mtl008 Chapter 4569 The Day of Brightest Day (28)
Chapter 4569 The Day of Brightest Day (28)
Chapter 4569 The Day of Brightest Light (Twenty-Eight)
Just as Schiller had predicted, people soon showed up at the door. No one could expect the hotel reception to stop uninvited guests. But if they attracted too many enemies, they might be kicked out of the hotel. So, after Schiller and Deathstroke finished setting up their equipment in the room, they went out again.
Traffic on the streets of Cairo is quite chaotic, with all sorts of private cars, taxis, and motorcycles coming and going. What's more troublesome is the lack of control over people with superpowers, and the fact that various factions are intertwined in the area, so it's common to see people leaping between buildings, and the locals are used to it.
Somewhat ironically, even in the capital Cairo, many houses lack roofs. This is likely due to local regulations: without a roof, a house is not considered a proper building and therefore not subject to property tax. So many residents choose not to roof their homes. This creates a natural open space that attracts many street heroes and queer enthusiasts. Looking around, many people were camping on the rooftops of residential buildings.
They stood there, looking down at the bustling traffic below, like they were selecting prey. The combination of Schiller and Deathstroke was clearly very conspicuous, and the local gangs were the first to come knocking.
A group of people jumped off the roof, dressed in light local clothing and carrying baseball bats on their shoulders. The leader wore sunglasses and chewed gum, while the others carried beer cans.
“Hey, big guy, your armor is pretty good.” The other man’s English accent was so heavy that Deathstroke almost didn’t understand him. And he was sure he misspoke the word “armor”—it was probably some Arabic word.
“Thank you for the compliment,” Deathstroke said. “You’re not bad either.”
The other person seemed surprised by Deathstroke's gentle tone. He tilted his head and said, "Honestly, this doesn't suit you. How about I try it on?"
“Do you know how heavy this thing is?” Deathstroke said. “You can’t even fit into the breastplate. And the lining doesn’t help with wicking away sweat. You’ll die of overheating in no more than ten minutes.”
The leader was stunned. He sized up Deathstroke: this guy was indeed ridiculously strong, standing at 1.93 meters tall and weighing over 200 pounds. More importantly, he was enormous, with shoulders as broad as two doors and biceps that looked like the thighs of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
This is the physique that almost any man dreams of. Combined with that imposing heavy armor and the greatsword on his back, he exudes a violent aura that is captivating to behold.
However, this big guy seemed to have a pretty good temper. These street gangs, you know, don't hit someone who's all smiles. The leader, arms crossed, said, "Alright, but that sword on your back looks nice. Can I take a look?"
Deathstroke actually took the sword down and handed it to him. But the moment the sword was in his hands, he stumbled from the weight. The density of N metal was no joke; this sword must have weighed several tens of pounds, and the weight distribution was uneven, making it a real lever of immense effort. Even gripping the hilt was difficult, let alone using it.
Just as the sword was about to fall to the ground, Deathstroke reached out and caught it. The other man didn't try to take it from him, but simply withdrew his hand, baring his teeth and shaking it, saying, "What kind of monster are you? Can you even swing that?"
This was in Arabic, and Deathstroke didn't understand it. Actually, Deathstroke knew some Arabic, but his Cairo accent was quite strong, so he didn't understand much either.
Seeing that there was no way to break through Deathstroke, the other party turned his attention to Schiller. Schiller flashed his badge at him: "Infamous American, I know what you're going to say. But you're also equipped with a lot of US dollars. Want to find a place to talk?"
The man was clearly speechless; it was the first time he'd seen such self-assured Americans. But these two did look wealthy. Local thugs like them had no chance in the power struggles of the big players; at best, they could only pick up scraps and make a little money. Earning US dollars directly would be even better.
The man tossed his head, gesturing for them to follow, and walked towards a nearby alley. There was a shed in the alley; he led the two men to its base. The other man ran off, circled around to the other side of the building, and lowered a ladder from the roof. They climbed the ladder and quickly arrived at a rooftop campsite. It had walls on all sides and windows, but no roof.
But for Cairo, this is nothing unusual. It's very arid here, with very little rain. Without roofs, it's well-ventilated and cool. Although it can be a bit sunny during the day, the walls provide shelter from the intense sunlight.
Deathstroke and Schiller came up. The others in the camp felt a little nervous. The man who had led them in said a few words in Arabic, and the others went down the ladder.
“Okay, I can tell you’re in trouble,” the other party said.
“You can’t solve our problem.” Schiller didn’t seem to be bargaining; he was simply stating a fact. “We need to go to the Egyptian Museum.”
The other party immediately became wary: "Are you here to steal cultural relics?"
"Quite the opposite. An artifact was brought here, and some people need information from it. We're here to retrieve it."
Schiller paused for a moment, then continued, "That antiquities dealer is probably in cahoots with you locals. Do you know anything about it?"
The other person frowned, paced by the window, and said, "If he really put that thing in the Egyptian Museum, then he must have connections with the museum's director, Haivin. That guy is the director on the surface, but he also controls almost the entire underground antiquities market in Egypt and is very familiar with all kinds of antiquities dealers."
“They probably wanted to ship that thing to Europe,” Schiller added. “The antiquities dealer was actually an arms dealer from Paris, France. His employer wouldn’t be too far from his hometown.”
“Hayvin is practically half European,” the man said with a hint of sarcasm. “He spends most of the year at his European resorts, so it’s not surprising that he knows a few old Europeans. As for arms dealers—there are arms dealers everywhere here, so you’re unlikely to find anyone by that.”
"Can you take us in?" Deathstroke asked.
The other person paused for a moment, then said, "Don't you know how to buy tickets?"
Deathstroke slapped his forehead, almost laughing. He'd been so focused on infiltrating that he'd forgotten the Egyptian Museum was actually a tourist attraction. Anyone with a ticket could enter. Although it was crowded during the day, getting in wasn't a problem.
“That thing will not be exhibited,” Schiller said. “If there were a place to store these unexhibited collections, where would it be?”
“Every museum has a storage room,” the man said. “The Egyptian Museum’s storage room should be underground.”
"should?"
"Haiva is very cunning; he won't lay all his eggs in one nest. He probably also has a private vault and safes. It depends on what you're looking for."
"A mural weighing half a ton."
The other person suddenly realized and said, "Then it can only be in the basement of the museum."
"why?"
"While Haivin is capable, he's not exactly a high-ranking official. His vaults are fine for storing small trinkets, but not for things like murals. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left Egypt with only a mummy." After a pause, the other person continued, "Furthermore, many Egyptian artifacts require proper insulation. The Egyptian Museum's underground storage rooms can meet the needs of most artifacts; they're spacious and professional enough. What you're looking for should be there."
Schiller turned and reached out to Deathstroke. Deathstroke didn't understand at first. Schiller said somewhat helplessly, "Money."
Deathstroke said as he pulled out his money, "Why am I paying? You damn agent, can't you use public funds for something meaningful?"
Schiller took the money from his hand; it was a stack of US dollars, probably several dozen bills. After handing it to the man, he said, "Thank you for the information. Don't tell anyone about today. Thank you."
“You know I can’t guarantee that.” The other person pocketed the money and said, “If someone holds a gun to my head, all I can do is tell them.”
“This situation is not included.” Schiller shook his head, walked towards the ladder with Deathstroke, and said, “If anyone asks, just tell them.”
They jumped out of the window. Deathstroke glanced back, then looked at Schiller, and said, "Don't you have any questions?"
"Why do you think he looks like your son?" Schiller sighed. "Because you've gone insane. You see any young man and think of your son."
“No, that’s not it,” Deathstroke retorted. “It’s because they do have some things in common. Joseph was rebellious before, and he even joined some kind of gang. His mother complained to me about it more than once…”
“What do we have in common?” Schiller asked, turning his head.
“Uh…you two are both quite young.” Deathstroke couldn’t bring himself to say they looked alike, but after thinking for a moment, he added, “You two are similar in build. Although he’s not as tall as you, he’s as thin as you. His mother and I have reminded him many times not to be a picky eater…”
"So how do you plan to get him here?"
Deathstroke touched his visor and said, "He's planning a graduation trip, but he hasn't decided on a destination yet. He seems quite interested in Egypt, and Cairo will definitely be his first stop."
"You bribed his best friend?"
"Not really. Although he and I aren't very close, he can talk to my good friend Dongqing. Dongqing has been trying to smooth things over between us. When he heard that I was taking my son on a journey to explore the history of ancient Egypt, he immediately went to persuade Joseph to spend more time with me."
“That’s rare; you still have a friend,” Schiller said. “How long have you known each other?”
“Of course it’s been a long time,” Deathstroke said with a hint of pride. “I’m not as incapable of building strong friendships as you think. We’re very close, practically best buddies.”
"If he knew what kind of mess you were planning to drag your son into, you two might not be together."
Deathstroke froze. He knew Holly had always been protective of Joseph and had always advised him not to expect too much from him, suggesting that a simple, ordinary life was fine for him. He could roughly imagine what Holly would say after learning what he had done; it was probably only a step away from a complete break.
"Then what should we do?" Deathstroke asked. It seemed he wasn't incapable of thinking of a solution, but rather felt that since Schiller had proposed the idea, he should take full responsibility, which was why he insisted on having Schiller come up with the solution.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Schiller said. “If the plan succeeds, your son will naturally protect you, and your good buddy won’t be able to do anything about it. If the plan fails, even the two of them combined can’t beat you. What’s there to worry about?”