Owl and the City of Angels Read online

  3

  Old Enemies, New Friends

  1:30 p.m., still running in circles around Alexandria

  I peeked over the top of the stone fence and swore.

  Past the gate and across the street was my route to the docks, but the dig guards and Mike were still milling around the site. At least there was no sign of IAA suits, but that in itself didn’t exclude them from being somewhere out of sight.

  I dropped back down to the ground. Well, I could jump over and make a run for it—if I was fast enough, they might not react before I was out . . .

  “What the hell did I ever do to you, Egypt?” I said.

  “Besides stealing priceless artifacts?” came a familiar male voice.

  I frowned. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

  I spun on my heels and came face-to-face with a man not much taller than me, with a suntanned face and wearing the more traditional ­Egyptian garb you see at the dig sites. Except this wasn’t an Egyptian.

  “Benji,” I said, and unceremoniously pulled off his headscarf. “I should have known they roped you into this.” Benji was an old colleague of mine, one I’d gone out of my way to help when he’d stumbled onto Chilean mummies. Except he wasn’t happy about owing me some help navigating the odd dig, so he’d backstabbed me in Bali a few months back.

  We weren’t on good terms.

  He held his hands up and started to back up. “Alix, it’s not what it looks like. Let me explain—”

  He didn’t get much further than that, on account of me punching him in the face. Benji yelped and grabbed his nose. “Son of a bitch! Oh my God, I think you broke it!” Or at least that’s what I thought he said, on account of him clasping his bleeding nose between his hands.

  I shook my hand out. Rynn’s self-defense lessons were coming in handy, though I didn’t know if my bar of entry into violent conflict resolution needed lowering. My God, hitting someone in the face hurt . . . I’d have to remember to use my knees next time. Didn’t stop me from pinning Benji against the wall. “You sold me out to a bunch of vampire junkies!”

  Benji winced, but whether from the accusation or my arm across his throat, I wasn’t sure. “Jesus—I know, all right! But I didn’t know they were junkies, I thought you were the junkie—that’s what they told me. My God that hurts!”

  I raised my fist, and Benji’s eyes widened. “OK, look, I can explain. I came to help.”

  “How stupid do I look?”

  He shrugged and nodded towards the dig site. “Considering you walked right into an IAA trap?” Benji frowned. “Come on, Owl, Algiers? Even I guessed that one—”

  Shit. “Yeah, well, never mind,” I said, and let Benji off the wall. “And what the hell is with the IAA manhunt anyways? And you’ve got five seconds to make it good.”

  He managed a glare. “Or what? You’ll hit me again?”

  “No.” I turned so Benji could get a good look at Captain, who obliged with a hiss. “I’ll let him at you. I’ll warn you, he’s a little wild. Found him slinking around the pyramids—”

  “OK, OK. Jesus, when the hell did you get so violent?”

  I crossed my arms.

  Benji rushed to continue. “All right, all right—I’m not exactly in the IAA security know, but I picked up a couple things because I’ve had my ears open. They’ve been looking for you the last couple months, but it wasn’t until a couple weeks ago that they got real serious—don’t ask me why. All I know is it’s got something to do with a theft.”

  I shook my head. “That’s impossible—” I would have explained I’d been in Vegas two weeks ago, and the week before that, but Benji stopped me.

  “I’m just telling you what I know. A theft five days ago in Morocco tipped them off, so they set up Algiers. You beat them to it, but then yesterday someone somewhere flagged Serena. The lines went nuts after that.”

  I closed my eyes for a second. The IAA had known exactly what bait to set out and where to look for me . . . I was getting as predictable as ­Captain was with vampires. “What was the theft?” I went over the last few things I’d lifted: Not the Moroccan burial mask, too soon; Norwegian burial jewelry, no; Easter Island idol . . . that might have done it. They don’t like major monuments going missing, though still.

  Benji shook his head. “No, they were looking for you before that. All I know is it’s this side of the globe and the theft had your signature all over it—”

  Six weeks ago I’d lifted a Dionysus idol outside Athens, but with the economy collapsing, it was open season in Greece. Who wasn’t lifting stuff there? Besides, none of it rated supernatural, except for the Easter Island idol, and even that was minor. The IAA wouldn’t go to these lengths over that, not unless they’d eaten a really great batch of mushrooms . . .

  Then again, when supernatural shit is involved, I suppose anything is possible.

  I snorted. “They’ve probably got another ruined temple to pin on me and are trying to track down my signature for insurance purposes.”

  Benji frowned. “OK, that’s not completely unreasonable. Might I add you did trash the temple in Bali—just like I said you would?”

  I clenched my fist. “Not on purpose—and no offense, but the Naga did way more damage than me—and I haven’t trashed any dig sites since then.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, accidently knocking his black-rimmed glasses to the side. “And there you go again with the excuses. Why can’t you—for once, that’s all I’m asking here—admit you might be partially responsible?”

  See, now this is the problem I have with the IAA. No allowances for the supernatural . . . Put your neck out to save the world and what ­happens? A temple was partially destroyed—which, for the record, I wasn’t happy about. If the resident Naga hadn’t taken issue . . . Oh why the hell do I even bother. “Fine. I was somewhat responsible for ruin­ing a temple. But you intentionally sold me to a pack of goddamn vampires!”

  Benji glared. “OK, like I said, it was an honest mistake—which I’m trying to make right—and you did strong-arm me into getting you into the dig site in the first place.”

  “Strong-arm?”

  “Yeah! Strong-arm. You know, holding something over a person’s head indefinitely.”

  “No, I mean what were you? Born in the 1950s? And what the hell do you expect? The entire batch of you treat me like I’m some kind of goddamn leper!”

  I expected an argument. I’ve been in the game long enough to know how to deal with reluctant archaeology accomplices like Benji. I didn’t expect the color to drain from his face. I think that was worse—like validation.

  All of a sudden I really didn’t feel like talking to Benji.

  He did though. “Look, I would have warned you ahead, but after Bali they started watching everyone’s communications—and not just because of you—”

  I lowered my head and glanced at Benji from under my eyebrows.

  “OK, well, partly because of you, but mostly because of Bindi. No one saw that coming. Including her and Mark, they’re down, like, seven archaeologists in one year.”

  I heard voices coming from the catacomb entrance, so I dragged Benji farther into the shadows. “That still doesn’t come close to explaining how the hell you ended up here.”

  “It wasn’t out of my way. I was transferred to Cairo a few months back, and when the IAA chatter about Serena started, I figured it might be you and got myself attached to the dig. It wasn’t hard,” Benji added, pushing my arm off and standing up straight. “You have a lousy habit of trashing places. They were more than happy for another set of hands—”

  “Do not.”

  Benji snorted. “Did you see what those stones did to the floor? Did you plan on setting off a few traps, or did that just happen while you were ramming—”

  I motioned for him to keep his voice down. “I had to improvise—and the p
sychopathic mummy came after me.”

  “Look, I’d have tried warning you earlier, but they’ve been tight-lipped about things.” He looked more tired as he said it. I got the sinking suspicion the IAA was tight-lipped on everything after Bindi and Red. Losing archaeologists because they get eaten is one thing, but having them jump physiological sides with IAA secrets?

  “You won’t break their perimeter on your own, but my partner is indisposed this morning, and they’ll let me by,” he said as he handed me a plastic bag containing the same robes and scarf he wore.

  I stared at them, then back at him. To say Benji didn’t exactly look friendly was putting it mildly. If he thought for one second I believed he was going to help me slip the IAA out of the goodness of his heart . . .

  “You know, I’ve got a fantastic bag of magic beans in my pocket I can sell you, they’ll grow a beanstalk and everything—”

  “Oh will you knock it off! I’m trying to help you—”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve got a fucking conscience and I’m having trouble sleeping, all right!”

  “So, just so we’re totally straight here—I’m helping you feel better about yourself?”

  He shoved the bag back at me. “Just put it on before one of the guards grows a work ethic and actually patrols the back of the building.”

  I grabbed Benji’s plastic bag. Selfishness was reasoning I could understand.

  Besides, if it was like Benji said and the IAA had the city cordoned off—and considering the ensuing riot and abundance of agents, there was no reason not to believe him—I didn’t really have a choice. Not unless Captain and I wanted to try and hide out in the desert for the next two weeks while they combed the city.

  “I need to get down to the cruise docks,” I said.

  Benji thought about it, then nodded. “We should be able to head straight there. We just need to get past the gate and one of the lines.”

  “How did you even know I’d be back this way?” I said, throwing the robe over my head, keeping my backpack and Captain in front.

  “Easy—with the way they roped off the city, I figured there was a chance you’d be back this way—last place they’d look for you.”

  Yeah—for the last place I should have run, again it was damn predictable. . . .

  Benji checked his watch. “Come on,” he said, once I’d approximated him in outfit and appearance. He shoved a set of papers in my hands: Kelly Black—probably his partner. “If anyone stops us, let me do the talking, and just say yes,” he said.

  “I think I know protocol.”

  Benji snorted. “Not since they’ve tightened ranks, you don’t. Just follow my lead.”

  “Isn’t that how the Chinchorro mummies woke up?”

  “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

  I would have given him a snappy comeback, but we were in earshot of the two guards.

  I felt Captain stir in my backpack, and he let out a muffled mew.

  “Captain,” I whispered. “I know we’ve had our differences these last few days, but please, for the love of God, stay quiet.”

  I recognized the guards from my time as Serena, but I’d never picked up their names. Both of them would have preferred to be somewhere else in this heat, but whereas the first was happy to ignore us and imagine he was somewhere else, the second wanted to make damn sure everyone at the dig knew exactly how pissed he was to be here.

  He gave us a second once-over. “Papers?”

  I handed him mine along with Benji’s as the guard examined my face, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

  A bead of sweat collected on my upper lip.

  His eyes passed over me, though as he focused back in on Benji, his frown deepened. “Why do you need to leave the site? Dig break’s not supposed to be for another hour and we’ve got rioters heading this way.”

  Why were we leaving the site? Because we wanted a goddamn soda or beer, or we just felt like taking a goddamn nap—in other words, none of your goddamn business and get back to pretending you’re doing something and leave the smart people alone!

  “Had another batch of stone fall—we need medical supplies and clean water,” Benji said.

  I kept my mouth shut, out of shock over Benji’s polite justification more than anything else. I’d been so busy trying to get a few minutes away from postdoc Mike over the past three days that I’d had minimal contact with the guards and missed the jump in scrutiny. . . and my major concern had been getting into the site, not out for snacks.

  The guard glanced from Benji to me, then shrugged. “Just try to be more careful in there.”

  If I’d had control of my voice again, I’d have told the guy exactly where he could take his careful and go. Benji, however, only nodded. “Sure thing,” he said, and the two of us kept walking through the gate before I could shoot my mouth off.

  Knowing my track record, there was probably a benefit to that.

  Captain, picking up on my nerves, continued to squirm under the robes. “Knock it off,” I hissed as we waited for the intersection to clear. Come on, lights, come on, lights . . .

  “Hey!” one of the guards yelled.

  Both of us froze on the edge of the sidewalk and turned around, slowly; me trying desperately to keep imminent panic off my face.

  “Be back in fifteen,” the guard said. “We’ve got a shift change, and I don’t want to miss my break.”

  My panic evaporated. Seriously?

  Benji raised a hand and gave them a meek wave and smile.

  “And watch for the rioters—I don’t want to have to come out and find you.”

  Seriously? What were we, two?

  “Jesus, Benji. When did security get like this?”

  “They’ve been upping security for the last year, but it wasn’t until Bali that they pulled private contractors in,” he said as we crossed the street and lost ourselves in the crowd. “That’s who those guys are—they’re responsible for accounting where archaeologists are at all times and making certain we’re safe.” If there was any question about what Benji thought about the contracted security, the way he spat out safe cleared up any misconceptions.

  “So basically you’re prisoners now. Great,” I said.

  Benji didn’t dignify that with an answer, but he didn’t deny it either as we continued down the road. He checked over his shoulder before shoving me inside a convenience store, then glanced out the front again.

  “There’s a pair of agents coming,” Benji said. “They’ll swing back around and loop the other street.”

  I got the meaning. If they were looping back along the main streets and I used the alley, I had a short window of opportunity in which to slip by them. I had to marvel how good these guys had gotten since I’d left . . .

  Come to think of it, I wonder if I’d have ever gotten out in the first place if things had been like this . . . I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. Archaeologists like Benji were more than happy to treat me like I had the plague, and I don’t have a martyring bone in my body. As far as I was concerned, they could get buried in the bed they’d all made for themselves.

  Funny how much easier it is to tell the world to fuck off in my head . . . why is that?

  Having guessed we probably weren’t in the store to buy anything, the man behind the counter glanced warily between Benji and me. With the threat of rioters looming, I didn’t blame him. His fear I knew how to deal with. I passed the equivalent of twenty dollars across the counter, nodding to the back exit. He took the money, glanced again at me and Benji, shrugged, and went back to reading his magazine. I saw the two agents pass by. “Those two out front means the one in the street over will walk by soon, right?”

  Benji nodded.

  Time to use the ever-diminishing window of exit. “Come on,” I said, and shoved Benji towards the back
door. He didn’t say anything as I continued shoving him into the street, across the road, and into the next alley. We were almost at the next street crossing—three blocks from the docks—when Benji dug his feet in. He swore under his breath and pushed me into the shadow of a structurally unsound escape stairwell.

  “Hey!”

  “Shhh, will you? They changed their pattern.”

  For a second I thought it might be a setup—that Benji was leading me into a trap. One look at his panic-stricken face erased that though. Benji didn’t do well under pressure.

  It dawned on me just how many sleepless nights he must have had to stick himself in this situation.

  “We’ll wait until they go by and dodge through?”

  Benji shook his head. “No, you don’t understand, the pattern will be off. They’ve been running it to prevent exactly what we’re doing. I picked it up while I was keeping an eye out for you—it wasn’t hard, they coordinate it across the radio channel. The point is there’s at least two agents for the next three streets.”

  OK, that did throw a slight wrench into our plans. All right, Owl, you’re supposed to be the pro here. Think fast.

  A wise rule of thumb says the best lies are steeped in truth. Time to challenge that theory.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll head them off and run interference while I run for it.”

  Benji frowned. “Not a chance in hell. I’m not letting you throw me under the bus. I don’t have that guilty of a conscience over Bali.”

  Yup, back to the Benji I knew and exploited. “Relax. I’m not throwing you under the bus. In fact, I’m probably doing you a favor.”

  He stopped wringing his hair. “How the hell do you figure that?”

  “Easy. You’re going to lie like hell,” I said, and steered him back into the alley to give him the short rundown of my plan.

  I slapped him on the back to send him in the direction of the street we’d passed through a minute before. He got a few steps away from me, shaking his head before stopping in his tracks. He turned to face me with a look of determination, the kind that usually leads to a disagreement over ethics or some misplaced need to do the right thing—I should know, I used to wear the same expression.