Just as Shiller anticipated, someone soon came knocking. No one could expect the hotel reception to stop unexpected visitors. But if too many enemies came, they might be kicked out of the hotel. So, after Shiller and Deathstroke finished tuning up their gear in the room, they decided to head out again.
The traffic on the streets of Cairo was pretty chaotic, with all sorts of private cars, taxis, and motorcycles coming and going. What's more annoying was the lack of control over superpower users, and with various forces intertwined here, it was common to see people leaping between buildings, which the local residents were quite used to.
Amusingly, even in the capital, Cairo, many houses had no roofs. This might be because local regulations stipulated that as long as a house was unfinished, it was not considered a normal building and did not require property tax. So many residents chose not to roof their houses. It was a natural open space that attracted many street heroes and queers. Looking around, many people were camping on the rooftops of residences.
They stood there overlooking the bustling traffic below, almost as if they were choosing prey. The combination of Shiller and Deathstroke was certainly eye-catching; the local gang was the first to show up.
A group of people jumped down from the rooftop, wearing light local clothing and carrying baseball bats on their shoulders. The leader wore sunglasses and chewed gum, while a few others carried beer cans.
"Hey, big guy, your armor looks good." The other's English accent was heavy, and Deathstroke almost didn't understand. Plus, he was sure the word "armor" was mispronounced—probably a word in Arabic.
"Thanks for the compliment," Deathstroke said, "you're not bad either."
The other seemed surprised by Deathstroke's mildness. He tilted his head and said, "Seriously, this doesn't suit you. How about I try it on?"
"Do you know how heavy this thing is?" Deathstroke replied, "Even just the chest plate, you wouldn't be able to handle it. Also, the lining doesn't help with sweat, and you would die from overheating in less than ten minutes."
The leader was stunned. He took a good look at Deathstroke: this guy was indeed absurdly strong, standing at 1.93 meters tall and weighing over 200 pounds. More importantly, he was incredibly broad-shouldered, like two doors, and his biceps looked like a Tyrannosaurus's legs.
This was almost any man's dream physique, coupled with that imposing heavy armor and the great sword on his back, exuding pure violence that was mesmerizing to behold.
However, this big guy seemed to have a good temper. This street gang had a sort of respect for someone who smiled. The leader folded his arms and said, "Alright, but the sword on your back looks nice. Can I have a look?"
Deathstroke really took the sword off and handed it over. As soon as the sword was in his hand, the leader staggered under its weight. The density of N metal was no joke; this sword had to weigh dozens of pounds, and the balance was uneven, making it a pure leverage effort to wield. Even holding it by the hilt was difficult, not to mention using it.
As the sword was about to fall to the ground, Deathstroke reached out to steady it. Instead of fighting, the other withdrew his hand, shaking it comically and saying, "What kind of monster are you? Can you really swing this thing?"
This was spoken in Arabic, which Deathstroke couldn't understand. Though he knew some Arabic, the heavy Cairo accent made it hard for him to comprehend.
Seeing that there was no breakthrough with Deathstroke, the others turned their gaze to Shiller. Shiller flashed his badge and said, "Infamous American, I know that's what you're about to say. But I also come with a lot of US dollars. Want to find a place to talk?"
The man was clearly taken aback, probably for the first time meeting such an upfront American. But these two indeed looked like wealthy people. These local small-time thugs were not involved in the big power struggles, only picking up leftovers and making some money at best. Earning some direct US dollars was even better.
The man tossed his head, signaling them to follow into a nearby alley. In the alley, there was a shed; he led the two underneath it. Another person ran around to the other side of the building, lowering a ladder from the top. They climbed up quickly, reaching a rooftop camping area. It was surrounded by walls and windows but had no roof.
But in Cairo, that wasn't unusual. The place was very arid, rarely rained. With no roof, it was ventilated and cool. Though the sun was harsh during the day, they could hide at the base of the walls to avoid direct exposure.
Deathstroke and Shiller climbed up. The other people in the campsite seemed a bit tense. But the man who led them up said a few words in Arabic, and the others went down the ladder.
"Alright, I can tell you've got trouble," the man said as he started talking.
"You can't solve our trouble," Shiller didn't seem to be negotiating, just stating a fact. He said, "We're going to the Egyptian Museum."
The man's alert was heightened immediately: "You're here to steal artifacts?"
"Quite the opposite. An artifact was brought here, and some people need the information on it. We're here to retrieve it."
Shiller paused for a moment, then continued, "The artifact smuggler is probably colluding with your locals. What do you know about it?"
The man frowned, paced in front of the window, and said, "If he really put that thing into the Egyptian Museum, then he should be close with the curator Hayven. That guy is a curator on the surface but controls almost all of Egypt's underground antiquities trade market, familiar with all kinds of artifact dealers."
"They're probably trying to ship it to Europe," Shiller added, "That artifact smuggler is actually an arms dealer from Paris, France. His employer wouldn't be too far from his home."
"Hayven is practically half European himself," the man said with some sarcasm, "He spends more than half the year in a European holiday estate, so it's not surprising he knows a few old Europeans. As for arms dealers—there are arms dealers everywhere here; it's hard to pin down anyone with that."
"Can you get us inside?" Deathstroke asked.
The man was taken aback for a moment and then said, "Can't you just buy a ticket?"
Deathstroke slapped his forehead and almost wanted to laugh. He was just thinking about the infiltration, forgetting that the Egyptian Museum is actually a tourist spot. Anyone can enter just by buying a ticket. Although there are more people during the day, it's still no problem to go in for a visit.
"That thing won't be on display," Shiller said. "If there were a place to store these undisplayed artifacts, where would it be?"
"Every museum has a storage room," the other person replied. "The storage room of the Egyptian Museum should be underground."
"Should be?"
"Hayven is very cunning and wouldn't put all his eggs in one basket. He might also have private vaults and safes. It depends on what exactly you're looking for."
"A half-ton fresco."
The other person suddenly understood and said, "Then it could only possibly be underground in the museum."
"Why?"
"Although Hayven is formidable, he's not really high-level. His vaults are okay for small items, but they couldn't store something as large as a fresco, otherwise Egypt wouldn't have a single mummy left," the other person paused, then continued, "Besides, many Egyptian relics have specific temperature requirements. The underground storage of the Egyptian Museum meets most of the artifacts' needs, being spacious and professional. The thing you're looking for should be there."
Shiller turned and reached out to Deathstroke. At first, Deathstroke didn't understand. Somewhat helpless, Shiller said, "Money."
As Deathstroke fished out money, he said, "Why do I have to pay? Can't you, a damn agent, use public funds for something meaningful?"
Shiller took the money from his hand—a wad of US dollars, probably several dozen bills. He handed it to the person and said, "Thank you for the intel. Keep today's conversation to yourself. Thanks."
"You know I can't guarantee that," the other person pocketed the money, then said, "If someone puts a gun to my head, I'd have no choice but to tell them."
"That situation is not included," Shiller shook his head, walked toward the ladder with Deathstroke, and said, "If someone does ask, then go ahead and tell them."
They jumped out of the window. Deathstroke glanced back, then at Shiller, and said, "Is there nothing you want to ask?"
"Ask why you think he's like your son?" Shiller sighed and said, "Because you've gone insane. You see any young person and it makes you think of your son."
"No way," Deathstroke argued, "It's because they do have some similarities. Joseph used to be rebellious too, even joined some gang. His mother complained to me more than once..."
"What do I have in common with him?" Shiller turned and asked.
"Um... you're both quite young," Deathstroke couldn't truthfully say they were similar, but after thinking for a bit, he added, "You both have similar builds. Even though he's not as tall as you, he's just as lean. His mother and I reminded him many times not to be a picky eater..."
"So how do you plan to get him here?"
Deathstroke touched his mask and said, "He's planning a graduation trip and hasn't decided on a location yet. He should be somewhat interested in Egypt, and Cairo would surely be the first stop."
"You bribed his good friend?"
"Not exactly. While his relationship with me isn't great, he does get along with my good friend Dongqing. Dongqing has always been trying to improve our relationship. Hearing that I wanted to take my son on a journey to explore Ancient Egyptian history, he immediately encouraged Joseph to spend more time with me."
"It's rare that you do have a friend," the agent remarked, "How long have you known each other?"
"Of course, a long time," Deathstroke said with slight pride, "I'm not as incapable of forming lasting friendships as you think. We're very close, practically like brothers."
"If he knew what kind of a mess you plan to involve your son in, you might not be," the agent said.
Deathstroke froze a bit. He knew that Dongqing was quite protective of Joseph and always advised him not to be too hard on Joseph, suggesting that living a quiet life wasn't so bad. He could almost imagine what Dongqing would say if he knew about his actions, probably only one step away from ending their friendship.
"So what should I do?" Deathstroke asked. It seemed he wasn't unable to think of a solution; he just felt that since it was Shiller's idea, Shiller should take responsibility and come up with a plan.
"Why do anything?" Shiller said. "If the plan works, your son will naturally protect you, and your buddy can't do anything. If the plan doesn't work, those two together still couldn't take you on. What are you worried about?"