The Egypt Chapter: The Secret Agent

Francesca strode through the narrow lanes of the busy, crowded city. Apparently, an Egyptian festival was coming up, and the market roads were going crazy.

She turned into a deserted alley, her leather shoes kicking a barrel aside. A man suddenly fell into step beside her. He shoved a pouch into her hands, gave her hand a light squeeze and disappeared into a dark alley.

Checking that no one was looking, Francesca broke into a run and lightly lifted herself onto the low house roof. She straightened to see old-timey Egyptian structures spreading as far as she could see.

Francesca Bianchi was a field agent of the Italian embassy in Egypt. She’d been tracing a highly dangerous band of smugglers and her latest lead had brought her to Luxor.

She spotted a hooded man standing atop a house’s drainpipe a street away. She casually tugged a dart out of the pouch and flung it at the man. She expected it to sink into his shoulder, but impossibly, he caught it. 

Francesca’s training was deep in her bones. She flattened herself behind the chimney before risking a glance. The man was sprinting in the opposite direction, rooftop to rooftop.

Francesca’s disbelief was cancelled out as her spy instinct took over. She leaped over the alley and began following the man over the streets of Luxor.

She didn’t risk a dart again, instead poured on the speed. She stumbled over a loose rafter, cursing. Her Italian feet were not made for leather. She yanked her shoes off before racing to catch up with the hooded man, her bare feet giving her double the grip.

Francesca was gaining on the man. She was about to lunge for his foot when he disappeared into the wide alley below. She was about to drop down after him, but hesitated, suspecting an ambush. She decided to cross to the next slightly higher house and scout. She took a step back before leaping over the alley. Unfortunately, she never got there.

Francesca was yanked suddenly out of the air, her ankle jarring with pain. She tried to land rolling but there was another tug on her ankle, and she crashed headfirst into the soft dirt ground.

Rough hands kicked her over onto her back and she recognized the man she’d been following as he pressed a knife to her throat. Someone was already tying her ankles and hands together.

“Identity, woman.”

“Bi-Bianca Rosalin.”

She bit her lip as pain wracked her body. The man behind her had kicked his boot into the base of her neck.

“Nice try, Bianchi.” The man in front of her held up her pouch and passport, her real passport, in front of her.

He reached into the pocket of her jacket and drew out her small knife, the size of her palm. She gasped.

“Yep, we know where you hide your little toys. But that’s not enough, now, is it?”

Francesca glared at the man as much as she could with a knife at her throat.

“You’re going to give us all the intel we need, Bianchi.”

The agent gritted her teeth and spat out. “I. Will. Not. Help. You.”

The man simply chuckled and held out a napkin to her nose. “We’ll see about that."

To be continued...

-The Daughter of Athena