unknown fate

Chapter Seven, Episode Three

Scene 1

The night had grown heavier along the side road where Imam drove his car, the desert wrapped in a cloak of mystery, pierced only by the distant shimmer of stars. Ahead, he noticed a fire burning brightly, around which a group of Sinai Bedouins sat in close circles, their voices low, their tents and camels resting quietly behind them.

Imam slowed his car, pulled over nearby, and stepped out with measured steps. He lifted the hood, feigning a breakdown, fumbling with the wires as though frustration and worry consumed him.

It didn’t take long for a few Bedouin youths to notice. They approached cautiously, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

One of them, his voice carrying the warmth of desert hospitality, asked:

– “Need any help, sir?”

Imam raised his head, sighing as though admitting defeat:

– “Looks like I’ve run out of gas.”

The young men chuckled among themselves. Imam forced a nervous smile, then asked:

– “What’s so funny?”

One of them replied, shaking his head:

– “Gas is scarce here… and the tanker only comes in the morning. Come, sit with us until dawn.”

A sly spark lit up in Imam’s eyes—this was exactly what he had hoped for. Everything was unfolding according to plan.

– “Thank you,” he said warmly.

They led him to their home, a modest Bedouin dwelling embraced by sand and silence. They welcomed him into the guest room, a separate chamber from the main house, adorned with traditional carpets and tribal patterns. Imam sat with the young men around a small fire, the aroma of strong Arabic coffee filling the room.

One of them said as he poured a cup:

– “By morning, the tanker will arrive. I’ll get you a can of fuel.”

Imam raised the cup in gratitude:

– “Thank you for your kindness and hospitality.”

The youth smiled back:

– “If you need anything, just call. We’ll be right outside.”

They left, closing the door gently behind them, leaving Imam alone with his thoughts. He leaned back, mind racing with images of the three checkpoints he had passed: the swarms of soldiers, the towering watchtowers, the sleepless floodlights. Crossing wouldn’t be easy—perhaps nearly impossible. And yet, he knew deep inside it was not beyond reach.

Weariness soon overcame him. His head sank onto the simple pillow, and he drifted into sleep under the still silence of the desert.

At dawn, the young Bedouins returned to wake him, only to find him already sitting, fully alert, as though he had never slept. One of them grinned:

– “Looks like you didn’t manage to sleep here.”

Imam answered calmly:

– “On the contrary, I slept well. Thank you.”

They cheered:

– “The fuel truck has arrived. We got you a can.”

Together they stepped outside, the crisp morning air brushing his face. They filled his car with fuel as Imam handed them some money in gratitude. With a final handshake, he got into his car and drove off, heading back toward Cairo, while behind him the Bedouins’ fire slowly dissolved into the vast desert sky.

---

Scene Two

Imam’s car rolled slowly toward the first checkpoint. His eyes were alert, his features a mixture of caution and composure. This time, the officer on duty was different from the one he had encountered the day before—a young man in his thirties, wearing his uniform with sharp precision, his gaze scanning the road with mechanical discipline. The officer barely glanced at the car before signaling him to pass without a word.

Imam forced a faint, polite smile and pressed lightly on the accelerator.

— “Thank you, sir.”

The car moved on, slicing through the desert just as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon. The sand-colored mountains loomed on either side of the road like towering walls, painted gold by the rising sun. The desert wind was sharp and cool, refreshing yet laced with unease. Imam reminded himself that he was still within dangerous territory—every checkpoint might conceal another test, another trap.

He soon reached the second barrier: a Border Guard checkpoint. The soldiers stood in rigid formation, one of them stepping forward immediately to raise the steel gate. Imam stopped the engine for a moment, scanning their faces, before asking casually, his voice calm and steady:

— “Where’s your comrade who was standing here yesterday?”

The soldier answered with a fleeting smile, gesturing toward a small building:

— “On break, sir. He left at six. We rotate shifts every twelve hours.”

Imam nodded, filing away the detail like a valuable piece of intelligence. Every change of shift, every routine—these could later become keys to slipping through the most guarded passage.

He added in a natural tone:

— “Mind if I use the bathroom?”

The soldier pointed to the side, without suspicion:

— “Go ahead, sir.”

Imam stepped out of the car, his movements measured, his eyes quietly mapping every inch of the checkpoint. Inside the restroom, he repeated his well-practiced move: pulling a sleek pen from his jacket pocket, fixing it neatly at his chest. The hidden camera inside recorded everything in silence—guards, watchtowers, weapon placements, even the paths of the officers as they moved.

Minutes later, he walked out, his expression calm, as though nothing unusual had happened. He flashed the soldier a brief smile:

— “Thanks, brother.”

Sliding back into the driver’s seat, Imam restarted the engine. The vehicle rolled forward smoothly, leaving the second checkpoint behind. Ahead stretched the endless desert, mountains rising like watchful sentinels, guarding secrets only the daring could glimpse.

Inside, Imam knew every successful passage brought him closer to his ultimate goal—yet with each step, the danger only grew heavier. It was a journey where survival meant balancing on the edge of discovery, and where every mile carried him deeper into the shadow of an unknown fate.

---