"Can I get you something to eat?"
Charlotte's eyes fluttered as she turned, her attention split. The barista from the morning had a small menu in his hand. She felt extremely absentminded.
"I guess so. Wow, is it already dinner time?"
"Yeah. .have a big day at DIA?"
Her mouth pursed. She noticed an internal tightening in her gut at the words. How had this man guessed where she was going today?
"Don't worry, I only guessed because you were looking at the map this morning." He said, setting the menu down. "The DIA map."
Suddenly her mind hitched. The buses! He'd told her to watch for the buses!
"Crap! I'm sorry. You warned me to look into the buses."
The barista bent down and whispered, "careful. . you're being watched. Keep that close to your chest."
Then he stood again and smiled.
"Our flat breads are delicious. I wouldn't try the salads though. They aren't rinsed very thoroughly."
Charlotte nodded and looked up at the man. He appeared to be around her age, with dark hair and light brown eyes. He had tattoos on one of his arms.
"I'll take whichever one you like best."
He smiled again and took the menu, turning to head back to the kitchen. His words should have scared her, but his demeanor was so calm and kind. Whatever was going on at the airport, she had no doubts it was connected to the supposed New World Order. Was it Illuminati? Or Freemasons? She had to come up with a working theory, and soon. Her podcast was set to debut tomorrow night.
Sighing, she looked around discreetly. Which one of the other patrons was following her? It had happened many times before, in other countries. There were a few couples ordering but deep in conversations. None looked her way. Then there was an older woman sitting alone, rifling through a gossip magazine. She glanced up at Charlotte. Their eyes met for a split second. It's her. . she thought. The woman appeared rattled and picked up her purse, to take something out.
Satisfied she'd made the tail; Charlotte took out her phone and opened the notes. 'New world order' was in bold. Underneath the words she had the artwork, gargoyles and time capsule. They were merely breadcrumbs though. A warning if you will, for what was going on. She typed in 'why' and listed some reasons. Money/financial control, worldly assets and ultimate power. These seemed obvious. Most people would agree that a new world order entity would strive to possess each thing. But how.
"Here you go. Hope you like, it's my personal favorite."
The barista set a warm plate on the table. It smelled wonderful, enticing her appetite to come out.
"Thank you. This looks good. I'm sorry I didn't get your name this morning. ."
"Josh. Josh Diaz."
He smiled warmly, further solidifying in Charlotte's mind that he meant no harm.
"Very nice to meet you Josh, I'm Charlotte Loche." She said. "And thank you for your help."
She mouthed the last part. Josh nodded and glanced at the older woman leafing through the magazine. Charlotte noticed and gave a tiny return nod. He grinned, cocked an eyebrow and left her to the food. Whoever he was, he was a bit more than just an innocent barista. Which, she'd also run into before. Long ago, in Egypt.
She ate her food with a measured zeal not unlike she had at lunch earlier, though it was nice to eat in this cafe. Away from the airport. Zach had been a nice enough tour guide, but he was hiding things. Charlotte had zero doubts of that. She wondered if he was married or single. He wore no ring. If single, he could be devoted to a bigger cause.
Could I be wrong?
Her gut told her Zach was important. And that she needed to keep him close. Tomorrow's tour would give her more time to get to know him better and to hopefully find an anomaly. While researching for a film, she would always find a nugget that stuck out. Hidden from the general public. It would be just enough of a 'string' to unravel the entire garment.
Pushing her plate back, she glanced at her watch. It was almost 8 pm. She placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table and got up to go. Josh wasn't there, at least not at the counter where she could see him. The older woman had disappeared as well. Charlotte told herself to pay extra attention on her drive to the hotel.
Once in her car, she took a deep breath and looked around. No one was in front of her, only a few people were walking along the sidewalk, none were older. From behind she took a mental note of the makes and models of the cars going by. The hotel was only a few city blocks to the north, so hopefully nothing would happen before she got there.
Steady your nerves. It's not Egypt.
She pulled out, into traffic. It was fairly crowded now. Everyone was off work and going home for the evening. There were no signs of a tail, so she decided to park right by the front entrance to the hotel this time, instead of in the parking garage. More in the open, less chance of an encounter from whomever was following her.
"Welcome back Ms. Loche." The cheery front desk clerk said.
Charlotte smiled politely and walked briskly to the elevator. She was suddenly overcome with overwhelming fatigue. The day was long and doing investigations always caused this to happen. But this time, something else was off.
I feel nauseated.
She wondered if it was the food from the diner. Surely Josh wouldn't try to poison her, would he? He seemed by all accounts, a good guy. Working for the 'right side'. Stuffing the thoughts inside, she made her way off the elevator when it dinged open. She was able to use the key card to get into the room before she collapsed on the bed. Thoughts of Egypt played vividly in her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the wave of sickness that hit her stomach.
The airport in Cairo came into view. It was hot, sticky and Charlotte wanted to get through customs so the group could go to their hotel. She remembered how the eyes of most of the men in the airport were on her. It felt uncomfortable, and she wanted to wear her scarf that was packed into her carry on.
"Charlotte, they want to check our bags in a separate room." Her colleague, Marcus, warned her from in front.
They were ushered into a private room, off to the side and out of sight from the main line. She remembered feeling a twinge of fear as the customs agent left them alone with Cairo airport police. Eyes raked over her body. She had chosen a pair of loose linen pants and a button up blouse with a cardigan. It was far from form fitting.
"Why are you here in Egypt?" An officer asked Marcus.
"We are here on a work trip, we coordinated with your local tourist ministry office. We work for a Los Angeles based film studio."
The police weren't satisfied though. They began to paw through Charlotte's carry on. She had research material and a laptop they seemed interested in.
"Why are you researching the Rosicrucian's?"
The tone turned serious, as the men glared at her.
"We are, as I said, here to research for a possible film." Marcus said. "Our studio, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, is interested in this topic. If you just contact the local tourist ministry office. . ."
"No need. We will escort you to your hotel." One of the men abruptly said.
Charlotte looked at Marcus. He didn't appear panicked, but he was guarded. She resolved to stick right next to him in their group of seven. Marcus was the lead and for all intents and purposes, the one who took charge on their trips. The rest were murmuring among themselves. 'Why are they escorting us' was thrown around. The theories didn't make sense to Charlotte. No, something else was going on.
They got into vans that were unmarked. Seemed odd for police to use such vehicles, likely to whisk people away to foreboding destinations. There weren't enough seats, so the smallest females were forced to sit on a lap of another. Charlotte embarrassingly sat on Marcus. He was pleased though, placing his arm around her lower back to secure her more safely. Once the van pulled out into traffic, the bumps began. His grip proved necessary.
"Hang on." He whispered, audible enough for Charlotte to hear.
She strained to see where they were headed. The route to the hotel should keep them on main streets, as she had researched thoroughly before their arrival. A large pothole caused her to grip Marcus's thigh. He reacted by placing his other hand atop hers. The shock of the roadway on her spine coupled with the shock of her colleague's hand made her mind muddled. Marcus was never an option for her, nor her for him. But in the moment, she felt a spark of something.
Focus on the route.
She tried her best to keep track of the turns. They were veering off, up towards an area where warehouse buildings sat. Marcus's hands gripped her tighter, the one on her hand searing almost, into hers. Glancing at the front of the van where the police sat, she saw something glint in the sunlight. A small charm on a cord.
The rosy cross.