They used a statue and a sarcophagus for cover as they ran. Luke went wide, using his speed and agility to draw some attention from the main group. Alex heard the thick whisper of a silencer — Ffummp! — and then a bullet plinked off the heavy stone of the old sarcophagus. The friends made it around the corner and Hesaan squashed his palm into a fat red button on the wall. An alarm began a low, slow wail.

“The police should be here,” huffed Hesaan, “sometime today.”

“If The Order hasn’t paid them not to be,” Todtman puffed.

Hesaan slammed a door behind them and quickly locked it.

“At least it will take them some time to break through,” he said.

“I doubt it,” said Alex. He knew Peshwar’s mask could wrangle locks as easily as his amulet, and the door was already opening as they hustled onward.

“Where are we going?” called Ren.

“I know a way,” said Todtman, over the sound of his cane’s feverish click-clacks. He turned to Hesaan. “Is the old passage still open?”

“How do you know about that?” he said.

“You forget,” said Todtman. “I did my college internship here.”

Alex looked at Ren, wide eyed: Todtman in college?

“This building really is old!” said Luke.

They turned the next corner to the sound of rapid footsteps close behind them. Hesaan immediately disappeared into an office while Todtman ran more or less headfirst into a blank stretch of wall.

“Wrong panel,” he said with a pained grunt.

He took a quick step to the side and knocked.

Hesaan came barreling back out of the office, a cricket bat held over his head and a maniacal look on his face.

“I’ll hold them off!” he yelled as he charged back around the corner.

Alex wasn’t sure if Hesaan was buying time for the group or trying to protect the artifacts. A little of both, Alex figured. But then he heard the sharp sound of a pistol handle to the skull and the dull thump of Hesaan’s stocky body hitting the floor.

Todtman took a last, longing look toward the spot where his old friend had turned the corner, but his expression quickly hardened. “In here!” he said, pushing a wall panel inward.

It was a secret door, revealing a dark passage beyond. Todtman held the panel open as they all squeezed inside. Alex went through first, then blindly shuffled forward to make room for the others. Once Todtman was inside, the panel snapped shut and light filled the narrow passage, pouring from the eyes of his falcon amulet.

The passage was so narrow that only Ren could walk facing straight ahead. The others had to angle their shoulders to fit.

“Forward, then right,” whispered Todtman.

They stepped quietly and tried to calm their labored breathing. Alex held his injured elbow in close — it stung sharply every time he bumped the wall. His body cast a long shadow in front of him, the musty smell of old wood filled his nostrils, and little whirls of dust kicked up, daring him to sneeze. Outside the wall, he heard muffled voices and the crash of objects being overturned. They’re looking for us. But as they continued on, the noises faded behind them.

“The exit’s just ahead,” said Todtman in a whisper.

Alex had to give a pretty good push once he reached the end of the passage — bouncing hard against the wall with his good arm — but the old walls finally let them go. They emerged into the side courtyard of the museum, and the heat pounced on them like a waiting animal.

“And that, right there, is why I don’t like museums,” said Luke, blinking back the bright sunlight.

“I hope Hesaan is okay,” said Ren.

“I can’t believe he did that,” said Alex. But while Ren sounded sympathetic and concerned, Alex was furious. He couldn’t help it. He had so many questions for Hesaan — burning questions about his mom, about airports and passports and the Valley of the Kings. And now he might never get to ask them.

“Foreigners!” cried a man, pointing wildly at the group as it crossed the courtyard. “The invasion has begun!”

No one bothered to ask what sort of invasion would begin with two twelve-year-olds, one thirteen-year-old, and an old man. Instead, Todtman quickly hailed a taxi and they poured themselves inside as the man continued to rant at their windows, amplifying the angry whispers in his head with his own hoarse cries.

The ride back to the hideout was slow, but Alex didn’t mind some time off his feet not dodging energy daggers. A splotch of red around his elbow made it look like he’d dipped it in fruit punch. He gingerly tried to bend it. Sore, but it worked.

“How is it?” said Ren, following his eyes.

“Getting better,” he said. “It just kind of nicked me.”

It scared him to think what a direct hit would feel like.

They got out of the cab in front of a nicer building a few doors down from the hideout and waited until the driver pulled away before walking down the block.

“How did it go?” Jinn asked as he let them in.

Their body language gave him his answer: Alex holding his arm, Todtman’s limp worse than ever, Luke sweaty and spent, and Ren collapsing into the nearest chair.

“Another ambush,” said Todtman.

“Were you followed there?” said Jinn.

Todtman shook his head. “We were careful — and still they were ready. Their timing was perfect …” He paused before delivering his verdict: “I believe we have been betrayed.”