Guggenheim Bilbao
Bilbao, Spain
Present Day
A
cton stood with Laura and Marchand in the far corner of the room. The door was closed, and they hadn’t seen any of the terrorists since the initial encounter when all their electronic devices were confiscated. Though they had heard them. A speech, if it could be called that, had been piped through the speakers before it was interrupted by the ringing of a phone.
Very unprofessional.
He prayed the amateurish display meant this would soon be over without any further violence. Yet could he take that risk? Sometimes amateurs panicked. He stared at the door. He could try it again, though there was a good chance that someone was on the other side of it.
Like the last time when he had foolishly opened it, letting the hostiles inside.
Sometimes you should just leave well enough alone.
Though that had never been him, and from what he had seen, it had never been Laura either.
But Marchand?
He was trembling in the corner, a bundle of nerves that could be set off with the slightest provocation.
The door opened and Marchand yelped in fear, as he had when the code had been demanded of him.
A man entered saying nothing, the circular saw he carried delivering his message. He fired it up and made quick work of the acrylic encasing the Bible, every spark, every shard that touched the priceless artifact causing Acton to wince.
The man finished rounding the enclosure then powered down the circular saw, the unbearable din finally over. He tossed aside the cover, leaving the Bible exposed.
Acton could hold his tongue no longer. “What are you going to do with it?”
“None of your concern.”
“It’s a piece of history and I’m an archaeologist. Of course it’s my concern.”
The man jabbed a finger at him then slapped the weapon slung over his shoulder. “Your concern could get you killed.”
Acton frowned. “From what I’ve seen here tonight, it looks like I’m going to die anyway.”
“I’d be more worried about how
I’m going to die.”
The man left, closing the door behind him. They all rushed the Bible, gently picking off the debris, carefully blowing away anything too small to grip.
“I fear none of this matters,” said Marchand.
Acton regarded him. “You think they intend to destroy it?”
Marchand nodded.
Acton clasped his hands behind his head. “So do I.”
