Past Due, page 7
part #4 of Good Intentions Series
He accepted and fell in beside her. Rico twirled a finger in the air to get his men moving to an adjoining wing of the museum. Abdel glanced up only once to the promenade and the illusory hand of his partner dangling over the edge. He didn’t even spare a shrug of indifference before turning away.
The real Mahmoud touched Zafirah’s shoulder, making little more than a tap before pulling his hand away again. "Do you understand them?" he whispered in Arabic. "My English is poor. What did they mean about the guard checkpoint?"
"I am sorry." She closed her eyes in regret. "I caught up too late. The men watching the rear entrance… It was quick." Mahmoud took the news gravely, but he didn’t cry out or lose his wits as she feared he might. "How many others are here? Will they find more inside?"
"Two at the entrance, another in the office. There is a custodian. I don’t know where he is now. These men must have already done something to the cameras—or to the other guards. If the others are alive, they are safer where they are. What is all this? What is going on?"
"Ancient dangers with modern faces," she said. "I do not understand everything."
"And Abdel is with them?"
"Abdel is not who you thought he was," she explained. Despite what Mahmoud had already seen, she thought better of telling him the details. She couldn’t be sure if she had them all herself. "I did not know they were coming here until it was too late to warn anyone. The other guards were dead when I caught up, or I might have saved them. For that, I am deeply sorry."
"All those men, all their guns," Mahmoud considered. "We could set off the alarm, but the rest of the watch would be slaughtered. Police, too, if they don’t come ready for an army. Can you not stop them?"
"If they are about to harm someone else, I will intervene. Short of that, it is best if they never suspect my presence. I must discover what they want. This matter will not end here."
"I have to warn the others." Mahmoud reached for his radio but reconsidered before he pulled it from his belt. He turned it off. Instead, he pulled a phone from his pocket. "Abdel has a radio, too."
Zafirah watched from over the promenade. The group hadn’t gotten far yet. The team’s military discipline didn’t count for much when their superiors were a chatty brother and sister having a bizarre reunion.
"Kasseem," Mahmoud hissed into his phone. "We have thieves in the building. At least six. I think they shot some of the others. I don’t know who is left. Call the police, tell them the thieves are heavily armed. Use the phone. Don’t use the radio. They have one of ours." He paused. "I am sure nothing is on camera. I don’t know what they did. Kasseem, listen to me."
To Zafirah’s alarm, Mahmoud stood up and waved to the ceiling. "Look at camera six. Do you see me? No? I am right in front of it!" He ducked down before being seen. "Call the police. Tell them to be ready for terrorists or an army or I don’t know what. Then try to reach the others and tell them to stay put. Use the phone, stay off the radio. Do not call Abdel," he said, looking to Zafirah. She didn’t know what to say. All she could offer was a grave nod.
"He is with the thieves," Mahmoud continued. "He is friendly with them. I don’t know what is going on. Get on this. I will watch them. Message me when you have the police on the way and everyone else staying put. Do not call. And lock your door."
Zafirah waited for Mahmoud to turn off his phone before she patted his hand. "You will be fine. Your wounds are healed. I must follow them."
"Then let’s go," said Mahmoud.
His words stopped her as she was about to slip out of their hiding spot. Zafirah looked back with surprise. The arch of her eyebrow asked if he was sure.
"They have hurt my friends. They are here to steal. I am the guard. Let’s go."
Zafirah’s mouth spread into a wide grin. She reached for his feet, swiping her hand over one shoe and then the other with the fiery glow of her magic trailing from her fingertips. "Follow me," she said.
Her feet barely touched the floor as she darted from their hiding spot and hit the stairs. Mahmoud stuck close behind. Though he was not so graceful, his shoes were every bit as quiet. As a benefit of their stealth, they heard the voices of their targets well before they came within sight again.
"The family is collected now," Michiko carried on. "Malike still prefers Malike to his birth name in this life. Shalhon is a man named Roman now, and this time he came out looking like a movie star. We found mother six years ago. She was twelve. Ugh, I don’t care what she wants in the future, I’m never waking her up before she reaches adulthood again. Oh, and she was growing up with this nice, well-off Javanese family, but you know her. The moment she’s awake, bam! She’s Teheret again. Doesn’t give a damn for her new name, cuts every tie to her birth-family with literal flames. She’s been impossible for years. At least she’s more or less an adult now, but it’s still weird.
"Kashvi has generally gotten the worst of mother’s behavior. Yes, she’s still Kashvi, still looking young and pretty after all these years thanks to a deal she made with some ‘entity’ in Peru. That means she’s the eldest in any current sense of the word, and with mother being simultaneously mother and barely an adult, she—"
"Michiko, where are we going?" Abdel interrupted. "What ‘heirloom’ are you talking about?" His gaze followed the path of the commandos. Then he rolled his eyes. "The ‘Sea Peoples’ exhibit? Sister—Michiko, please. You have to be joking. They still don’t even know where we came from or who we were. Everything in here depicts us all as men, for pity’s sake. They have nothing."
"That is untrue. They have this whole gallery. And you should be at least a little suspicious given your own presence here. You know it wouldn’t be a coincidence."
At the corner, Zafirah and Mahmoud found a large concrete planter for cover with a view into the next gallery. The commandos moved slightly ahead of Michiko and Abdel, spreading out around display tables with glass covers.
"This is mostly modern maps and photographs of artifacts in other museums," Abdel went on. "They have nothing more than a few stone—wait, wait—how could I have missed this?" He placed both hands on his head as he walked forward, realizations apparently cascading one after the other as Michiko looked on. "The tablets! They have her tablets! How long have we been looking for these?"
"You’ve been out of circulation for a few decades, brother. We’ve had these on our agenda since they were brought out of the desert, but other matters took priority. You asked why I brought these men. This isn’t the first errand they’ve run for us. You wouldn’t guess how much they’ve retrieved over the last year."
"This one might be a little problematic, ma’am," said Rico. He stood at one of the larger glass-covered display tables. Zafirah couldn’t see the contents well from her vantage point, but it looked like a tan stone tablet. Rico, Wes, and Carter examined the table while Dwayne and Austin stood guard at the gallery entrance. "We can’t find the power to the alarm system. It’s hidden better than we were told. I’m not sure how we get through this thing without setting it off. I don’t suppose you know the code, Mr…Abdel?"
"I do not," said Abdel.
"Can you ‘magic’ it out of there?" asked Wes. "Or turn off the alarm yourself?"
Abdel tilted his head at Wes’s question, his face darkening in a suggestion of disapproval. Michiko took it in stride. "Were it that simple, you would not be here," she explained. "Such power is best used sparingly. It is wise to try other methods first, hence your employment with us. We are in a museum of ancient artifacts. Even I don’t know what might react to the presence of too much magic."
Behind the planter, Zafirah’s mouth split into a wide grin. "I’m so glad you have that in mind," she murmured.
"Is she right?" asked her companion.
"She’s not entirely wrong. Mahmoud, the statues back there—are they original works?"
"No. We’re asked not to point that out to visitors. They are reproductions. All the originals were stolen by the British or the French."
"Excellent."
"…didn’t mean anything by asking, sorry," said Wes. "Just a question."
"No, not at all," said Michiko. "You cannot know unless you’re taught. Understand, then: the reckless use of power also increases the risk of unwanted attention. Magic pulls back upon itself. Similarly, magic attracts other magic. You might remember your unexpected complications in Iraq earlier in the year as a prime example of such dangers."
Zafirah’s mischievous thoughts ground to a sudden halt. She looked back to watch. Wes and the other soldiers looked to one another with held tongues and private frustration. "Yes, ma’am," said Wes. "I take your point."
"What happened in Iraq?" Abdel asked his sister.
Michiko flashed another broad smile. "So much to catch you up on, brother. Everything that has happened in this lifetime has opened up so many opportunities. The technology, the shifts in powers. We can work so much faster now. We have found what we have sought for millennia.
"Father. Father was in Iraq, Abdel. These men retrieved his body."
Abdel grabbed her shoulders with undisguised excitement. "We have him? The body was still intact?"
"He’s already awakened. We only needed a set of remains to reconnect to his current life. A reception is happening in a few days. Everyone will be there. Mostly business, because that’s how Father is. But we’ll have a little celebration along the way."
"What do you mean by business?"
Sighing dramatically, Michiko gestured to their surroundings. "Look at the world through those newborn eyes. You see the complexity. Every little thing is connected, moving at hideous speeds, forever teetering on disaster. Humanity went from taming the land to destroying it and now it’s all collapsing. There are too many people, too many gadgets, too many vulnerabilities. One can hardly carve out a realm of their own amid all the wires and now the wireless and every little voice feeling entitled to cry out for rights or mercy or whatever they think they should have. Mother is sick of it. Father is appalled. It’s only a question of how to change all this.
"Malike wants another war. Roman says that’s too dangerous. Kashvi says a plague might do the job if it’s big enough. Mother thinks that will still leave us with all the technological problems, and you remember how she was about the smell the last time we tried a plague. She doesn’t trust modern sanitation to take care of that problem. But we all agree it’s time to pull our friends together, consider all of our options, and choose a path forward.
"We wanted you to be there. You, and father of course, and... everyone," Michiko finished, tilting her head toward the display table. "This will help make us whole again. We’re stronger as a whole family."
"Then you should not be whole," Zafirah decided under her breath. She looked to the other side of the broad gallery entrance where she and Mahmoud hid, assuring herself the concrete planter set opposite this one would provide the same cover. The hall offered plenty of other methods of concealment as well. With any luck, she wouldn’t be noticed.
"Our options for this job are limited," Rico considered out loud. "We could smash and grab and run for it. I’m confident of our escape but it would be noisier. Or we could hit the security office in the hopes of finding codes there. That’ll be even messier."
"We cannot let them do that," whispered Mahmoud.
"No. And we will not." Zafirah gestured to the other planter. He took her meaning and darted out ahead, silently shifting to the next planter over while the enemy was distracted. She quickly joined him.
The soft buzz of Mahmoud’s phone nearly startled them both. He pulled it from his pocket to check the message. "The police are alerted," he reported. "Kasseem sent two guards to collect the custodians. They’re on the other end of the museum. The rest know to stay put. I suppose that’s as safe as we can make them."
"Then we are free to do something about this," said Zafirah. "I must go undetected if at all possible. Even if we apprehend this crew, I have more work ahead. This does not end for me here. Yet someone must be the face of our actions. Are you willing?"
"I’m the guard," said Mahmoud. "They killed my co-workers. If nothing else, I have a duty to them. It’s a question of what I can do. We are more than a little outgunned."
Zafirah glanced at the pistol on his hip. "How good are you with that?"
"I’m fine against paper targets when I get a chance to practice." Mahmoud shrugged. "I have never even needed it before now. These men have far better guns. I am no coward, but they have surely practiced far more than I have."
She glanced once back to the Sea Peoples exhibit. Thankfully, they had done no damage yet. It was now or never. "Their marksmanship does not matter if their guns will not fire."
"What?" Mahmoud blinked.
Zafirah snapped her fingers with a flicker of flame to accompany the sound.
"What was that? Wait, stop." Michiko held up one hand to halt Rico and the others at the table, scanning the museum with urgency. Abdel did the same. The commandos shifted into watchful poses with their weapons ready.
"It came from back there," murmured Rico, looking toward the planters.
"That was more than a noise," Michiko warned. "That was magic."
"Have faith, Mahmoud," whispered Zafirah. "You are not alone here."
He hesitated for only a second—though not out of doubt. Mahmoud rose from behind the planter with his pistol drawn but not yet pointed at the thieves. Zafirah moved in the same instant, almost vanishing on him. He stayed focused on the danger. "Put down your weapons," he ordered in Arabic. "I will not ask twice."
"Shit. We’re worried about him?" spat one commando.
"Considering I put two rounds into him? Yes," countered another.
"Dwayne," said Rico.
Too late, Mahmoud saw the vulnerability he feared all along: there were too many to watch all at once, even if they stood in a group. The commando farthest to the right held his weapon up at hip level to snap off a shot—except it never came.
The harmless click surprised almost everyone.
Mahmoud raised his weapon. So did the rest of the commandos. Amid the series of clicks and curses, Mahmoud fired twice. His target tumbled backward against a display case on his way to the floor. Michiko and Abdel dove for cover.
"Carter, check Wes!" Rico ducked behind another display table. "Austin, Dwayne, get the piece and watch the clients!"
More glass shattered, this time under the hammering blow of Austin’s rifle stock. The ensuing alarm was almost lost under the racket of Mahmoud’s gun as he took Austin down with a shot to the shoulder. The bullet sent the big man staggering away before he reached inside the display case.
Giving up on his submachine gun, Rico tore the pistol from his side holster to give it a try. It proved as useless as the rest. Abdel appeared at his side with a ready explanation. "Your guns are disabled by magic." As he spoke, Abdel snatched a knife from Rico’s belt. "Don’t rely on them now."
Mahmoud caught sight of Abdel before the knife flew. He threw himself behind the planter, evading a blade that would otherwise have gone straight into his neck. The ordinary guard he once knew suddenly proved deadly with a knife. As soon as he’d escaped the danger, Mahmoud cursed himself for losing sight of all the others. Whatever advantage he had from taking the initiative was now gone.
"Carter?" Rico shouted. "How’s Wes?"
"He’ll be okay, just winded," came the quick response. "Body armor stopped it."
"Didn’t stop mine," growled Austin.
Michiko blurted out something in a language Mahmoud didn’t recognize. He heard the sharp break of glass again, this time something smaller than the display cases—and then silence, or at least the absence of a blaring alarm.
"Mahmoud, you’re being a fool," Abdel called out. "This job isn’t worth your life."
"Tell that to the men your friends already killed," said Mahmoud. Though facing the wrong way, movement caught his attention—was it Zafirah, he wondered? Understanding caught up with him a second later: the movement was a reflection from another display case, betraying the approach of another commando with a knife in his hand. With all the rest accounted for and identified, this had to be the one named Dwayne.
Behind him, Michiko reached into the broken display case, but snatched her hands away upon touching the artifact. "It burns!" Her eyes darted everywhere as she shrank back, looking for more enemies. "This is more than a lone security guard. Something else is at work."
"Can you fix our guns?" asked Rico.
"I don’t know. Best we not waste time finding out."
Mahmoud only half-listened, concerned far more by the reflection of his approaching enemy. He held his pistol up and ready, watching the display case until Dwayne made eye contact with him against the exact same pane of glass. Then the commando rolled out of sight behind the same planter Mahmoud used as cover.
The unseen enemy was enough to drive Mahmoud from shelter once more. He scrambled backward, expecting Dwayne to leap over the planter. Mahmoud nearly fired over the top to ward off the attack, but thought better of wasting his limited ammunition. That left him backpedaling hard against an enemy that instead whirled around the far edge of the planter right where he’d initially approached.
Dwayne rushed in with a knife, heedless of Mahmoud’s panicked gunfire. The guard had just enough training to know even close shots could go awry under pressure. He wasn’t surprised when his first round flew past the man coming at him from only steps away. The second struck dead on against Dwayne’s body armor yet failed to stop him. It all happened in a single breath.
Fingers curled around the back of Mahmoud’s collar and yanked him to the floor. Another hand reached past him, dark and graceful, fingers snapping with another flicker of flame between Mahmoud and the knife.
The pistol on Dwayne’s hip erupted as every bullet burst in the magazine at once. Blood and sparks burst from his side. Dwayne fell flat on his face at Mahmoud’s feet with a howl of pain.
"Back, back," Zafirah hissed in his ear. Still only half upright with his butt on the floor, Mahmoud pushed himself away but didn’t turn his back on his attacker. Seething with pain, Dwayne looked up only once toward Mahmoud before focusing on his ugly wound. It was almost as if he didn’t see Mahmoud at all anymore.
