A Covenant of Thieves

by Christian Velguth

  Someone grabbed him by the shoulders, and Rick was spun around to face Booker Hopkins. “You need my help --!”

  Then Kai was behind him, yanking him away from Rick and lifting him bodily into the air. Estelle screamed not to hurt him, but the FBI man looked too surprised to struggle. Rick opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t certain what – and then Kai tossed him through the open door of a passing car.

  Rick gaped at him. “Why’d you do that?!”

  Kai shrugged. “Maybe he’s right. C’mon!” He grabbed Estelle by the hand, who took Berhanu’s, and began to run. Rick sprinted after.

  The end was coming, the final car pulling towards them with the inevitability of an avalanche. Swearing noiselessly, Rick pumped his legs for all they were worth. I hate being short I hate being short --

  His backpack jounced, pulling against his shoulders, all the weight of his gear pulling him towards the ground. In the lead, practically dragging Estelle and Berhanu behind him, Kai bulled his way past the smugglers, who seemed too off-kilter to do much more than shout and brandish weapons.

  The last car was ahead of them now and quickly pulling away. It had no doors, at least none that opened, but there were twin ladders, the bottom rung a good four feet off the ground. They’d need to jump just to reach it, but they were losing ground.

  Kai yanked Estelle forward; she lost her grip on Berhanu’s hand and was suddenly sailing through the air. Rick expected her to bounce off the train, but she latched onto the right ladder with surprising dexterity and hung there. Berhanu went next, launched by Kai. The curator did nearly lose his grip, slipping down the same ladder, feet only inches from the track. Estelle reached down to help him up, hair flying in the wind. They began to climb.

  Kai reached back. Rick took his hand and then he was flying as well. He slammed against metal and just managed to grip a rung before he could bounce off and fall to the tracks. Then Kai slammed into the ladder beside him. He nodded, and Rick began to climb.

  Estelle and Berhanu had frozen at the top of their ladder. It was no good trying to talk; instead, Rick kicked out with one leg, catching Berhanu in the side. The curator was hugging the ladder, face pressed against the metal, and just barely turned his head to look at him. Rick pointed a finger up emphatically. The curator’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.

  Rick frowned and pointed with more vigor. Estelle, catching sight of his gesture, paled; but then she nodded and clambered up onto the roof. After that Berhanu had no choice but to follow.

  Civilians, Rick thought disparagingly as he came up onto the roof of the car. Rick crouched, keeping his center of gravity low so he wouldn’t be thrown by the wind and the jostle of the train. Estelle and Berhanu were practically lying flat. Kai clambered up behind him and wordlessly moved to take Estelle’s hand. The two of them made their way forward. Rick grabbed Berhanu by the arm and all but dragged him up the length of the train, head bowed against the wind, eyes narrowed and watering.

  When they came to the gap between the the next car and theirs, Kai helped Estelle hop across. It took a good deal more persuasion to get Berhanu to do the same. Rick followed, thinking he’d just as well toss the useless curator over the side.

  Four cars up, Kai tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention and nodded towards the edge of the roof. This, apparently, was the one they were looking for. Carefully they approached. Rick motioned for Berhanu and Estelle to watch him; then, gripping the upper rail on which the massive door slid, lowered himself over the edge. For a moment he was hanging in open space, the ground a deadly blur beneath him. The car door was still open, and he kicked his legs into the cavernous space. He began to swing, building momentum, and then let go, flying feet-first through the opening. The last thing he saw were Berhanu’s eyes widening even more.

  Rick landed, rolled, and hit the far wall shoulder-first. He turned in time to see a pair of legs dangling from above, and then Estelle flew inside, apparently swung by Kai. He caught her before she could slam into the wall as well. She was shaking in his grip. Rick realized she was giggling like a maniac.

  “That was -- that was --” She seemed unable to find the words.

  Berhanu came next, tripping as he landed and falling to the floor, where he lay gasping and wheezing and seemed in no great hurry to get up. Estelle went to check on him. Finally Kai’s massive boots dropped into view, and then he was inside as well, landing hard enough to actually shake the train car.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

  Rick turned. The FBI man – Agent Booker Hopkins – stood to one side, clothes disheveled, lip bleeding. Apparently his landing hadn’t been quite so smooth.

  Rick strode up to him and decked him – or tried to. Hopkins, despite his frazzled appearance, anticipated the punch and caught Rick’s arm. Rick flew through the air for the third time in as many minutes and hit the wall beside the open door. He turned.

  “Ok, fair enough.” Then he grinned, nodding. Hopkins looked to see Kai approaching from behind. “Try that with him. I dare you.”

  “Stop it!” Estelle hurried to place herself between Kai and Hopkins, hands raised, hair a windswept explosion of dark frizz. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. “Everyone just stop hitting each other!”

  Kai didn’t take his eyes from Hopkins, but he nodded. Hopkins’ shoulders slumped visibly. “Estelle -- what’re you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” she said, turning to him, hands on her hips. “Have you been following me?”

  “What? No, I told you, I’m -- I’m on the job. I was looking for them.” He nodded at Rick and Kai. “They’re thieves, Estelle.”

  “You make it sound so dirty,” Rick grumbled.

  Berhanu, now on his feet, rounded on Rick and Kai, looking triumphant. “I knew you could not be from Pharos!”

  “So you had no idea I was here?” Estelle asked, still focused on Hopkins. She sounded unconvinced.

  “No. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m doing my job --”

  “You’re a thief too, now?”

  “What? No, I’m still with Radical Dynamics --”

  There was a sudden bang, and they were plunged into darkness. Someone yelped; then a pale light filled the car. Kai had shut the train car door and turned on his wristband’s light. He came to stand beside Rick. “Now we can all stop shouting. Miss Kingston, would you mind explaining who this man is?”

  “I --” She sighed, wiping hair from her face. “Booker Hopkins. He’s -- well, we’re exes.”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.” Rick put his head in his hands and sank down to sit against one wall. A headache was building behind his eyes.

  “I’m a Special Agent with the FBI,” Hopkins said firmly. “Art Crime Team.”

  “And how,” Berhanu said, “did you come to be in Ethiopia, Agent Hopkins?”

  “Like I said, I’ve been tracking a series of murders in the art trade underworld. Professional thieves, taking jobs and then disappearing -- or turning up dead. According to an anonymous tip, Mr. Álvarez and Mr. Villeneuve were next on the list. Finding them before they were killed was my best option.”

  Estelle and Berhanu turned to frown at Rick and Kai. “And who are Mr. Álvarez and Mr. Villeneuve?” Berhanu demanded.

  Eighteen

  Debubawi Zone

  South Tigray, Ethiopia

  It had been six years since they last saw each other, but Booker was fairly confident he could still read Estelle. Every quirk of her lips, tightening of her brow, twitch of her eyes -- they remained as clear as words on a screen. Which was how he knew, against all reason, that she was telling the truth.

  “The Ark of the Covenant,” he repeated flatly. “Your dad was hired by Radical Dynamics… to look for the Ark of the Covenant.”

  They were sitting on opposite sides of the train car, the dim light of wristbands and watches casting weird shadows across everyone's face. It gave this already-bizarre settin
g an even more dreamlike quality.

  Estelle nodded. “That’s right.”

  “And -- why is Radical Dynamics interested in it?”

  “Pharos is a global cultural preservation project. We’re working with the Ethiopian government to safeguard the Ark from --”

  Out of the shadows to Booker’s left came a derisive snort. “Yeah, ok,” drawled Rick Álvarez. He was lounging in a corner looking perfectly at ease, the hulk of Kaipo Villeneuve looming at his side. “I’m sure your motivations are perfectly philanthropic.”

  “You are one to talk!” Berhanu Abraham, sitting beside Estelle with his back against the large sliding door, rounded on him, voice taught with anger. “Are we really to believe you do not seek the Ark for your own selfish desires?”

  Álvarez shrugged. “Well, no. But at least I’m being honest about why I’m here.”

  “Allegedly,” Villeneuve added.

  “Right, allegedly. Whereas Radical Dynamics has to conjure this whole bullshit humanitarian facade --”

  “You lied to us from the beginning,” Estelle said coldly. “About who you were and why you were here. I don’t think you have the right to accuse anyone of deception.”

  “Listen, Miss Kingston, that’s just how this game is played, alright?”

  “Allegedly.”

  “Right, allegedly. Allegedly, someone in my alleged line of work would bend the truth to get the job done. But everyone knows that, that’s what makes it so honest. Whereas you people come to places like this, in your private jets with your designer glasses, putting on this show of empathy and generosity for the poor, war-stricken Ethiopians, as if you really care. As if you’re not exploiting them, looking for gold, like everyone else.” Álvarez snorted again. “It’s a game. A show. You act like you want to help, but all you really want is to be seen helping. When you get right down to it, Miss Kingston, you and Nasim al-Faradi and the whole of Radical Fucking Dynamics -- you’re as big a thief as I am.”

  “Allegedly,” Villeneuve muttered.

  A long stretch of silence followed this speech, filled by the clatter of the train. Estelle was glaring at Álvarez, and Booker could see the color rising in her cheeks. It triggered dormant warning bells deep in his subconscious. He decided to step in before everyone started shouting again. “Alright, look. Clearly this is a complex situation, and not all of us like each other. We don’t all need to like each other. For now, we just need to get along well enough to put our heads together and figure out our next move.”

  “Hang on,” Álvarez said. “Can we go back to the part where our names are on your hitlist?”

  “Yeah,” Villeneuve rumbled. “I’d also like to revisit that topic.”

  Estelle muttered something that sounded like Who cares, but Booker ignored her for the moment. Like it or not, this was the real reason he was here; he couldn’t afford to get distracted by Estelle right now.

  “Not my hitlist. I don’t know where it came from, but there were transcripts from online message boards, news articles covering the murders, and a list of names corresponding to each victim. I have good reason to believe they’re legitimate.”

  “But we’re not dead,” Álvarez said at once; emphatically, as if he were trying to convince the universe of that fact.

  “No, but my feeling is you were up next. Maybe after this job. Or at least, that’s what whoever compiled these documents thought.”

  “So you don’t know for certain. I mean, it could all just be a coincidence. Some armchair Sherlock connecting dots that aren’t there.”

  “Could be. But whoever sent those documents was well-informed. They knew, for example, that the two of you had recently accepted a job in the CDZ, from someone going by the name Ibis. Houston, wasn’t it? For --” Booker pulled up the documents on his lenses, reviewing the transcript. “Something called a Mughal flask?”

  “Never heard of it,” Álvarez said flatly. But the brief, startled look had been all the confirmation that Booker had needed.

  “Listen, I’m not here to arrest you. I don’t even technically have anything to arrest you for. These transcripts wouldn’t make it past the courtroom door.”

  “Came all this way for a chat, did you?”

  “Yeah, kind of. These crimes are connected, almost certainly being set up by the same person or group of people. My guess is Ibis has something to do with it. Help me find him and I’ll bet anything that we’ll find the killer.”

  “Wait,” Estelle said sharply, glasses flashing as she turned to him. “You want to help these people? Work with them? They came here to steal the Ark, they’re probably the ones my dad was worried about!”

  “Lady, I’ve never met your father,” Álvarez said. “I was a fan, though. Got any old autographed books left?”

  “We didn’t kill your dad,” Villeneuve said, voice both gentle and firm. “We had nothing to do with the Ark until a week ago.”

  “Right,” she snapped, arms folded, “because I’m going to believe a thief.”

  “Your old man got a bad case of malaria and snuffed it,” Álvarez said. “How the hell can you pin that on us?”

  “You,” Booker said, pointing a finger at Álvarez without looking at him. “Do not talk to her again. Understand?”

  “Hey Berhanu, tell me something -- this is Ethiopia, right? We didn’t stumble back into the States? How much jurisdiction do you have in Ethiopia, Special Agent Asshole? Because I’m pretty damn sure it’s not enough to get away with telling me what to do.”

  Booker closed his eyes, hand curling into a fist, and counted backwards from ten. Before he had reached one, he heard someone get to their feet.

  “The way I see it,” Álvarez said, his tone suddenly diplomatic, “we’re all in the same train car. Estelle and Berhanu, you want to find the Ark, just like me.”

  “Excuse me,” Berhanu said. “We are nothing like you. I want to preserve Ethiopian heritage --”

  “And Estelle wants to steal it for her corporate overlords. And I want to steal it so I can get paid. Allegedly. But it all comes down to the same thing: Getting the Ark out of Axum.”

  “We’re not going to Axum,” Booker said, standing as well. “As soon as this train stops, we’re finding a way back to Addis Ababa.”

  This was met by a general outcry, from Estelle and Berhanu as well as Álvarez. “I came here to do a job,” Estelle said. “I’m doing it, Booker. You can’t just show up and take over. As far as I can tell, your job has absolutely nothing to do with mine.”

  “For once, we agree,” Álvarez said. “You’re at the bottom of the seniority pole, Hopkins.”

  “Would you people listen to me?” Booker said loudly. “We cannot go to Axum. Estelle, do you know how many laws this man has already dragged you into breaking just by getting you on this train? Enough to get you in serious trouble if we’re caught on the Tigray border. If Nasim al-Faradi knew where you were right now, she’d probably demand you turn around.” He felt both satisfied and slightly ashamed to see her eyes widen and her face pale. He pressed on. “Nevermind the fact that there’s a war going on up north, that we could all be killed --”

  “Good thing we have a trained FBI agent with us, then,” Álvarez said.

  “I am not playing bodyguard so you can commit international theft. I am getting us all to the nearest city before this situation can get any worse. Then we can figure out how to proceed.”

  “No.” Estelle spoke softly. She had gotten to her feet, one hand on the wall to steady herself as the train car swayed. “Booker, I appreciate that you’re trying to protect us, to do your job. But I didn’t ask you to come riding in here and save me.”

  “That’s not what this is about --”

  “Regardless,” she went on, her voice measured. “Ignoring whatever bizarre coincidence it was that ended up bringing both of us together, my job has no connection to yours. Once we get off this train, you are more than welcome to take them --” She jerked her head towards Álvarez and Villeneuve. �
��-- somewhere else. But Berhanu and I will be continuing on.”

  “Estelle, you can’t go to Axum alone.”

  “I won’t be alone.”

  “A curator isn’t going to be much help when you’ve got terrorists shooting at you or trying to kidnap you!” God, he’d forgotten how stubborn she could be.

  “The military is currently active in Tigray. Isn’t that right, Berhanu?” He nodded. “Then we’ll meet up with them and acquire an armed escort.”

  It was a very thin plan. “You walk into a military camp, they’ll ship you straight back to Addis Ababa and into a jail cell.”

  “Maybe. And if that’s the case, then you won’t have to worry about me. But until then, I have to try. Nasim al-Faradi trusted me to do this. To finish my father’s work.”

  Booker pinched his brow. Exactly why she was so determined to go marching into the middle of a civil war, he couldn’t say. Part of his brain was still having trouble processing the fact that she was even here.

  Álvarez cleared his throat. “May I propose a solution?”

  “No,” Booker told him flatly. “You may not.”

  Álvarez shrugged. “Well, I’m going to anyway. Estelle and Berhanu -- you want to get to the Ark. A laudable quest. But, I’m afraid Special Agent Asshole has a point. Neither of you are exactly qualified to go skulking around an active combat zone. Kai and I, however, do have a certain amount of experience in that arena.”

  “If you think I’m going to let you go with them,” Booker began.

  “We don’t want your help,” Estelle said at once.

  Álvarez smiled like a patient teacher in a room full of precocious youngsters. “A compromise, then. You, Special Agent, can come with. To keep an eye on Kai and myself, as well as your former beau.”

  Booker pointedly avoided meeting Estelle’s eye. “That’s not happening.”

  “No? You said, only moments ago, that Kai and I are your best hope at catching this killer. And, as you also pointed out, you don’t actually have the authority to make us do anything. But, help us help them --” He nodded to Estelle and Berhanu. “And I’ll see about arranging a chat with Ibis.”