Chapter Text
After they had dropped off the kids at Sallah’s home, Cassian and the Egyptian drove to the outskirts of Cairo where Sallah’s friend, an old and wise Imam, lived.
Adding to his grief, Cassian felt dizzy. The cheap booze at the bar enhanced the crushing pain he felt in his brain. To make matters worse, it had mixed with his brief breakfast and upset his stomach. He felt like lying down and dying, but he had to carry on.
He wasn’t sure if Sallah wanted to divert his thoughts from Jyn or if he was merely sadistic when he said: “Krennić has the medallion.”
“That’s impossible,” he retorted, reaching inside his pocket where he had put it after finding it next to the burning wreck of the truck. In his state of mind, even an unskilled pickpocket could have taken it, but to his relief, it was still there. He showed it to Sallah, who only nodded.
“Yes, this one. A copy, of course, but made out of gold, with a crystal embedded in the centre. The same markings.”
Cassian felt like he had been suckerpunched. Again. “It can’t be. As far as I know, there are no drawings or photographs of the medallion. I don’t understand it.”
“There’s more. This morning, Krennić went into the map room. The one with the miniature model of the city. When he came out of it, he gave new instructions. A new spot to dig, far out of the camp.”
“The Well of Souls,” Cassian muttered.
“Most likely, considering he must have made some calculations inside the chamber.” Sallah agreed.
They had arrived at the house of the Imam, situated on top of a small knoll. It was made out of bricks and stones, had a rather round shape and reminded Cassian of the observatory at his college. A telescope that projected from a window beneath the room confirmed his comparison.
Before he could leave the truck, Cassian grabbed Sallah’s arm.
“You’re absolutely sure it looked like this?” he asked, pushing the medaillon towards him.
“I’ve seen it.”
“Have a closer look at it, please. Every little detail could be essential.”
Sallah took the piece and turned it around in his hands. “I believe there is one: Krennić’s medaillon only had markings on one side, not on both.”
“You’re sure?” A tiny spark of hope flickered inside of Cassian.
“Quite sure. Come on, we’ll know more once we’ve figured out the meaning of these markings.”
A boy of twelve opened the door for them and ushered them into a rather large room in the centre of the house. Tables, chairs, shelves and even the floor were covered with books, documents, manuscripts, maps, pillows and even a handful papyrus scrolls. On any other day, Cassian would have been intrigued, would have been drawn towards the sheer amount of wisdom and knowledge that filled the room.
Today was no such day.
The Imam was waiting for them. He was a small man, about as tall as Jyn -- Jyn , his heart stuttered - but with a face tanned by the heat and sand of Egypt, hands like claws and white hair. His skin was almost leathery, his clothes threadbare. But his eyes were alive with curiosity as he greeted Sallah and Cassian in his humble home.
Cassian gave him the medallion and the man immediately went to a small table in the corner, lighting an oil lamb and studying the piece carefully. In the meantime, Cassian and Sallah sat down on two comfy pillows.
Then, the waiting began.
Cassian was a patient person, you had to be considering most digs an archaeologist took meant hours, days and weeks of fruitless search. Which was maybe why Jyn hadn’t been that much interested in following her parents’ footsteps. She would have been just as clever as himself, hell, way more clever. But her motivation had been different. She wanted to travel and see the world without being focused on the past alone. To some extent, Cassian saw dates and events and the past. Jyn had seen the here and now.
They had been a perfect team. Not the same person, not at all. But people with genuine interest in what the respective other found fascinating and supported them, no matter what.
The boy, Abu, brought a bowl filled with fruits, some cheese and flatbread. Sallah took a piece of cheese, chewing, as absent-minded as Cassian. He wasn’t the only one who had lost someone dear to him, the Mexican remembered. Sallah had known Jyn too. Not as well as him and the big man had different feelings for her, but it was a loss nevertheless.
Cassian reached for the bowl and took a date, more to have something in his fingers to play with. He was getting restless.
“Come, come, look here.” The clear and very excited voice of the Imam suddenly ripped through the silence. The old man didn’t seem like an old and revered figure anymore. No, he was as giddy as a young schoolboy.
Sallah and Cassian sat down next to him. “Yes?”
Rising his left finger - similar to a teacher gently cautioning his students - he began. “This is a warning, not to disturb the Ark of the Covenant.”
“Anything more?” Cassian asked, slightly disappointed. He had had enough warnings already. They hadn’t helped.
“Yes, of course. The other markings tell us the height of the staff. Here.” He pointed towards a piece of paper he had apparently translated the markings on. “This was the old way. Which means: Six kadam high.”
“1.83 metres or seventy-two inches,” Sallah helpfully added.
“Wait!” The Imam suddenly intervened, raising the flat hand towards Sallah as a gesture to stop him. Then, he turned the medallion around, pointing at the markings on the other side. “And take back one kadam to honor the Hebrew God whose Ark it is.”
Cassian felt a bit more alive and grabbed Sallah’s arm. “You said Krennić’s piece only had markings on one side. You’re absolutely sure?”
The Egyptian nodded slowly, coming to the same realization as Cassian.
“Krennić’s staff is too long.” And then, together:
“They’re digging in the wrong place!”
Saw’s big paws grabbed his shoulders, slightly shaking Cassian. “Now we have an edge on them!” He turned around, walking towards the kitchen. Cassian faintly heard him singing. “I am the monarch of the sea. I am the ruler of the Queen’s Navy.”
Cassian looked at the date he still kept in his hand, lost in thoughts. The victory over Krennić felt empty -- a true pyrrhic victory.
No. Cassian had already lost. He would not need another such “win” to crumble down.
Behind him, the Imam spoke up again, now once again the severe scholar. “I don’t know who Krennić is, but I can warn you. There is a warning about the Ark you’d better take seriously. It says here: ‘Those who open the Ark and try to unleash its power will die, once it is released.’ I would heed these warnings, if I were you.”
Cassian felt a bit queasy. It wasn’t the first curse he would ignore, but the old man didn’t seem superstitious. Not at all.
Absentmindedly he reached a date towards his mouth when Sallah's arm appeared out of nowhere and nearly crushed his hand.
Cassian’s eyes shot towards the tall Egyptian, but before he could enter his defense mode, he saw the monkey they had met in Sallah’s house lying dead beneath a table, surrounded by date stones.
Sallah merely shrugged while gently prying the fruit from Cassian’s clenched fingers.
“Bad dates.”
Upon his return to their camp, Krennić had been received by one of Tarkin’s grim underlings. The man, some sort of lieutenant or something (Krennić cared little for military ranks), led him to Tarkin’s command tent. The Croatian’s amusement had yet to abate and the overly soldierly steps of the man, who marched as if he were on a parade, ensured that it would not cease to exist for a few minutes more.
Inside the tent, Tarkin sat at a wooden table, eating dinner. The sun had yet to set, but the workers were already busy tidying their tools away, turning in their findings and signing the papers that would be used to clarify how many hours each of them had toiled and how much they would be paid by the end of the week. Afterwards, they were herded into trucks and brought back into the city or to the small work camp outside of the German encampment. Krennić believed that Tarkin had numerous flaws, but his security measures were as good as the situation allowed.
Still, the man was a pest to be around. Even when cutting his food - a Wiener Schnitzel with some sort of potato-based garnish - the man acted like a soldier. Small, precise cuts, quick and calculated moves with knife and fork. Tarkin did not enjoy eating, he chewed on every piece of his meal with the same bored expression. It almost felt like the Oberst was annoyed by the fact he had to assimilate food.
Nobody offered Krennić a seat, so he made his way to a small collapsible chair a few feet away from the table, crossing his legs and fixing his gaze on the German officer with a smile that he knew would get Tarkin so annoyed that he would break the silence very fast.
He was successful.
With a distasteful expression - or maybe that was just the standard facial physiognomy - Tarkin wiped his mouth with a table napkin. “I hear your little foray into the city yielded no tangible results?” He didn’t even wait for an answer. “If you had at least got the girl or her medaillon. Based upon the progress, or should I say: the lack of thereof, Toth’s hand is not enough. Or your restoring abilities aren’t as good as you think.”
“We have reason to assume that the girl is dead and her medaillon lost. A pity.” He meant the medaillon, of course. Jyn was of little to no use for him. Galen had used the medaillon as some sort of sentimental gimcrackery for his wife and daughter and completely ignored what it really was. It was almost heretical.
“But it also means that there is no way Andor and his associates can recover it. In turn, we are the only ones who know how to find the Ark. Which limits his opportunities to either steal it from us or sabotage our efforts to find it. Considering he would have to enter our encampment and get past your soldiers to do both, the ‘foray’ was indeed a success in my eyes. Plus, the man is broken over the death of his beloved. He will be of little use.”
Tarkin was not convinced. “What I hear from you are empty promises. You went into the city to reclaim the medaillon and neutralize the threat the Americans pose. Not only did you fail in getting the medaillon, you also allowed Andor to escape. As long as he is alive, he is a threat. Or at least a nuisance.”
Krennić grinned. “But, Oberst. A lone Mexican tramp against 200 soldiers of the best Volk in the world. Why are you worried? Also, if you are so desperate to get rid of Andor, why didn’t you send some of your own men instead of relying on some local drunkards and human rabble? Have you fallen so low that you have to employ auxiliaries?”
Tarkin bared his teeth. “Even a mercenary such as you should realize that we can’t simply march into Kairo with a company of soldiers and start a firefight. This is still a British territory after all. The rabble should have been sufficient for the task. But it matters not,” the officer continued after a small pause. “I have doubled the guards. Any attempt to sneak into our camp will be uncovered soon enough. As long as your calculations are correct, I will soon be able to send some positive news to Berlin.” For the first time, something like life could be seen in Tarkin’s eyes.
Krennić rose with a sigh. “Well, I will retire for the night. After all, tomorrow will be an important day in our quest for the Ark. And, Oberst,” he added as he lifted the flap of the tent. “Be so kind and make sure your men are up for the task. I don’t think Berlin would take it kindly if your news are less… positive than expected.”
He could feel Tarkin’s eyes drilling into his back even after he arrived at his own tent.
After what had been the worst night of his life, a not very much fresher-looking Sallah woke him from his nightmare-plagued sleep.
Neither said much during the small breakfast, and even the normally joyful Fayah seemed downtrodden.
After climbing into Sallah’s truck, they drove towards the outskirts of Cairo, picking up the workers under employment of the Egyptian along the way. Sallah introduced their leader as Omar, a weary-looking man in his forties. They were all clad in the same white burnus that covered most of their body and protected them against the blazing sun and the sand.
Cassian had donned one too, covering his face even more than the rest of them to avoid being recognized instantly. He would not pass a closer inspection, but Sallah had assured him it wouldn’t be necessary. The Germans weren’t that meticulous.
Beneath spates and pickfords, a slender piece of wood was hidden. Cassian had spent much of the night carving and sharpening it so that it had the appropriate height - 1.52 metres and not 1.83 as Krennić thought.
When they had picked up the last of Sallah’s workers, Omar and Cassian switched places with the Mexican moving to the workers in the open back of the truck. The guards knew Sallah and slowly begun to recognize Omar, his friend had explained. But no one would care about the men in the back and the guard wouldn’t look at them twice.
After fifteen more minutes, they reached the outer German posts. It wasn’t much, just a tent and a wooden beam that blocked the sandy road. Three tired German soldiers in tan desert uniforms, armed with machine guns stopped the truck, gazed calmly into the driver’s cabin before their Feldwebel waved them through. Sallah was proven right. None of them bothered to look at the workers at all.
So much for Krennić’s security, Cassian thought with a light smirk that immediately died.
As they reached the top of the next sand dune, the digging side came into view.
Cassian had expected a lot given the stereotypes about Germans, but he was still impressed and even a bit shocked. As far as he could see, the desert was filled with tents, sweating men and equipment. Strewn across the plain were dozens of trucks, several cars and more importantly, diggers and bulldozers. Moving amongst them like ants were hundreds of Arab workers, most of them dressed in the same white clothes as Sallah’s men.
But for every five workers, there was one German soldier watching their backs, gun slung around their shoulders, screaming at them to work faster. Countless holes were dug in the landscape and they had managed to uncover several structures already. Beyond the digging area in the distance, Cassian thought he could spot something resembling a primitive airfield including a runway.
It was the biggest excavation side he had ever seen and he told Sallah as much once they disembarked.
“Indeed. Here,” he pointed towards a sandy hill near the middle of the side, “there’s the map room.”
“The one with the model of the city?”
Sallah nodded.
“When will the sun reach it?”
“Eight o’clock. About half an hour.”
“Then we better hurry. Where are they digging for the Well of Souls?”
Salah pointed yet again towards a cluster of workers and overseers almost a mile away from them to the north.
Cassian nodded. “We have enough rope?”
“Of course.”
“Then let’s go.”
"We are not heading towards the city.” Even the most clueless person would have been able to detect the anger in Jyn’s voice as she stared daggers at Chirrut. The blind man let the way, moving gracefully through the dunes, supporting himself with his wooden staff.
“We aren’t indeed, little sister. I thought you wanted to be reunited with the Doctor?” Chirrut’s mirth only increased Jyn’s fury.
“Yes. And we are moving away from him.”
Baze hummed wearily in the back and Jyn could feel Bodhi was about to say something in a brave attempt to defuse the situation.
“We are moving towards him. Or rather where he will be. If you would head back to the city, you would arrive at a place he has been. I’m not saying he won’t be there again, but for the here and now, we must go this way."
Jyn was about to make a retort, but Baze interfered and he made it clear the discussion would be over once he finished speaking.
“We all are here to protect the Ark. Protecting it means finding it. Finding it means we have to infiltrate the excavation side. Without doubt, your friend plans the same.”
Jyn marvelled at the grumpy man. Baze seemed gruff and even dangerous, but despite the clear rebuke in his words, they had been said in a gentle way, like a teacher calming an over eager pupil. They made sense too.
It was just… Jyn was tired of waiting. She hadn’t slept at all during the night, despite Chirrut offering her and Bodhi his finest carpet and some woolen clothes to sleep on. The Pakistani had been out like a light after lying down, but Jyn couldn’t help but think about Cassian. Was he still alive? Had he been captured? And if not, was he scouring the streets looking for her?
Jyn Erso wasn’t a needy being, but the few people that were close to her heart counted more than anything else in this cruel world. And she would not have another one taken away from here.
Smiling at Bodhi to signal everything was alright - a lie, but a noble one - she closed the line, moving next to Chirrut.
“How will we get past the guards?”
Chirrut’s smile had never left his face. “Oh, in my experience, doors that don’t exist are easily opened.”
The map room had been buried under tons of sand and even with their huge excavation efforts, the Germans had only been able to uncover the top of it. Therefore, the only way to enter and leave was through the hole in the ceiling that no doubt had let the sun in.
Making their way through the excavation site was almost too easy. No matter how organized things looked from the outside, no one could control the chaos of hundreds of people speaking different languages running around. No guard had stopped them or asked them where they were headed.
Sallah’s workers had went to their own excavation places. After talking with Sallah, they had decided two of them would be enough. Cassian would climb into the chamber and determine the correct resting place of the Ark while Saw would wait for him, keeping his way of escape open. More people lingering about would catch unwanted attention.
Without stopping for a moment, Sallah moored the rope on a wooden stake next to the hole, holding on while Cassian tested it by pulling on it. Then, he gave the Egyptian a grim nod and proceeded to climb to the hole, staff secured under his armpit.
It wasn’t a long climb. Perhaps seven or eight feet below, the hole, the ground began. Once he had reached it, Cassian took a moment to look around.
Any other day, he would have been delighted. The walls were made out of huge stone blocks, each of them ornamented with hieroglyphes. But even more impressive was the lifelike model of the city on the ground.
Cassian couldn’t help but marvel at the artistry and craftsmanship of the Egyptians who had built this room. The building on the ground were made out of the same stone as the originals, but the miniatures were all still in a perfect condition. It looked incredibly precise and beautiful. Building it must have taken months of patience and precision.
Slits in the ground, each of them with a special marking, surrounded the model. Doubtlessly, inserting the staff at each of them would reveal different things. He couldn’t be certain what exactly, Cassian would have needed weeks to study the hieroglyphs first.
Cleaning away the sand that had covered the slits at the head of the city, Cassian pulled out the medaillon. His best and only guess was that the hieroglyphs on Jyn’s prized possession could be found there and would lead him to the slit he was searching for.
Luck smiled upon him. He found a hieroglyph like the one on the medaillon quickly and his staff fit perfectly. Further proof for his theory was that the slit was right in the centre of this side of the miniature city. It made sense that the most prized possession of Tanis would have a prominent place when it came to determine its resting place.
With slightly trembling hands, Cassian mounted the medaillon at the top of the staff.
What happened next could only be described as magical and Cassian was not one to throw such words around.
A beam of light shot straight through the medaillon. Like a car headlight, it moved over the Tanis miniature on the ground.
It was nothing compared to the blinding beam of energy it produced once it found the Ark’s resting place - orange and so bright Cassian feared he would need hours to rest his eyes afterwards. But he couldn't fight a smile at its magnificence.
Retrieving a tape measure from the pocket of his burnus, Cassian drew a quick but nevertheless detailed model of the city and the resting place of the Ark in a small book. It was risky, but he couldn’t keep everything in his mind. There was no room for any errors, so he had to take the chance.
Frenetically checking his notes a final time, he removed the staff from the slit before breaking it in half over his knee. One piece he threw in a dark corner behind some stones, the other one he took with him. Krennić was no fool. Should he find both pieces, he would easily deduce what had happened here.
“Sallah,” he called as loud as he dared and after a moment, the bearded face of his friend appeared in the hole above. A short nod by Cassian confirmed that their mission had been successful and the Mexican proceeded to climb back out of the hole.
Arriving outside, the heat was even more oppressive than before. Down there, sheltered from the dust and the sun, it had been almost chilly. Cassian was about to share the news with Sallah, when a firm and annoyed voice made them cringe.
“Halt, ihr da. Was treibt ihr da oben?” Turning around, they saw a group of four German soldiers walking up the hill, guns at the ready. They were led by a sour-faced man with a scar on his left cheek.
“Das ist wohl zwecklos, Feldwebel. Die verstehen kein Deutsch,” another soldier chimed in
“Da haben Sie wohl recht, Kesselbrandt.” With an imperious gesture, the leader pointed at Cassian and Sallah, then towards the camp. Doing their best to appear like timid workers, Sallah and Cassian nodded, slowly climbing down.
“Na los, bewegt euch!” The soldier was impatient, nearly lashing out at Sallah when he moved past him.
“Das ist doch der Kartenraum, oder?”
“Kann schon sein,” his colleague chimed in.
“Was hatten die da wohl zu suchen? Ob sie zu Krennić gehören?”
“Das werden wir bald herausfinden. Na los, kommt mit.” Shoving Cassian with his machine gun, the soldiers herded them towards the tents.
Sallah and Cassian didn’t dare to share a quick glance. Neither of them spoke much German, but he heard Krennić’s name all too well. If they were brought to him, the Croatian would figure things out within seconds. This time, there would be no rescue.
And worse, he wouldn’t even be able to avenge Jyn.
They had passed the first row of tents and Cassian tried to find something, anything that could help them overwhelm four gun-wielding soldiers.
They turned around a corner when all out a sudden, a wooden staff appeared, knocking out the soldier that had moved ahead of them. His comrades were briefly startled and unable to react when a white blanket was thrown over them.
Yelling in their language, they tried to free themselves. Out from another tent, three people rushed out. Cassian barely spared them a glare before whipping out his broken piece of staff and bashing the nearest soldier across the head. A big burly man Cassian had never seen before took out the second one.
The third one was smacked by a tiny woman wielding a - frying pan? Once she had clobbered her victim, she turned around and Cassian stared into two green eyes he had thought he would never see again.
A smile spread on both their faces and with a “Cassian!” she barrelled into his arms. Ignoring the burly man, an astonished Sallah, Bodhi and the man with the staff, Cassian just held her tight for a few seconds.
There were plenty of questions he wanted to ask her - how she had escaped, if she was alright, who the men that had helped Bodhi and her were. But for the moment, they were of no consequence. The same could be said about the fact that they were currently on a enemy-controlled excavation side and their cover was blown. She was in his arms, he was in hers and she was holding him tightly.
He squeezed a bit more, careful not to hurt her, but to feel that it was indeed Jyn. Alive. It was silly, but Cassian had had to many losses in the past to be easily calmed and he feared his eyes would betray him. Heat, sun and sand was the recipe for hallucinations after all.
But when finally every last doubt inside his mind was gone, he couldn’t help but gently taking her face and pulling her in for a kiss.
“What did I tell you, little sister? We had to go where he would be, not where he had been.”