A Covenant of Thieves

by Christian Velguth

  “I’m not going to work with a thief,” Berhanu said firmly.

  Estelle folded her arms. “Me neither.”

  “Then think of us as contractors. You have a pending agreement with the Ethiopian government, right? So we wouldn’t technically be stealing anything. We’re simply offering our services to help you fulfill your side of the deal.”

  Booker narrowed his eyes. “And what do you get out of this?”

  “Protection, for one. If someone really is out to get us, then the FBI seems like a good ally to have. Also, I’d like to come out of this whole adventure with a bit more than the happy memories. It wasn’t cheap, arranging these accommodations.” He began to tick off on his fingers. “We get the Ark. I arrange a meet with my client. Kai and I get paid. You get to ask your questions.”

  “That is not happening,” Berhanu interjected. “If you think I am letting you sell the Ark to the black market, you are out of your mind.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Álvarez said, rolling his head lazily towards the curator. “Kai and I get paid, Hopkins gets his interview, and then you get the Ark back. See? Everyone wins.”

  The curator seemed uncertain. “How -- how exactly would that work?”

  “A sting, or whatever. I dunno, ask the Special Agent.”

  Booker was thoroughly annoyed to find himself considering Álvarez’s proposal. “It could work,” he said cautiously. “Arrange for the Ark to be picked up. Wait in the wings, then move in when their client shows.”

  “After we’ve been paid,” Álvarez reminded him.

  Booker ignored him. “But there’s no way I could get it authorized.” Seeing as how I’m not even an active agent right now, he thought. That particular bit of truth-bending had kind of come about accidentally, a product of strenuous circumstances. He’d deal with it later. “Not now. We’d still need to go back to Addis Ababa, talk to both our governments before we even consider going through with it.”

  “There isn’t time to let the bureaucrats hash it out,” Álvarez said. “Right now you need to shoot first, ask for permission later. Like it or not, this train is going to Axum. You want to meet Ibis? Then we do what we came for.”

  The car fell silent as everyone considered the plan. Helen would never go for it, Booker thought. But then, he was well beyond the point of worrying about what Helen would think. He’d already done enough to get him fired -- unless he had something useful to bring back to the Bureau. If it all panned out -- if he could find the people responsible for these murders, for Jane Baum, for everything -- it would more than save the ACT. It would save his career. He just had to make sure everything went off smoothly.

  He had to make this work. He’d come too far to turn back without making things even worse.

  And there’s Estelle. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that she was a factor. Her presence changed the entire equation. What she was doing here, how it was they had both just happened to be involved in this, Booker couldn’t begin to fathom. But he knew better than to try and drag her away from this. With Álvarez’s plan, at least he could be around to make sure she stayed safe.

  Berhanu and Estelle had put their heads together, speaking in low whispers. Now they broke apart. “I don’t know,” Estelle said slowly, “if Nasim al-Faradi would like Pharos or Radical Dynamics to associate with professional thieves, or get caught up in an FBI investigation.” Then she sighed. “But it’s too late for that now. And if we wait any longer, it might be too late for the Ark as well. Berhanu and I are willing to go along with this plan.” She gave her head a small shake, looking slightly incredulous. “We’ll just have to deal with the fallout once we’re done.”

  Álvarez fist-pumped. “Knew you were a clever cookie, Estelle.” He turned to Booker. “How about it, FBI man?”

  The smug grin on the thief’s face was almost unbearable, but Booker grit his teeth and bore it. What’re you going to do, flash your nonexistent badge and put him in cuffs? “Fine. We’ll play this thing out. But one thing needs to be clear: This is no longer just a private venture, or whatever the hell your illegal bullshit is. From this point forward, think of it as an FBI field operation. That means I’m taking the lead. If I say things are getting too hot, we pull out, no complaints. And if either of you --” He pointed to Álvarez and Villeneuve. “Try anything, I’m hauling your asses back to the States. Jurisdiction be damned.”

  * * *

  The truce was an uneasy one, and the atmosphere remained far from friendly. Which suited Estelle just fine. She wanted as little association as possible with Rick Álvarez and Kai Villeneuve. Immediately after Booker made the terms of the arrangement clear, she relocated herself to the far end of the train car, as physically removed from the two lying thieves as she could manage. Berhanu moved to follow her, but she made it clear she needed a minute alone. By the look on his face, she hadn’t been very polite, but she was beyond caring right now.

  Liars, a furious, cat-like voice hissed in the back of her mind as she settled down into a darkened corner. I am so sick of liars. How could she have been so stupid, so naive? Looking back, it was painfully obvious that Rick and Kai had been playing her from the beginning, and not even doing a very good job of it. Why hadn’t she pushed against their flimsy story? Why hadn’t she left that shitty hotel and called Nasim at once? Why had she let herself be herded along, handled, manipulated like some child’s doll?

  Because she was out of her element. There was no denying that. It was a novel, if unpleasant, feeling. For the first time since graduating college, Estelle had absolutely no idea what to do or how to do it. Even her first day with Radical Dynamics had been better than this. There, at least, she had possessed the theoretical skills to handle herself, had been in an environment that she could control, surrounded by people she could trust. There, it hadn’t been the faith of Nasim al-Faradi, the heritage of an entire country, and the legacy of her father on the line.

  Here, everything was out of her control. It was like she was sprawled, spread-eagle, on the precipice of an enormous slide, feeling herself slowly teeter forward, ready to plunge over the edge and completely unable to claw her way back up it. Estelle closed her eyes and thumped her skull back against the cold metal wall. She would not lose her head. Not now. She’d made it this far, hadn’t she? Hell, the things she’d done in the last few hours -- riding in the back of a truck with smugglers and thieves, hopping a train -- would have been impossible for her to even contemplate a few days ago.

  Impressive, what you could do when you weren’t allowed to think. When you just did. There had been no time to think at all, standing in that field, feeling everything catch up with her at once like the cresting wave of a tsunami. And, now that she did have time to reflect on those frantic moments boarding the train, Estelle had to admit that, behind her panic and terror, a voice had been laughing like a little girl on her first roller coaster. She had felt alive, electric, present, in a way she couldn’t describe and only barely understood. She wasn’t a thrill-seeker, never had been. The most dangerous thing she’d ever done was to play lacrosse in college. So why had a part of her gotten such enjoyment out of all this?

  Someone cleared their throat. It was instantly familiar to her, tugging at old memories and faint emotions. Estelle opened her eyes to see Booker’s long silhouette standing over her, lit from behind by the halos of light that marked Berhanu, Rick, and Kai.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  Estelle shrugged, scooting over to make room for him. Booker sat down beside her, folding his long frame in that strangely-graceful way of his. He’d always had a certain finesse uncommon to his size, something that seemed to come unconsciously to him, but which she had always admired. Even now, his presence next to her held a faint degree of magnetism.

  Booker sighed, resting his head against the wall. She saw his eyes glitter as he glanced at her. “Gotta admit, I’ve imagined us catching up over the years. Never thought it would go down quite like this.”

/>   A dry, hoarse whisper of a laugh escaped her. He’d always been able to do that. “Right there with you.”

  “Kinda cozy, though, isn’t it?”

  “What, the train car?”

  “Aren’t trains romantic?”

  Estelle stared at him for a long moment, and then they both snorted with laughter. Estelle’s came from a place of bone-deep exhaustion, and maybe even delirium, that had been nipping at her heels since she crawled out of that ice cream truck. Now that she was close enough to see him, she could tell Booker was just as tired.

  “You followed us all the way from Addis Ababa?”

  He nodded.

  “And you really had no idea I was in Ethiopia? Be honest now.”

  Booker met her eyes and said firmly, “I had no idea. When I saw you in that alley --”

  “What, you were spying?”

  He shrugged, unselfconsciously. “We call it a stakeout. I was looking for Álvarez and Villeneuve. I’d tracked them to that restaurant and knew they’d be coming back that night. I intended to approach them, try to explain… But when I saw you…” Booker trailed off, shaking his head. “Well, I kind of froze up.”

  She smiled. “Well. That’s nothing new.”

  “Oh, here we go.” But he was grinning, teeth flashing in the dim light.

  “I remember,” Estelle said, laughing, “a young, handsome man sitting in the UM-Detroit library cafe, reading a dull-looking book on whatever-it-was, nearly spilling his drink all over himself when I asked to share his table.”

  “You surprised me,” Booker said, defensive but still smiling. “I was engrossed.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure you were very interested in --”

  “Artistic Trends of la Terreur.”

  “Yes, that. So interested, in fact, that you kept shooting me glances while I searched for an open seat.”

  Booker shrugged. “What can I say? I did go to college to study art.”

  “Oh, look at you, Mr. Charmer! When did this happen?”

  They both laughed again, eventually falling into silence. Estelle’s smile slowly faded, the warmth that had blossomed in her breast dwindling as she surveyed the dark train car. They hadn’t exactly ended on the best of terms, but it had been nice, if only for a moment, to pretend that everything was normal, that they really were just old friends catching up. To remember how happy their time together had been. There had been other partners after Booker, but few had been so comfortable.

  “I really am sorry,” Booker said softly. “About Martin.”

  She nodded, wiping her eyes. The tears had snuck up on her, and she wasn’t sure if they were from the laughter or not. “Yeah. So am I.”

  “You know I would’ve been there, if I could have,” Booker said. There was no reproach in his voice. “If I had known.”

  Estelle nodded again. “You know, dad actually asked about you? The day he…that day I ended up taking him to the hospital.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Wondered when I’d last spoken to you. Part of me thinks maybe…maybe he knew then that something was wrong. Wanted to make sure I’d, I don’t know, not be completely alone when he…went. Brought up your FBI career, like he was some matchmaker.” She laughed hollowly, a sound that died almost as soon as it left her.

  Booker shifted beside her. He was peering into the darkness of the train car, his eyes slightly narrowed. “And he was involved in all this, huh? This Pharos thing?”

  “Yep. For years, apparently. Remember the Louvre renovations? His work on that caught Nasim’s eye. She brought him in and he laid the groundwork with Berhanu, right before he got sick. Never even mentioned it.” She paused, taking a breath and sighing, “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “And he thought someone was after him.”

  Estelle glanced at him. Booker seemed to be hearing only what he wanted to hear. That was familiar, too. “After the Ark, at least. I don’t know if he ever really feared for his life. I’d like to think he would have told me about that, at least, but…” Booker still wasn’t looking at her. Estelle followed his gaze, to the far corner where Rick and Kai were sitting. Her stomach lurched, and she lowered her voice. “Why? Do you think they had something to do with it? That your case is somehow connected to my dad’s work?”

  “It’d be a hell of a coincidence,” he muttered. His face was different than she’d ever seen it. Harder, more penetrating. Not that of a young art student spending his summer as a Parisian. It drove home how many years had passed. Then he blinked, seeming to catch himself, and his countenance softened. “Probably not. According to my source, Álvarez and Villeneuve were in Houston when your dad was coming back from Ethiopia.”

  “But there still could be some connection,” she said hurriedly, feeling a mingled sensation of trepidation and excitement. “All those stolen artifacts. It sounds like the same sort of things Pharos would be interested in, doesn’t it?”

  “There’s definitely an overlap. Did Nasim mention any sort of trouble?”

  “She said they had to deal with graverobbers occasionally, but nothing like what you’re talking about,” Estelle admitted. “No murders.”

  “Well, we definitely know that someone else is after the Ark, and I’m willing to bet that same someone is responsible for the murders I’ve been tracking.” Booker caught her eye. “But that doesn’t mean your dad was ever in danger.”

  “How do you know?” she demanded.

  He blinked, looking slightly taken aback. The force behind the question had surprised even herself. “I don’t,” he admitted. “But -- Esta, sometimes things just happen.”

  “I know that,” she muttered, turning away from him. Berhanu was sitting by himself, looking rather alone and lost. Quietly she said, “It’s not like I want him to have been murdered or anything.”

  “No. But I get the need for a reason. For some order, some -- some thing to blame. Jane Baum, the informant I mentioned, she died too. Out of nowhere.”

  “But you said it was suspicious, that it might not have been an accident.”

  “Maybe. I thought that could be the case. But I know I could just be trying to talk myself out of responsibility. It might not make me feel any better about what happened, but at least --”

  “At least it would make the universe feel a little less chaotic,” she finished. “Less…pointless.”

  “Yeah.” Booker fell silent, and then she felt him take her hand. The gesture was tentative at first, but his grip grew a bit firmer when she didn’t pull away. “Have you tried contacting Nasim?”

  She sighed. “Yeah. Still no service. I guess it’s only going to get worse as we travel north.”

  ‘Keep trying. And, Esta… When we get into Axum, I want you to hang back.”

  She looked at him. “Hang back where?”

  “I’ll find some place. Maybe a military outpost -- something safe, while I go with Álvarez and Villeneuve to try and locate the Ark.”

  Estelle frowned. “This is my job, Booker. You can’t just push me out of the way.”

  “I’m not,” he said earnestly. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. Berhanu too.”

  “You’ll need him to get into the Ark chapel. And I’m going to be there.”

  “Esta --”

  “I’m going to be there, Booker.” She yanked her hand from his, getting to her feet and dusting off her legs. “Nasim al-Faradi trusted me to see this through. To finish what my dad started. I’m going to do that. You’ll just have to do your best to protect me along the way,” she added witheringly.

  Booker looked up at her with something close to despair. Estelle knew she was overreacting, that he was only looking out for her -- but, damn it, she didn’t need to be looked out for!

  Sure, an irritating voice said as she crossed to where Berhanu was sitting. You’ve only made a complete mess of things so far, why stop now?

  “Is everything alright?” the curator asked, looking up at her concernedly.

  Estelle stopped a
nd scowled down at him. “Yes,” she snapped. “Everything is fine.”

  Berhanu looked quite frightened. She turned away from him, disgusted with someone or something, and scanned the train car. Rick and Kai were huddled in their corner, wreathed in a nimbus of pale light, apparently deep in discussion. Kai caught her eye and held it for a moment, looking tentative, until Rick glanced up as well. He gave a jovial wave.

  “Want to sit with the cool kids?”

  Estelle went to find her own corner.

  * * *

  It was another three hours before the train began to slow.

  Rick got to his feet the moment he noted the change in their movement. Hopkins was standing as well, peering around as if expecting to see a sign announcing next stop, Axum. Estelle came awake with a start a moment later. “What’s happening? Are we there?”

  “Not sure,” Hopkins said. “But we’re slowing. Could just be coming to a sharp turn…”

  That seemed less likely as they continued to bleed momentum. Soon the train felt like it was crawling along no faster than a caterpillar. The background clatter of wheels on tracks had died down. Listening closely, Rick realized he could hear voices outside.

  “Everyone move next to the door,” he said, flattening himself against the wall to the door’s left. Kai took up position behind Rick, bearing both their backpacks, with Berhanu peeking around him nervously. Hopkins and Estelle stood on the opposite side. Rick caught the FBI agent’s eye. “Do you have a gun?”

  “No.”

  “Sucks.” Rick drew his own pistol, sensing Kai do the same behind him. “If there ends up being any shooting, try to stay out of the way.”

  “How about we try to avoid gunfire?” Hopkins suggested.

  Rick shushed him. The voices were louder now, and seemed to be directly on the other side of the door. The train came to an abrupt halt, causing all of them to lurch to one side. Heavy silence fell, odd after so many hours of noise. “Lights out,” Rick hissed, killing his own wristband’s torch. Everything became pitch black. Rick gripped his pistol, taking measured breaths. His body felt twitchy after so many hours of doing nothing. He could hear someone else breathing loudly, sounding as if they had just run a marathon.