Owl and the City of Angels (7 page)

“Why don’t you come down so these men don’t have to hurt you?” the shorter man yelled.

Screw that.

I made it two-thirds of the way up before I felt the tug at my foot and face-planted in rubble. Hands gripped my backpack like a handle and dragged me down. Captain howled; might not be vampires, but that doesn’t mean my cat can’t tell trouble when he sees it.

One of the men cursed my cat as teeth hit their mark through the nylon.

My stomach turned. I’d stuck Captain in there so we wouldn’t get separated—not to hand him over gift-wrapped to a thug residing in a country whose current dietary selections were suspect. Not a slight to the Egyptians, just that supermarkets are the first casualty in a revolution.

Captain howled, and I heard nylon tear. It was followed by more Arabic cursing as my cat dug his teeth in again.

Teach them to manhandle my cat . . .

I saw a baseball-sized piece of rubble within reach and edged my hand towards it as Captain fought.

A swift kick was delivered to my gut, followed by one to my leg.

I winced but wrapped my hand around the brick. Too bad for them I’d gotten a lot of experience having the shit kicked out of me this last year.

“Hey asshole,” I said.

There was a grunt followed close by another yell and a high-pitched cat screech. I felt claws dig into my back as one of the goons tried to wrench Captain away. I clenched my teeth; if they so much as tore a tuft of hair off my cat . . .

“I’ll come down, but you got to do one thing for me,” I yelled. I’d only have one chance to take them by surprise.

There was a grunt of acknowledgment—as much of an encouragement as I was going to get from these guys.

I tightened my grip on the rock and flipped over. Only one of the goons had made it up the rubble pile—the other was having difficulty scrambling up, and the leader hadn’t bothered trying. Between Captain’s teeth and my sudden movement, the backpack was wrenched out of the goon’s hand.

I slammed the rock into the goon’s head. “Leave my cat the hell alone!”

The goon’s footing had been tentative at best. The rock only stunned him, but it was enough to set him reeling . . . well, that and Captain had managed to tear a hole in the backpack large enough for his head to fit through. There was a blur of white and brown fur as he tore deeper into the thug’s hand, which was met with shrieks. Captain had drawn blood in three different spots, and it mixed freely with grime, making a reddish-brown mess.

“Serves you right trying to steal a girl’s backpack—never know what’s in there,” I said, but I doubt the man was listening even if he did speak English.

Now if my damn cat would just let go so we could get the hell out of here.

The man reeled back precariously, but Captain wasn’t having any of it. No way in hell was he letting go now that he figured he had the upper hand.

“Let—go—you—stupid—cat,” I said, and wrenched the bag with both hands, trying to get Captain to let go so the man would fall already. Captain only growled and the thug’s shrieks pitched an octave higher as Captain did more damage. The other two were scrambling at the bottom of the pile, yelling at him and each other.

The bag gave an inch as a strap sheared under pressure, and I almost stumbled back over the other side of the rubble pile. Out of shock more than anything else, Captain lost his grip.

I wrapped both arms around a half-bagged, indignant Mau cat and ran—or rolled—down the other side of the rubble, leaving three angry Egyptians screaming in my wake.

I landed in a shallow, stagnant puddle. Great, all that effort to avoid the sewers . . .

I turned back to grab my backpack. Captain was sitting beside it . . . on the ground . . . glaring at me.

I held up the backpack—well, between the struggle with the Egyptians and Captain’s handiwork, what was left of it. “Come on. I don’t have time for this. Back inside.”

Captain just glared at the backpack, back at me, and let out a drawn-out meow.

“Look—I get it. Locked in backpack bad. I’ll make a note of it and put a head hole in, OK? Now just get the hell back in and stay there before they figure a way over or around.”

Captain snorted but hopped back in. To show I was keeping my end of the deal, I made sure he had enough room to stick his head out.

Time for me to do what I did best: run like hell.

I got Nadya back on the line and set off at a jog, doing my best not to try to think of the waterborne diseases I’d just soaked my shoes in. Instead, I wondered what the hell I’d stolen over the past few months that had the IAA this riled up.

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 psychopathic 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.