Chapter Eight
It was midmorning when Gabriela parked in front of the Mackey house.
“Nothing’s changed,” Harley said. “The car is still parked in the driveway. The street is quiet. No crime scene tape anywhere. I don’t see the Rosetta Stone planted in the Mackey yard.”
Gabriela got out of the car, and Rafer and Harley followed her to the Mackey front door.
Mrs. Mackey answered on the first doorbell ring. “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “This is a nice surprise.” She turned her back on Gabriela and shouted for Roger. “Roger, come see who’s here. We have company!”
There was the sound of little dog toenails on wood flooring, and Roger rushed up to the door and skidded to a stop. Mrs. Mackey picked him up, and Harley stepped forward to say hello to Roger.
“I was about to have tea,” Mrs. Mackey said. “Come in and have a spot with me.”
“Thank you,” Gabriela said, “but we can’t stay. We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop by to make sure everything was okay.”
“As okay as it could be,” Mrs. Mackey said. “We’re getting along.”
“Have you heard from any of John’s friends?” Gabriela asked.
“Scoot’s wife dropped off a coffee cake, and Bill Barton offered to take Roger for a walk, but Roger isn’t partial to him.”
“What about John’s new friend?”
“I haven’t seen him,” Mrs. Mackey said. “I’m not sure I would even recognize him if I saw him on the street.”
“Is that John’s Citroen?” Gabriela asked.
“No. That’s my car. John drove a pickup truck. It was old but he loved it.”
“Where is it now?”
“John kept his truck in one of the rental garages at the end of the street,” Mrs. Mackey said. “John hardly ever drove the truck. He took the tube to the museum, and he walked to the pub. I suppose I should try to sell the truck. Honestly, with everything going on, it’s just slipped my mind.”
“We have to be moving along,” Gabriela said to Mrs. Mackey. “We just wanted to make sure you were managing.”
Gabriela, Harley, and Rafer left the Mackey house and returned to the car.
“Now what?” Harley asked.
“It’s too early to go to the pub,” Gabriela said. “Let’s take a look at John’s truck.”
“No stone unturned,” Harley said.
Gabriela drove to the end of the block and found the row of six garages. All single-car with old-fashioned double wood doors that opened out.
“How do we know which one is John’s?” Harley asked.
“We park and start opening garage doors,” Gabriela said.
Garage number one was empty. Garage number two had a blue Mini in it. Garage number three was padlocked.
Gabriela took a set of picks out of her messenger bag.
“Nice,” Harley said. “You carry a set of lockpicks with you.”
“That’s nothing,” Rafer said. “She’s probably got a hammer and screwdriver and some nunchucks in there. And some flash-bang grenades.”
“You forgot the lip gloss,” Gabriela said, picking the padlock. “I’m never without lip gloss.”
They opened the doors and stood in silence for a beat, staring at the truck. There was a large lump of something covered with blankets in the bed.
Gabriela felt an instant flash of adrenaline. Get a grip, she told herself. God knows what’s under the blanket. Most likely trash.
She pulled the blankets back, her heart skipped a couple beats, and she smiled. “Hello, gorgeous,” she said to the Rosetta Stone.
“No way,” Harley said.
“Holy crap,” Rafer said.
Rafer and Harley scrambled to shut the doors, and Gabriela flicked the single overhead bulb on.
They all climbed into the bed and examined the stone.
“It looks real,” Gabriela said. “We need to move it.”
Harley went pale in the dim light. “Say what?”
“Either John went rogue and hid the stone here, or else he’s partnered with someone, maybe Leon Blake, who hid the stone here. Either way, it’s too dangerous to leave it here now.”
“Why don’t we just call the police or Buckingham Palace or MI5 or 6 or some other number?” Harley said.
“I’ll feel more comfortable doing that from a different location,” Gabriela said. “First, we secure the stone, then we arrange for the museum to take possession. Then we involve the appropriate agency.” She covered the stone. “Rafer, you drive the truck. Harley and I will follow in the car.”
“Are you serious? You want me to drive off with the Rosetta Stone in a stolen truck?”
“Yes.”
“Do we have any idea what kind of payload this decrepit truck can carry?” Rafer asked.
“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Gabriela said. “The Rosetta Stone is a little under a ton. Of course, then we have to add in your weight.”
“This is high school all over again,” Rafer said. “You and your crazy ideas.”
“Remember the summer she thought it would be fun to skinny dip in the mayor’s pool at midnight and half of the senior class showed up?” Harley said. “That was awesome.”
Rafer grinned. “It made the local paper. They had to block out a lot of private parts in the photo.”
“And in the end, they decided to let you graduate, even though you took the hit as the instigator,” Harley said to Rafer.
“I owe you for that one,” Gabriela said to Rafer.
“Yeah,” Rafer said. “It’s a long list. Do you have a key for the truck?”
Gabriela hopped out of the truck bed, walked up to the driver’s-side door, and looked in. “This truck is ancient. The key is in the ignition.”
Before she could say another word, the garage doors opened, and four men walked in.
“What are you doing here?” one of the men asked. “This is a private garage.”
“The owner asked us to check on the truck,” Gabriela said.
“It is my truck,” he said. “Step away.”
“You’re mistaken,” she said. “Your truck must be in another garage.”
“I am never mistaken,” he said. He drew a gun and pointed it at Gabriela. “Step away now. And the two men in the truck bed will get down immediately. Hasan will drive the truck out of here.”
Hasan moved forward and yanked Gabriela away from the truck.
Gabriela whirled around, executed a chop to the man’s throat, and kicked his legs out from under him.
A second man rushed at her, and she shoved him away with enough force to send him stumbling backward into the man holding the gun.
The gun discharged and the bullet buried itself in the stumbling man’s thigh.
Gabriela did an underhand throw with a slim silver knife she’d pulled from a hidden pocket in her jacket.
The blade dug into the gunman’s arm and he dropped his weapon.
Gabriela jumped behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition, put the truck into reverse, and floored the gas pedal.
Harley and Rafer lost their balance in the back of the truck and crashed into the Rosetta Stone.
Gabriela charged out of the garage into the alley, screeched to a stop, put the truck in drive, and wasted no time leaving the scene.
She stopped for a light, and Rafer swung down from the back of the truck and settled into the passenger seat.
“I guess Hasan wasn’t warned about you being a martial arts expert,” Rafer said.
“Is Harley okay back there?”
“He wet himself when you knifed the gunman, but aside from that he’s good. And he’s in a lot better shape than the guy you ran over.”
“I ran over someone?”
“You didn’t run over all of him. You just sort of knocked him out of your way when you backed out of the garage at warp speed. I think you might have rolled over a leg. Or two.”
The light changed and Gabriela moved with the traffic.
“Where are we going?” Rafer asked.
“I’m going back to Soho. I’ll call Marcella at the next light and have her get in touch with the museum director. The alternative would be to just drive straight to the museum, but I’m afraid that would create chaos.”
Fifteen minutes later, Gabriela drove across the bridge over the Thames into Westminster and parked in a lot adjacent to an apartment building. She’d just received a text from Marcella with the museum director’s private number. Gabriela called the number and got an immediate answer.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” the director said. “I hope your hands are healing.”
“They’re feeling much better,” Gabriela said.
“I just used a light layer of gauze and some Band-Aids. I’m calling because I have good news.
I would like to make a delivery to the museum this morning.
I feel confident that the package I’m about to hand over to you is authentic, but I’m sure you’ll want to do some testing before we celebrate. ”
“Just to make certain we’re both on the same page… we’re talking about the Rosetta Stone, correct?”
“Correct,” Gabriela said. “I have it in my possession, and I’d like to turn it over to you. I thought I should call first so you can make arrangements.”
“How soon can you deliver it?”
“It depends on traffic. I’d say about twenty minutes.”
There was a pause on the other end, and Gabriela thought the director was probably composing himself. This was Christmas morning.
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am,” he finally said. “I’ll meet you at the back gate.”
Gabriela hung up and turned to Rafer. “He was happy.”
“He’ll be even happier when he sees us drive through the museum gate and park the stone in his backyard,” Rafer said.
“Yes, but he’s only going to see me. Harley needs to stay hidden until Searl and Junkett call off the dogs. And you need to keep an eye on him. I’ll drop you off at the hotel on my way to the museum.”
Gabriela left the lot and entered the crawl of midday traffic. She drove past Westminster Abbey and turned off Abingdon Street onto Parliament Square. She drove three-quarters of the way around the square and made a left onto Parliament Street.
“What’s up?” Rafer asked. “You just did a detour around the square.”
“I’ve picked up a tail,” Gabriela said. “It’s the black SUV, two cars back. I’m going to turn onto the Strand when I get to Trafalgar and try to lose them in the theater district.”
“I could be home in St. Vincent, stretched out in my hammock on the front porch right now,” Rafer said, “but lucky me, I’m with Ninja Woman, driving the Rosetta Stone through London traffic, getting chased by God-knows-who.”