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There are shouts to be careful. There are loud noises as machinery is used to lower and then open it, but not once do those outside question our reasoning for being there this late. Too easy.
Sliding my keycard through the reader, I make sure to avoid touching anything and use the handkerchief inside my pocket to pull open the door. There’s an eruption of applause as the crate touches the ground gently, and I look back quickly to catch the people from the museum opening the wooden box with a crowbar, making sure that nothing inside is broken and it’s ready for transfer.
The metal door closes and all noises stop, especially the low whining noise from the cameras as they move to follow our movement. Neither of us looks up, but Callum does press a scrambler to fuck with the signal as we walk through and toward the side building where the loading will happen.
Idiotic if you ask me, when the same armored vehicle could’ve loaded out on the dock, but these are their rules, not mine. Protocol is shit here.
The truck is right where Archie said it would be, and we open the cab to find our bulletproof vests and jackets, the holster that these drivers wear, and two badges. Each has fake names, company IDs, and a pack of gum in Callum’s for some odd reason. Within minutes, we’re changed, and I’ve pulled out my gun up with an arched brow.
“It’s her favorite candy and trust me, she’ll freak out. I thought it might make her smile.” Callum jumps into the cabin and takes a set of keys and a lock from the glovebox. He walks to the back and switches the original with ours, coming back after a minute when we hear a small thump and low curse. The noise is easily hidden behind the commotions the loading crew makes and the orders being shouted out by the museum director.
“Where are the men driving the decoy?” she yells out, and the brothers walk forward, changed and with a set of papers in hand. They are dressed like us, and the older of the two makes eye contact with me through the side mirror as others lift, secure, and lock up the artifact. “You two need to split up at the designated intersection. The maps are in the truck.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they answer in unison.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” There’s a hint of a fluster in her voice. It’s softer and husky.
“Of course.” This time it’s the younger of the two who answers, amusement coloring his tone while from my view, his brother’s eyes become hard. Interesting. Within minutes, two other engines roar to life and I turn the ignition, waiting for the pat at the back door to back out and go.
“You okay?” I ask Callum. His knee bounces and jaw ticks. He needs to control himself.
“Two of them inside.” Nodding, I look down at the phone in his hand and the live feed from the back. Once again, two figures, and it’s the woman who’s prying open the container with the relic. “They came in from the top, and their hope is to be out before we leave. There’s a beam above the truck they could climb up and then escape through a window just below the roof line.”
“Electrical?”
“They haven’t noticed it yet.” As soon as he says this, the man moves to open the exit latch they used to get in and quickly snatches his hand back. All movement stops then and they communicate lowly, murmuring to themselves while she waves her hand in a frantic motion. This bothers Callum, but we need to get them out and safe before they can speak.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Seatbelt, and keep your eyes down.” I pull back and out, following the instructions on the pre-set GPS they provided. We’re heading toward the A13 and we’ll deviate paths at the second roundabout, where the brothers will go to a warehouse twenty minutes out and dump these trucks minutes before blowing each up.
No evidence left behind.
The direction has us driving the main road that connects east and central London, but we’ll disappear at Limehouse Link Tunnel. That’s where our connection will cease and so will all the cameras in this area, not one being able to tail our direction.
And that’s what we do until reaching an open field out in the middle of nowhere. No houses, nor are there cars on this road, and after a few minutes of listening to his scanner, Callum rushes out. I’m right behind him when he reaches the door and all but yanks it off its hinges after entering the code of his locking device.
The doors bang open, and inside two people stand with fear in their eyes. What the bloody fuck?
“Aliana, come here.” My cousin’s tone is gravelly, near his limit of patience, and I’m ready to step in if need be. This is my wife’s best friend. A woman that frequents our home, and I’m not understanding why she’s here. How she got herself caught up in this mess. “Baby, please.”
“Callum?” The worry at once evaporates, and she breathes out a heavy exhale. The man beside her calms too, as if he knows who we are. “What are you doing here?”
“Come.” This time it’s harsher, and he doesn’t wait either. He jumps into the truck and takes her in his arms, kissing her before anyone can utter a word. The man beside her laughs a bit and isn’t the least bit worried, but one look at my face has him holding both hands up, and high.
“She’s my little cousin. I couldn’t leave her alone in this.”
“Who the fuck orchestrated this?”
“Callum, please. I just need to—”
“Who, Venus. Tell me, baby.”
“I can’t.” Her tears spring forth then and while he comforts her, I pull out my phone and dial a familiar number.
It rings twice, and then a sleepy breath greets my ears. “Have you picked up my coffee yet?”
“I’ll make sure to get you a venti.”
