Hernandez revealed his dilemma.

‘Yes, you are right.’

‘What do we do? Leave her to die here?’

‘Of course not, we cannot do that.
M
uḥ
āf
aẓ
at al Iskandariyya
is very conditional and strict, and they will never let this woman in any public place here. With the radical groups getting stronger in the state, the government is using all their might to keep the state under check.’ He pondered for a moment and then suggested, ‘
You must take her to the Governorate of Giza. You need not mention anything about finding her in the Mediterranean. Even if you do, you can get away by handing them a few euros. Cheap people to buy with monetary bribe, I say.’

‘Can you arrange for the transportation, Hussein?’ the concerned captain asked.

‘I will arrange that. Make sure that nobody sees the woman; pack her in a well-ventilated trunk. If anybody sees her, we are all in trouble.’

‘Thank you Hussein, I knew I could count on you.’

‘
Allahi Yekhrib beitak…
God damn you, Spaniard. You bring a curse into the land, and I cannot do anything but help you, because you are my friend. The oldest known enemy of an Arab is his friend.’ Hussein recollected words from an Egyptian proverb and dialed his assistant’s number on his mobile phone.

Captain Hernandez asked one of the sailors inside the room to prepare the trunk as the Egyptian officer had suggested. After the sailor left the room, Hernandez moved closer to the pale woman’s face and looked at her with the fascination of a child who had found a fallen angel that he was always told about. He did not know the woman, but believed that he had known her for ages, maybe more. More than anyone, he prayed for her.

22

Manorma 24x7 News Headquarters

Mumbai, 17:50 hours

The atmosphere inside the conference room had been that of a chaotic silence that preceded the ultimate attack of a catastrophic explosion. Sagrika Bose, editor-in-chief of the nation’s most
entertaining
news channel that was hell bent on restoring Leftist values in the minds of viewers, least expected her channel to be taken as seriously by the international community as it had surfaced in the past forty eight hours. Within the confided space of the air conditioned room, sat two influential people. One was Sagrika, plum faced and obese, and the other was Major General John Harker, the head of operations for the American Army in the North African region. The matter to be discussed was so confidential that he had instructed his personnel security officers to guard the room. The Closed Circuit Television Cameras were switched off.

‘I am so glad that you trusted us with such a huge assignment from the subcontinent.’ The boy-cut haired woman stated her gratitude unceremoniously.

‘We were handpicking the most popular news networks that penetrated into every nook and corner of the respective regions, be it through print, electronic or visual media. Our scouts found you the best bet for our purpose.’ The American heavyweight explained in a husky voice that had the timber of a vintage bond. His specs had a thick carbon rim that blended in well with his tanned skin.

‘I am sure; you will not be let down.’ She tried to speak confidently.

‘I hope that you will give us your best man for this assignment.’ Harker demanded.

‘Oh! Better than that. I am giving you a woman.’

At that very instant the door opened and Pakhi entered the scene.

‘Good evening, I hope I did not keep you waiting.’ The new entrant said as she glanced at the white man and then fixed her gaze on her boss.                           

‘Major General Harker, this is Ms. Pakhi Dutta, the best investigative journalist in the ‘country.’ Sagrika introduced her trump card. She looked at Pakhi and said, this is Major General John Harker, the operations in-charge of the American Army in the North African region.’

Pakhi gobbled a pint of saliva down her throat upon hearing the ranked officer’s designation. As they shook hands and exchanged momentary smiles, her personal delirium was over shadowed by the sudden realization of the international importance of this story. Harker eyed the woman for a prolonged period, for he had never encountered a dusky woman with such sharp features as Pakhi. Her eyes were the shape of the petals of a
Star Lotus
blooming on the surface of finitely contained waters of a temple pond.

Lot of adjectives could be used to describe Pakhi Dutta- bold, gorgeous, sensational, stringent, feminist, short tempered, sharp, eloquent… and the list would go on.
Nervous
was not one of them, however, at that moment
nervous
was the only adjective which fitted her.

‘Ms. Dutta, we have gone through your files. Given that you have courageously covered the developments of the Indian army at Shopian and Burma convinced us that you are suitable candidate to cover this particular event.’ The American announced.

‘Thank you…’ Pakhi was interrupted before she completed.

‘… What I am about to reveal is part of a highly classified data; classified due to the nature of the event. We do not know what exactly is going on and do believe that most of the human population across the world might be affected, if not all.’ He paused to push his spectacles up his nasal bone. The chisel and tan of his face revealed constant exposure to the desert sun. He continued explaining to the journalist, ‘Due to its sensitive nature, you must report whatever you cover, to us first. Only after the approval of our review committee shall you pass on the story to your agency. There is possibility that we might not allow your story or any one’s. However, you should be ready for that. Most importantly, you must be aware of the fact that you will be risking your life as you will be exposed to the most extreme radical group ever seen in the history of humanity.

‘The worst case scenario will be that you might not come back alive. Are you willing to risk your life for this?’ The American asked.

Pakhi heard everything that he had said but her mind would frequently post effervescent pictures from her past. Nevertheless, she put on a brave face and replied diligently, ‘Yes, I am.’

‘You shall not report anything to anyone about the event, until we approve. In case, we decide not to declassify the event, you must maintain the secrecy. Failing to do so might lead to repercussions and you shall face the consequences of betraying Washington.’ The major general declared sharply, the eminent threat bulging out of his words.

‘I understand that.’ She replied as she looked at her boss, who nodded back in reply.

‘Very well, Ms. Dutta, I shall see you in Giza then. Our men will accompany you to your transport.’ Harker rose from his seat and shook hands with Pakhi and Sagrika.

‘Wait, you mean right now?’ Pakhi was taken by surprise.

‘Of course, we are already running short of time. Good luck Ms. Dutta.’ The American officer left the room. One of the security officers accompanied him while the other waited for Pakhi.

‘You cannot be serious, right?’ Pakhi asked her boss.

‘You heard the man, didn’t you?’

‘But, I am hardly prepared; technically… mentally…’

‘Well, you are getting the opportunity of a lifetime. If I were you, I wouldn’t be wasting so much time contemplating.’

‘But…’

‘Pakhi,’ Sagrika bore into her star journalist’s eyes and chanted,’ you will breathe throughout your life, every moment of it, but an opportunity like this comes once in a lifetime, and not even to everyone. Go for it!’

Pakhi sighed and barged out of the room. Sagrika had never felt her heart beat faster than this. She was optimistic about Pakhi not because she had faith in her but because she was awaiting the most sensational breaking news exclusive to be aired on her pessimistic channel. She had to make up the huge price she had paid to the American Army for letting her channel grab the exclusive coverage of this particular event. If Pakhi fails, Sagrika’s money shall be flushed down the drain along with her channel. Therefore, she was optimistic.