The next morning, the dark and the quiet of the Egyptian night broke as it had daily for untold years. As the first motes of brilliant orange and yellow light mottled the undulating dunes of the seemingly limitless desert landscape, Hunter Price awoke.

He regarded his sleeping wife Tiyana for a few moments before climbing out of bed, putting on a pair of convertible khakis and wrapping a white cotton button-up around his shoulders. He staggered out into the first smoldering embers of morning light where he waited and remembered that Shenouda would not bring him toast and coffee. He wondered where she was and how she was.

When Hunter walked into the makeshift cafeteria tent, only a few workers had arrived. They busied themselves brewing coffee, baking pastries, and preparing fruit, yoghurt, and granola for the staff. Hunter walked into the kitchen, poured himself a coffee, grabbed a bagel, and walked out into the dining area. Long tables set parallel to each other accommodated the digsite staff for meals in the large mess hall tent. Hunter sat alone, picked up a remote control, and turned on a nearby television. The British Broadcasting Corporation flickered onto the screen. The commentators were talking about soccer. Hunter dipped his bagel into his coffee, blew on it, waited for it to cool, and then, finally, took a bite. Then he repeated the process. He absentmindedly watched the world news unfold before him as the soccer update ended.

Soon afterwards, Virgil strode into the hall.

“Good morning sunshine!” Hunter called out.

Virgil turned around. His eyes found Hunter, “Ah, there you are.”

Virgil approached and asked, “What do you have to do to get a coffee around here?”

“I’ll grab you one, have a seat. Want a bagel or some fruit?” Hunter asked.

“Bagel please. Thanks.” Virgil said as Hunter got up and walked to the kitchen.

When Hunter returned, he found Virgil’s eyes glued to the television screen. On the screen, a reporter stood in front of a shipyard.

“At about 2:15 a.m. this morning Somali pirates pulled off what looks to be the largest heist ever attempted. A container ship named the Kasse Alexander owned by Danish shipper Kasse Corporation was reported hijacked. That’s right, Alfred, hijacked. The shortwave radio communication received by the shore station indicated that pirates had taken the ship and that they demanded a four million pound ransom in British currency.”

The screen cut to Alfred in the home office and he said, “Can you tell us anything about the crew? Are they okay? Have they been taken hostage?”

The screen cut back to the reporter at the shipyard, “No word on the crew Alfred. I would assume that, yes, they have been taken. The vessel taken was, again, the Kasse Alexander, which has a capacity of four thousand containers, making it a panamax class boat and the largest boat hijacked to date.”

The screen cut back to BBC headquarters. “What of the reports on the strange condition of the hijackers? What exactly did the transmission say on that?”

The screen cut back to the on scene reporter again, though Hunter wondered if the shipyard that the reporter stood in front of actually had anything to do with the missing ship. “Al, before the shore lost the transmission they heard the crew yelling the word ‘zombier’ repeatedly. ‘Zombier,’ Al, is Danish for ‘zombie,’ which has led to speculation that the pirates either wore masks or were afflicted by a disease.”

Hunter stared at Virgil’s face, which looked contorted and angry. Virgil’s bare teeth showed through his raised upper lip.

“Vee, hey there buddy, you alright?” Hunter asked.

“Zombies, zombie, zombie, zombie.” Virgil kept thoughtfully repeating the word. Then he said, “Afflicted by disease... Hunter, it has begun.”

“The yzorak?” Hunter asked.

“Yes.” Came the reply.

“You never did explain what that was.” Hunter prodded.

“Fair enough. The technology of the Aldenduenum is not all gone. The Cywornal Clan, under Ghaelvord, kept some of it. It turns up from time to time. The yzorak-al’ghul are a biological weapon. Ghaelvord’s weapon of choice.”

“Like anthrax or agent orange?” Hunter asked.

“No, I am talking about an inoculation that does not debilitate. It is an agent that deprives the mind of reason, strengthens the muscles, decays the flesh, and makes those infected wholly susceptible to Ghaelvord’s infernal mind-controlling kebaac.”

“So this is how he builds his army. He spreads this agent and controls the afflicted.” Hunter said. He went on, “But how can he win? Surely if we go to the military with this…”

“No Hunter. We cannot go to the military. We cannot risk Ghaelvord waking the rest of the Dahjaat. If the Dahjaat wake, then I do not think that this world will survive the ensuing battle. We are not ready. We need more time. Hunter, nuclear and theoretical physicists are making rampant breakthroughs. Knowledge through computers and the internet has become readily accessible, easily indexable, and utterly efficient. The progress that we will experience with this new catalyst will be exponential. I have watched us eke and scrimp along for ages upon ages, patiently waiting for the point where knowledge becomes catalogued in a meaningful way. Now, that has happened. If I were to graph the progress necessary before the point where mankind could survive the rise of the Dahjaat, the line at the advent of computers would become parabolic. The final two thousand years will experience progress by leaps and bounds rather than by inches and steps. Hunter, we have one advantage and one advantage alone. Ghaelvord does not know that you found me. We have the advantage of surprise. We have the advantage of stealth.”

Hunter thought about that for a moment. “Sun Tzu said, ‘Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when youmove, fall like a thunderbolt.’”

Virgil smiled, “In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle, but indirect methods will be needed in order to secure victory.”

“Touché.” Hunter smiled back.

“About the army, Hunter. We could take the direct route and alert them, but to win, we will need to use indirect methods.”

Hunter took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders, “Agreed. So what’s our next move?”

“We go to Somalia. We pick up the trail there. He will not be expecting us. Hopefully, he did not cover his tracks as well as he should have.” Virgil answered.

“Somalia it is then.” Hunter finished the conversation as the BBC blared from the television set and the scent of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen.