Cairo, Egypt—Street Outside Hotel
Maggie had secured everything she needed to leave Egypt and return to France. She focused her energy on returning to Chateau Le Viper in Puy L’eveque with one thing on her mind. She wanted to confront the man who caused all this hurt, pain, and humiliation. She couldn’t understand how Kent could leave her. She never questioned if she loved him or if he loved her. It was a ruse. It was a relationship forged to gather the information MI6 needed. She never hated Kent before that fateful day of Seddik’s assassination. She also couldn’t believe that MI6 set her up as well. Surely they knew someone was manipulating Kent. They had to know there were multiple threats to Seddik’s life. Why would MI6 desert their agent like this? What Maggie had forgotten was that help was one phone call away. Alas, she wasn’t thinking clearly; her ability to multi-task erased by the abuse she experienced.
Maggie checked her fake passport. She wanted to look at it one more time before hailing a taxi to the airport. To make the ruse complete, Maggie had dyed her blonde hair red—a dark burgundy—and stolen a suitcase. In it were clothes she either poached from motel rooms or lifted from the shops around town. The money she stole allowed her to eat and secure accommodations in a hotel from time to time. She had to cautious. If there were too many robberies in one location, it would draw the attention of the police.
It was time for her to leave. She closed her passport and was about to put it in her oversized purse when a large middle eastern man wrapped his arms around her, trapping her arms at her side. Maggie’s reaction was a quick kick to the man’s shin. She tried to thrust her head upwards in the hope it would make contact with the man’s nose. Instead, another man covered her mouth with an ether-drenched handkerchief. It was swift—these movements—so swift no one paid it any attention. Maggie’s body went limp as she drifted off to sleep. The man with the handkerchief dropped it on the ground as he snatched up Maggie’s legs in his arms. A car rushed to their aid, screeching to a stop alongside the curb. Hurriedly, the two men managed to climb into the backseat with Maggie in their arms. The car sped off, their actions caught the attention of a few people. The driver shouted he could take them to the hospital. Those in the crowd who had any interest in the commotion shrugged their shoulders and returned to their lives not the least bit eager to get involved.
The car did not travel to the hospital. Instead, it sped through the streets of Cairo to the outskirts where an abandoned airstrip had a plane waiting with the engines running. At the bottom of the steps that lead to the cabin of the small Gulfstream, two Western men waited for the car to stop. The doors opened, and the two men in the back seat removed Maggie, almost tossing her onto the tarmac. The two Western men caught her, one man stooping while the other helped to toss Maggie’s limp body into a fireman’s carry. The car sped off before the two men reached the top of the steps. Precision at its best kept this action from attracting too many eyes. The steps to the Gulfstream closed. The plane taxied to the runway. Within minutes, the plane was in the air and headed to Jordan. There the plane would refuel and continue to London.