The Last American in Cairo

The heat pressed against the hotel room window like a jealous lover. Sarah watched the street below, where a gaunt orange cat picked through garbage, its movements precise and practiced.

"You're going out there again, aren't you?" Mark didn't turn from his laptop. The pyramid scheme—no, that was unfair. The multi-level marketing opportunity that had brought them to Cairo—required his constant attention.

"Just for coffee."

"The company doesn't reimburse for solo excursions."

The cat looked up, met her gaze through three floors of distance and glass.

Sarah had suspected something was wrong for months. The encrypted calls at odd hours. The locked briefcase that never left his side. The way he flinched when she asked about his consulting clients. Yesterday, while he showered, she'd found the false bottom in his luggage. Not company documents. Not client files.

Blueprints. Security protocols. Site plans for the Giza plateau.

She'd married an accountant. Somewhere along the way, he'd become something else.

The cat vanished into an alley, and Sarah made her decision. She packed light—passport, cash, the flash drive she'd copied from his briefcase. The American embassy would know what to do with a corporate spy who'd sold out to the highest bidder.

Outside, the air tasted of diesel and dust. The Sphinx watched from its eternal vigil, and beyond it, the pyramids cut sharp shadows against the bleeding sun. Ancient monuments to hubris and eternal life, built by people who believed they could outrun their consequences.

Mark would learn the truth soon enough. Some pyramids were built of stone. Others were built of lies. And in Cairo, both eventually collapsed under their own weight.