That had been fifteen years ago.
But the memories were as fresh and raw as they’d ever been – along with his memories of the deadly events that’d followed.
He remembered the smell of the dust and the oil. The gun smoke in the heat outside and the acrid scent of his own three-day old sweat.
He remembered leaving in the middle of the night to board a plane without being seen, heading to Washington to personally debrief the president.
It had been April, just as it was now. It was one of the last times he would see the President alive…
Khyber Pass. He’d been running from a band of armed militants that had surprised their party in the ruins of an old town – only God knew how old – which had been bombed to hell, outside the city. They'd gotten separated; Sam had run, foolishly, to try to head off fire.
He’d tripped on a branch and rolled down a gully… the ground had given way and before he knew it, he’d hit bottom under a shower of dirt, stone and dead leaves. As he brushed himself off, tense and anticipating an attack from above, he thought he’d fallen through some loose ground, common to the area. But as he waited, the attack didn’t come and he slowly, painfully, climbed to his feet taking stock of any injuries and his overall situation.
He raised his face to take in his surroundings and stared.
Sitting in the airport, Sam could still remember the gut-punch of surprise, incomprehension. It was not a sinkhole into nowhere that he’d fallen. He’d actually found himself in a man-made corridor, a kind of tunnel. He thought for a wild minute that he was in someone’s basement from the nearby town, but it was no basement.
He was confronted by a wall with a strange symbol; a spiral branching off with four toothed arms. Sam had stepped forward and touched the dusty wall with awe. It wasn’t an image imbedded into the wall like he’d first thought.
Instead, it was a solid artifact.
A strange stone key, bearing the image of a labyrinth.
Sam reached for his glass and downed the rest of its contents, shaking his head. It was amazing to think his entire world could be changed in a mere instant. Always in just an instant and never in the way you’d expect.
If he hadn’t found that tunnel, found that drawing, he never would have met those men. And if he’d never met those men… the president would have had a very different story.
He’d buried that afternoon, that image, and all it had represented. He had tried to forget it had even existed, hoping that its secrets might remain such until long after he was dead.
He should have known better. With one phone call from the secretary of defense, that hope was now being shattered.
The discovery of a second symbol only proved what he hoped had been a mistake back then. Now there was no other solution than to complete the mission he had started all those years ago.
All the way through to its grizzly end.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Louvre, Paris
The city lights of Paris sprawled through the organized streets, the classy boulevards. The massive crowds of tourists flooded the courtyard of the Louvre around the famous pyramid, snapping selfies and chattering in languages from all over the world. African vendors, blue-black in the sun, sold knockoff fashion brands on the side from tables made of cardboard topped with sheets, easy to collapse and run with at the first whistle of the police. As night fell, they’d replace their fake Prada and Armani with cheap plastic glow sticks and toy helicopters that launched into the Parisian dusk like fairies.
The guard shuffled through the last of the visitors of the day and wiped his brow. He was always surprised at the number of people that waited three hours in line and then raced through the hallowed halls of art to the Mona Lisa, took a selfie among the masses, and then left, satisfied. He knew they’d go home and years later say with pride, “Oh, the Louvre? I’ve been there.”
Anyway. Not his problem. He had one round to make and then he’d be off.
Inside the last stragglers trickled, weary-footed and hungry, through the massive and gleaming halls. Benches lined the walls near the windows. The guards called in and the people sitting on them stood and left, as requested.
Crisp heels clicked out and with a last glance around, the guard linked his arms behind his back and paced out.
The room went silent. The evening light trickled in; the curtains closed. Time lapse footage would show…
A movement. A hand slid down the leg of the bench. Its mate followed. Two feet, clad in soft material, similar to slippers, crept down and a slim form hit the ground silently.
Mia lay a moment and listened. So many people did stupid things when infiltrating museums, where there were sophisticated motion sensors, etc., but she was experienced; she only worked her magic utilizing pre-existing structures. There were no sensors on the benches because people had to sit on them during the day. And they never counted on her size.
She’d been working Michel for more than a month to gain his loyalty. She’d promised him cartel connections back in the mythical United States- which must sound like paradise to a small time Parisian thief trying to make his dreams come true in the big city. That she’d ghost him the minute this was over was of no consequence, and probably of no surprise to anyone who knew her.
Well. Anyone other than Michel, anyway. But just because you robbed a museum together didn’t mean you really knew a person. No, not at all.
Mia slid to her feet, wearing circus shoes. No sound greeted her entrance into the hall, and she shifted her shoulders in the unfamiliar guard’s uniform. The woman was a little bigger through the shoulders than Mia herself, but it couldn’t be helped. She’d needed something that fit passably well on short notice, and she didn’t want to be hampered by a man’s tent of a costume. She’d spotted the girl on her breakfast scouting mission in the cafeteria over a cafe au lait and introduced herself. Amazing what a little kindness could render.
That her work uniform was in the bag that was stolen from her that afternoon would be the least of the girl’s worries. It was the loss of her money that would have more serious consequences. Mia had shoved the cash in her bra and tossed the rest in the trash.
She smoothed her cap of hair and surveyed the scene. She had chosen her location well, in the midst of the antiquities. If anyone entered now, she’d pass easily as a guard as long as they didn’t stay too long.
She just hoped Michel had gotten the security system out of commission. That was the least he could do.
One way to find out.
She squared her shoulders and poked her finger toward a painting, toward some woman’s naked and fleshy thigh. She didn’t touch the canvas though- wouldn’t do to leave fingerprints.
The alarm sounded immediately. Fuck.
Mia snatched her hand back and glanced around, pushing down her adrenaline spike with long practice.
And sure enough, a very French-looking guard rounded the corner, gun drawn. He stalled when he saw Mia.
“What’s- what’s going on here?” His smile was charming, perplexed yet a bit flirtatious, his accent clear.
Mia smiled and shrugged. “Oh, me and my clumsiness,” she laughed, her French passable. That was the good thing about big cities. You could disappear.
He folded his arms, skeptical, eyes trailing up and down her body. The guard’s uniform didn’t reveal much, it’s only downside. Not, she reflected, that there was much to reveal. She gave him another smile. Bastard was making her late.
“I haven’t seen you before.” He holstered his weapon and she fought to keep her gaze from latching onto it. Beautiful piece. Maybe before she left, she could… “I would remember.”
“First day.” She twitched her lips in a Gallic expression of ‘What can you do?’. “I’m afraid I don’t know my way around the alarms just yet. Slipped.”
“I can show you, if you want.”
“No, I don’t want to interrupt your round. I’m sure you-”
“I just finished.”
<
br /> Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to be this way. She’d researched. She'd done specs. They didn’t finish until nine. She had another full hour… She-
“Oh,” she temporized, buying time. “Oh, that would-”
His radio blared. “Where the fuck are you? You think I’m doing this shit job alone?” An angry voice screamed at him in French.
The guard blushed. Mia laughed and waved him on. “Go. I’ll be fine. You can blame me for being late.” She winked. “Maybe after I get off you can show me around.”
The guard pocketed his radio. “It’s a date. Meet me at the pyramid.”
Mia barely avoided rolling her eyes. How unoriginal. “I’ll be there.”
“Nine o’clock. That’s the shift end.”
Mia shook her head. Men were so predictable. “Nine fifteen.” She plucked at her uniform. “Let me change clothes, at least. No way I want to go outside wearing this.”
He laughed and ducked out of the room with a parting glance back at her.
His footsteps had barely cleared the door jamb before Mia dismissed him, her ears still tuned to any sounds of approach.
She checked her watch. 19:46. She shoved it back in her pocket. Michel was supposed to have deactivated this wing at 19:30. If he didn’t have it done by now, he wouldn’t have it done. Mia considered testing it out again, same painting, but she was fooling herself and didn’t have time to waste. The ruse would only work once.
Mia moved to the cabinet silently in her rubber soled shoes. She pulled the drawer open, with its glass covered lid.
That was the great thing about France, she thought. France had quality. France had glass. Plexiglas didn’t break, at least not as fast as she needed. She took a screwdriver from her pocket and smashed the butt into the corner of the glass with a quick jerk.
It broke with a clean crack, quickly muted. No alarms.
Mia barely spared her surroundings a glance. The job was now whole, complete… and hers. This is what she was born for. She pulled on her gloves, limbered her fingers, dipped into the broken corner of the door and grabbed the key.
She didn’t look at it, didn’t marvel at its antiquity or ponder what doors it might have opened once. That wasn’t why she was here. She was here for the cash. She was here because this piece of metal and stone, apart from all the others, was special.
It didn’t feel special, she reflected as she dropped it in the roomy pocket of the guard’s uniform. Then, she reflected further as she closed the door silently and kicked the glass toward the base of the cabinet. No, in her experience, special things never did.
Quick measured steps saw her out of the regal hall. The slanted stone eyes of the Middle Eastern statues watched her go.
Mia found a bathroom on the first floor near the exit and slid in with a hasty apologetic smile to the woman cleaning it. She pulled the stall open, already unbuttoning her uniform, and closed the door.
The cleaning lady laughed, a big African belly laugh. “Hot date?” she said through the thin metal.
Mia laughed as she shimmied into a slinky shirt top and jeans. She shoved her uniform into the guard’s stolen bag, glancing at the small metal trashcan on the wall. She lifted the lid. No tampons inside. Fresh bag. Perfect. She pulled out the slim cell phone she’d prepaid for this job. There was a text waiting from Michel, as promised. He was waiting outside. With a heart emoji. How boring.
Mia rolled her eyes and dumped the phone inside. She pulled off several handfuls of toilet paper and shoved those in too. Then she closed the lid.
The cleaning lady wished her a good date as she hurried out.
Mia couldn’t help congratulating herself a little bit as she navigated her way out of the museum and into the Parisian night. She dropped the stolen bag unobtrusively near the exit door. She wiped her hands on her pants and was just starting off into the crowds before a voice behind her made her turn.
“Is that it? Think you’re so clever. You thought you could just sneak out?”
Mia stalled, heart hammering. “What?”
She turned to find the guard from before leaning against the door with a smug smile. “We had a date.”
Balls. She must have gotten turned around in the museum.
“Oh.” Mia smiled and flirted, tweaking his collar. Now that she thought of it, she could use the cover, actually. Always helped to have a getaway partner, even if they didn’t know that that was their job.
They wandered through the periwinkle night as the buskers sang Leonard Cohen covers and the streetlights winked on, the epitome of romance. When he pulled her into an alley, after a street-side glass of mediocre wine that tasted like victory, she let him. When he pushed her up against the wall covered in peeling posters and felt her up under her shirt, she let him do that too. The key, after all, was safe in her pants.
And when he bent his head to kiss her neck, she hit him on the soft spot at the base of his skull hard enough to black him out. She giggled as he collapsed against her with a moan for the benefit of the other passers’ by. “Baby, you’ll have to wait…”
Mia braced his weight against her with a grunt. When she was sure he was out, she let him slump to the ground amid the chip’s wrappers and cigarette butts and slime.
She strolled to the end of the alley, looked right, then left. A police car loitered at the curb, lights flashing, cops smoking. She had no idea if they were here for her- frankly, she’d be surprised if they were. She’d planned this one to the hilt and execution was her specialty.
Still, no use taking chances.
Mia pulled off her shirt and tied it around her waist. Underneath she was wearing a chic sports bra. She did some quick toe bounces to limber up and to let off some of the giddiness, then started forward in a jog. She flashed the cops a smile as she passed. The breeze felt good on her bare skin.
She took off running down the Champs Elysee through the glowing Parisian dusk, flashing past the fancy designer shops and expensive cars, running full out, adrenaline surging in her veins, down toward the Arc de Triomphe.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Washington, D.C.
Josh straightened his sleeves as he took the two cups from the sidewalk vendor. Just another of DC’s lawyers due for a morning jolt. He shoved a crumpled dollar in the sliced off paper cup that served as a tip jar on the steel truck window with a wink. “Morning, doll.”
The coffee girl grinned at him. “You’ve got some…” She brushed at her nose and Josh realized with a shock he’d been sloppy this morning.
He wiped it off with an ashamed laugh. “Oops. Vitamins. I never learned to swallow pills, have to take them powdered.”
She laughed with the practiced good will of a service girl. “Oh, I know what you mean, sir. Keep up the health.”
“Always the health for Alfred and Stark.” He took the cups and raised them in a toast.
“Ooh.” She smiled. “Alfred and Stark.”
“You’ve heard of us?”
She smiled. “Wanted to temp for you a long time, now. Once I finish school.”
He leaned on the counter, ignoring the line forming behind him. “Oh? Is that so?”
Her glance flicked behind him. “Why’d you want to be a lawyer, anyway?”
Josh thought of Ethan and his damn nobility. He took the cups. “Friend of mine turned me on to it, actually. His dad was a real bastard, and I realized I could help people. Got me a scholarship to… oh, to somewhere with not too many letters… and the rest is history.”
“You got the job before you came to the city, or after?” She blushed. “Sorry- it was your accent. Good southern boy. My aunt’s down in Georgia.”
He grinned at her. “Good ear, girl. You’ve got a future in a courtroom, yet.” He picked the cups up from the narrow ledge by the tip jar and smiled at her as he sauntered off. “Oh- and I got the job after. Came here for a girl, like all poor schmucks.” He winked. “My sister.”
The morning was the kind of morning he loved, right down to th
e chemical smell used by the street cleaners and lightly mixed with sweat reek of the homeless.
The world was his.
The morning light entered through the plastic blinds as Josh trailed his fingers along the desk. They stopped at a pile of papers and rippled the edges, wondering what tale they might contain. Footsteps echoed in the hall, dull on the carpet, and he stopped his rippling. Maybe someday he’d find out, but not today.
The handle turned.
The senator entered, still looking at his phone or papers. He clearly wasn’t expecting an audience: Josh waited, leaning against the desk, wondering how long before he’d take notice and found he’d even had time to cross his arms before the man even looked up.
Finally, look up he did, over the gold rim of his glasses. He stalled. Then he closed the door behind him with a small click.
“Mr. Rowe. Good morning.”
“Senator.” Josh nodded once, with the hint of a smile. It was a smile he’d perfected over years, designed to inspire a faint sense of unease.
It seemed to be working. The senator pocketed his phone. “How did you get in here?”
Josh shrugged. “Your girl at the desk likes her coffee too sweet and too light.” He raised a brow. “Like she likes her bosses, apparently.”
The man ignored the jab in a moment of self-preservation. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I came to discuss what we’d spoken about earlier.”
The senator shook his head with a flash of his campaign smile, all of his pearly whites front and center. “I told you. We can’t. I’m sorry, Josh. I would if I could. But it’s just not possible.”
Josh took the decanter and tipped a healthy splash of whisky into his coffee. He held out one of the crystal glasses. “Want some?”
The senator shook his head. “Too early for me, thank you. But please.” He gestured at the cup Josh was already sipping. “Feel free…”
“Aw, come on. No one’s going to know. Or do you have a bunch of little cameras installed in here?” He grinned, glancing toward the walls but keeping an eye on the man’s face. “Don’t want anyone to see?”
The Labyrinth Key Page 15