Chapter 3

A Drink with Destiny

The port was a beehive of activity, a place where the pulse of humanity throbbed loudest. As Frank and Destiny stepped off the gangplank, they stepped into the cacophony: vendors hawking their wares, seamen barking orders, the air thick with the smell of fish, diesel, and sweat.

They moved through the throng, two specters of purpose in a world that didn't pause for anything as trivial as a glance. Destiny walked with the grace of a cat on the prowl, her eyes sharp, scanning the crowd. Frank matched her stride, his senses tuned to the vibrations of the place, looking for the ripple that meant they were being followed.

The town was a labyrinth, streets and alleys spiraling out from the docks like the threads of a spider's web. The buildings were a pastiche of faded glory, the paint peeling in the salt air, shutters hanging at jaunty angles. Every corner seemed to hide a watcher, every window a pair of eyes.

Destiny's demeanor was a mixture of steel and silk, serious when her gaze swept the shadows, light when she turned to Frank. They passed a street vendor's stand, an explosion of color in the form of cheap sunglasses laid out on a cloth.

"Hold on," she said, her voice a soft chime in the din. She picked up a pair of oversized sunglasses with frames that glinted in the sun, sliding them onto her face. "How do I look?"

Frank couldn't help but smile. The glasses were too big for her face, a comical disguise that somehow made her even more alluring. "Like a movie star trying not to be recognized," he replied.

Her laughter was a bright note, and for a moment, the tension of their situation eased. She bought the glasses, and they continued on, the moment of levity a shared secret that buoyed Frank's spirits.

But the feeling was fleeting. As they walked, the sense of being watched grew stronger, a prickle on the back of Frank's neck. He glanced back, catching the briefest glimpse of a figure melting into the crowd, a shadow among shadows.

He leaned in close to Destiny, his words for her ears alone. "We've got company."

Her only response was a slight nod, but her hand moved subtly to the purse at her side, where a small revolver rested against the lipstick and powder.

They made a turn, then another, doubling back, a game of cat and mouse with stakes that were all too real. The port town was a place of peril now, the bright sun a spotlight that they had to escape.

Frank Baxter was a man who knew about danger, about the thin line between survival and the long drop. He'd walked it before, would walk it again. And with Destiny at his side, the dance with death was a duet. They were a pair matched in skill and in their resolve to see this through, no matter what the port had in store for them.

The pub was a haven for the transient souls that passed through the port—a dimly lit sanctuary where sailors, merchants, and misfits of every stripe came to drown their sorrows or wash away the grime of their labors. The sign above the door was weathered to the point of illegibility, but the warm glow from the windows promised respite from the prying eyes outside.

Frank held the door for Destiny as they stepped inside, the change from daylight to the pub's amber twilight momentarily blinding. The air was thick with the scent of stale beer and tobacco smoke, the murmur of conversation a low hum that filled the room like a living thing.

Frank's gaze swept across the room, a practiced sweep that cataloged details and discarded them just as quickly. A group of sailors huddled around a table, their laughter booming. A couple tucked into a booth, whispering secrets over clinking glasses. The bartender, a mountain of a man with a bushy beard, polishing glasses with a cloth that had seen cleaner days.

Destiny slipped into a booth near the back, her back to the wall, a position that allowed an unobstructed view of the room. Frank slid in across from her, his body angled for a quick exit, his eyes never still.

The pub was a cross-section of humanity, each patron a story wrapped in skin and cloth. But one figure stood out. A man sat alone at the bar, his hat pulled low, a glass of something amber untouched before him. He was too still, his casual slouch a little too studied. Every so often, his gaze would flicker their way, and Frank could feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing.

Frank murmured to Destiny, "See the fellow at the bar? Hat like he's hiding from the rain? He's been giving us the eye since we walked in."

Destiny's casual glance was a masterclass in subtlety. "I see him. Friend of yours?"

Frank's chuckle was a dry rasp. "If he is, we parted on bad terms. Keep an eye on him."

They ordered drinks from a waitress whose smile was as tired as the soles of her shoes. Frank took a sip of his beer, the bitterness a welcome bite on his tongue. He kept the conversation light, all the while watching the man at the bar from the corner of his eye.

In the pub's shadowy embrace, Frank and Destiny settled into the rhythm of the place. The buzz of conversation was a curtain, behind which they could speak freely, yet they kept their voices low, a murmur lost amongst the clatter of glasses and the occasional raucous laugh from the sailors at their game of cards.

Frank took a slow sip of the bitter beer, his eyes on the man at the bar. "He's got that look," he murmured, "like he's trying to decide if we're the marks or the other way around."

Destiny, nursing a dark stout, followed Frank's gaze with a discreet glance. "He's not very good at it. If he's society, they're scraping the bottom of the barrel."

Frank grunted an agreement, his mind ticking over the implications. "Either way, he's interested in us, which means we've got something he wants or something he's scared we'll find."

Their drinks provided a prop for the conversation, a reason to linger and talk without drawing undue attention. The bartender kept his distance, a presence felt more than seen, his occasional glance a silent check-in.

"So, what's the play?" Destiny asked, her eyes not on Frank, but on the reflection in the window that showed the pub's interior. "We can't exactly grab him and shake him down. Not here, not without causing a scene."

"No," Frank agreed, his gaze steady on his beer. "We watch and wait. See if he makes a move, or if he's just another pair of eyes for the society."

They fell into a companionable silence, their thoughts on the task ahead, on the tangled web in which they found themselves ensnared. Destiny's leg brushed against Frank's under the table, a contact that sent a jolt up his spine. He was acutely aware of her, of the curve of her jaw, the set of her shoulders, the strength coiled in her frame.

She was trouble, the kind of trouble that Frank found himself increasingly drawn to. She was an ally, maybe more, but Frank couldn't afford the maybe, not with Isabella waiting for him, not with the society's shadow looming over them.

He cleared his throat, breaking the spell between them. "We'll hit the ground running in Cairo," he said, his voice back to business. "We find the informant, get the lay of the land. We stay one step ahead."

Destiny nodded, her eyes meeting his. "One step ahead," she echoed.

The man at the bar made his way out, his exit a study in nonchalance that fooled no one. Frank watched him go, a predator patient for the next opportunity.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," he said, more to himself than to Destiny. "We'll bring them down."

The pub's walls were steeped in the smoke of a thousand conversations, its air a library of secrets. Destiny swirled the remains of her stout in the glass, the dark liquid spinning like a fortune teller's crystal ball, hinting at truths yet to be revealed.

"My brother," she started, her voice a low thrum that Frank had to lean in to catch, "was everything to me. Smarter than he had any right to be. He found out about them, the society, started poking around. Next thing, he's in over his head, and then..." Her voice trailed off, lost in the depths of her glass.

"Then?" Frank prodded gently, sensing the raw edge beneath her words.

"Then he wasn't anything to anyone anymore," she finished, her eyes hard as flint. "They took him from me, made it look like an accident. But I knew. I knew and I swore I'd make them pay."

Frank nodded, understanding the fuel that fed her fire. Revenge was a potent brew, and he could see she was drunk on it.

She looked up, her gaze meeting his. "There's a man here, goes by the name of Farouk. He owes me a favor—helped him out of a bind once. He's got a car, a real heap, but it'll get us to Cairo."

"Terms?" Frank asked, the practical side of him stepping to the fore.

"Half now, half when we get there. And no questions asked," Destiny replied. "Farouk doesn't like questions."

"Fair enough," Frank said, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a wad of notes, more than he liked to carry. He placed them on the table, covering them with his hand. "No questions, then. Just wheels and a direction."

She pushed her glass aside and stood, a fluid motion that had Frank rising to match her. "We'll finish our drinks and then find Farouk. We'll be in Cairo by morning."

Frank took a pull from his beer, the liquid cold and sharp. "To Cairo," he toasted, the words a promise and a challenge.

"To Cairo," she echoed, and they drank, sealing their pact with the bitter tang of hops and barley.

The pub had emptied to the dregs, the only sound the soft scratch of the bartender wiping down the bar. That's when the shady figure made his move, sliding into the booth opposite Frank and Destiny, his smile as oily as the puddle under a leaking engine.

"I couldn't help but overhear," he said, his voice a purr that didn't match his hawkish appearance. "You're in need of a ride to Cairo?"

Frank sized him up, the way he might a questionable character in a back alley deal. "We've got it covered," he said, his tone flat, a closed door.

But the man persisted, leaning in, the stench of his cologne an assault. "I can get you there, fast and for a good price. No questions asked."

Frank's eyes didn't waver. "I said, we've got it covered."

The man's smile faltered, his eyes narrowing. He was the type who wasn't used to rejection, who didn't take it well when his plans got derailed. "You might not want to turn down my offer," he said, a veiled threat woven into his words.

Destiny's hand moved beneath the table, her body tensed for whatever came next. Frank could feel the air in the pub grow thick, charged with the electricity of impending violence.

"It's time for you to go," Frank said, his voice low, a growl from deep in his chest.

The man stood, his movement sudden, knocking over the table. The glass of beer splashed onto Frank's trousers, cold and unwelcome. That's when the first punch flew, aimed at Frank's jaw with the intention to shatter bone.

But Frank was quicker. He dodged and landed a solid right to the man's gut, doubling him over. That's when the bar erupted.

It was a symphony of chaos, chairs overturning, glasses shattering. Destiny was a whirlwind, her every move precise and deadly. A stein smashed against an attacker's head, the sound lost in the melee. She grabbed a bottle, broke it against the table, and used it like a knife, keeping them at bay.

The bartender bellowed from behind the bar, but his voice was just another instrument in the brawl's orchestra. Frank was fighting back-to-back with Destiny, their moves a dance they hadn't rehearsed but somehow performed flawlessly.

Men came at them, some from the man's entourage, others just looking for a fight. Frank took them on, his fists doing the talking, his suit the only thing smooth about him.

Destiny was grace under pressure, her dress a swirl of color as she moved. She was a tempest, and Frank was the eye of the storm, together they were unstoppable.

The fight spilled out into the street, the fresh air an abrupt contrast to the pub's stifling heat. They fought until the attackers decided they had enough, disappearing into the night from which they had emerged.

Breathless, bruised, but not broken, Frank and Destiny stood amidst the wreckage of the fight, their bond stronger, their resolve harder. They needed to get to Cairo, but first, they needed to get out of this town.

And as they walked away from the pub, the first light of dawn was creeping into the sky, a new day and a new challenge on the horizon.

The streets were quieter outside the pub, the ruckus behind them now just another piece of the port town's nighttime lullabies. Frank and Destiny walked with purpose, their footsteps a tandem rhythm on the cobblestones, the adrenaline from the brawl ebbing away with each step.

Without a word, Destiny reached out and slipped her hand into Frank's. Her grip was firm, grounding, a lifeline in the maelstrom of the night. Frank's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't pull away. Was it a moment of vulnerability, a seeking of comfort after the violence, or something deeper? He didn't know, and in the silence of their shared walk, he didn't ask.

They passed an outdoor restaurant where the late-night crowd was thinning. The murmur of conversation floated on the air, snippets of dialogue that Frank's detective's ears automatically tuned into.

"...that car, parked by the marina all week. A real beauty, a high-value model, just sitting there."

Frank's attention sharpened. "Hear that?" he whispered to Destiny, tilting his head toward the restaurant.

She nodded, the shadow of a plan already forming in her eyes. "A car like that could get us to Cairo fast. Might be hot, but it's better than waiting for Farouk's clunker."

Frank agreed. "We need to move quickly and stay off the radar. A car like that—it's perfect."

“I’ve got an idea…” Frank said.

“I’m way ahead of you.” Destiny replied.

Destiny moved with a feline grace, her eyes locked onto the target—the owner of the high-value car, a portly gentleman with a fondness for flashy jewelry and finer things, evident in the rings that adorned his fingers and the silk scarf knotted at his throat. He sat at the restaurant, a plate of half-eaten oysters before him, a man used to the world giving him what he wanted.

Frank watched from the shadows, a bystander in a play where he knew his cue was coming. He could see the glint in Destiny's eyes, the deliberate sway in her step as she approached the man. The night air held a charge, the electricity of the impending action.

Destiny took the seat opposite the car owner, her smile a weapon of its own. "Is this seat taken?" she asked, her voice honey over gravel, sweet and rough in all the right ways.

The man was all too eager to wave away the invisible occupant he'd been saving the seat for. "For you, miss, it's available," he said, puffing up like a peacock. His eyes roved, taking in the sight of Destiny as she pretended to be interested in his dull chatter.

Frank felt a twinge of something uncomfortable as he watched, a mix of admiration for Destiny's skill and a reluctant acknowledgment of her allure. She was playing her part to perfection, laughing at the man's jokes, touching his arm with a feigned casualness that belied her true intent.

The gentleman was lapping it up, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to what he no doubt thought was a seductive murmur. Frank used their distraction to slip behind the wheel of the car, the keys already in his hand. He felt the thrum of the engine, a promise of the chase to come.

He watched, the tension winding tight within him, as Destiny touched the man's cheek, her fingers dancing close to the silk scarf. "You're quite the charmer," she cooed, her other hand slipping the keys from his pocket with a magician's sleight of hand.

The man was clueless, too caught up in Destiny's web to notice he was being played. Frank had to hand it to her; she had a touch as light as a pickpocket's and a presence that could command the stage.

As Destiny stood, making her apologies and promising to return, Frank knew it was showtime. He crept from the shadows to the driver’s side of the car. Destiny walked away from the table, the keys to the car twirling on her finger, a victorious gladiator leaving the arena.

She tossed the keys to Frank as she neared the car. He caught them and in a single soop, unlocked the car and hopped inside. He lit up the ignition like a cigarette , the sound a purring growl that cut through the night.

The passenger door swung open. Destiny stood for a moment before entering, “Don’t worry, I’ll get the door.”

The moment Destiny slid into the passenger seat, Frank hit the gas, the car peeling out of its parking spot with a screech of tires. They were off, leaving the bewildered man at the table, his night suddenly taking a turn for the worse.

As they raced through the streets, the lights of the port town blurring past, Destiny let out a laugh, the sound rich and full of life. "You should have seen his face," she said, the thrill of the heist bright in her eyes.

Frank couldn't help but join in, the tension breaking like a wave as they left their troubles behind, if only for a moment. They were bound for Cairo, with a stolen car, a plan, and a hope that the road ahead would lead them to the answers they sought.

The night had deepened into a velvety blackness as Frank and Destiny sped away from the port town, the purloined car a streak of sleek, dark metal against the moonlit road. But the tranquility of their escape was short-lived. In the rearview mirror, the flash of red and blue lights shattered the calm, a discordant symphony of color that boded trouble.

"The locals have noticed their shiny toy's missing," Frank said, his voice a steady timbre despite the burgeoning pursuit. His eyes darted to the mirror again, where the lights multiplied, a growing swarm on their tail.

Destiny clutched the dashboard, her body tensed for the ride. "Just the locals?" she asked, a note of skepticism in her voice that matched Frank's own thoughts. It was too soon, too immediate for a simple police response. The society's hand was in this, he'd bet his last nickel on it.

Frank's hands were steady on the wheel as he downshifted, the car's engine responding with a roar. He'd been in his fair share of chases, though usually on the other side of the equation. His past life had taught him how to think like the hunted, a skill he now employed with desperate necessity.

He took a sharp left, tires screeching, the car's high-powered engine making light work of the narrow streets. The pursuing vehicles mimicked his maneuver, their engines growling in the quiet of the Egyptian night.

Destiny's eyes were on the road, searching for an advantage, a path, anything. "We need to lose them before we hit the open desert," she said, stating the obvious.

Frank nodded, his focus narrowing to the chase. He swung the car into an alley, a shortcut he hoped would throw their pursuers off the scent. The alley was a tight squeeze, the walls a blur on either side. He emerged onto a main street, a brief clear stretch before the next turn.

Behind them, the police and their less official companions hesitated, the alley's narrow maw less inviting to them. It bought Frank and Destiny precious seconds, a lead that could mean the difference between freedom and capture—or worse.

The car surged forward under Frank's guidance, a mechanical beast with a will to survive that matched its driver's. They weaved through the city, a complex tapestry of old and new, the car threading its way through the pattern with desperate urgency.

Destiny was checking the side mirrors, her face set in grim determination. "We've got maybe two, three cars left on us," she reported, her voice taut with tension.

"Good," Frank said, his lips pulling back in a grim smile. "Easier to handle."

Up ahead, the road forked, and Frank made a split-second decision, veering onto a less traveled path that wound its way toward the outskirts of the city. The car's headlights cut through the darkness, the only illumination in a world that had narrowed to the chase.

The remaining cars followed, their lights a constant reminder in the mirror. But Frank Baxter wasn't the kind of man who looked back for long. He was looking forward, to the edge of the city, to the open desert, and to the faintest light of dawn that hinted at the horizon.

The chase was on, the players set, and Frank and Destiny were running the race of their lives. They were a team now, bound by necessity and a common enemy. And as the first light of morning tinged the sky with pink, they raced toward it, toward Cairo, and toward the heart of the secret society that had brought them together.

The city was waking up, its streets still groggy with the remnants of night as Frank gunned the engine, the car a bullet shot from a gun, fast and aimed at the heart of escape. They were threading the needle, Destiny and Frank, the car an extension of his will, every turn and swerve a word in the language of flight.

He was a maestro at the wheel, conducting an orchestra of motion, each movement a note struck in the symphony of their getaway. The roads were narrow, a serpentine tangle laid out by hands long turned to dust, but Frank navigated them with the ease of a spirit slipping through the veil.

Behind them, the pursuers were less adept, their cars bulky and cumbersome in the ancient byways. They were close, too close at times, their headlights an unwelcome glare in the rearview mirror. But for every move they made, Frank had an answer, a counterpoint that kept the dance going.

A fruit stand exploded in a riot of color as Frank brushed past, oranges and apples tumbling in their wake, a makeshift barrier against those who followed. A cart laden with textiles tipped and spilled its vibrant load, bolts of fabric unrolling like carpets for royalty, tangling under the wheels of their pursuers.

Destiny was not idle. She rifled through the backseat, finding an assortment of the previous owner's personal effects—golf clubs, a briefcase, a bottle of expensive scotch. She made each count. A well-timed toss of the briefcase had one car swerving wildly, clipping a scooter that clattered to the ground in a cacophony of curses and honking.

The chase was a beast, all teeth and noise, and they were riding its back, desperately holding on. Frank swerved into an alleyway so narrow the car's mirrors scraped the walls on either side, a screech of metal that was almost a scream.

They emerged onto a wider avenue, a brief respite before the next twist in their flight. But the respite was a ruse—a trap for the unwary—and Frank didn't fall for it. He took a sudden turn down a side street, leaving one of their pursuers to overshoot, the brake lights flaring in a futile gesture of realization and regret.

Destiny found the scotch, uncorked it, and with a grin that was all fire and fight, she flung it over her shoulder. It shattered on the windshield of the car behind them, a rain of glass and alcohol that blinded the driver. The car veered, a beast struck blind, and crashed with a thunderous roar into a light pole. The explosion was a ball of fire that lit up the dawn, a sunburst on the city's edge.

Breathing hard, Destiny looked at Frank. "How's that for a morning wake-up call?"

Frank's response was a tight smile. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

They were clear now, the city falling away, the open desert ahead a blank slate on which they could write their own story. Frank eased up on the gas, the car settling into a steady purr as the adrenaline slowly seeped from their veins.

They had escaped, but the day was just beginning. And in Cairo, the real hunt would begin.

The road unfurled before them like a ribbon through the desert, the burgeoning light of dawn a backdrop to their flight. Frank eased the car into a less frantic pace, the absence of the chase a silence that rang loud in their ears.

Destiny let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for miles, her body slumping slightly in the seat as the tension drained away. Frank felt it too, a loosening of the muscles, a slow unwinding of the coiled spring inside him.

They shared a glance, a mutual recognition of the ordeal they had just survived. Destiny's smile was a thing of beauty, a brief blooming in the desert of their predicament. "Not a bad bit of driving, Mr. Baxter," she said, her voice a mix of admiration and something more, something Frank wasn't sure he was ready to parse just yet.

"Couldn't have done it without your... improvisations," Frank replied, acknowledging her role in their narrow escape.

The car hummed along, a capsule of calm in the cool morning air. The night's events were a painting still wet to the touch, a series of moments that could smudge and smear if they weren't careful.

They drove in silence for a time, the sky lightening from indigo to azure, the stars fading like the last notes of a nocturne. The desert was vast around them, a landscape that dwarfed their concerns, but Frank knew that the vastness was an illusion. Trouble had a way of filling up the space around you, no matter how wide the horizon.

Eventually, the silhouette of Cairo began to take shape against the lightening sky, the city a jagged line of shadow and promise. It was a place of history, of stories layered upon stories, and they were about to add their own.

Destiny shifted in her seat, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. "Cairo," she said, as if the name was a talisman that could ward off evil or perhaps summon it.

"Cairo," Frank echoed. He felt the weight of the city's history, the gravity of their mission pressing down upon him.

The first rays of the sun caught the tops of the pyramids, setting them ablaze with gold. It was a sight that might have inspired awe at any other time, but now it was just a marker, a signpost on the road to a rendezvous with danger.

As they approached the city limits, the traffic began to thicken, the world waking up around them. Cars filled with people on their way to work, to school, to a thousand different lives that knew nothing of the shadow war Frank and Destiny were fighting.

Frank found a side street and turned off, the car's engine quieting to a murmur as he killed the ignition. They were here, on the edge of their next chapter, hearts still beating a staccato rhythm, breathless with more than just the exertion of their escape.

The next phase of their adventure lay in the heart of Cairo, amongst its teeming streets and ancient secrets. And as they sat in the car, watching the city come alive, Frank knew that the game was about to change. They were players on a grand stage, and the roles they were about to take on would test them to their very cores.