It’d just be a simple research job, they’d said -- nothing too big, just stop by and help translate a few papers and get a minimal cut of the pie before taking off to the next thing, and oh, you know, don’t go in on your own to SWOOP THE PRIZE before they did, okay? There was honour amongst thieves, she likes to think, even in things like archaeological prizes; and so when she’s arrives, fresh in Egypt with her book bag and not much else, she isn’t quite prepared for what awaits for her on the ground, where the professor seems, by all means, normal enough; famous within his field, and, a monster of a name, it’s a good boost for her, she thinks, to be apart of this even if the payoff by the end of it isn’t what she would have wanted, but the flight’s free and she’s got another lead in the region.
Instead at the hotel, she’s staring down men with guns, pointed rather squarely against her own head, someone left riffling through the bag at her side. “You’re not gonna really find ANYTHING IN THERE, you know.” tone as dry as the desert out their window, a glance exchanged with Mr. Jones, and, of course, it was a Mr. Jones. She’s never really learned, has she? “Can we help you with what you’re looking for, or is this just the way that people like to greet each other in this particular little town?” Perhaps the sarcasm isn’t helping her, but part of her can’t help it -- while it certainly isn’t the first or last time she’s had a gun pointed her way, it certainly wasn’t apart of what she thought she’d get out of this job, was it?
