Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu by Alexander Marmer Page A

tilted heavily to its left but miraculously avoided rolling over as it was counterbalanced by the weight of its fifty-caliber gun. While the gun turret, located on the top of the vehicle, swayed from side to side, Michael clung to the gun as the vehicle settled. Michael’s breath caught in his throat as he realized that had the muzzle of his .50 Cal been turned the other way, a rollover would have been imminent. The chance of any of them surviving would have been slim to none.
    Michael managed to pry open one of the damaged upper armored doors and crawl outside the burning vehicle. He instinctively pulled and crawled himself away from the fire-engulfed vehicle, dragging his injured leg behind him. The first thought that came to his mind, I’m alive! was soon forgotten when he turned back and saw the remains of the medium-sized RPG penetrated halfway through the right side of his Humvee. Michael rushed back to burning vehicle.
    “Preston! Are you all right?” Michael yelled as he yanked the door open and pulled the driver out of the burning vehicle. Private First Class Preston, fresh out of Basic Training and a country boy from Boise, Idaho, had no response. Seeing that Preston had lost an arm in the blast, Michael dragged his body to safety. Ripping off his belt, Michael quickly tied a makeshift tourniquet around the bloody remains. Then he looked at Preston’s chest. To his horror there was no motion or any other signs of breathing. Falling back on his training, Michael immediately started the CPR process. Soon he felt the rising and falling of the driver’s chest.
    “So, how do you like Cairo?” the driver asked abruptly, glancing back at Michael. Blinking the glaring sun out of his eyes, Michael glanced at him in disbelief. What? But…how? A minute ago, he had no signs of life, and now he’s asking this nonsense? E gypt?”
    “My friend, hello,” Ahmoud was now giving Michael a lop-sided smile in the rearview mirror, “you like Egyptian traffic?”
    Michael looked through the side window and refocused on the Nile River they were crossing atop the El-Galaa Bridge. “Nnn o,” Michael stuttered. Oh my God! It took Michael a couple seconds for his mind to refocus. He was in Cairo, not Baghdad. He took a deep, shaky breath of hot Egyptian air and gritted his teeth. These flashbacks, I can’t keep having them. It’s over and I’m safe now.
    Once the taxi crossed over the Nile, which surrounds Gezira Island, they emerged at the entrance to the island. Almost instantaneously, the traffic faded away. Michael caught a glimpse of the outlines of the Cairo Tower, the famous freestanding concrete TV tower located in the Zamalek district on Gezira Island. At 187 meters, the Cairo Tower is 43 meters higher than the Great Pyramid of Giza, which stands some 15 kilometers to the southwest. The distance, however, felt a lot farther considering the amount of time they had been trapped in traffic.
    The cab made a sharp left turn onto Om Kalthum Street and passed the Cairo Opera House. The splendid Opera House complex housed multiple galleries, including the Museum of Modern Art, a variety of restaurants and concert halls. The funds for the Opera House were a gift from the nation of Japan to Egypt after the Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak visited Japan in April of 1983. Michael was excited to see the Opera House in person as he planned to see one of its productions during his vacation. “Swan Lake,” a ballet composed by the Russian composer Pyotr Tchaikovsky about Odette, a princess turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer’s curse was indisputably Michael’s favorite.
    The taxi finally pulled over at hospital. He exited the cab, giving Ahmoud a tip for safely navigating him through Cairo’s crazy traffic and then made his way into the emergency room entrance.
    The registration clerk looked up when Michael reached the counter. “I’m here to visit a patient, Günther Schulze,” Michael said. The clerk checked the files