The Tomb (Scarrett & Kramer Book 3)

by Neil Carstairs

  “I’d hate to know what she’d break if I bought her a ring,” Ben said.

  “Then maybe she’s not the girl for you.” The old woman gave Ben a pat on the arm and continued her walk.

  Ben took a slow stroll down to Kramer. On the way, he checked the time. They had an hour until their appointment but needed to get across town. He thought a conversation about the museum would be better than a conversation about flowers or diamond rings.

  “We need to make a move,” he said.

  “I’ll be travelling all the time,” Kramer didn’t acknowledge him. “If you’re back at your apartment I might see you three or four times a year.”

  “But you’ll get extended leave,” Ben said.

  “Right.” Kramer turned and stalked away. “We need to get a cab,” she said over her shoulder.

  Ben followed at a discreet distance. The sweet Joanne Kramer from the last few hours had well and truly gone. He tagged along behind her until she reached the street. Kramer watched the traffic for a moment and then waved at a cab. The driver swung the vehicle across two lanes and slammed the brakes on.

  “Museum of Fine Arts,” Kramer told the driver when they were in the back.

  The cab took off so fast that Ben got flung into his seat. Kramer laughed and helped him buckle up.

  “You know I’ll miss you,” she said.

  “You’ll miss laughing at me.” Ben took hold of her hand again. “And you might get partnered with a guy who likes running as much as you do. That’ll be a bit of competition for you.”

  “Yeah.” Kramer stared out of her window. Ben watched her, not sure whether he should keep talking or let her work things out for herself.

  They were stuck at an intersection, the cab driver shouting in Ukranian at a pick-up blocking his lane, when Kramer said, “We’ll see how it goes. I can get flights up to Andrews. It’s not so far when I think about it.”

  “And you’ll be away from Fort Bragg,” Ben said. “Living so close to the office means you get dragged in a lot. We both do. And although it’s exciting when that call comes we both know that it comes at a cost.”

  “You’re right.” She smiled at him. “Only this once, though, so don’t make a habit of it.”

  “As if I would.” Ben leaned across and kissed her.

  The cab driver saw him in the mirror. “No kissing,” he shouted. “No sex.”

  “Damn,” Ben said. “Stopped before I could even begin.”

  ***

  The Museum of Fine Arts impressed Ben as he stepped out of the cab. The classical architecture formed a beautiful counterpoint to the modern city skyline around it. Kramer paid the driver and led Ben up the sweeping steps to the museum entrance. She seemed a little happier again, and Ben let her take the lead as she asked for Director Jancuvich at the enquiries desk.

  A four-minute wait ended with a twenty-something woman called Marcy who came and collected them. She took them up to Level 2 and into the section dedicated to the Art of the Ancient World.

  “We have a room reserved for your meeting,” Marcy explained on the way. “Director Jancuvich is waiting along with Director Meyer and Dr Steele.”

  Marcy looked like the kind of girl who could give Kramer a run for her money in the fitness stakes. She ignored the elevators and took the stairs, moving at a speed that left Ben close the breathless and not able to hold any conversation. Ben managed to keep something like a smile on his face as Marcy brought them to a halt and knocked on a door.

  Ben looked around. The art here ranged from sarcophagi through sculptures to pottery and mosaics. At this time of day, in the middle of the week, there weren’t a lot of people looking at the exhibits. The nearest group were three men and a woman, all from the same tourist group by the looks of it. Early thirties, olive skin, the men with a couple of days growth of beard and the woman with close-cropped hair. Ben caught her looking at him as the door opened to allow Marcy to lead them in. The woman had Kramer’s eyes. Not the same colour but the same kind of intense stare that Ben called ‘army eyes’. She dropped her gaze back to the display cabinet as Kramer said, “Are you coming, Scarrett?”

  Ben walked into a room with white painted walls, wood laminate flooring and a single table in the centre upon which stood a twelve-inch-high stone statue of what looked like, to his untutored examination, an Egyptian pharaoh.

  Marcy introduced Director Jancuvich. Somewhere in his late-fifties with slicked back dark hair, hornbeam eyeglasses, a dark blue blazer with yellow cravat and pale cream pants. He shook Ben’s hand firmly as Director Meyer stepped forward. Meyer stood barely five-feet tall; she had iron grey hair and an accent from middle-Europe. Ben caught a whiff of expensive scent as she gave him a kiss on each cheek.

  Dr Steele turned out to be a forty-year-old man with the kind of looks that Ben knew would impress Kramer. She had a thing for the George Clooney type, especially when they came with an English accent. Ben watched Kramer as she let Steele hold onto her hand a little longer than necessary. He wanted to remind Kramer that the last English guy who charmed her like this ended up as a man on a mission to see her dead.

  “Will you need me for anything else?” Marcy aimed her question at Jancuvich.

  “I don’t think so,” the Director said. “We have the coffee machine to keep us going and some Danish pastries.”

  “Give me a call if you do need anything,” Marcy said, as she left the room.

  There was a moment’s silence. Ben guessed the reason for their visit sat, or stood, on the table.

  Kramer said, “I expect we are all wanting to find out about each other. Agent Scarrett and I are from Homeland Security. We work in a department that focusses on unusual activity that can’t be ascribed human influence.”

  Yeah, Ben thought, weird shit supernatural activity.

  “I must admit,” Jancuvich said, “that when we reported this, we didn’t expect to be taken seriously.”

  “Agent Scarrett and I have plenty of experience investigating unusual events.”

  “Like a real-life Mulder and Scully?” Steele asked, with a smile.

  “In some ways.” Kramer laughed.

  Jeez, give the man some encouragement, why don’t you? Ben gestured to the stone carving and said, “Is that why we’re here?”

  “It is,” Steele said. He looked at Jancuvich for permission to continue. The Director gave a single nod of his head but before Steele could speak someone banged hard on the door.

  By the time Ben looked, the door had opened. Marcy stood, framed by the bright sunlight of windows across the room, with mouth and eyes wide open in terror. Something small sailed into the room. It bounced once on the wood floor with a sharp rap. Marcy followed it as the man hiding behind her gave her a sharp push in the back. Ben saw him, dark hair and eyes, as he reached in and yanked the door shut.

  All this happened as Kramer shouted, “Grenade!”

  The grenade bounced again, it hit a table leg and deflected back out into the open. An iron-hard hand grabbed Ben’s arm and hauled him back. He lost his balance as the magnesium/ammonia nitrate inside the M84 stun grenade detonated. Light and sound filled the room.

  Ben rolled in an ocean storm, his vision a sheen of pink. The floor tilted, and he slid into an abyss where he rode a giddying wave. It came with a clashing of cymbals that deafened him to any other sound. He could feel his limbs twitching, and the sensation of the hard floor grounded him into reality even as the effects of the stun grenade made his brain think he was lost at sea. Vision returned as his retinas recovered from the 6 million candela flash, grey instead of pink, with the shifting shapes of silhouettes as people moved around him.

  The tinnitus in his ears reduced. Now he heard screaming. Ben rolled, and reached out to one of the shapes that stepped close to him. He heard a male voice say something in a language he didn’t understand, and then a boot kicked him hard in the ribs. Pain blossomed, a sharp rush that curled him into a ball as fire ignited in his chest. Feet stomped past him
. Ben cracked his eyes open a fraction. Daylight still seemed too bright, but he saw Director Meyer thrashing on the floor, the whites of her eyes on show as she struggled to breathe. More feet moved across his vision. Those voices again, shouting harsh orders, as they retreated to the door and out into the display room.

  A hand pulled him upright. Kramer, her face pale and voice distant as she shouted, “Come on, Scarrett, we need to go.”

  Ben clawed at the table, trying to keep upright as vertigo threatened to drag him down. Kramer made it to the door before she realised Ben hadn’t moved. “Scarrett?”

  Meyer stopped moving as Ben stepped over her. Jancuvich didn’t look much better, but Steele seemed to be recovering as he sat up holding his head. Ben touched his shoulder, “Call Nine-One-One,” he said. “Then see to Director Meyer.”

  Steele looked up with a blank expression. “Where are you going?”

  “No idea, I’m tagging along with Kramer for the ride.”

  Emergency alarms were sounding as Ben stumbled after Kramer. She seemed to have made a much better recovery than him, and her impatient look as he almost fell down the stairs made him say, “Slow down. Didn’t that even touch you?”

  “Of course it did, but I’m used to it.”

  “You are?” They reached Level One and Ben had to stop. He rested against the balustrade as another wave of dizzying vertigo swept through him.

  “We get exposed to flash-bangs during urban warfare training. You never get used to them but recovery time improves.”

  “Jesus, you army pukes need to get out more.” Ben shook his head and then wished he hadn’t.

  Kramer looked around. People were staring at them, and a security guard approached with his gun drawn. “Stay still,” she said to Ben.

  With hands out to show they were empty Kramer said to the guard, “We’re Homeland Security. I have identification but need to take it out.”

  “Slowly,” the guard said. He looked like a retired cop, grey hair, a paunch and a nervous twitch that made Ben hope the gun didn’t have a hair-trigger.

  Kramer took her ID out. She showed the guard as he edged forward to peer short-sightedly at it. “We good?” Kramer asked.

  “Yeah.” The gun lowered to aim at the floor. “What happened?”

  “Someone used a stun grenade and stole a statue. Directors Jancuvich and Meyer were in the room. They’ll need assistance. We were in pursuit. Did you see anyone fleeing?”

  The guard shook his head and pointed over his shoulder. “No, I was over that way.”

  “Three men and a woman,” Ben said. “Aged around thirty. Dark hair, olive skin.”

  The guard stared at Ben. “You mean Arabs?”

  “No,” Ben said.

  “Sound like you do, this a terrorist attack?”

  “It’s a robbery,” Kramer said. “Otherwise we’d all be dead. We need to move on.”

  The break had given Ben’s inner ear a chance to sort itself out. He moved more quickly now as they descended the next flight of stairs and ran outside. Boston P.D. cars were beginning to arrive, Kramer ignored them, her eyes searching the broad expanse of Huntington Avenue for any sign of their attackers. Ben took the time to sit down on the top step.

  “Enjoying the rest?” Kramer asked, testily.

  “I’m in the next stage of my recovery.” Ben squinted up at her. “Now those folks we’re chasing, the ones with stun grenades and a heavy boot that left its impression in my ribs, are long gone.”

  “You reckon?” Kramer had moved down half a dozen steps. She shaded her eyes to study the street.

  “They snatched a priceless relic,” Ben said. “If it were me I’d be halfway to Logan International by now.”

  “And what if they left someone behind to monitor any pursuit?” The way Kramer spoke made Ben pay some interest in what she said.

  “You see someone?”

  Kramer came back to his level and sat next to him. “Hard to tell, but look to your eleven o’clock.”

  Huntington Avenue was four lane highway, the two sets of traffic separated by twin railroad lines in a central reserve screened by lines of trees. Ben peered through the foliage and said, “Where am I looking?”

  “Next junction, by the Punter’s Pub.”

  “Lone guy?”

  “Uh-huh. I think you got a better look at the perps inside the museum.”

  Ben sighed. “I can’t tell from here.”

  A bunch of cops hustled up the steps and into the museum. Kramer had a thoughtful look on her face. “You know, you could always offer to go get me a cup of coffee.”

  “Could I?” Ben looked up from where he had been rubbing his ribs.

  “Yeah. Take the long way. Go in this entrance, out another and see if you can get behind him.”

  “And what are you going to do while I stress my ribcage?” Ben asked, not quite believing she wanted him to do all the work.

  “Take a stroll down to the sidewalk and let him know we’ve seen him.” Kramer patted Ben’s thigh.

  “Oh, great, so you stand there giving him your famous death stare, and I run around trying to find a way out of the museum, then get across a four-lane highway and two track railroad and all the time he’s probably vanished because he knows we’ve spotted him.”

  “You sound a little exasperated,” Kramer said, with a sweet smile.

  “A little? Try a lot.” Ben stood and huffed.

  “Well, at least it will give you another reason for resigning.”

  Ben walked off without another word. Sometimes he wondered how he’d ended up so in love with a woman who could drive a saint to drink. Inside the museum, cops and security guards milled around as if they had no clue what to do next. All the action had been on Level 2 so those left down at the entrance could only stand around and talk. Ben ignored them as he spotted a display showing the museum layout. He picked his route to another exit and walked as quickly as he could without drawing too much attention. He wanted to avoid having cops asking questions when Kramer expected him out on the street in the next couple of minutes.

  He turned left when he reached the Rotunda, passing through exhibition rooms as he worked his way towards the group entrance. A security guard tried to stop him on the way out. Ben flashed his ID and stepped outside again, trying to figure his way out of the parking lot and back to Huntington Avenue. He jogged across the lot and found a route out onto Museum Road. Ben slowed now, walking up to the intersection with Huntington Avenue. A crossing point lay right at the end of the road. Ben waited there until he could carry on, glancing up towards the buildings that held the Punter’s Pub. He couldn’t see his target yet, which meant his target couldn’t see him if the guy hadn’t been scared off by Kramer.

  The crossing took him over the railroad tracks and then the other two lanes of the highway. With a sports field on his right, the next buildings ahead held the pub and at the end of those were the junction where Kramer spotted the guy standing. Ben glanced across towards the museum. Kramer stood on the sidewalk; her attention fixed on the next street.

  So, he’s still there.

  Ben’s pulse rose a couple of notches. He stayed close to the fence and then the building line as the sports field came to an end. He kept an eye on Kramer, she didn’t move and didn’t acknowledge that she’d even seen Ben approach.

  I wish I had a gun.

  A visit to a museum hadn’t sounded like the most dangerous outing in the world, so he and Kramer hadn’t bothered carrying weapons. Ben didn’t know if the guy was armed. Sure, they’d used a stun grenade in the museum but nothing else so he had an even chance his target was unarmed. Or maybe an even chance he was armed.

  Ben walked past a pizza outlet. He came alongside the pub. Took one last look at Kramer and then picked up his pace. A couple of cars swept by, a nice distraction of movement and noise as Ben came around the end of the building. The guy stood in the shade. He had a half-smile on his face as if he enjoyed the staring contest with Kramer. His eyes
widened in shock as he recognised Ben.

  “Hi,” Ben said. “We need to talk.”

  The guy turned to run, and Ben jumped him. They went down hard, Ben on top. He heard the breath leave his target’s body and the strength went with it. Ben relaxed. Beneath him, his victim sensed the change. He bucked hard, pushing back and throwing Ben off. In the moment of freedom, he twisted, still lying on his back, and lashed out.

  Ben blocked the right hand, deflecting it away. The left came straight into his throat, and he stopped it inches away from a disabling strike. Now the right again and Ben found himself defending desperately as the guy hit out faster than Ben could see. He pulled back, and the guy kicked him in the side.

  Damn.

  Ben rolled away, off the kerb and into the road. He heard the squeal of brakes and blast of a horn as a car slid to a stop next to him. Ben came up at the same time as the olive-skinned guy. Ben’s target smiled. The driver of the car shouted something and pulled away. Ben backed up, letting the guy come closer to him. He said something to Ben, and the way he spat, the words told Ben everything he needed to know.

  He wants to kill me.

  A knife appeared in the guy’s right hand. He flipped it to his left and back again. Sunlight caught the blade with bright flashes. Ben focussed on his eyes, watching where they aimed. He was looking at Ben’s throat. More car horns blasted, Ben saw the guy’s attention flick left. Ben jumped forward as Kramer came in. The knife hand wavered, split between two targets. Kramer struck him. Ben heard the guy’s knee break, his scream of pain shrill as his weapon clattered onto the sidewalk. Kramer followed up with a kick to the knifeman’s head as he went down.

  “What took you?” Ben asked.

  “Couldn’t get across the road fast enough. You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Ben saw cops gathering across Huntington Avenue. “I think we’re going to have company.”

  Kramer reached down and hauled the injured man up. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he pawed at the twisted remains of his knee joint as Kramer put her face into his. “If you want surgery on that knee then you’d better start talking.”