Sandy awoke with a start, pearls of sweat saturating her forehead, trickling down her cheeks as she sat bolt upright; discovering to her immense relief that she remained still settled upon the sofa. It was dawn, the first rays of the sun creeping through the window, its welcoming glow removing any traces of the fearful yet thankfully refreshing rainfall of the evening before; the city set to swelter yet again in searing, record breaking temperatures.

Upon an armchair she observed the brown leather backpack where she had left it in her haste to catch up on a few hours of sleep, still containing the headband, the ancient artefact the cause of her horrific nightmare; rubbing exhaustedly at her eyes, the adventurer entered the kitchen area of the apartment, preparing herself a cup of strong black coffee.

Settling herself upon the sofa once more, Sandy reflected on the frightful dream she had experienced; its content causing her no little concern. Had it really been no more than a nightmare, or had the dream in fact conveyed some hint of a prophetic nature, she pondered, an apocalyptic vision of events as yet to come if she did not realise her ultimate aim, and soon; destruction of the headband took priority above all other business, she concluded.

And then there were her friends. Each abducted, each in dire need of rescuing; surely that was where her priorities lay, she reasoned. Finally her mind was made up, she would risk rescuing her friends first, for in any event, she would require Rosie's assistance if she was to stand even the slightest chance of destroying the headband; forged in the fires of the underworld, possessed of supernatural powers, destroying such an evil artefact would prove no easy task, of that she was certain.

And then there was the captive cultist, she recalled, memories of the evening before flooding back as she attempted to cast the horrific nightmare out of her mind; immediately reassuring herself that the woman remained tightly bound and gagged in the bedroom. The remainder of the morning passed uneventfully, for there was little to assist the adventurer in whiling away the intervening hours other than to leaf through a few of her friend's books on the subject of Egyptology; she dared not leave the apartment for fear of falling foul of further fanatics who would undoubtedly be hunting for her and the headband she had snatched.

In one particular tome, studying the accompanying full-colour photographs, Sandy noted that in fact evidence of Tikeltootsi's brief but bloody reign was there for all to see in the form of feathers hand-carved into ruined temple walls, whilst upon an obelisk was engraved what appeared to be an example of tickle torture, the hysterical features of a hapless victim frozen for all eternity; the queen's name may have been erased from history upon her death, but the memory of her tyrannical rule had not. Even in stone, the stroking of the soles caused Sandy no little distress as she set down the book upon a side table; a cold shiver creeping down her spine in spite of the oppressive heat.

Finally, that evening, Sandy received a call on her cell phone, the call she had been awaiting all the while; it was Dodgy Giza, contacting the adventurer to detail his list of demands. In keeping with the opportunist's instructions, she was to travel that very night to the black marketeer's desert camp, located a couple of hours drive from Cairo, alone and unarmed; bringing with her the headband. Of course, Sandy did not trust Giza for an instant, for undoubtedly she would find herself walking into a trap, the crafty conman's intention to hold her hostage once more, she suspected; however by now a plan had presented itself to the adventurer, one with which she could turn the tables on her old enemy.

And so, returning to the bedroom, she untied the folded fabric from the fanatic's mouth before freeing her ankles, all the while taking care not to remove the restraint from the woman's wrists; imparting with a few words of wisdom whispered into Delta's ear, Sandy soon sent her on her way. Out in the street, she clambered into the silver 4x4 still awaiting her return, settling her backpack containing the precious headband upon the passenger seat; soon speeding off into the night.

The journey would not prove a long one, indeed it was only a couple of hundred miles south-west across the desert along well-worn tracks, she noted; exactly the type of terrain to which her transport had been intended rather than remaining the vehicle of choice for many parents when conducting the daily school run.

Naturally, the nocturnal temperature had dropped quite considerably as the hire car cruised south-west of the city; with the windows open there would be no need of the vehicle's air conditioning. As expected, the desert duly provided every possible example of problem terrain such an extreme environment could present; yet soon, the satellite navigation system indicated that she would shortly be arriving at her destination.

Opting to undertake a cautious approach, the adventurer parked the vehicle some distance from the desert camp, for so far her presence remained undetected; soon spreadeagled at the summit of a sand dune overlooking an oasis, she produced from a pocket of her combat shorts a small pair of binoculars, at once scanning the surrounding terrain for any signs of activity.

Beside the oasis, its water almost entirely evaporated due to the extreme temperatures of late, stood a scattering of small canvas tents illuminated by electric lighting powered by a loudly-humming generator; the compound patrolled by armed henchmen cradling automatic rifles in their arms, facial features swathed with scarves as a form of protection against the ever-encroaching sands unsettled by the breeze. At the heart of the desert camp stood many wooden crates stacked somewhat haphazardly, evidence of the black marketeer's nefarious activities; crates capable of providing suitable cover should the need arise, observed the adventurer.

Giza had instructed Sandy to travel to the camp unarmed, and she had duly done so, if only for the fact that there had not been time to secure a suitable weapon; as one of the patrolling henchmen slipped away from the compound, disappearing into the darkness beyond its borders to relieve his bursting bladder, she at once seized the opportunity of evening the odds stacked heavily against her.

Creeping cautiously down the darkened dune, the adventurer sprinted silently across the soft sand, keeping a careful eye on her quarry all the while; with the agility of a tigress, she pounced upon the henchman, hurling him to the ground. Before the startled sentry could react, Sandy seized the automatic rifle strewn upon the sand, striking him a severe blow to the temple with the weapon's butt; a second blow to the side of the skull soon saw him slipping into unconsciousness. Tugging the scarf free from the fellow's face, she swiftly tore it into strips, securely tying the henchman hand and foot; finally stuffing a wad of the material inside his mouth before binding it in place, Sandy had soon dragged him out of sight some distance from the camp.

Snatching up the automatic rifle once more, Sandy concealed herself amidst the shadows of the darkened desert to avoid detection; her next challenge to infiltrate the camp unseen. Of course, she would have to avoid the armed henchmen patrolling the compound, no easy task given how brightly lit the area was; seizing her opportunity as one such individual passed blissfully by, oblivious to the fact that his every movement was being monitored, she sprinted for the cover of the crates.

Concealing herself in the shadows cast by the crates, Sandy observed a canvas tent far larger than any of the others huddled beside the oasis, no doubt the dwelling of Dodgy Giza, she surmised; as soon as the opportunity presented itself, she sprinted towards the tent, parting the entrance flap as she slipped inside.

The interior of the tent appeared comfortable enough accommodation, the adventurer observed, its floor lined with an exquisite persian rug, roof supported by a central pole; towards the rear sat Dodgy Giza, exhaling a huge cloud of sweet-smelling smoke as he puffed upon a hookah, the black marketeer's excessive bulk perched upon a collapsible canvas chair.

Upon a stretcher-style bunk beside Giza lay Roxy, the assistant still securely bound and gagged as fat, fleshy fingers crept across the exposed arches of her feet; the girl looking very much the worse for wear following her ordeal at the hands of her abductor. All the while, Roxy writhed and wriggled in torment at the torturous touch softly stroking her sensitive soles; at the sight of Sandy covering the conman with the automatic rifle, she shot the adventurer a pleading look with watery eyes.

"Ah, Lady Crevice - I was about to send out a search party!" grinned Giza, smoke swirling from the corners of his mouth all the while.

"Then it seems I have saved you the effort!" smiled Sandy, continuing to cover the conman with the barrel of the automatic rifle.

"Alas, it also appears you have managed to evade capture by my men - their orders were to tie you up on sight!" he acknowledged with regret, "You know, I am seriously considering docking them each a day's wages!"

"Well whilst we're on the subject, I strongly suggest you keep your men at bay, unless you want me to fill you full of lead!" frowned the adventurer in response.

"Really, Lady Crevice, we are supposed to be civilised people, you and I - there is no need for such hostilities here!" tutted Giza, fingers falling upon a bone china teacup; sipping from the sweet liquid it contained before settling it once more upon a saucer atop a small folding table.

"Then in that case, you won't have any objections to freeing my friend as a goodwill gesture, I take it?" enquired the adventurer, aiming the automatic rifle at the black marketeer's chest, "You are, after all, hardly in a position to refuse!"

"I could, but that would not be very wise of me, now would it?" chuckled Giza, continuing to caress Roxy's bare feet with the lightly teasing touch of a fingertip as the techie twitched in uncontrollable torment, "Besides which, I have become rather fond of your young friend in the brief time we have spent together - particularly her pretty little feet! Now, how about I have one of my men prepare you a cup of Earl Grey before we begin bartering? That's what you upperclass English tend to drink, if memory serves!"

"Tea spiked with sedatives, you mean? No thank you, I'm fine for the moment!" scowled Sandy, "No more games, Giza - untie Roxy and we'll be on our way, using you as a human shield to ensure safe passage out of the camp, of course!"

"I wouldn't expect anything less..." shrugged Dodgy Giza, cherubic features falling in defeat, "Very well, I can see you are in no mood to be bargaining with..."

Hauling his flabby frame from the folding chair, Giza bent over the bunk, fat fingers falling upon the rope restraining Roxy's wrists; however in a heartbeat his right hand had produced a pistol from a pocket of his crumpled linen suit, pointing its barrel at the back of the assistant's head. As the black marketeer began barking orders in Egyptian Arabic, the canvas tent was soon surrounded by armed henchmen; edging away from the entrance flap, the adventurer observed as one individual entered, aiming an automatic rifle at her head.

"Well, Lady Crevice - it appears that what we have here is a standoff!" sneered Giza, "Now, how about you drop your weapon, and we will discuss the matter like civilised human beings?"

"How about you disappear beneath whichever rock you crawled out from, creep?" scowled Sandy; however finally she was forced to accept the futility of the situation she found herself in.

Dropping the weapon to the patterned rug lining the floor of the tent, Sandy surrendered herself to the black marketeer. With a sneer of satisfaction, Giza ordered his men to continue patrolling the compound, retaining one henchman to recover the headband concealed upon the adventurer's person; the ancient artefact still stowed away inside the brown leather backpack slung across her shoulders.

"And so it seems that once again you are my prisoner, my dear - and soon I can continue with my original plan to auction you at an online slave market to the highest bidder!" he smirked, before turning to address the henchman, his words spoken in his native tongue, "Hand me the headband, then tie her up and gag her!"

Yet no sooner had the words emerged from the black marketeer's mouth than the henchman, his back to the entrance flap of the tent, was suddenly struck down from behind by the blow of a cudgel; the weapon clutched in the grasp of a cultist clad in crimson-coloured robes who had infiltrated the desert compound. At once, Giza pointed the pistol clasped in his pudgy palm at the cudgel-wielding cultist, however before the black marketeer could fire a single round, Sandy sprang at him, sending him sprawling to the floor of the tent in an untidy heap, unsettling the supporting pole in the process.

In the ensuing confusion as the canvas collapsed, Sandy crawled out from underneath, emerging into fresh air, all the while pleased to see that her plan had worked perfectly; for upon freeing the captive cultist earlier that evening, she had alerted Delta to the desert camp's location. Naturally Delta had taken the bait, desperate to recover the ancient artefact for fear of failing her queen for a further time; by now, the entire camp was swarming with the fanatics, fiercely engaged in battle with the armed henchmen of Giza as gunfire accompanied by the cries of the many combatants echoed across the compound.

Unfortunately for the black marketeer's men, their number was far outweighed by the fanatics; the tide of the battle fast turning in the favour of the enemy. Suddenly, the desert camp was plunged into darkness as a cultist disabled the generator; without the advantage of illumination, the henchmen's automatic weapons became virtually redundant, for they could no longer see the fanatical foes lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike like coiled cobras.

Of course, the adventurer had yet to rescue Roxy, she realised, freeing her friend from her bonds if the pair were to flee from the scene, still in possession of the precious headband; careful to keep out of sight as all around her chaos continued to ensue, she slipped herself beneath the pitch blackness of the collapsed canvas once more. Locating her travelling companion beneath the canvas proved to be no easy task, yet finally she found Roxy; hauling the assistant out from underneath to settle upon the desert sands.

"Well I hope you've learned something from all of this! No more getting yourself kidnapped, do you hear?" admonished the adventurer, "Now hold still while I untie you, then after that it's time we were leaving!"

Yet no sooner had she removed the rope restraining Roxy's ankles than she was suddenly struck down by a savage blow to the back of the head; Dodgy Giza too had freed himself from beneath the tangled canvas of the tent, it seemed, striking the adventurer with the butt of his pistol. As Sandy collapsed groaning to the ground, the black marketeer's fat fingers fell upon the backpack secured across her shoulders; seizing his prize with a sneer.

"And now, I think it would be best if I were to beat a hasty retreat!" he gloated, "Would that I could take you with me, my dear - however I still have your young friend, no doubt she will fetch me a good price!"

Reeling from the blow to the back of her head as strange, swirling shapes swam before her eyes all the while, Sandy swiftly began to black out, but before she did so, she witnessed the black marketeer hauling his hostage towards an awaiting jeep; soon the crafty conman had sped away across the darkened desert.

When finally she regained consciousness, it was dawn once more, the wind whistling across the dunes, casting a scattering of sand in its wake; otherwise her ears were met by the sound of silence. Nursing her pounding skull, Sandy hauled herself to her feet, the action requiring no little effort on her part as she swayed unsteadily upon the desert sands; finally, with a few shakes of her head, the whiplike length of plaited hazel hair lashing out at thin air, she was able to focus on her surroundings.

All across the camp were scattered several bodies, silent and unmoving as the sun crept its way across the dunes, the faces of some concealed beneath headscarves, others clad in cultist's robes; however of the survivors there was no sign, for observing two sets of tyre tracks, it seemed the fanatics had pursued the black marketeer in their continuing attempt to recover the ancient artefact.

Staggering away in the direction of the oasis, Sandy paused awhile to rinse her face in its receding yet thoroughly refreshing waters; soon she had staggered back to the awaiting hire car concealed amongst the dunes. There was nothing else for it, she must pursue Giza across the desert if she was to stand a second chance of rescuing Roxy, she resolved; with grim determination, she at once settled herself behind the steering wheel of the vehicle. Of course, she also ran the very real risk of falling foul of the fanatics once more, she realised; no matter, nothing and nobody was going to stand in her way a second time, she vowed.

Swigging deeply from a bottle of spring water before turning the key in the ignition, Sandy sped off across the desert, following the tyre tracks for some distance across open terrain, scanning the horizon all the while; finally, after a few fruitless hours of searching she came across a most disturbing sight, for in the distance, as desert met dirt track, she observed the abandoned jeep of Dodgy Giza. Apparently the vehicle had been rammed judging by a series of scratchmarks and dents upon its bodywork, she noted upon pulling up alongside the jeep; as there were no footprints to be found leading away from the scene, Sandy assumed both the black marketeer and his hostage had fallen prey to the fanatics.

Burying her face deep in the open palms of her hands, a terrible thought flashed through the adventurer's mind, for soon the tyrant Tikeltootsi would be reunited with her headband before unleashing untold chaos across the world; if she failed to stop the schemer, she realised to her horror, then nobody's soles would ever be safe again...