A Covenant of Thieves

by Christian Velguth

  The relief Booker had felt in that moment had been nothing short of exultation. A part of him had been worrying, since departure from O’Hare, that his intuition had been wrong, that he was jumping off a cliff without a parachute for no good reason. The entire flight had been spent shifting restlessly in his tiny seat. He’d notified Helen and the FBI that he was taking some personal time out of the country, and he technically wasn’t doing anything illegal in Ethiopia. But that did little to ease his sense of self-doubt. Confirming that Álvarez and Villeneuve were here was a small victory, all things considered, but it had felt like the greatest moment of his career. Even if the status of his career was presently dubious.

  The first twelve hours of what he’d come to think of as his “independent investigation” had been spent parked on this street, watching for any sign of his quarrie. Booker had been in half a daze when finally, past noon, they showed up. He hadn’t been able to catch any of their conversation once they went inside the restaurant, but it didn’t matter. He’d heard all he’d needed as they spoke to the skateboarders.

  Come back tonight. Midnight. Alley behind the place you just came out of. He could have followed them back to their hotel, but there were those others that they had mentioned. Who else were Álvarez and Villeneuve travelling with? He needed to know, to have all the facts, before he made his move. Following them back to their hotel could spoil that, send them to ground. He would have to move tonight, preferably before the smugglers showed up and took them north, beyond his reach.

  To think that less than a week ago he’d had his first day in the field.

  A/C still on high, Booker set an alarm for 11 P.M., then leaned his seat all the way back and settled in for a nap. He’d need to be refreshed for tonight. Alert. Too much was at stake to mess things up now.

  Axum. Booker wondered what it was Álvarez and Villeneuve were looking for. What had they been hired to find? Warzones always attracted looters, but this was more than that. According to the anonymous email, their presence in Ethiopia had something to do with those other jobs, other murders, and the strange coded tags. Figure that out and Booker was sure he could find an answer to this whole thing. He could vindicate himself in the eyes of Helen, the Bureau -- and the memory of Jane Baum.

  Sixteen

  Hotel Makeda

  Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

  “They have been gone quite a while,” Berhanu said.

  Estelle grunted in acknowledgement. She lay on her back on one of the rock-hard beds in their hotel room, staring up at the ceiling. Displayed on her glasses was the same frustrating message that had been there for the last several hours: No Signal.

  “What exactly did they mean, do you think?” Berhanu went on, from where he sat on the other bed. “About alternate modes of transportation?”

  Estelle sighed, sitting up and blowing a curl of hair from her eyes. “I have no idea, Berhanu. I’m still new to all this. Check to see if you’ve got a signal yet.”

  The curator looked at her a bit reproachfully, but glanced down at his wristband. “Still nothing. I cannot say I am surprised.” He sniffed and cast a glance around the room, at the peeling wallpaper and yellowed window and cracked screen mounted on the wall. Dusk was falling outside and, despite the flickering ceiling light, the room was growing dark. “You would think Radical Dynamics would select a better part of Addis.”

  “Damn it.” Estelle got up and began to pace. She’d never even considered that there were any dead zones left in the world. “I need to check in with Nasim. I was supposed to do it after I met with you.”

  “I am certain Mr. Nachson and Mr. Kazacsky have let her know --”

  “Yes, but I was supposed to do it.” She paused by the door. “I’m going outside.”

  “Estelle, wait!” Berhanu hurried over before she could so much as touch the handle. “We were told to stay here until they returned.”

  “That was hours ago. It’ll only take me a few minutes.”

  “Estelle, I must insist.”

  She turned to face him fully, frowning. Berhanu stood tall over her, but his eyes were rather wide and his face drawn. All at once she realized that he looked frightened. “Why? What’s the matter, Berhanu?”

  He lowered his voice. “Don’t you see? If Pharos saw fit to send security with you, that must mean there was something to Martin’s suspicions. They believe the project is in danger, and that danger closer than we think. Why else go to such lengths to keep you hidden and safe?”

  Estelle cocked her head. She hadn’t thought of that. Her assumption had been that Nasim didn’t trust her to do the job properly on her own. Berhanu’s explanation should have unnerved her; instead, it gave her a small thrill of hope. Nasim doesn’t think I’m incompetent.

  It died almost instantly. “All the more reason for me to talk to Nasim,” she said stubbornly. “I’m certain I was never supposed to go to Axum --”

  “You do not give yourself enough credit,” Berhanu said. “You are your father’s daughter. I know this, and Nasim al-Faradi must as well. Why else would she have sent you?”

  “Because you wouldn’t talk to anyone else!”

  He smiled ruefully. “Nobody else reached out, Estelle. I was waiting. Admittedly, I would have been less comfortable in proceeding with a complete stranger, but I still would have tried. But now that you are here, I am certain we will succeed. We must succeed, if there truly are malevolent forces seeking the Ark.”

  His words did little to inspire confidence. Estelle returned to her bed, perching on its edge. “You really think it’s in that much danger?”

  “I do. Though, in truth, I fear less for the Ark than I do for the world. For what could happen, should it fall into the wrong hands. Oh, I do not refer to its mythical powers,” Berhanu said, in response to her skeptical look. “But the Ark does hold power. The power of a symbol. Did you know, in both Christianity and Judaism, the Ark of the Covenant plays a central role in their version of the End Times? In Christianity, it sits in the temple of New Jerusalem and heralds the destruction of the world. In Judaism, it signifies the reestablishment of Yahweh’s covenant with His people at the end of days.”

  “But those are just stories,” Estelle said. “There might be some minority that believes them, but it’s not as if the Ark would actually give them the power to do anything.”

  “Estelle, the Ark is power. It is the power of belief made manifest. All it takes is the faith of one zealot to make the world burn. Look at what horrors extreme interpretations of religious texts have already wrought upon the world. Entire wars were founded on belief in things that even the most faithful could not see or touch. How much stronger, how much more radical might their belief become, if they are able to hold the Ark of the Covenant at the vanguard of their armies? How many more might join their cause?”

  She stared at him, taken aback by his intensity. “You actually think this could cause -- what, a global jihad?”

  “I do not know,” Berhanu admitted. “Perhaps the Ark would only be sold to the highest bidder, to disappear into their private collection. Or perhaps it really would spark a new crusade. I relish neither option.” He sighed, going to sit on his own bed. “I must admit, my goals up until now have been rather selfish. Myopic. I only wanted to preserve the Ark as a piece of Ethiopian history, out of nationalistic pride. Only now can I see the true threat it poses. Perhaps that was what Martin saw as well, in the end. I should have listened.”

  He fell silent, staring down at his feet. Estelle felt she should say something to allay his fears, to reassure him, but it would have been false comfort. In truth, she had been feeling more and more anxious with every passing moment, and Berhanu’s latest revelation certainly wasn’t helping.

  What have I gotten myself into? This wasn’t her life, wasn’t her area of expertise. She was an analyst, she worked in the realm of abstract concepts from the safety of her desk. Toulouse was the extent of her responsibility, now that her father had died. True, she had been
determined to uncover the truth, to understand his hidden life, but this was well beyond that. How could she be expected to go rescue a sacred religious artifact from the ravages of war and the clutches of those who might seek to misuse it? What had Nasim been thinking, sending her here? What had she been thinking, agreeing to go?

  I thought I could fix everything, Estelle answered herself miserably. I thought I could bridge that gulf between dad and me and live up to Nasim al-Faradi’s expectations, all at once. Such arrogance. And now she was drowning for it.

  Three sharp knocks came at the door, and then it opened. Nachson and Kazacsky stepped inside, bearing what looked and smelled like takeout.

  “Finally,” Berhanu said, getting to his feet eagerly. “What news? Have you found us a way to Axum?”

  “We have,” Nachson said, handing an eco-foam container to Estelle. Kazacsky handed the other to Berhanu. It was almost too hot to touch and smelled like a melange of every spice in Ethiopia. She ignored it, looking up at Nachson.

  “You did?”

  He raised a finger. “First things first. It’s not going to be first-class, alright? And it might take you out of your comfort zone.”

  “What does that mean?” Berhanu asked, also ignoring his food.

  “It means there’s no squeaky-clean way to get through a military cordon,” Nachson said. “But the important thing is, we’ll be getting to Axum quickly and quietly. Tonight.”

  “Everything will be fine,” Kazacsky said, looking at Estelle. “Just follow our instructions and let us do the talking.”

  His deep voice and bearded face were unexpectedly reassuring. Estelle could believe that he knew what he was doing. Still, a pit was growing in her stomach, too deep for any amount of secondhand confidence. This trip sounded like it was going to be far from legal. Things were quickly moving beyond her control, if she had ever really been in control to begin with.

  “Are we in danger?” she asked, voice a bit higher than normal. “Is there someone else trying to get to the Ark?”

  Nachson and Kazacsky exchanged glances. “Yes,” Nachson said solemnly. “We believe so. It’s why Miss al-Faradi has urged us to expedite the project.”

  “Who are they?” Berhanu asked in a strained voice.

  “Unclear,” Nachson said. “With any luck, we’ll never find out.” The curator took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Nachson put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Like my partner said. So long as you jump when we tell you to, there’s nothing to worry about. Now, I suggest you eat up. It’s going to be a long night.”

  * * *

  The alley behind the Jewel of Addis restaurant was just barely wide enough for a truck to pass through, choked with dust and industrial dumpsters. A single sodium light cast a hazy orange glow that left either end of the alley clogged with shadows, turning the dumpsters into vague, sinister shapes.

  It was, in Kai’s estimation, the perfect place for an ambush.

  “Where are they?” asked the museum curator, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “They’re coming,” Rick grunted in reply. “It’s still a quarter to midnight.” But Kai could hear the tension in his voice, and knew he was as anxious as the curator.

  They were sitting in a rental parked at the mouth of the alley, Rick and Kai up front, Berhanu Abraham and Estelle Kingston sitting in back. Estelle hadn’t spoken much since they left the hotel; hadn’t eaten much, either. That made Kai almost as nervous as the choke-point alley. She wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. He could see it with an almost innate sixth sense, the same perception that allowed him to assess instantly whether someone warranted closer watching. He didn’t judge her for it; on the contrary, Kai knew that Estelle Kingston was just about the most normal person in the car, with Berhanu Abraham a close second. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what they needed right now.

  He took his eyes from the window long enough to glance in the rear-view mirror. Estelle was sitting close to her window, hugging her duffel and staring outside with the look of someone facing down a towering mountain slope. He wondered how a person like her got wrapped up in business like this. He wanted to ask, but it might blow their cover. Though, looking at her, Kai suspected Estelle wasn’t in the right mindset to pick up on any minute discrepancies in their story.

  Still, better not to risk it.

  The car began to jiggle slightly. Rick was bouncing one leg, hand resting on the steering wheel. He was growing impatient, which was bad. Things tended to go wrong when Rick became impatient.

  “Calm down,” Kai muttered under his breath.

  “You calm down,” Rick snapped back, much more loudly. Both Berhanu and Estelle turned to stare at him.

  Sighing, Kai opened his door. “Let’s get some air. You two stay inside.”

  It took Rick a moment to process what he’d said, and then he was stepping outside as well. The night was cooler, but still rather muggy, the air loud with the hiss of insects and fragrant with a sort of smoky odor.

  “Where the hell are those punks?” Rick muttered, glancing at his wristband.

  “They’ll come. You need to calm down.”

  “Stop telling me to calm down, you calm down.”

  “Rick. You’re going to give yourself an ulcer. You’re giving me an ulcer just by looking at you.”

  “Then stop looking.” Rick began to pace in front of the car, the headlights throwing a long shadow across the street behind him. “If this turns out to be bullshit, are you ok with punching a kid?”

  Kai didn’t answer. If it came down to someone else versus him and Rick, someone else would lose every time. That’s just the way it was. You couldn’t afford to pull punches when survival was on the line. Not in the CDZ and not out here. So, yeah, he’d hit a kid if this turned into a mugging. But he still hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  The rusty buzz of insects suddenly cut out. Kai stood up straight and Rick put one hand to his holster, looking around. The silence stretched, heavy and deafening, for the span of three heartbeats – and then the crickets started up again. Along with them came a new sound – a rasping, rattling. Kai turned to see several figures gliding down the alley, looking almost like ghosts in the night. Rick relaxed slightly, but still looked grumpy.

  “You took your time,” he called.

  The first of the gliding figures passed beneath a light, revealing himself to be jersey kid. He led his pack of skateboarders up to Kai and Rick, stopping only a few feet from them and doing a fancy kick to flip his board up beneath one arm. The rest of his gang attempted the same. A few screwed it up, their boards clattering to the ground.

  Jersey kid nodded in greeting, inhaling sharply through his mouth as if huffing something. “Wasn’t sure you’d show.”

  “We showed,” Kai said. The other kids were watching him, already identifying him as the clearest threat. That didn’t mean there was going to be a fight, only that they weren’t stupid. “Your pals here? The ones with the rides?”

  “You got the stuff?”

  In answer, Rick turned to Kai, who nodded and moved to the back of the car. He opened the trunk and hauled out the crates of A/V equipment. As he closed the trunk he caught Estelle’s eyes through the rear window, wide with question. He gave her a reassuring smile, then brought the crates back to the alleyway and set them down before jersey kid.

  “All there.”

  Jersey kid produced a cigarette, lit it, and crouched, popping the lid on the first crate. They pored over the gear, handling it with more finesse than Kai would have expected, turning the bulky camera on and pointing it at each other, donning the headphones and testing the mic. Once satisfied, it all went carefully back into the molded foam padding.

  Cigarette on his lip, jersey kid said, “It’s good. Top-tier tech, yeah?”

  “Like I said, it’ll fund your business for a long time.”

  “Nah, farenj. We’re not selling it. We’ll use it. To show the world the real Ethiopia. Get the truth out. Maybe get some real change arou
nd here, yeah?”

  “Sounds great,” Rick said. “So, we good? You want to call your friends now?”

  Jersey kid looked up at him regretfully. “Thing is? They want an extra twenty Gs.”

  Rick’s mouth fell open. “Twenty grand?”

  “For each passenger.”

  Eighty thousand. Kai groaned. Why did things always have to get so complicated?

  “Get fucked, kid,” Rick said without hesitation. “We don’t have that kind of birr.”

  Jersey kid clicked his tongue. “Don’t want birr. Crypto only, yeah?”

  Kai could almost hear Rick’s teeth grinding. They exchanged glances. “My partner and I need to talk.” Jersey kid shrugged, and Kai drew a fuming Rick aside.

  “Little leeches,” Rick muttered. “I’d be proud if I wasn’t so pissed off.”

  “We can pay,” Kai said. “Technically. But it’s a pretty big chunk out of our savings.”

  “That won’t matter if we pull this job off. With what Ibis is paying, we’ll barely even feel it.”

  “Ok,” Kai said slowly. “But that’s a big if.”

  “Well, what do you want to do, go home?”

  Yeah, kinda. Kai hadn’t been keen on this job from the beginning. If he could have talked Rick out of it, he would have. But that ship sailed a long time ago, and now they had Estelle Kingston and Berhanu Abraham to worry about. The two would probably be fine in Addis Ababa on their own, but Kai would rather not abandon them at this point. He felt a certain responsibility, now that they’d been wrapped up in the con. Plus, he and Rick would have to figure out a way to weasel out of this that didn’t end up with the authorities looking for them.