Incarnate: Mars Origin "I" Series Book III (5 page)

I
closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath.

Maybe we would be safe here.

I
crossed the Gund Commons, the small foyer at the front of the museum, and
stepped up to the Information Desk. I didn’t recognize the girl that sat there.

“Hi.
I’m Dr. Justin Dickerson,” I said. “I’m a professor at Case. I needed to see
Johanna. Is she in?”

I
crossed my fingers that she was.

“Yes,
she is. She’s on four. In the Main Gallery.”

I
blew out a breath.
Thank goodness.

I
thanked the girl and went back to get Micah. I heard him leaving a message for
his father, something about me flipping out. I decided not to say anything to
him and instead walked toward the entrance and peered out. I could see the
space where the SUV had been parked.

It
wasn’t there anymore.

I
didn’t see the men either.

Maybe they left.

I
sighed in relief. They hadn’t followed us into the museum.

Maybe, Justin,
I quipped quietly,
no one
was really following you in the first place.
I shook the thought off. 
I swear this was like
déjà vu.
It was the same as the “Pizza Fiasco” as
my husband, Mase, called it when I thought someone had followed me home from
the pizza shop. And, it was the same as when Nikhil Chandra had told me that a
man in a blue ford Taurus was always parked in front of my house. I began
seeing that car everywhere.

That should have been a clue that the men with the Ford Escape weren’t
following me. It wasn’t possible that everybody that was after me drove a Ford.

I
sucked my teeth. I was too paranoid for my own good.

I’m really going to have to get a hold of myself.

I
headed to the back of the museum to the elevator and pushed the ‘Up’ button.

“Where
you going?”

I
turned around to see my son. “I told you, Micah that I was going to see
Johanna.” I figured I’d better go ahead and really see her. Micah was already
questioning my sanity. Better try to hold on to my integrity.

“I
thought you were just saying that to get away from the people who were
following you.” He curled two fingers on each hand, indicating that the word
‘people’ in his phrase was in quotes.

Okay,
so maybe I had already lost my integrity with him.

“She’s
one of the curators here.” I said.

“Yeah
and?”

I
didn’t have an answer for that. Still didn’t even know what I was going to say
to Johanna. Thankfully, he ignored me and looked over my shoulder. “I’ll wait
in there,” he said and pointed to the MOCA Store. “That is, if you’ll be okay?”

“Yes.
I’ll be okay. I think they’ve gone.”

“The
‘people’?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,
the people.” This time I made the air quotation marks.

I
heard the ding for the elevator and told Micah I’d find him in the store when I
came down. I smiled at him as the doors closed.

When
I got up to the fourth floor Main Gallery, I found Johanna in speaking with
someone. I peeked my head in through the glass doors.

“Justin!
C’mon in.”

“You’re
busy.”

“This
is King Magnum. He’s got an exhibition here starting tomorrow. We were just
looking over everything.”

Swinging
the door open further, I propped it open with my hip and stuck my hand in to
shake Mr. Magnum’s. “Pleasure to meet you.” My eyes scanned the room.
“Everything looks great.”

“Thank
you,” he said.

“And
this is Dr. Justin Dickerson. She’s an archeologist at the Museum of Natural
History and teaches it over at Case.”

“Nice
to meet you,” he said, and smiled.

“I’ll
wait out here for you,” I said to Johanna. I didn’t want to get in her way
especially since I really didn’t have anything to say to her. Anything
important leastways.

I
went back in the hallway and sat down on the bench. The MOCA is an odd-shaped
structure, small, with little spaces and nooks. In the hall where I sat, there
was a stairwell that led up to landings where there was no art It seemed to me
to be a bad use of space, When I had said that to Johanna, she had assured me
that the design was art itself.

Evidently,
modern art was not my cup of tea.

I
sat between the elevators and four rectangular windows. The two glass doors
that led to the small Main Gallery and the bench were all that made up the
fourth floor.

I
put my hands in my lap and twiddled my thumbs. What was I going to say to
Johanna? I sighed. And so did my belly. My stomach had started to grumble. I
rubbed it. I was sorry we were missing lunch as Club Isabella’s
. Maybe we
could just eat at one of the restaurants near here
, I thought. The guys are
gone. We’re safe now.

Feeling
kind of claustrophobic, wondering which restaurants were close by, and not
wanting to appear impatient, I walked over to the window. I could see up a
block or so on Euclid Avenue. I looked on the opposite side of the street.
“Potbelly’s. That sounds good. I wonder would Micah like that. Oh. There’s
Barnes & Noble,” I spoke out loud. “They have a small café in there I think
. . . Oh, I think there’s a Jimmy John’s on this side of -” I stopped
mid-sentence.

There
they were. The men that I thought were following me.

The
ones that
were
following me.

I
swiped my hand over my brow and back over the curls of my hair.

“Omigoodness.”

Standing
by the car parked on the street almost in front of the museum, the three men
were huddled together. One appeared to be on a cell phone and one of the others
kept peering over his should watching the museum.

He’s trying to make sure I don’t escape.

“Micah.”
I whispered, “What if they come in after Micah?”

I
licked my lips and swiped my hands down the leg of my pants to get rid of the
sweat that had covered my palms. I felt my knees starting to give out on me and
I went back to sit on the bench.

What was I going to do?

I
puckered my lips, filled my cheeks with air and blew it out. I could hear my
heartbeat in my ears. I tried to steady my breath, which had started coming
erratically. I let out a loud moan. Sitting here was only going to get me
caught.

Caught?
And then what would they do with me?
To me?

“Omigoodness.”

I
got up and went back to the window. Just as I got there they broke up the
huddle, one went around the car to the driver’s side and got in. The other two
headed toward the museum.

Me
coming in here and bringing Micah was not a good idea.

The
door they were headed toward was the one closest to the elevator. And the one
closest to the MOCA Store where Micah was waiting for me.

I
glanced in at Johanna. She was still talking to the artist. I couldn’t interrupt
her. I ran to the stairs. They were steep, gray concrete steps. I guess that
they were meant as artwork as well. Contemporary artwork and not a means of
escape. I ran down a flight and it led me nowhere. There was no room or space
to use as a place to hide. I kept going.

Would they really try to hurt me in here?

“Oh
my goodness.” I could hardly keep my balance on the steps. I stumbled and
almost fell several times. There were no banister to hang on to, just a waist
high wall that encased the steps. Standing on the landing going to the first
floor I could see the door that me and Micah had come in only minutes ago. I
was breathing hard, biting my lip and wondering if I could make it to that
door.

But
then where would I go? I didn’t know, but I had to try.

And
what about Micah?

Maybe they had already done something to him.

I
shook that thought from my head. They wanted me. Of that I was sure. They
wouldn’t bother him.

I
took in a deep breath and headed down the steps as fast as I could move my
little feet and overweight frame. As I neared the bottom of the steps I saw
someone coming in the glass doors.
Good
, I thought,
now I won’t have
to take the time to pull the door open. I can slide right out.

I
would get out of the museum, try to make it over to University Hospital’s
campus, which was only a half a block away and where I could easily get lost or
seek help if I had to from their security. There I could call Micah and tell
him to get away to safety.

It
was the best plan.

Or
so I thought.

I
got to the last step, and on my way to try and slip out of the door that was no
more than ten feet away, I turned and looked directly into the eyes of the
short, burly guy.

“Oh
shoot.” I choked the words out.

I
hopped through the door and started running in the opposite way of the
hospital. Don’t ask me why. That’s just the way I went. Down the street
toward
the parked car, toward the place where those men had just emerged. I stopped,
started to turn the other way, stopped again and turned back to continue the
way I had started. I heard Micah yell for me. He was coming out the door. And
then I saw him swing at the guy with the beard. It looked like the guy had
stepped up to speak with Micah.  I wasn’t sure. Should I go and help
Micah?

Then
Micah hit him again.

Walking
backwards, I saw the bearded guy’s head snap back as it met with Micah’s fist.
Bearded guy regained his footing and swung on Micah. I screamed but Micah
ducked and bearded guy’s fist missed hitting him.

Coming
back up, he turned to me and yelled, “Ma! Run!” So I tried.

 I
turned and ran smack dab into the hard, rather large chest of Car Guy. I bumped
into him and bounced off his chest. I whipped around to run away from and saw
the third guy coming toward me.

“Oh
my God.” I whispered. I didn’t know how to get away. No place to go. So I
screamed. “Aaauuuu!”

Somebody
had to notice us.

Surely
somebody would try to come and help.

“Dr.
Dickerson,” Car Guy said. “Don’t scream. Please.”

So
I screamed again.

He
grabbed my arms to steady me. “You need to come with us.”

I
looked around wildly, wiggling trying to break free I elbowed him. It was a
pitiful attempt at self-preservation because there was no way I could have
caused any injury to that guy.

Bulky
guy had reached us by then and had opened the car door and nudged me inside. He
stood guard to make sure I didn’t get out until Car Guy went around and got
back in the SUV. Then Bearded Guy pulled down the seat belt and handed it to
the driver who buckled me in.

Safety
conscious kidnappers. Go figure.

I
looked in Car Guy’s face as he buckled himself in. “Are you going to kill me?”

He
pulled down on the gear stick, turned around in his seat to back out and said,
“Not if I don’t have to.”

What was that supposed to mean?

I
decided no more screaming.

I
turned to look out of the window, and there was Micah still fighting. He swept
his leg under Bearded Guy causing him to fall just as the other kidnapper
arrived back over. The driver backed up, jerked the car into gear and I heard
the tires squeal as he pulled off.

As
many times as I had thought about what I’d do if someone ever tried to abduct
me, I had never pictured myself going down without a fight, sitting quietly,
all buckled in.

“Omigoodness.”
I let my head drop back on the headrest.

The
driver looked over at me and said with a chuckle, “I hope that guy you were
with don’t hurt my guys too badly.”

 I
looked over my shoulder out of the window and saw my son throw a right hook
across Bulky Guy’s jaw, which knocked him to his knees. Micah turned and
started toward the car. I saw the determination in his face as he came running
after me. And over the loud thumping of my heart I could hear him shouting,
calling out my name.

“Ma!
Maaaaa!”

Cairo, Egypt

Two
weeks ago, to gain access to the apartment where he was camped out, Castor had
set a fire to run the family who had lived in it for the past five years out.
They had lost everything but their lives that day.

He
had been feeling generous.

He
had approached the building management pretending to be the contractor called
to remodel the suite. That too took a little finagling, but he needed to be
able to have full, and sole, access to the space. He was adept in persuading
people to go along with what he needed. A trait he prided himself on. Once he
got access, he set up his command station and the first thing he did was put up
a wall clock. One that had a second hand that he could hear as the time ticked
away. He led a measured life. Hearing the ticking of the clock gave him an
audible pulse. A soundtrack to the assassination.

It
was getting close to five o’clock. Close to end of the business day.

Close
to the end of her life.

He
would be glad to kill her. To finally pull that trigger, spill some blood and
release some of this anxiety he felt. To be at the whim of an ambitious,
self-centered, mad scientist had set off a low, constant drumming in his
temple. A kill, he felt, would set him back at ease.

Castor
had known Aaron Coulter for years, but never had been in his employ. Aaron was
young at the time they met. He was handsome, well-bred, and quite arrogant. He
was smart. Something he was not using to his advantage as of late. Castor
remembered thinking when he first met Aaron that archaeology was a strange
profession for a man with such ambition. But only after a few years in the
field Castor had heard that Aaron was making a name for himself. Now that he
understand that the man also had a ruthless streak in him, he understood why.

Castor
Armeni hadn’t gone a completely different route than Aaron to get to the point
he was at today. But they had landed in two different places.

He
had been born in Mozambique and raised in an orphanage until age fourteen when
he ran away to find his own way in life. That life hadn’t come easy, but it was
the valuable lessons that he learned on the streets that made him into a man.

He
had found love, and been happy with that. For a while. A broken heart, no
different than any other person who had loved and lost, compelled him to keep
moving. And he thought, maybe one day he’d find that part of life again. Unlike
many others in his profession, he understood that things in life didn’t always
have to be hardcore and on the edge. That life could move on a different beat.
One much slower than the one he was programed at this point in his life. He
knew, however, that wouldn’t happen for him anytime soon.

He
pulled the black card table over close to him, took out the burner cell phone
that he and Aaron used to communicate and laid it on the table. He didn’t want
to have to fumble with it when the call from Aaron came in.

He
rubbed his hands down his pants leg, cracked his knuckles and took a look through
his sniper scope.

Yep,
there was a different beat that maybe someday he could live in. But for now, he
was satisfied with the life he was living – and taking the lives when the price
was right.