Chapter 4 #2
If this man isn’t who he says he is, he’s gone to great lengths to cover it up.
Handing him the card back, I keep the telegram.
He tucks the card back into his shirt pocket, then runs a hand through his hair. “Apologies for the delay. We were a tad late to the airfield in Luxor, you see, and by the time we arrived there, you were already gone.”
My mind takes a moment to catch up to what he said. He talks so damned fast I have to pay attention to every word. Or perhaps, after the day I’ve had, I’m only imagining it. Either way, I’m already exhausted by him.
“A tad late?” I wonder “Well, that makes me almost dying alright.” I take a step toward him, anger sparking in my blood. “I’ve been through hell and high-water in every sense of the phrase, and all you have to say for yourself is you’re sorry you were late?”
Bes splays out his hands in front of him, as if trying to calm a feral animal. “Let’s keep calm here. You’re clearly distressed…”
Did he just tell me to keep calm? I release a single solemn laugh.
Leaving my pack on the ground, I practically launch myself across the sand so that I’m mere inches from his face.
No longer affected by his good looks and charming accent, I work to keep my arms at my sides so that I don’t shove him. Or perhaps choke him.
His eyes flit to my lips at my closeness, like he can’t help himself, and a new wave of rage rises inside me.
“Oh, I’m well past distressed, pal. Distressed was when I had the bad end of a loaded Luger shoved into my back. Distressed was when I thought I was going to drown trying to retrieve some ridiculous amulet for your museum—”
I move to take the amulet out of my shirt, but stop when Bes’s eyes widen and pass swiftly between me and the soldier beside him, pleading for something. I cut off my ramblings, confused.
Then it hits me: the soldier doesn’t know about the Amulet of Amun. I’m not sure why this Bes character is keeping him in the dark, but I know better than to ask about it now. Despite Bes proving his identity to me, I don’t trust either of them in this moment.
Bes does have one advantage, however: an agent of the Crown like Williams would no doubt take the amulet for Britain, and I can’t allow that.
“Not like I actually found the damn thing,” I amend.
The gold-winged scarab sits cool against my hot chest, and I fight the urge to cross my arms again.
“It was probably buried deep underground centuries ago, or covered up by a sandstorm. What a waste of my time.” I stab a finger into Bes’s chest, which is more muscular than I initially gave it credit for.
“And I expect some sort of hazard pay, on top of my regular fee.”
Williams scrunches his brow, then turns to Bes. “I thought we came here because a woman who worked for the museum was abducted?”
“That’s technically true,” Bes argues, glancing at me again.
Oh, this is worse than I thought.
Bes’s skittering gaze has now become expectant, and he cocks his head toward Williams. I have no idea what he’s trying to get me to do, but I imagine he’s looking for me to distract the soldier.
Whatever Bes has planned, I’m aligned. If Williams hasn’t been made aware of what the museum is paying me to procure for them, then he’s a liability. An unknown variable. And as much as I’d love to crawl into the back of whatever car Bes drove here in and close my eyes, I can’t rest yet.
I focus all my attention on Williams. I know what I need to do, and I’d be lying if a part of me wasn’t a little thrilled by it.
Loosening my shoulders and swinging my hips, I take a purposeful step in the soldier’s direction.
I’m not the best at flirting with my words, but my looks make up for it: blonde hair, blue eyes, with curves and a thin waist—all traits from my mother’s Northern Italian ancestry.
Rather than letting anyone make me ashamed of these things, I use them like I would any other weapon. Especially when brute force and wit won’t suffice.
“At least all this brought me to you.” I flutter my lashes. “So I suppose it wasn’t a complete waste of my time.”
Bes raises a brow out of the corner of my eye. I don’t spare him a glance, hoping he simply follows my lead.
The soldier’s glassy gaze slides down to my chest, like I knew it would. Close enough now, I gently place my hand over his heart. It beats erratically beneath my palm. Too easy.
“You can take me for a ride in your automobile, if you want.”
His attention shifts from my chest to my eyes; he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I smile coyly—
A loud thud reverberates from the back of the soldier’s skull. He flashes me the whites of his eyes and crumples to the sand.
I drop my saccharine smile and regard Bes, who’s standing directly behind where the soldier once was. He lowers the butt of his gun from above his head and holsters it before coming over to my side to take stock of the soldier, our backs to the temple.
“Took you long enough,” I say. “I thought I was going to have to let the fool actually touch me.”
He scoffs. “Well, you were very convincing.”
I shrug. “You didn’t want him to know about the amulet, so I thought you wanted my help in removing him from the equation the only way I know how.”
“By suggesting he take you for a drive in his motorcar?” Bes shakes his head. “Bloody Americans.”
I gesture at the second car I swore was a mirage before. “I know it’s an Austin Sixteen-Six, but I didn’t want to give away how observant and worldly I am.”
He appears mildly impressed for a moment before schooling his features. “I didn’t mean your lack of car knowledge—I meant the flirting.”
“It got me a lot farther than it would’ve gotten you.” I glance back at the insentient soldier. “At least, I think so. I didn’t take the time to question him about his preferences before you knocked him out.”
“Good gods,” he mutters. “Do you always talk this much?”
I grin. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”
His gaze flits across my face as if he’s searching for something. Whatever it is, I doubt he’ll find it.
“I’m assuming the person who claimed to be from the museum is either incapacitated or dead,” he continues after a moment.
“The former, unfortunately,” I confirm. “Oh, and I’m fairly certain he’s a Nazi.”
He gives no sign that he’s shaken by this revelation except to fold his arms across his chest. “What gave you that idea?”
I point at the back of my neck. “He had a circled swastika tattoo.”
His eyes narrow. “Circled? You’re certain?”
I regard him seriously as sweat begins to pop up on my forehead from standing in the sun-soaked heat for so long. “I know what I saw.”
Bes pinches his nose beneath the bridge of his glasses. “They’re not Nazis, exactly; they’re a part of a cult named the Thule Society, an organization on the fringes of the German Third Reich, who call themselves the God Men.”
“The Thule Society?” I ask, barely believing my own ears. “Like the fictional land supposedly founded by ancient geographers in the far north as the proverbial edge of the known world, where the mythical Hyperboreans lived? That Thule Society?”
Bes scores his face. “Impressive. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to discuss it here. There’s no telling when—”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Fuck.
Heart in my throat, Bes and I both spin in the direction of a voice I now know too well. Claude stands between us and the temple, pointing his old Luger at me once again. My backpack sits open at his feet, half the contents tossed out onto the sand. Dammit, I should’ve kept a better eye on that.
Surprise and panic force me to take an unfortunate step back, and I stumble over Williams’s foot. My backside once again meets with the ground. Bes has already walked back a few paces more, closer to the car. He had better not be leaving me here.
I manage to keep my attention on Claude, the much larger threat.
His wrinkled and dirty suit hangs awkwardly across his shoulders, his combover of black hair askew.
Despite the dire situation I’m in, I allow a half-smile at the sight of a nasty bruise forming on his jaw from when I clocked him.
It’s my only solace as I stare down the barrel of his gun once again.
Claude’s gun flicks to my right. “Don’t even think about it.”
I glance over at Bes as he slowly removes his hand from the gun in his holster.
“If you hand over the amulet now,” Claude says to me now, eyes manic as they flick down to where the amulet peeks out from my button-up, “we can forget any of this happened.”
Doubtful. Now I’m past the initial dread of seeing him again, I scramble to form a plan. And then I remember: Bes and Claude aren’t the only ones with guns.
I lean forward, closer to the soldier. “You said it yourself, Claude: we’re well past these pleasantries. You’ve already shown your delusional, fascist hand.”
While he thinks on this, I keep my eyes on Claude’s gun and slowly, carefully, reach into the soldier’s holster, extricating the weapon from it.
Tightening my grasp around the handle, I blindly locate the hammer and hold my trembling thumb over it.
I slowly bring it down, glad for the incessant droning of the locusts as it clicks.
Smoothing out my expression, I focus on Claude’s gun trembling in his hand. He’s either never shot anyone before, or his body is still recovering from being knocked unconscious.
Having considered my words, Claude smiles. “Then I’ll kill your friend first.”
“He’s not my friend, so go right ahead,” I goad him.
Bes’s head snaps in my direction, but I can’t spare him a glance. With Claude’s trembling worsening, he’s likely to miss Bes completely, if he pulls the trigger at all.
Claude grimaces, not giving me a second to form another thought before he points the gun at Bes and pulls the trigger.
I duck instinctively as the bullet zings over my head, the sound of the gunshot ringing out across the desert. It hits flesh—Bes cries out.
Shit. My heart pummels inside my chest, sweat breaking out across my brow. I may have just killed Bes with my recklessness. I want to help him, to make sure he’s not dead, but I only have a second to react—to try and save us both.
Allowing very little consideration for my next move, I point the soldier’s gun at Claude and fire.