Pirate

Sam let go of the purse as he rose, then hurled the star. It struck Marlowe’s neck. The man’s eyes widened as he dropped the dagger, then grasped at his throat, unable to breath. He staggered back, crumpling to the ground next to Ivan, who’d just leveled his gun at Remi. Sam rushed forward, shoving Ivan’s gun hand upward as he fired. He struggled with Ivan, straining against the zip tie while trying to get ahold of the gun. Ivan fired again, the shot so close to Sam’s head, he felt the sting of gunpowder on his cheek. Ivan gripped the empty weapon, swung at Sam, then blindly reached behind him, grabbing the maul from the table. Sam jumped back as the sledgehammer narrowly missed him. He ducked as it came down again, then rammed Ivan in the chest with his shoulder. The maul fell from Ivan’s grasp and he tripped, stumbling into the table behind him.

“Run!” Sam said.

Remi pulled Miss Walsh from the room. Ivan grabbed the broken mace, holding the spiked ball in his fist, then came at Sam. Hands still tied, Sam dove for the leather shield on the table. He swung around, bringing it up. The mace skidded across the leather, piercing through it. Sam shoved the shield into Ivan’s face, pushing him back.

Ivan tripped over Marlowe’s body and crashed to the floor.

Sam threw the shield at him, then ran from the room. Remi and Miss Walsh were up ahead, racing down the hall.

They stopped at the intersection, one hall leading back to the museum, the other up toward the emergency exit. “Which way?” Remi asked.

Miss Walsh looked both directions, too shocked to make a decision.

“Exit,” Sam said, hoping that the grounds would be filled with patrons who were waiting outside due to the alarm. Get lost in the crowd.

They raced up the stairs, bursting out the door, only to find they were far from the front entrance and any crowd. Instead, they stood in a dark passage between buildings, used only by maintenance.

They needed to get to the street outside the museum grounds. At the moment, their only choice was to turn left or right. Sam chose left, then stopped in the next doorway, where a shallow stairwell led down to another basement office. “Over here,” he said, urging them into the darkened stairs just as they heard the squeak of the emergency exit door opening, then slamming shut.

Ivan’s booted feet scraped the gravel on the pavement just above them as he came to a stop, looking around, the small pistol in his hand.

Sam drew in a slow, steady breath, pressing tight against the wall, as Remi cut the zip tie from his wrists with his pocketknife. Suddenly, Ivan turned. They froze as he walked in their direction, then stopped, so close that Sam could almost have reached up and grabbed the man’s ankles. Ivan pulled out his phone and made a call. “Marlowe’s dead… No. Lost them. I’ll check the grounds. You watch the streets… Do not leave here until you find them. The boss wants them—”

A power generator in the next building kicked on, covering the remainder of his conversation. Sam watched Ivan walk off in the other direction, disappearing around the corner.

Satisfied they were safe for the moment, he looked over at both women. “You okay?”

They nodded.

“Good. Let’s get out of here.” He eyed the door behind him. “Does this lead anywhere?”

Miss Walsh, having recovered somewhat, shook her head. “Just the maintenance office. No inside entrance. Shouldn’t we just call the police?”

“I’d like to make sure we’re alive to give our statements. How do we get back inside?”

“The easiest and quickest way,” Miss Walsh said, “is back the way we came. But they took my key card.”

“I have one,” Remi said, holding up her purse. “Borrowed it from another employee.”

“That’s my girl.” He climbed the stairs, then stopped at the top, waited to make sure it was clear, then motioned the others to come up. “Straight to the other door,” he said, bringing up the rear.

They filed in, Sam not relaxing until the door was shut tight behind them.

“We’ll head to the security offices,” Miss Walsh said. “We’ll be safe there until the police arrive.”

“This document they took,” Sam asked her as they walked, “did you happen to get a good look at it?”

“It was a pen-and-ink sketch.”

“Of what?”

“A round object with symbols on it. I must have seen it back when I first started cataloguing the Herbert Collection because I knew right away what he was talking about when he described it.”

“Any chance you might remember any of the symbols on it?”

“Unfortunately, no. Sorry.”

* * *

Hours later, Sam and Remi finally returned to their hotel room, exhausted. Side by side on the bed, they stared up at the ceiling. Remi reached over, grasping Sam’s fingers. “I can’t believe we were that close.”

“A good effort. Just not good enough.”

“How is it that he’s been one step ahead of us?”