Page 72 of Ex Marks the Spot

Fly to the City of A Thousand Minarets. When you arrive, make your way to Khan el-Khalili to find your next clue.

“Damn. I was hoping they would’ve given us a hint.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she says with a wry smile. “But on a positive note, we haven’t seen the Bombshells or the A Team and they got here an hour before we did. Maybe that means it won’t be that hard to find after all.”

“Or it could mean they’re on the other side of this maze just as lost as we are,” Treva says. “Wait, where’s Boyd?”

“He was just right here.” I point to the now-vacant space at my left.

Hartley peeks into the adjacent shop.

“He couldn’t have gone far.” I look down both directions of the corridor and come up empty.

Hartley turns to the crew. “Did either of you see where he went?”

They shake their heads.

“Boyd?” Treva shouts into the din of the market.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” I say, still scanning our surroundings.

Hartley cups her hands around her mouth, but before she can call his name, he pops up on my left, grinning like an idiot as he holds up a clear plastic bag. “Look what I got!”

“Where the hell were you?” Treva says in her mom voice.

“Over there.” Oblivious to the panic he created, he points to a wall of lanterns about ten feet behind me. “There’s a food cart on the other side of that shop. I got enough for all of us and it was only adollar!” He waves the bag again, and this time I get a better look at what’s inside.

“Is that . . . a pita?”

“Aish baladi. I guess you could think of it as the pita’s Egyptian, whole-wheat cousin. I’ve been dying to try it. Plus, I figured we could use a snack since it looks like we’re going to be up for a while.” He delves into the bag and passes one to each of us, including the crew, before biting into his with a hearty moan. “Ohmagoh. Ih amahing.”

Hartley, Treva, and I have a silent conversation to the effect of:

Bread? Seriously?

He’s worse than a two-year-old.

Do we say thank you or wring his neck?

It is pretty good, though. I’ll give him that.

Treva tells Boyd to lead the way when we set out again, probably so he stays within eyesight, and we continue working our way through the market. A few minutes in, we hear an American voice shouting, “Make a hole!” behind us. A second later Big Mike and DeAngelo run past us, shoving me into a rack of clothing. I narrowly avoid knocking it over but roll my left ankle in the process.

“Court! Are you okay?” Hartley’s arms are around me in an instant, steadying me as I regain my footing.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

I wiggle my foot and ignore the pain firing through my ankle. “I’m fine. But more importantly, they’re either running toward a McDonald’s or someone told them where the clue box is. I vote we follow them.”

Boyd shrugs. “We don’t have any other leads.”

Treva and Hartley nod their agreement, so we pick up a jog and do our best to dodge oncoming pedestrians while keeping the Wise Asses in our sights.

Well,they’redoing their best. I’m just trying to keep up because fuck, this hurts.

“Why don’t we slow down a little,” Hartley says, eyeing me.

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