The Coptic Museum, Cairo
The moment to act, Emily sensed, was going to come quickly. Turning to Michael, she bore her gaze into his eyes and telegraphed all the authority she could command. ‘Give me the gun.’
‘Gun?’ Michael hesitated. The plastic pistol he’d taken from the car wasn’t a gun. ‘It’s just a flare, Em.’
‘Appearance counts for something. In this darkness, it’ll be hard for them to tell the difference.’
Her remarks were a mirror of Michael’s thoughts at the car. Suddenly, recognizing where their current scenario was leading, he wrapped his hands around hers. They were positioned behind a map case, too close to allow unnecessary whispers, but he had to do something to convey the emotions flaring inside him. He locked his hands around her fingers. Looking into her eyes, he tried to convey the mixture of love and concern he felt.
Emily softened. She loved this man more than she would ever be able to express. Not only because he was the man whose emotions fuelled her own, or the man who so obviously sought to protect her, even as he supported her and pushed her forward. But in this moment she loved him because, beneath the fingers that gripped her with such conviction, he was the man whose hands were passing her the flare gun. He was as resolved in their purpose as she was.
A silent connection. And then, the moment came.
Emily tightened the flare gun in her grip and repositioned her weight behind the display case. Glancing around its edge, she took final stock of the scene. Allowing her memory to catalogue the position of every man in the room, every object and every route of motion, she took a long breath, closing her eyes to gain clarity and courage.
When she opened them, she was already moving.