He dropped to the base of the fence and slid down a sloped retaining wall to the sidewalk. The street before him was one of the main boulevards running down the hill toward the harbor. There was a good chance at least some of the police units responding to the alarm would be coming up it. He stripped off his ski-mask and gloves and shrugged out of his black turtle-neck to reveal a garish tropical print shirt—just the sort of thing a tourist might wear. Then he started down the sidewalk, moving as nonchalantly as his aching legs would allow. He took the next left, heading west down the narrow urban canyon between the museum and a neighboring office building.
The siren noise abruptly peaked as a police car, with emergency lights flashing, rounded a corner and raced toward the museum entrance. Pierce decided it was better to look directly at it, like a curious passerby, rather than turning away and arousing suspicion. The vehicle did not slow, but continued past, the noise of its siren building to a high-frequency shriek before Dopplering away to nothing.
Pierce did not allow himself a relieved sigh. Fiona was still back there somewhere, her fate uncertain. He quickened his step, wincing as each footfall stressed the minor injuries sustained in his fall, and continued on toward the designated rendezvous point.
“Please let her be safe,” he whispered, a prayer to any actual God who might still be paying attention.
4
Fiona had only just arrived at the exit, when an alarm sounded from somewhere in the building behind her.
Well that takes care of that, she thought, twisting the knob and easing the door open. After a quick check to confirm that the courtyard beyond was still deserted, she stole forward, keeping to the shadows, and scaled the fence in the same spot she and Pierce had used to enter. As she waited for a car to clear the nearby traffic circle, she stripped off her black over-garments and stuffed them into a nearby storm drain. Clad in denim shorts and a T-shirt emblazoned with a silk-screened likeness of the Acropolis, she looked like a young tourist out for a late-night stroll. She hoped Pierce was having as easy a time sticking to the plan.
She crossed the street and skirted along the edge of a city park, heading west, not moving toward a specific destination but putting as much distance between herself and the museum as possible. The noise of the alarm had already diminished, but she could hear police sirens in the distance.
“Need a lift?”
The voice startled her. She had been so focused on getting away that she had failed to notice the car pacing her. A quick glance showed a man with wavy blond hair leaning out the side window of a blue sedan. He looked old—probably as old as Pierce, who had to be at least forty. The man immediately raised her hackles. The last thing she needed right now was some perv hitting on her. She looked away, trying to send a clear ‘buzz off’ message with her body language, realizing only then that the man had spoken in English.
British, judging by the accent.
The man called out again. “You’re here with George Pierce, aren’t you?”
The question startled her, and she came to an abrupt and unintentional halt. She forced herself to resume walking, refusing to give any further acknowledgement, but her mind was racing to make sense of the situation.
“I saw you come out of the museum just now.” His tone was offhand, casual.
Fiona stopped again. This time, she gave him more than a cursory look. Aside from the fact that he had approached her out of the blue, after evidently stalking her and Pierce, there was nothing particularly scary about him. Somehow that only made the situation worse.
“The police are going to be here soon,” he continued in the same unruffled manner. “I’m sure they’re bound to notice me following you, and since I have no intention of just driving away, you should probably ask yourself whether you want to attract their attention.”
Fiona muttered a curse under her breath. Under any other circumstances, she would have welcomed the arrival of the police. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Liam Kenner. Dr. Pierce and I are colleagues.”
“Never heard of you.” It was true. Fiona had been attending classes at the University where Pierce taught. She knew everyone in the department, and most of the other archaeologists who came and went on a regular basis. The name Kenner did not ring any bells.
“We were acquainted several years ago.” Kenner paused a beat, then set the hook. “When he first began his search for Hercules.”
If she had not already been standing still, Fiona would have tripped over this revelation.
“I’ll tell you all about it,” Kenner went on, “but I really think we’d both be more comfortable if you joined me. I don’t bite.”
Fiona desperately wanted to beg off, citing the old wisdom about not taking rides from strangers. Something told her that Kenner might be more dangerous than a random sexual predator, but the mere fact that he knew about Pierce’s connection to Hercules convinced her that not knowing was even more of a risk.