Session 17: “Eat the Rich & Steal Their Gold”
In the “safe” house, we also find 5 kilos of Semtex explosive, some basic handgun ammo, food… and a six-pack of mid-grade Indian beer (Haywards 5000) in the fridge.
Oh, and also there are three bodies shoved into the utility closet.
We do not recognize any of the corpses, which have been dead for only a day at most. All are white male Europeans, and aside from their clothes they have nothing else on them including identification.
However, one does have a tattoo of a skull with music staves pour out its eyes. Modi does some image searching on their faces + that tattoo and quickly discovers that apparently the band “Political Inaction Committee” has played its last concert, considering its drummer, vocalist, and guitarist/everything else guy are all dead. They did not seem to be highly favored in stricter countries; apparently they were banned from entry to locations like Russia, China, Turkey, Iran, and North Korea.
All three were shot in the head, with the duct tape applied ahead of time.
There’s a police station three blocks down, and all that chainsaw / shotgun hubbub from Modi is making us uncomfortable about staying longer. We leave the dead bandmates there. Rasheed stages the people we killed with the illegal beer, and then we split before anyone shows up. Our worries about witnesses appear unfounded, as everyone who saw us go in has abruptly vanished as well.
Once we get some distance, we discuss what our next steps should be, now that Jabal is dead. Save Masil’s girlfriend? Locate the cache of weapons accessible with the “Third Son’s Ammo” passcode? Masil determines he’s going to scout out the location(s) first before thinking of bringing the rest of us in as muscle. Meanwhile after Zahra reviews Miriam’s itinerary, the others decide to head south to Aswan for what is determined to be an international scientific conference that will actually have some People of Interest there – including Dr. al-Pawah. Masil says he’ll meet us upriver when he is done here.
Miriam is specifically signed up for one seminar, which (translated from German) ends up being “Transspecies chemo neurotransmission adaptation in neuronal processing – using neurotransmitters from other species.” There’s a moment of terror for Zahra thinking she might actually be the one who is supposed to give this presentation, but it turns out to be only marginally better – Miriam’s ex-husband is the speaker. Both of these star-crossed ex-lovers work for Qi-Gen, but there are some other companies in attendance as well that we recognize, including Le Vie Chemie.
While all of Miriam’s credentials for the conference and for hotel and travel are in place, Modi has to work a bit harder, hacking the system to get boat tickets south for everyone and then access for himself to the conference.
“Well, we’ll see you guys in a day or two,” notes Zahra, as she and Khepri prepare to head off to live it up in Miriam’s fancy hotel room. “Enjoy yourselves!”
“Yeah. Sure,” mumbles Rasheed, watching them go. The group ends up using the money they lifted from the dead men to buy cheap dinner and then rent a room a jog away from Miriam’s hotel in case there’s trouble. They are just happy to break even without having to dip into their own meager personal funds.
As it turns out, the St. Regis is absolutely gorgeous and the young women’s excitement builds as they walk across the lush carpets and admire the marbled railings. When they finally get to the top, they discover that Miriam’s suite is huge – probably 75 square meters – and has many amenities including a hot tub and a wide beautiful view across the brightly lit Cairo city. A room like this would easily go for $1300 USD a night, and the women make the best of it.
Zahra is happy to see that Khepri is back in control of her own body, and she delicately asks her about what she remembers from the train ride. Khepri reveals she does remember everything that happened, it’s just that it was like watching herself in a movie or perhaps a dream that was not at all a dream.
Neither can determine how Qi-Gen was able to track her into the desert, as Modi had ruled out any active radio or electromagnetic transmissions. The nanites also did not seem to want to cooperate with Qi-Gen and did their best to escape the Qi-Gen attack. Perhaps there’s some attribute or radiation the nanites automatically exude that is discernible with the right sensors?
In any case, perils and anxieties can wait. The hotel room service is impeccable and three house chefs are well-reviewed as among the best in Cairo.
“I don’t think I can eat another bite,” groans Khepri after forcing down a last shrimp dripping with torched dengaku sauce, from a polished-off plate of teriyaki Wagyu beef and a sampling bowl of palak methi paneer.
“Perhaps you cannot, but you should try,” says Zahra, as she dips warm crisp baladi bread in baba ghanouj. “You will not see the likes of this food again.” She eyes up the last roumy cheese puff while hoping she can still finish off the last few spoonfuls of mint-wasabi ice cream. “It beats cheap koshari.”
There’s a ding as an e-mail comes through in Miriam’s phone. Zahra forces herself to look – oh, it’s in German. “Welcome to the modern miracles of translation tools!” she laughs to Khepri, and flips it into Arabic. The e-mail is a summary of the intended meeting talks from each presenter, what time to show, and instructions on which entrance to use – everything she will need to continue the ruse of being Miriam Weigle.
After hanging out in the hot tub until their limbs are limp and staring out the windows at the beautiful lights of Cairo stretching below them, they finally crawl into bed, which feels made with impossibly smooth soft linens and comforters, and the fluffiest pillows either has ever slept upon in their lives.
--
The next morning, Modi’s group with their rumbling stomachs trudge away from their cheap hotel with the chipping paint and ratty beds. Rasheed notices at least three pickpockets as they walk towards the docks to catch a boat south to Aswan, but he manages to signal them off.
Off near the docks, he watches as one “tourist” taps a crappy map printout while another one lifts the keys, cuffs, and taser off a cop who stops to provide directions. A scan of their minds provides Rasheed with a brief image of someone in a security uniform cuffed to a chair and inner laughter that the cop would fall for such a terrible fake distraction.
Modi grabs himself another pair of clothes on the way. At the docks, he tries to banter on the tickets enough to make it seem like he cares about the price, but the seller just thinks he’s being ornery. Still, he comes back with tickets for everyone.
The boat pulls into the water and heads upstream. It’s a long rather boring trip, aside from once having to dodge a mother hippo and child. They finally pull into the Aswan docks half an hour before sunset, with passengers pouring onto dry ground from multiple arrivals.
As they walk through the crowd, Samara shakes her head as if trying to clear it and suddenly Amal finds herself there instead. She has no idea where she is, although she feels a yank as someone cuts her purse strap and runs off through the crowd with it. They all head for the brightly lit KFC but are beaten in line by a gaggle of tourists.
Mercifully, Modi finds them a nice quiet restaurant with restful music and buys them a nice meal, before he checks them into the most affordable hotel he could find.
--
During that same morning, Zahra takes another look at Khepri’s worn clothes and also recalls Miriam’s luggage was lost on the train. They will both need new clothes, especially with the conference fast approaching. Zahra calls room service and the hotel staff are more than pleased to provide multiple suggestions for acquiring new outfits. In fact, they immediately send someone upstairs to take the proper measurements for both women, then provide them with selections of cloth and weave and cut and style along with accessories so that they can receive the new garments that very day. Both of them are pleasantly blown away when the new business attire with buttons of freshwater pearls, matching jewelry, shoes, and handbags all arrive later in the day for them to try on. Everything fits impeccably.
“Are we of royal blood now?” giggles Khepri after the hotel staff leaves and Zahra twirls in the mirror. “I mean, aside from the fact you look old enough to be my mother.”
“Hey -- barely,” says Zahra. Miriam had kept herself rather fit for her age, and the minute facial work she had done belied her half-century. Still, it was odd to look in the mirror and not see herself, yet also fun – like an elaborate game of dress-up. She just had to remember who she actually was, not what she looked like. “Did you see how they hung on our every word? This must be what it means to have money.”
Because these clothes had taken a lot of money – 1.8 million pounds in fact, which was about $38,000 USD. And the hotel had just put it on Miriam’s tab without questioning it, as if she were good for it.
“How rich is this woman anyhow?” asks Khepri. “I wonder what she is paid for her work.”
Curious, Zahra starts going through Miriam’s phone and starts checking her banking balances. Khepri watches as her friend’s eyes suddenly widen. “Yimma!” breathes Zahra. Then her eyes get even wider as she more quickly taps on the phone keys, moving from one screen to the next. “Yimma yimma YIMMA!”
“What is it? What is it?” shouts Khepri, swept up in the excitement.
“This cannot be true!” shouts Zahra. “It is impossible!”
“How much??? How much??” Khepri is dancing up and down by now.
Eventually Zahra tells her that Miriam is worth at least 700 million euros ($750 million USD), and that is not even looking at her stock options in Qi-Gen and whatever other companies she might be invested in.
After throwing pillows at each other and dancing around the room, their glee turns a bit into outrage. “These bastards!” shouts Zahra, thinking about the poor of the city and how they (despite working hard) were barely getting by in their small apartment which still has a broken if functional doorframe. “They are robbing us all!
“Eat the rich!” shouts Khepri.
“Yes, eat the rich! Gobble them right down!”
After some more cries of indignation -- “You know, we must find a way to use this money for good!” shouts Khepri enthusiastically.
“We must! Anything to help people! And we shall.” Zahra pauses thoughtfully. “But first we must go to this conference, and not let the trips or hotels go to waste. After all, what would be the point? And we must keep up the ruse!”
“Yes, we musn’t be caught, or we will never be able to help anyone!”
They both look at each other, half-joking but not completely. It would be very easy to be seduced by the power of this money if they were not careful – at least for as long as they had access to it. But certainly, another day or two of enjoying Miriam’s spoils would not be a bad thing? They had certainly earned that much.
Eventually they pack and head out to board the train.
---
The conference is being held at the Pyramisa Hotel on an island further south in the Nile from the largest island. While Modi waits for Zahra before the conference, he hacks into the guest list and finds some interesting Swedish names specializing in neuromechanical interfaces. He’s absorbed in this, mulling over their potential connections to Dr. Knock, when he hears a strange voice near his elbow.
“I’m impressed – how did they get you into a suit?” It takes him a second or two looking at the older woman to remember that this currently is Zahra, looking crisply professional in her new expensive suit and shoes. She frowns, her eyes running down the front of his outfit before stifling a smile. “Are those plastic buttons?”
“I hope you had an enjoyable train ride,” he says quietly, then more loudly keeping an eye on the people nearby. “Madam, I am very sorry -- you must have mistaken me for someone else!”
Zahra briefly rolls her eyes, but then just says, “Ah, you are right -- excuse me, then,” more loudly in case anyone is listening, before heading with the crowd towards the conference check-in. Modi gets his stuff together and follows.
Going through the brief inspection, Zahra focuses extra-hard to not lose her grip on Miriam’s appearance, and makes it through the checkpoint. Coming up a bit later, Modi presents a medical card to security describing his multiple metal plates. There’s a few minutes of repeated scans as they mark off all of the metal locations triggering the alarm erroneously before finally clearing him for entry.
Outside near the ferry, Rasheed is keeping an eye out for Miriam’s ex-husband as well as Dr. al-Pawah, as they would be prime targets for a mind-scan. While Ehemann never shows, it’s very apparent when al-Pawah’s escort vehicle and he disembarks. “Can these guys drive slower?” Rasheed picks up. “I’ll be late for my speech. Where are my notes? Oh, back on the seat – good grief. And why does this place always smell like fish?” and so on. The doctor seems to be bracketed between two uniformed escorts with sidearms no matter where he goes.
On a lark, Rasheed latches onto one of them, the officer rank. “ – and I’m missing a football game to follow this swine around? Oh well, it keeps the brass off my ass, but this is going to be boring AF.”
A crowd of attendees who don’t seem capable of regular socialization is gathering off to one side, talking shop and comparing research notes. While Rasheed can’t understand it much, occasionally he receives small bits about careful harmonic attunement and using certain brain implants to augment receptive abilities. Some of the crowd write this off as silly science fiction, but a few seem to be quite curious about it.
Back in the conference, the audience is gathering to listen to the morning speakers. Apparently there will be three talking this morning, followed by lunch and then three afternoon presentations after which comes the keynote speech by Dr. al-Pawah himself, to later conclude with the full reception and multiple charity events (such as for an oncology group). Modi is scanning the crowd for people of interest, able to pick out the major speakers as well as some of the company bigwigs. Zahra sees Miriam’s ex-husband up front at the panel table but avoids making eye contact – her plan is to avoid him the man as much as possible, due to the risk of being found out.
At the appointed hour, a pudgy guy waddles up on the stage, thanks the audience, and does all the introductory work including teaching everyone how to use the subtitle translator. Even outside the building, Rasheed can pick up al-Pawah mulling over how he can dodge the “stupid reception” before he starts thinking about how “Richard is checking on my patients while I’m stuck here.” We all recognize now that “Richard” most likely refers to Dr. Richard Knock, the the physician of interest to Modi.
The first speaker starts his presentation. Despite how it should be over the gatecrasher’s heads, somehow Zahra finds herself able to follow the talk brilliantly, with even Modi picking up on most of it. The speaker (Dr. Aldric Bjornsen, a SnoTop guy who flew in from Stromson) explains various properties of different metals and semi-conductor interfaces to brain implants to treat different misfiring nervous disorders. Modi is both unnerved and angers by how some of the parts appearing in the slides look very familiar to him, as they were also parts he has seen pulled out of people.
The second speech is as boring as the first was engrossing – some kind of chemosynthesis exploration about engineering bacteria to produce very specific neurotransmitters. The third speaker (from that little place known as Berkely out in CA, USA) discusses how to effectively meld muscle neurons to mechanical exoskeletal interfaces, which can be of use in industry or to treat certain nerve injuries. Then there is the expected break for lunch.
Dr. al-Pawah is soon seen out on the veranda on the phone. While the view across the Nile is beautiful, the weather is very warm and almost everyone else remains inside where the temperature is more comfortable. Rasheed can tell he’s checking with an assistant back at his primary lab.
“Have they found her yet? No? She should be suffering withdrawal if she hasn’t received any treatment. Not like she’ll hide forever, not while we still have him.” Pause. “That’s fine. Keep him treated, we still need him. Have any of the patrols picked up the others we sighted with her?”
Rasheed sees our faces scrolls through his mind, including Khepri, likely from video captures made during the latter’s rescue.
“And what of the break-in at Lab #3? Have we determined who was responsible for that yet?” Pause. “Well, I don’t want excuses -- keep looking! And if that isn’t good enough, we’ll have to let Richard play with more of his toys. Yes, set three of the hounds on the scent and have them follow it.” Pause. “I don’t care what happened to the last handler. I am not paying for replacement limbs -- he signed a waiver! That’s not my concern – please, I’m done, I have a speech to give.”
When al-Pawah thinks of Lab #3, well, Rasheed doesn’t recognize the image but Zahra does – it was one of the rooms appears on the feeds in Jameela Jamal’s office. It wasn’t a lab we have yet broken into. The hounds meanwhile are augmented dogs, and the person not getting limbs is the handler who couldn’t control the beasts.
As he hangs up his face and turns to leave, suddenly we hear shots fired. Dr. al-Pawar dives for cover. His escort takes a body armor hit while shuffling him back inside. As the crowds of attendees start to churn in a panic, Security starts to appear at the scene.
