“Good to see you, Mr. Jameson.” He extends a hand, which I take, nodding back while the others don the port overalls that are customary for disembarkment. “It’s a busy night and all hands are on deck; bobbies and every other department they could swing this way. Bloody bastards are watching every entry point for movement, but they missed this section due to it not being used and the museum’s director wanting them to surround the piece until it’s inside the armored car waiting to transfer.”
“How many in total out there?”
“About fifty, and twenty of them work for us. Those handling are all under payroll.” Sliding the overalls over my body, I zip up and accept the identification lanyard needed to enter the area. “Now, you and Callum will walk through and toward the armored truck. You’ll walk through, slide your ID, and pretend to go to the bathroom to clean up.”
“We have our change in the truck?” Callum asks, wiping some grease on his face and then passing me the tub used by mechanics to lubricate parts. Our hands are filthy now and our faces have enough to dissuade others from looking our way, more so when we put on hats with the logo of the company that does these types of maintenance.
“Yes, sir. Everything is there.”
“Good job, mate.” Turning to look at the brothers, he gives them a pointed look. “Everyone knows where to meet after. Be there by five, or we come looking. No one will be left behind. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“We are taking the truck?” I clap him on the shoulder and give it a squeeze. The worry on his face throws me off for a second, but I remember—know this feeling when it comes to the woman you care about. Safety is always a concern. Protecting is second nature.
“Yes.”
“You’re banking on her being inside.”
Not a question, but he nods anyway. “She’s smart. Way smarter than me, and I know that stealing this from beneath the watchful eyes of Scotland Yard and Interpol won’t be easy, but sneaking onto an isolated truck isn’t impossible. We know this. They’ll watch and track all movement while outside, but once inside behind a locked door, they always become sloppy.”
“Underneath the truck?”
“Or above.”
“We’ll help her, bro. You know I’m here for you.”
Callum smiles and then turns to fully face me, catching me off guard with the quick yet harsh hug he gives. “Thank you, and I apologize ahead of time. It’ll all make sense soon, and I understand now your reaction when it came to Aurora. I wouldn’t hesitate to kill for her, and if shit goes south, I’ll give my life for hers.”
“It won’t come to that. Trust me.” Holding a fist up for him to bump, he does and then we walk toward the center of the dock where all the commotion is happening. It takes less than five minutes to reach it, and even less to walk through as everyone’s eyes are on the large crane holding a wooden crate above the concrete ground where another set of crew members wait.
There are shouts to be careful. There are loud noises as machinery is used to lower and then open it, but not once do those outside question our reasoning for being there this late. Too easy.
Sliding my keycard through the reader, I make sure to avoid touching anything and use the handkerchief inside my pocket to pull open the door. There’s an eruption of applause as the crate touches the ground gently, and I look back quickly to catch the people from the museum opening the wooden box with a crowbar, making sure that nothing inside is broken and it’s ready for transfer.
The metal door closes and all noises stop, especially the low whining noise from the cameras as they move to follow our movement. Neither of us looks up, but Callum does press a scrambler to fuck with the signal as we walk through and toward the side building where the loading will happen.
Idiotic if you ask me, when the same armored vehicle could’ve loaded out on the dock, but these are their rules, not mine. Protocol is shit here.
The truck is right where Archie said it would be, and we open the cab to find our bulletproof vests and jackets, the holster that these drivers wear, and two badges. Each has fake names, company IDs, and a pack of gum in Callum’s for some odd reason. Within minutes, we’re changed, and I’ve pulled out my gun up with an arched brow.
“It’s her favorite candy and trust me, she’ll freak out. I thought it might make her smile.” Callum jumps into the cabin and takes a set of keys and a lock from the glovebox. He walks to the back and switches the original with ours, coming back after a minute when we hear a small thump and low curse. The noise is easily hidden behind the commotions the loading crew makes and the orders being shouted out by the museum director.
“Where are the men driving the decoy?” she yells out, and the brothers walk forward, changed and with a set of papers in hand. They are dressed like us, and the older of the two makes eye contact with me through the side mirror as others lift, secure, and lock up the artifact. “You two need to split up at the designated intersection. The maps are in the truck.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they answer in unison.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” There’s a hint of a fluster in her voice. It’s softer and husky.
“Of course.” This time it’s the younger of the two who answers, amusement coloring his
