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Back The Desert of Glass Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. II
  83. III
  84. IV

Rickards’ face was as white as Angela’s, reeling from the suggestion.  Thinking back to what happened to him at the spire.  What and who he had seen.

Neither spoke, leaving the older man with one final statement.

“Niels Bohr, who argued with Einstein over quantum theory for years and was eventually proven right, once described the separation between our world and the quantum world as a giant curtain standing between the two.  Something tells me that the spire in Bolivia… is the curtain.”

39

39

The UNICEF office in Cairo was three blocks from Egypt’s famed Nile River, near Abrag AlShaheed, with a bright ambient waiting room glowing from the patchwork of lightly colored flooring and large windows. A sizeable Egyptian rug lay neatly between several antique-styled coffee tables and chairs, all arranged and facing a chest-high reception desk approximately thirty feet away attended by two young women who remained quiet with their heads down.

Mona Baraka finally turned her eyes to Omar from one of the chairs and raised both eyebrows impatiently, receiving only a shrug in response.

They had been waiting over thirty minutes.

“What is taking so long?” she mouthed.

“We didn’t exactly have an appointment,” answered Omar in a whisper.

Mona leaned into her chair without replying, trying to glimpse a piece of the office around a corner of the wall.  She was about to speak again when a woman in a light-gray pantsuit with long, light-brown hair finally appeared and approached them.

She smiled graciously and held out a hand, shaking Mona’s as she rose to meet her.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” she apologized.  “We’re all terribly busy this afternoon.  I was told you wished to speak with someone.”

“Yes, we do.  Thank you.”

“My name is Shani Darwish.  How may I help you?”

“What is your role here, Ms. Darwish?”

“I work in the Public Relations department of Egypt UNICEF.  I was told you wanted to speak about one of our orphanages.”

“In a manner of speaking.  Is there a quiet place we can talk?”

“Of course.” The young woman motioned behind her.  “Follow me, please.”

Together they rounded the corner revealing a large open layout with working chairs and tables in the middle, several occupied, and lined on each side with wooden walls and office doors.

Turning again, the three approached a series of glassed conference rooms and entered the only one that was empty.

“Please, sit down,” the woman offered.  “May I get you something to drink?”

“No.  We’re fine,” replied Mona, sitting in one of six black leather chairs at the end of the table and directly across from Omar.

When the door was closed, Darwish moved to another chair and sat facing them.  “I understand you are both journalists.”

“Yes,” she lied.  “Thank you for seeing us on short notice.”

Shani Darwish smiled politely.

How about no notice.

“We wanted to speak to you about some of your children.”

“Of course.”