3

Old Enemies, New Friends

1:30 p.m., still running in circles around Alexandria

I peeked over the top of the stone fence and swore.

Past the gate and across the street was my route to the docks, but the dig guards and Mike were still milling around the site. At least there was no sign of IAA suits, but that in itself didn’t exclude them from being somewhere out of sight.

I dropped back down to the ground. Well, I could jump over and make a run for it—if I was fast enough, they might not react before I was out . . .

“What the hell did I ever do to you, Egypt?” I said.

“Besides stealing priceless artifacts?” came a familiar male voice.

I frowned. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

I spun on my heels and came face-to-face with a man not much taller than me, with a suntanned face and wearing the more traditional ­Egyptian garb you see at the dig sites. Except this wasn’t an Egyptian.

“Benji,” I said, and unceremoniously pulled off his headscarf. “I should have known they roped you into this.” Benji was an old colleague of mine, one I’d gone out of my way to help when he’d stumbled onto Chilean mummies. Except he wasn’t happy about owing me some help navigating the odd dig, so he’d backstabbed me in Bali a few months back.

We weren’t on good terms.

He held his hands up and started to back up. “Alix, it’s not what it looks like. Let me explain—”

He didn’t get much further than that, on account of me punching him in the face. Benji yelped and grabbed his nose. “Son of a bitch! Oh my God, I think you broke it!” Or at least that’s what I thought he said, on account of him clasping his bleeding nose between his hands.

I shook my hand out. Rynn’s self-defense lessons were coming in handy, though I didn’t know if my bar of entry into violent conflict resolution needed lowering. My God, hitting someone in the face hurt . . . I’d have to remember to use my knees next time. Didn’t stop me from pinning Benji against the wall. “You sold me out to a bunch of vampire junkies!”

Benji winced, but whether from the accusation or my arm across his throat, I wasn’t sure. “Jesus—I know, all right! But I didn’t know they were junkies, I thought you were the junkie—that’s what they told me. My God that hurts!”

I raised my fist, and Benji’s eyes widened. “OK, look, I can explain. I came to help.”

“How stupid do I look?”

He shrugged and nodded towards the dig site. “Considering you walked right into an IAA trap?” Benji frowned. “Come on, Owl, Algiers? Even I guessed that one—”

Shit. “Yeah, well, never mind,” I said, and let Benji off the wall. “And what the hell is with the IAA manhunt anyways? And you’ve got five seconds to make it good.”

He managed a glare. “Or what? You’ll hit me again?”

“No.” I turned so Benji could get a good look at Captain, who obliged with a hiss. “I’ll let him at you. I’ll warn you, he’s a little wild. Found him slinking around the pyramids—”

“OK, OK. Jesus, when the hell did you get so violent?”

I crossed my arms.

Benji rushed to continue. “All right, all right—I’m not exactly in the IAA security know, but I picked up a couple things because I’ve had my ears open. They’ve been looking for you the last couple months, but it wasn’t until a couple weeks ago that they got real serious—don’t ask me why. All I know is it’s got something to do with a theft.”

I shook my head. “That’s impossible—” I would have explained I’d been in Vegas two weeks ago, and the week before that, but Benji stopped me.

“I’m just telling you what I know. A theft five days ago in Morocco tipped them off, so they set up Algiers. You beat them to it, but then yesterday someone somewhere flagged Serena. The lines went nuts after that.”

I closed my eyes for a second. The IAA had known exactly what bait to set out and where to look for me . . . I was getting as predictable as ­Captain was with vampires. “What was the theft?” I went over the last few things I’d lifted: Not the Moroccan burial mask, too soon; Norwegian burial jewelry, no; Easter Island idol . . . that might have done it. They don’t like major monuments going missing, though still.

Benji shook his head. “No, they were looking for you before that. All I know is it’s this side of the globe and the theft had your signature all over it—”

Six weeks ago I’d lifted a Dionysus idol outside Athens, but with the economy collapsing, it was open season in Greece. Who wasn’t lifting stuff there? Besides, none of it rated supernatural, except for the Easter Island idol, and even that was minor. The IAA wouldn’t go to these lengths over that, not unless they’d eaten a really great batch of mushrooms . . .

Then again, when supernatural shit is involved, I suppose anything is possible.

I snorted. “They’ve probably got another ruined temple to pin on me and are trying to track down my signature for insurance purposes.”

Benji frowned. “OK, that’s not completely unreasonable. Might I add you did trash the temple in Bali—just like I said you would?”

I clenched my fist. “Not on purpose—and no offense, but the Naga did way more damage than me—and I haven’t trashed any dig sites since then.”

He ran his hand through his hair, accidently knocking his black-rimmed glasses to the side. “And there you go again with the excuses. Why can’t you—for once, that’s all I’m asking here—admit you might be partially responsible?”

See, now this is the problem I have with the IAA. No allowances for the supernatural . . . Put your neck out to save the world and what ­happens? A temple was partially destroyed—which, for the record, I wasn’t happy about. If the resident Naga hadn’t taken issue . . . Oh why the hell do I even bother. “Fine. I was somewhat responsible for ruin­ing a temple. But you intentionally sold me to a pack of goddamn vampires!”

Benji glared. “OK, like I said, it was an honest mistake—which I’m trying to make right—and you did strong-arm me into getting you into the dig site in the first place.”

“Strong-arm?”

“Yeah! Strong-arm. You know, holding something over a person’s head indefinitely.”

“No, I mean what were you? Born in the 1950s? And what the hell do you expect? The entire batch of you treat me like I’m some kind of goddamn leper!”

I expected an argument. I’ve been in the game long enough to know how to deal with reluctant archaeology accomplices like Benji. I didn’t expect the color to drain from his face. I think that was worse—like validation.

All of a sudden I really didn’t feel like talking to Benji.

He did though. “Look, I would have warned you ahead, but after Bali they started watching everyone’s communications—and not just because of you—”

I lowered my head and glanced at Benji from under my eyebrows.

“OK, well, partly because of you, but mostly because of Bindi. No one saw that coming. Including her and Mark, they’re down, like, seven archaeologists in one year.”

I heard voices coming from the catacomb entrance, so I dragged Benji farther into the shadows. “That still doesn’t come close to explaining how the hell you ended up here.”

“It wasn’t out of my way. I was transferred to Cairo a few months back, and when the IAA chatter about Serena started, I figured it might be you and got myself attached to the dig. It wasn’t hard,” Benji added, pushing my arm off and standing up straight. “You have a lousy habit of trashing places. They were more than happy for another set of hands—”

“Do not.”

Benji snorted. “Did you see what those stones did to the floor? Did you plan on setting off a few traps, or did that just happen while you were ramming—”

I motioned for him to keep his voice down. “I had to improvise—and the psychopathic mummy came after me.”

“Look, I’d have tried warning you earlier, but they’ve been tight-lipped about things.” He looked more tired as he said it. I got the sinking suspicion the IAA was tight-lipped on everything after Bindi and Red. Losing archaeologists because they get eaten is one thing, but having them jump physiological sides with IAA secrets?

“You won’t break their perimeter on your own, but my partner is indisposed this morning, and they’ll let me by,” he said as he handed me a plastic bag containing the same robes and scarf he wore.

I stared at them, then back at him. To say Benji didn’t exactly look friendly was putting it mildly. If he thought for one second I believed he was going to help me slip the IAA out of the goodness of his heart . . .

“You know, I’ve got a fantastic bag of magic beans in my pocket I can sell you, they’ll grow a beanstalk and everything—”

“Oh will you knock it off! I’m trying to help you—”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve got a fucking conscience and I’m having trouble sleeping, all right!”

“So, just so we’re totally straight here—I’m helping you feel better about yourself?”

He shoved the bag back at me. “Just put it on before one of the guards grows a work ethic and actually patrols the back of the building.”

I grabbed Benji’s plastic bag. Selfishness was reasoning I could understand.

Besides, if it was like Benji said and the IAA had the city cordoned off—and considering the ensuing riot and abundance of agents, there was no reason not to believe him—I didn’t really have a choice. Not unless Captain and I wanted to try and hide out in the desert for the next two weeks while they combed the city.

“I need to get down to the cruise docks,” I said.

Benji thought about it, then nodded. “We should be able to head straight there. We just need to get past the gate and one of the lines.”

“How did you even know I’d be back this way?” I said, throwing the robe over my head, keeping my backpack and Captain in front.

“Easy—with the way they roped off the city, I figured there was a chance you’d be back this way—last place they’d look for you.”

Yeah—for the last place I should have run, again it was damn predictable. . . .

Benji checked his watch. “Come on,” he said, once I’d approximated him in outfit and appearance. He shoved a set of papers in my hands: Kelly Black—probably his partner. “If anyone stops us, let me do the talking, and just say yes,” he said.

“I think I know protocol.”

Benji snorted. “Not since they’ve tightened ranks, you don’t. Just follow my lead.”

“Isn’t that how the Chinchorro mummies woke up?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

I would have given him a snappy comeback, but we were in earshot of the two guards.

I felt Captain stir in my backpack, and he let out a muffled mew.

“Captain,” I whispered. “I know we’ve had our differences these last few days, but please, for the love of God, stay quiet.”

I recognized the guards from my time as Serena, but I’d never picked up their names. Both of them would have preferred to be somewhere else in this heat, but whereas the first was happy to ignore us and imagine he was somewhere else, the second wanted to make damn sure everyone at the dig knew exactly how pissed he was to be here.

He gave us a second once-over. “Papers?”

I handed him mine along with Benji’s as the guard examined my face, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

A bead of sweat collected on my upper lip.

His eyes passed over me, though as he focused back in on Benji, his frown deepened. “Why do you need to leave the site? Dig break’s not supposed to be for another hour and we’ve got rioters heading this way.”

Why were we leaving the site? Because we wanted a goddamn soda or beer, or we just felt like taking a goddamn nap—in other words, none of your goddamn business and get back to pretending you’re doing something and leave the smart people alone!

“Had another batch of stone fall—we need medical supplies and clean water,” Benji said.

I kept my mouth shut, out of shock over Benji’s polite justification more than anything else. I’d been so busy trying to get a few minutes away from postdoc Mike over the past three days that I’d had minimal contact with the guards and missed the jump in scrutiny. . . and my major concern had been getting into the site, not out for snacks.

The guard glanced from Benji to me, then shrugged. “Just try to be more careful in there.”

If I’d had control of my voice again, I’d have told the guy exactly where he could take his careful and go. Benji, however, only nodded. “Sure thing,” he said, and the two of us kept walking through the gate before I could shoot my mouth off.

Knowing my track record, there was probably a benefit to that.

Captain, picking up on my nerves, continued to squirm under the robes. “Knock it off,” I hissed as we waited for the intersection to clear. Come on, lights, come on, lights . . .

“Hey!” one of the guards yelled.

Both of us froze on the edge of the sidewalk and turned around, slowly; me trying desperately to keep imminent panic off my face.

“Be back in fifteen,” the guard said. “We’ve got a shift change, and I don’t want to miss my break.”

My panic evaporated. Seriously?

Benji raised a hand and gave them a meek wave and smile.

“And watch for the rioters—I don’t want to have to come out and find you.”

Seriously? What were we, two?

“Jesus, Benji. When did security get like this?”

“They’ve been upping security for the last year, but it wasn’t until Bali that they pulled private contractors in,” he said as we crossed the street and lost ourselves in the crowd. “That’s who those guys are—they’re responsible for accounting where archaeologists are at all times and making certain we’re safe.” If there was any question about what Benji thought about the contracted security, the way he spat out safe cleared up any misconceptions.

“So basically you’re prisoners now. Great,” I said.

Benji didn’t dignify that with an answer, but he didn’t deny it either as we continued down the road. He checked over his shoulder before shoving me inside a convenience store, then glanced out the front again.

“There’s a pair of agents coming,” Benji said. “They’ll swing back around and loop the other street.”

I got the meaning. If they were looping back along the main streets and I used the alley, I had a short window of opportunity in which to slip by them. I had to marvel how good these guys had gotten since I’d left . . .

Come to think of it, I wonder if I’d have ever gotten out in the first place if things had been like this . . . I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. Archaeologists like Benji were more than happy to treat me like I had the plague, and I don’t have a martyring bone in my body. As far as I was concerned, they could get buried in the bed they’d all made for themselves.

Funny how much easier it is to tell the world to fuck off in my head . . . why is that?

Having guessed we probably weren’t in the store to buy anything, the man behind the counter glanced warily between Benji and me. With the threat of rioters looming, I didn’t blame him. His fear I knew how to deal with. I passed the equivalent of twenty dollars across the counter, nodding to the back exit. He took the money, glanced again at me and Benji, shrugged, and went back to reading his magazine. I saw the two agents pass by. “Those two out front means the one in the street over will walk by soon, right?”

Benji nodded.

Time to use the ever-diminishing window of exit. “Come on,” I said, and shoved Benji towards the back door. He didn’t say anything as I continued shoving him into the street, across the road, and into the next alley. We were almost at the next street crossing—three blocks from the docks—when Benji dug his feet in. He swore under his breath and pushed me into the shadow of a structurally unsound escape stairwell.

“Hey!”

“Shhh, will you? They changed their pattern.”

For a second I thought it might be a setup—that Benji was leading me into a trap. One look at his panic-stricken face erased that though. Benji didn’t do well under pressure.

It dawned on me just how many sleepless nights he must have had to stick himself in this situation.

“We’ll wait until they go by and dodge through?”

Benji shook his head. “No, you don’t understand, the pattern will be off. They’ve been running it to prevent exactly what we’re doing. I picked it up while I was keeping an eye out for you—it wasn’t hard, they coordinate it across the radio channel. The point is there’s at least two agents for the next three streets.”

OK, that did throw a slight wrench into our plans. All right, Owl, you’re supposed to be the pro here. Think fast.

A wise rule of thumb says the best lies are steeped in truth. Time to challenge that theory.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll head them off and run interference while I run for it.”

Benji frowned. “Not a chance in hell. I’m not letting you throw me under the bus. I don’t have that guilty of a conscience over Bali.”

Yup, back to the Benji I knew and exploited. “Relax. I’m not throwing you under the bus. In fact, I’m probably doing you a favor.”

He stopped wringing his hair. “How the hell do you figure that?”

“Easy. You’re going to lie like hell,” I said, and steered him back into the alley to give him the short rundown of my plan.

I slapped him on the back to send him in the direction of the street we’d passed through a minute before. He got a few steps away from me, shaking his head before stopping in his tracks. He turned to face me with a look of determination, the kind that usually leads to a disagreement over ethics or some misplaced need to do the right thing—I should know, I used to wear the same expression.

“Benji,” I started.

“Look, I know you took the Medusa head. You did a lousy job excavating it out of the sarcophagus, by the way.”

Yeah, well, I’d been in a rush. And not the time to get brave, Benji.

“Benji—” I began, adding a warning to my voice.

He held up his hands, and I saw a tinge of contempt cross his face—just for a moment, but it was there. “Save it. I don’t expect you to give it back. I just wanted to say now we’re really even.”

“Fine,” I said, maybe a little more aggressively than I needed to, but this was the Benji I remembered. It wasn’t like I expected the goodwill to last past the clearing of his conscience.

There was something else though. He ran his hand through his hair again, deciding whether to say anything. “Look, I don’t know what you stole, and I seriously do not fucking care—it’s way too high above my pay grade, but whatever it is, these guys really want you. Bad. Just . . . I don’t know . . . try to be careful . . . or something.” And with a shake of his head, he jogged out of the alley towards the street.

That left me with more foreboding than I wanted to think about . . . and there went Benji breaking the mold again.

I didn’t have to wait long for his diversion.

“Hey! Help! You guys—IAA—Owl snatched me from the dig site!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He gave them one hell of a performance as he stumbled down the alley and waved towards the agents; with the broken, swollen nose, he not only sounded convincing but he also looked the part. I ducked farther under the haphazard stairwell and pulled down my headscarf as the two agents patrolling the street ran past. I heard one of them yelling into his headset—hopefully calling for backup from the rest of the agents nearby.

That was my cue. Captain summed it up with a meow.

“You said it. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge.”

I hazarded one last glance at Benji distracting the agents before bolting into the street. I made it to the next alley without incident. Two more blocks to go.

I hustled through the next street and into the adjoining alley before skidding to a stop at the end. I could see the water now and smell the heavy fuel mixed with sewage that Alexandria’s harbor is notorious for. Only one more block to go. Almost home free. I don’t think I really believed Benji would pull through until that moment—not that I had any time to ponder the greater meaning of that in relation to my on-and-off friendship with the universe . . .

But, yeah, we were square after this.

Now to find Nadya without attracting undue attention . . . I pulled out my phone to text her while I kept one eye on the docks, watching for IAA.

I felt the hand on my shoulder and the muzzle of a gun as it pressed into my back.

I swear to God there hadn’t been even a footstep. I started to raise my hands.

“Stop right there,” I heard a woman say, and the gun jammed further into my lower back. Captain growled, but the woman didn’t seem to notice, and for once Captain had the wherewithal to stay hidden. I shushed him and hoped the agent didn’t notice. First, Captain doesn’t stand a chance against guns, and second, the IAA has been blissfully oblivious to the existence of my vampire-attacking cat. Them knowing would be bad for both of us.

The agent spun me around, and I came face-to-face with a six-foot-tall woman in her late thirties, dressed in the requisite black suit, her gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. The gun was now aimed at my chest.

The best way I’ve found to deal with abusive authoritative figures is to show ambivalence in the face of threats. Chances are good I’ll get hurt, but it pisses them off enough that they start making mistakes. I glanced down at the gun, then up at the agent’s face, arching an eyebrow. “I thought you guys were supposed to capture me alive,” I said.

She shrugged, keeping her temper in check, and leveled the revolver down at my leg. “Alive and shot are two very different things,” she said.

“Madam?” I heard a second, younger, less-jaded-sounding voice ask over the communications.

“I’ve apprehended Owl. Let Director Brook know and send backup to my location—”

I inched my foot away from the wall, hoping the audio distraction might give me a chance to run.

A knee connected with my midsection faster than I could have dodged, and I doubled over in pain. The agent continued with her conversation as if nothing had happened. With minimal wincing, I pushed myself back up to standing and bit back the first smart-mouthed response that came to mind. This one wanted an excuse to beat me up; worse, she knew what she was doing.

Finished with her check-in, she stood in front of me. I didn’t like the smile that spread across her face. “You know, come to think of it, you do have a reputation for running,” she said, taking the collar of my jacket and forcing me to face the wall. “No reason you can’t be shot in the process, considering the trouble you’ve caused.”

I winced as she shoved me hard into the wall. “OK, I don’t care how many of you the IAA overstaffed, there’s no way a Medusa head and Moroccan death mask warrant this level of make-work—”

I didn’t have a chance to finish as she hit the back of my head. God, do I hate IAA muscle. Impossible to have a civil conversation . . .

If I ran, she’d just beat me up more before shooting me. Wincing, I stood still and braced myself for another smack to the head or the sound of a gunshot.

Crack—

Funny . . . that didn’t sound like a gun. Smack to the head? No, I’d feel pain by now.

I opened my eyes. The agent was lying on her side in a heap. Nadya stood in the doorway, holding a cricket bat over her shoulder.

“You wouldn’t believe what the kids down the street charged me for this thing,” she said as she discarded it back inside. “Come on, help me move her.” Together the two of us dragged her none too gently inside the doorway. We both heard the female voice over the comm.

“Roger that. Team three, two, and five, head off to main entrances while we attempt to establish visual. Please respond, team four.”

Damn it, I hate organization. They’d know in a matter of seconds I was back on the run. Nadya swore. “Come on, we need to get to the docks.”

“Wait.” I crouched down and rifled through the woman’s pockets. Now, if I was an evil agent, where would I keep a covert walkie-talkie?

“Alix! I agree with principle, but we don’t have time to rob her right now—come on.”

“Just a second. Trust me, this’ll be worth it.” My fingers brushed against something. “Found it,” I said, and held up my prize as a woman repeated her request for team four to respond. Catching on, Nadya nodded. A heads-up might help us.

By chance the agent’s wallet was in the same pocket, so I lifted that as well. Not for cash, though; out of principle, I’d put any I found towards beer and cat food, but it was also useful for tracking. There were wonders you could do with someone’s name and credit card if you knew the right people in low places.

Nadya glanced at her watch and swore in Russian. “Now, Alix!”

I jumped back up, closed the door on the unconscious agent, and raced after Nadya towards the docks.

It wasn’t until we reached the street across from the cruise terminal that she came to a halt. We were so close I could taste the oil in the air. . . .

But Nadya just kept watching the road. Over the radio, the IAA was reorganizing. It wouldn’t be long before they drifted this way. “Let’s get going while the going is good—”

“Shhh.” She covered my mouth and pointed towards the docks. “Be quiet, they’re watching for you.”

“I don’t see anything except vendors and tourists . . .” I trailed off as I picked out two vendors who weren’t quite belligerent or desperate enough as they hounded the stream of tourists filtering by. I watched as one of them answered a cell phone, then nodded to the other.

Son of a bitch. Plainclothes agents.

A cold pit formed in my stomach as I realized the cruise-ship dock wasn’t completely off course of my escape-plan repertoire. Hostels, crowded train and subway stations, even blending in with the other grad students on digs—hiding in plain sight was one of my talents. God knows that’s how I’ve made my way around more cities and dig sites than I care to count. They’d guessed correctly that once I was this close to a crowded escape route, I’d be inclined to bolt for it. If it hadn’t been for Nadya, I would have. In fact, come to think of the whole sting operation, they’d bet a lot that I’d play to my strengths to get lost in the crowd.

Meaning someone in the IAA had bothered to do their homework. Worse, they apparently knew my habits better than I did.

“Nadya, someone at the IAA is changing the game,” I said, and related to her my guess on how they were tracking me, including what Benji had related about changed protocols, particularly since Bali. Nadya cursed under her breath.

“What?”

“Maybe nothing, Alix. I just heard something about changes from people I used to know in Russia—new security clamping down on students and PIs, but I thought it was just chatter, complaining about regulations like they always do.”

“Yeah, well, we can worry about it once we’re the hell out of here.” I nodded at the plainclothesmen. “We’ve got those two to worry about, and we can assume they’re looking for me trying to blend in.”

Nadya chewed her lip in thought, then shook her head. “Maybe not. I have an idea that will make my plan work. They are looking for you to blend in, no?”

I nodded.

A slow smile spread across Nadya’s face as she pulled out her pocket laptop and began to type. “I came up with a backup plan in Algiers in case you got caught. It’s risky, but I think it will help us and throw them off.”

“How?”

Nadya’s smile spread. “Easy. We do what any good Tokyo hostess would do. Give the client exactly what they want.”

We watched as six tour busses pulled up to the terminal and a couple hundred people piled out and milled around the vendors.

Instead of making a run to slip in, we waited until Nadya’s phone chimed with a new message. “Now,” she said, and under the cover of a seventh tour bus we bolted across the road and into the throng of tourists.

I swore as I lost my footing on a badly tended pothole; I was more concerned with watching out for IAA than where I was going. “What about the plainclothesmen?”

“Not a problem. My backup plan is taking care of them,” she said as we reached the now crowded cruise terminal courtyard, with more tourists than common sense dictated packed into a tight space; probably because of the riots. The cruise companies didn’t want to risk losing passengers out in the wild city.

No one paid us any mind as we raced for the customs house—­hopefully that went for the plainclothesmen too. But instead of getting in line, Nadya veered us to a service door. She kicked open the door to what had to be a janitor’s closet and shoved me inside. There was a duffel bag tucked in the corner, hidden behind the floor bucket. Nadya had it open in two seconds, revealing two smaller, brown-paper-wrapped packages.

“Here, put these on,” she said, handing me one and taking the other for herself.

Inside I found a long-sleeved white shirt, bright blue tank top, oversized sunglasses, designer jeans, and a pair of sandals—all overtly designer, and not in a subtle, well-put-together-look way but more like an “Oh my God, who exploded the label gun over your outfit” kind of way.

Nadya was already out of her own khaki jacket and halfway into a pair of shorts covered in CC letters . . . well, everywhere.

I held my cruisewear up. “OK, I suck at fashion on a good day, but even I know these are over the top—”

Nadya glanced at me as she slid on one of a pair of stiletto sandals. I’d gotten flats instead. At least some practical thought went into this . . .

“Just put them on—now! We don’t have much time.”

Great, my ass was about to turn into a walking advertisement for Chanel. Fantastic, just what I always wanted . . . I changed into the clothes.

“And here, put Captain in this,” Nadya said, and held out the last item in the duffel—a designer leather pet carrier, complete with logos. I had to hand it to her; when she picked a theme, she saw it through. I opened the new carrier and held it open for Captain. After a careful sniff, he chirped at me.

“You heard Nadya,” I told him. “It’s this or face her.” Captain decided the new bag would be just fine.

No sooner was he inside than Nadya threw the closet door back open.

The nearest cruise ship, the one with brightly colored lettering and ribbons everywhere, had begun loading.

I lowered my dark sunglasses to get a better look. Two IAA agents in suits were waiting beside the customs booth.

Shit. “It’s a no go,” I said, “they’re already there.”

But she only grabbed my hand and dragged me behind her. “I swear to God, if you don’t keep walking and pretend like you belong in first class . . . Put those sunglasses back on and stand up straight,” she scolded as she continued straight on past the line and up the stairs. I glanced at the agents. They were looking at us now . . . along with everyone else at the cruise terminal, and not just because of the spectacle Nadya had dressed us in. We’d completely bypassed the line.

“They’re looking straight at us—”

“Just keep walking! And smile,” Nadya hissed out of the corner of her mouth, her smile fixed as we climbed the stairs.

Two Egyptian officials were waiting at the top, accompanied by a cruise ship official holding a sign with KUROSAWA HOLDINGS scrawled across the side in red and gold letters.

Nadya saw her too. Nadya jumped and began waving her hat, revealing her natural brown hair—normally she wore a neon red wig. That was beside the point—if people hadn’t been looking at our spectacle before, they sure as hell were now . . . even the IAA agents were tracking us visually if not physically.

There went my comfort zone. “All right, I’m all for hiding in plain sight, but there’s supposed to be a goddamned element of hide in there—oomph!”

Nadya jabbed me in the side with a well-placed elbow. “If you mess this up, so help me.”

“This is the worst plan ever.” I noted a fishing boat off to the side. If we ran now, pushed a few people over, we might make it . . .

“For God’s sake, smile—and let me do the talking,” Nadya said.

“Mrs. Voldynova?” the cruise woman said, fidgeting with what looked like passports in her hand.

Nadya extended her hand and turned her full-wattage hostess smile on the Egyptian customs officers.

“We’re so sorry to be late. We got caught behind the crowd while walking the museum,” Nadya said, laying her Russian accent on thicker than usual.

Relieved, the woman handed the Egyptian officials the two passports. Passports with our photos inside.

“I would love to know how the hell you pulled that off,” I whispered.

Nadya didn’t even glance at me, a pleasant but bored expression fixed on her face.

The cruise ship woman spoke in a hushed voice to the Egyptians, but I made out the important point. VIP.

How the hell had Nadya accomplished this in such a short frame of time?

As Egyptian customs checked our faked passports, Nadya whispered, “I picked up spare passports after you almost lost yours last month. I had Lady Siyu arrange the cruise ship in case things went poorly.” Brilliant, really; passports were always kept on cruise ships. I’d have to remember that one for later.

“That’s not even the best part. Wait until you see the finale,” she said.

I tilted my sunglasses down and stole a sideways glance back at the IAA agents. They were already pushing people aside on their way up the steps. “Well, whatever else you have cooked up, it’d better be fast.”

“Relax and watch the show.”

Shouting erupted just outside the customs line, attracting just about everyone’s collective attention.

A figure emerged from inside the building, racing ahead of Egyptian security in a spectacular show of disorganized chaos. It was a woman of about five three or so, wearing a hooded, loose khaki jacket—the kind I was fond of—and a canvas dig bag over her shoulder.

More Egyptian customs mobilized, pushing their way into the crowd after the woman. The crowd was working in her favor though—she was agile enough to weave in and out, knocking fewer people over than the guards following them. She was headed straight for the boarding cruise ship.

The hood fell back, and a dirty-blond ponytail trailed out the back of a red flames baseball cap.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.

I caught Nadya smile. “Like I said, they wanted an Owl to chase after, and there she is. Authentic looking, isn’t she?”

I watched my decoy double turn and swear in Arabic at the customs agents chasing after her before flashing them the finger and leaping onto the cruise ship platform, pushing past the cruise employees, who were shocked into inaction.

“OK, I do not act like that,” I said.

Nadya arched her eyebrow.

Regardless of what I thought of the show, the agents coming up the stairs decided she fit the part better than I did. They doubled back through the crowd to join the chase on the ship. My double was now on the deck, and I watched as she grabbed something off a table and launched it at the pair of suited IAA.

It missed them and shattered on the pavement below.

A beer bottle.

I swore. “OK, that’s just mean,” I said to Nadya. I had no doubt the weaponized beer bottle was an illusion to a Corona I’d launched at Rynn a few months back. I’d had my reasons, and they’d involved finding out he was an incubus . . . through a third party, after I’d already slept with him . . .

Not my proudest moment, a bit of an overreaction, but you got to admit I’d had a point.

“Like I said. Authentic,” Nadya replied.

I was fixated on the decoy to see what the hell else Nadya had told her to do, so I missed customs handing back our passports and waving us through. Apparently we didn’t look like a threat, and the commotion on the cruise ship was incentive to get everyone boarding faster. The cruise representative steered us past security. Craning my neck, I caught the IAA plainclothesmen push their way up the plank in pursuit of the decoy.

“Nadya, it’s not an escape plan if we all end up on the same boat. These guys aren’t like regular suits. They’re smart.”

Nadya shook her head as we speed-walked to keep up with our cruise hostess. “Not them, whoever is pulling the strings. Besides, we’re not getting on that cruise ship.”

“It’s the only one in the harbor.”

“That’s because the one we’re on has already left,” she said.

For not having a goddamn ship to walk onto, Nadya didn’t seem nearly as perplexed as she should have been. Screw appearances. I spun her around. “I think we should be a hell of a lot more concerned about not having a ship.”

She pursed her lips and grabbed my hand again, pulling me after her before the hostess noticed we’d stopped. “We’re VIP-class passengers. We don’t worry about silly things like departure times. We have helicopters. So look like you care a hell of a lot less before you screw this up. I plan on spending tonight on a six-star luxury cruise ship, not in an Egyptian jail!”

We turned the corner, and sure enough, there was a helicopter with the cruise ship logo waiting for us.

I readjusted my sunglasses as the two of us settled in. “Have I mentioned lately how frighteningly good you are at espionage?”

“No, but I’ll take it as a compliment. And thank Rynn, he gave me the idea of using a decoy a while back.”

Yeah . . . thank Rynn, for going behind my back and discussing my work strategies with Nadya. I had a sinking suspicion Rynn and I were headed for “off” again at warp speed.

It wasn’t until we touched down on the cruise ship deck that I gave my nerves a break. The ship was already well out of port, so I doubted the IAA would search for me on the open seas when they eventually clued in to the fact that the decoy wasn’t me.

Something occurred to me that a better person would have asked much earlier. “What happens if the IAA gets hold of her?”

“They won’t,” she said, and glanced over at the cruise hostess leading us towards our cabin. “She is Rynn’s contact.”

So she was supernatural. Yeah, if the IAA did get close enough, they were in for a treat. Shame it hadn’t been the agent who’d threatened to shoot me in the leg . . .

Our hostess came to a stop partway down the hall and, with a flourish, opened a door made of polished teak.

I let out a whistle. Man, I thought first-class planes were cushy . . .

There was a full kitchenette and bar, accompanied by a plush living room done in a classier version of a nautical theme, with couches, drapes, and linens in coordinating blue, tan, and white. The furniture, like the door, was teak, and the balcony was . . . damn, I wish my balcony in Seattle was that nice.

Nadya had the sense to thank and tip the woman, while I just stood there, drooling at the decor.

“Don’t get used to it,” she said after the hostess left. “The next port of call is Greece, where we’ll be transferring off first thing in the morning. We’ll fly out of wherever they aren’t looking.”

Nadya gave me a pointed stare and picked up Captain’s carrier, cooing through the screen at him before picking the larger of the two bedrooms. “In the meantime, I’m taking a nap.”

I ran my hand through my hair. After the run through Egypt I just had? Less nap, more drown my shot nerves in alcohol. “I’m going to go find the bar,” I said.

Nadya frowned from the doorway. “You should probably call your boyfriend first. I did not tell him about our side trip to Algiers, but you should.”

I winced. Yeah, I think that’s what I needed the drink for.

As Mr. Kurosawa’s interim security, Rynn was somewhat responsible for knowing what happened during my retrieval jobs, as well as assessing risk. That’s where the problems had started. I’m not exactly one for well-drawn-out plans—I have plans, they just tend to be more “let’s see what happens when we get there” over drawn-out steps. What can I say? I like flexibility.

He was going to be pissed about Egypt and Algiers. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, I couldn’t blame him. This job had turned into a three-ring circus.

I nodded to Nadya and headed for the fridge . . . God, I hoped the room was stocked. It was, in the form of a six-pack of Corona. Small miracles . . .

Beer in hand, I grabbed my phone and headed onto the balcony. I leaned up against the rail and watched Alexandria get smaller and smaller in the distance.

I couldn’t shake the feeling I was watching it burn, even though from all reports the protests were mostly contained now. A flash of chaos in the frying pan. Or maybe that was just the lingering smell of oil.

The IAA. Out of all the specters from my past, they’d been low on my radar, well behind the vampires. The Algiers bait, the elaborate Egyptian sting . . . someone in the IAA knew what I was going to do before I did. The question was who?

Benji’s words came back to me. Whatever I’d stolen this time had pissed them the hell off. Again, it’d be real nice if they bothered to tell me what it was, preferably before the shooting began. It wasn’t like I’d stolen anything earth shattering. The only contact I had in the archaeology community was Benji, and he was a reluctant contact at that.

Speaking of Benji, there was another black strike for the IAA to throw against Owl; kidnapping and holding hostage poor unsuspecting graduate students. Damned if I do . . .

Here’s hoping Mr. Kurosawa had a way to intercept them as well. My God, I was becoming more and more dependent on my evil boss to clean up my messes. Here’s to slippery slopes.

Well, no sense putting off the inevitable. I took a deep breath and opened my phone. There were already two text messages waiting for me.

The first one was simple. Next time, call. Preferably before someone is shooting at/trying to eat you.

OK. Safe, no accusations or told you so . . . It was the second, most recent note that worried me though. Will route travel info to Nadya. Think someone is spying on you—explain when you land in Vegas.

I almost put the phone away and bailed on calling. That’s my first instinct—ignore the problem and pretend everything is fine . . . or avoid it until it magically disappears, not that it ever does. Kind of the same logic Captain uses when he begs for people food and about the same success rate—zero—but hey, there’s always a chance.

All right, I felt I owed him an apology too. That’s the worst thing about cultivating meaningful connections and relationships with ­people . . . well, not human, in Rynn’s case . . . I’m still wrapping my head around that small detail too. The point is, as soon as you start trusting people, no matter how much you fight it, at some point along the way you start caring what the hell they think of you.

Damn it, I hate self-reflection.

I dialed and waited for him to pick up. It only took two rings.

“Alix?”

In spite of all the lies I’d told myself over the past two years—hell, in the last hour running through Alexandria—there was another reason I needed to talk to Rynn. One I didn’t even want to admit to myself . . .

“Rynn, things went really bad—and it’s my fault.”

I was scared as hell of the IAA, and I desperately needed someone besides Nadya to talk to.

And with that, beer well in hand, I began to explain just how badly things had gone over the past two days, including how the hell Alexandria had happened in the first place. Algiers.

There’s only so much you can lie to yourself before reality crashes in.