Rafael flew down the corridor with no idea where he was headed, opening doors at random. His priority was to find Sarah. They found each other quickly, at a nook in the hallway.
“I told you to run. If they’d caught you, you’d be completely fucked.”
They ran blindly. The light was minimal, but their eyes eventually adjusted. The interior of the British Museum was an immense labyrinth.
At the end of the hallway was a door providing access to one of the stairways. They descended to the floor below.
When they got to the lower landing, Rafael opened a door and cautiously peeked through.
“Let’s go. Stick close to me.”
Barely visible signs pointed to the emergency exit.
They came to an enormous hall, the King’s Library, and stopped in front of a huge door, leading to the museum’s covered grand atrium. The large annex was a recent addition, with a rotunda in the center that housed the Reading Room, various shops on the ground floor, and a restaurant on the floor above. On the other side, facing the exit, were numerous tables and chairs anchored to the floor that belonged to the snack bars that offered fast food to the thousands of daily visitors.
Sarah and Rafael hugged the wall of the grand atrium, quickly moving toward the exit. The stretch that remained before them was like an open, barren field. The moonlight, now visible through the glass dome, gave the area a grayish white tinge.
A flash cut through the shadows and Rafael was hurled against the wall by an unknown force: he’d been hit. Sarah instinctively knelt and tried to lift him. He groaned, but the wound didn’t appear to be too serious.
Two shadows darted out from the bar area, moving toward them.
“Take the pistol.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Shoot two or three times, at random,” Rafael insisted.
Sarah looked back. The shadows were gaining ground. Finally she took the gun Rafael was handing her, and fired three times without turning her head to aim. They were both barricaded behind the museum reception desk. Rafael took off his overcoat and ripped his clothes in the area where the bullet had grazed him, almost by his shoulder.
“I was lucky.”
“Really? I thought you were going to die in my arms.”
“That could still happen.”
“Jack,” boomed a voice from somewhere in the atrium. It was Barnes.
Rafael got up and roughly pulled Sarah to his side.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a low voice. Her heart seemed to be stuck in her throat.
“You can’t kill her because you don’t know what she’s done with the papers. She’s the only link you have to them. What’s gonna happen if she dies now?” He raised his gun and pointed it at Sarah’s temple.
“What are you doing?” Sarah thought she was about to faint.
The cards were stacking up against Barnes.
“C’mon, Jack, are you really capable of taking an innocent’s life?”
“Barnes, you know me very well. I’m made of the same shit as you.”
“What do you want?” he asked, already guessing the answer.
“Pay attention. I’m going to leave here with her, and you’re going to tell your men to put away their guns and let us go. You’re going to tell the guys with you and the ones you’ve got posted outside.”
“Let’s be reasonable, Jack.”
“Even more reasonable?” Rafael tossed back sarcastically.
Barnes had no choice but to accept.
“Abort the operation. Lower your guns. Let them go,” he said, turning his head to the tiny microphone on his lapel.
Rafael dragged Sarah out from the protection of the counter, backing toward the exit.
The cold night air wrapped around them. They went downstairs and to the giant doors bearing the Queen Elizabeth II coat of arms. The gun was still pressed against Sarah’s temple. From there to the car was a very short stretch.