The neo-Gothic architecture of the NMA towered over him as he ascended the stairs and took a left. James paused. The front door was ajar. It turned out that breaking and entering would be easier than he had imagined.
The gods are finally smiling upon me.
He trudged towards the front door and pushed it open, hoping the large, heavy door wouldn’t make a sound and disturb the silence of the sleeping museum.
As James walked through the foyer, past the second set of doors, and went into the darkness of the museum, he surveyed the maze of anthropological artefacts. No security guard was in sight. But there was no time to question the security choices of the small museum. The ransom was due by midnight and must be dropped off at a location on the outskirts of Northampton. James had less than an hour to find the women.
He strolled through the maze of displays, up the central staircase to the mezzanine level, and down the hall towards the enormous set of double doors that led to the administration offices. As the door opened, a sharp creak sounded in the darkness of the museum. He looked down the corridor. No light was on, not even under any of the doors. James looked at the floor, which differed from the photo.
He sighed and walked back through the mezzanine level, down the stairs, and onto the main floor. James shuffled through the maze of displays towards the back section of the building. He had assumed the door to the archives would be at the rear.
Then it dawned on him. The archives might be in a different location somewhere across town, and he was in the wrong place, wasting time. As he contemplated this new reality, he tripped over a heavy object on the floor near a display.
I hope it’s not expensive.
James pulled out his phone, clicked the home button, and used the glow from the screen to light his way. He froze as his eyes lingered at his feet.
On the ground lay a wiry, grey-haired man wearing a dark-blue uniform with a gold-plated badge that read “Charlie”—the first casualty of the evening. That answered James’s question about the night staff and the open doors.
Perfect.
He knelt, rested two fingers on the side of the man’s neck, and felt the coolness of his dark skin.
Merde.
The old man looked as if he was in his late sixties; this wasn’t the retirement a man like him should enjoy at his stage in life.
James’s phone buzzed in his hand—an incoming text. He glanced at the first line of the notification on the screen. It was a last-minute article for editing and layout approval, this one about a new threat to the security of internet banking.
Merde.
James checked his watch. Out of the corner of his eye, thanks to the glow from his screen, James saw a white door with a sign labelled “Staff Only.”
James sprinted across the floor and turned the handle. It was unlocked. He stepped onto the landing, clicked the torch icon on the home screen, and looked down the staircase.