Cursed Bones

Chapter 8: The museum job

"Hi dad," I say, putting the phone on speaker.
We are all gathered around it, at a picnic bench by the water. I don't want anyone tracing the signal.
"Why are you calling this number?" My father, a warm and caring individual.
"I need a team to break into the British Museum, to steal one artifact," I say, heavily, "You can't ask me why."
"What's in it for me?"
"I'm going to send you a list of items in the museum that are forgeries. Take these and tip off the insurers that they are in fact forged and avoid the pay out you can make several million, on top of whatever else you can make selling the forgeries on the black market," I say.
"Send me the list. Meet me at the space needle in two days, noon." He hangs up.
My friends stare at me.
"What?" I ask.
"You—did say your family is unusual," Rush nods.
"This means he'll help. He's in anything for the money," I say, "And he can use us as free labor for the heist."
We meet him at the Space Needle, all in dark leather jackets, and glasses. You know, like criminals wear. My father isn't alone but his fellow men are silent.
"I run the job. Not you," he says.
"Done," I say.
"I take it the people who you are stealing from know all of you by face if not by name?" My father asks.
"Correct," I nod.
"We move in three days. Opening of an exhibit is the biggest draw. We'll meet in Heathrow and you will all do exactly as you are told. Are you known to authorities in England?"
"Yes," I nod, because of Elgin's men. We'll be wanted, "Not in Scotland."
"They like us there," Riker agrees.
"Boarder's too far. What about France?" He asks.
"If we're clean, with no stolen goods, we're fine in France," I say, shrugging, "But I doubt we can get through Heathrow or even onto a legal boat."
"You're not going to. There is a tunnel. You get the rest of the plan as you need it."
"Fine," I say, folding my arms, "Did you—tell my mother about this?"
"Do I look stupid?" He asks, then he turns to walk away.
"So that means he didn't tell her?" Anna asks, because I have my head in my hands.
"Nope. That means he definitely told her," I say, heavily.
We go home to pack up for the trip. That means passports, a fake passport for Rush (apparently Riker and Doc had gotten it for him, he just doesn't often test it), and only what we can carry on us or in a small bag. We're traveling light to say the least. Leather jackets, leather biking pants, boots, and our cell phones and headphones. I set up enough cat food for the week. And we depart.
We've got a direct flight to Heathrow from SeaTac. My father did not book us good seats but he is a (good?) wingman and puts me in a row with Rush and the other three are together.
It's the first proper chance we've had to talk to since he got back, and an eighteen odd hour flight to do it on.
"Are we cool?" Rush asks, once we sit down, "I mean us, beyond the mission."
"You could have told me you know," I say, softly, "I'm sorry I threw you out like that. It was a bit of an overreaction."
"I was angry too. I apologize. I just—this isn't an excuse explanation. I spent twenty some years of my life hiding. If authorities, ever, questioned me I was going to be deported, somewhere they'd think I was an illegal immigrant. Then—you were cool. I wanted it to not matter," he says.
"I'm sorry too. I was—a little over suspicious. No more secrets?"
"No more secrets—well, not from each other," he says.
"To exclude birthdays and other necessary surprises," I say.
"Absolutely not I'm never trying to surprise you again," he laughs.
"I was surprised!"
"But you thought I was seeing other people."
"But I thought you might be seeing other people," I say.
We both laugh a little. Then his smile fades.
"Yeah. We're cool, I don't know where this puts us. But. I'm willing to try again if you are," I say, holding out the ring to him.
He nods, taking it carefully.
"Maybe save that yeah? Might need it again?" I ask.
"Yeah," he smiles finally.
We spend the rest of the flight trying to sleep. Rush doesn't need to try very hard. After his last week, you know, on the floor of a tomb, he's more than ready to curl up on my shoulder. And I'm ready to let him. After what we've been through trying to find him I'm more than comforted by him simply being here, safe. We're about to do something totally unsafe I'm aware. But. For now he's asleep on my shoulder. I try to watch movies on my phone and sleep too. My mother texted me politely reminding me of all the times I swore I was different from my father. I apologize to Cassie in advance for whatever our mom is going to tell her and I ask her to take care of my cat if I don't make it back.
I fall asleep for a little while, just to land in Heathrow more jet lagged than ever before, and sore. Adrenaline quickly gets me going, however.
One of my father's men meets us in the main terminal.
"Keys," he says, talkative fellow. He hands us each a set of keys, one for Riker and Doc who shrug at this. "Outside."
On our phones we're dropped each individual instructions. We naturally compare.
Anna and Rush and I are to wait on motorcycles, outside the British museum, at ten am tomorrow morning. We are to be off the motorcycles waiting. Doc is going to throw us a black bag, we all three are already to be carrying two identical black bags. We turn and one of us take the new one (me because my father loves me?), and then we go get on our motorcycles. By now Elgin's men and British PD will likely give chase. We are to head down the highway towards the Chunnel (the channel tunnel, the British are very funny). Once we cross the boarder where French police will likely be waiting for us, we are in the clear.
Sounds easy. It will not be.
For tonight, we collect the motorcycles from city parking, and convene at a Hilton in London. Right now we're to act like tourists, albeit tourists with little to no luggage who clearly just flew in. We check in, there's room service already ordered for us, and two rooms to divid up how we see fit. Anna and Rush and I take one, and Doc and Riker take the other. There are king size beds so we all three just elect to pass back out for a few hours memorizing our route. That means that we lie there platonically then once we are asleep somehow Rush and I wind up using each other as comfort items. I wake up to the familiar feeling of his arm draped over me, head snuggled into my chest. Anna is polite enough to ignore that this even occurred.
We take turns clean up. Room service sends up breakfast we eat a little.
Doc and Riker are to leave a bit before us, they do, with a nod in the hallway and that's all. I can't believe how much I act like and feel like a criminal in the 21st century. Even though if anyone has a legal claim to the thing it's Rush. But even so. I pass so much better in other countries and centuries it's shameful. I'm disappointed in me as well.
We wait until nine thirty, then go get our bikes from again, London street parking. All three BMW S 1000. Black. With identical license plates. Rush, Anna, and I are dressed identically.
Now.
I realize this is all made up. And clearly not at all true. But. I'm just going to say. Don't. Like none of the following. Don't. Don't do it.
All right. Had to get that out there.
We pull up in front of the British museum at nine fifty. We park, illegally, and walk up to the steps. Rush and I are both holding black backpacks.
I can hear blood rushing in my ears. Not my second or third or fourth heist but damn if I don't prefer them when there aren't cameras on me.
Doc walks down the steps, confidentially, and tosses the black backpack to Anna. She catches it, and we all three turn out. Swiftly, she and I swap bags. Then we run and get back on our motorcycles. It's a foggy London day, and quite cool but I'm still sweating.
We're to the end of the street before I hear the first commotion. The last stop light we will ever abide by. My hands are tight on the grips and I can still hear my blood pounding in my ears.
There's the rev of motorcycles behind us. As one we take off. Now we're weaving and bobbing our way in and out of traffic, splitting lanes, and running red lights. I chance a glance back and there are five of them on us. Elgin's men I assume because they aren't cop bikes, they're black like ours. I'll reflect later on why they think they need that many posted around the museum. Wait maybe it's because of us. Oh that's kind of flattering.
We're going 80 mph, and now 85, that's dangerously fast to whip in and out of traffic. Anna and I take turns leading, we're both better on the bikes than Rush, but he's keeping pace with us. Once I drop back to let him take the middle while I weave to confuse our pursuers. But we had a head start and we're going at breakneck speeds out of London.
We hit the A-20 after telegraph hill and now it is race time. These bikes can do over 200 mph and we are about to. I used to do this as a kid on a school night. My friends are later going to be getting me therapy when I admit that.
I laugh, we're whipping by cars on the margin, the Elgin's men are in hot pursuit but we're on racing bikes. We're going to be faster than them plus we have a head's start.
Traffic quickly vanishes behind us as we hit open countryside. By now I can hear sirens, they radioed for police back up. That's not great but it was to be expected. A cop car pulls onto the road ahead of us. We whip past it. We are not about to stop now, and the Elgin's men are not about to stop either, at this point it just looks like a motorcycle chase I don't' know if local PD knows they're government servants or not.
Normally the trip from London to Dover takes an hour and a half to two hours.
We make it in closer to half an hour, by my best estimate. My arms are throbbing and my bike hasn't been below 180 since we cleared London.
Now, the thing about the Chunnel. It's for a train. They do not think we're going to do this.
I had let Rush set pace to confuse the pursuers, I managed to nearly get one to wipe out. Anyway I'm an awful person. Moving on. We're now approaching Dover. I once again take the lead.
And a cop car pulls out in front of us. Anna signals she'll take it, and darts off the road, driving the cop car off too. A couple of Elgin's men swarm her. I'm the only one going down the Chunnel I'm the only one mad enough to do this plus Rush has no ID.
He cuts off when reach the station, directly up to a couple of cops. He gets off hands up. Elgin's men swarm him. I growl internally, but I know British PD won't let them actually take him.
And I jump the curve of the station, and go down the steps. My bike is shaking, and I can hear the roar of engines as the Elgin's men try to copy my move to get in here.
I have finally slowed down enough to guide the bike onto the tracks. A couple people shout but there's no real warning I'm here so quickly and then gone.
On the side of the tracks I start to make time again, I need to get my speed up. I can hear the roar of motorcycles behind me.
And there's a train coming. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. I pick up speed. I don't know the physics behind it. That's not my thing. I do not know math. But. I do know that if I go fast enough I can drive on the walls of a tunnel and even be upside down for a moment. So that's really cool and very fun and don't.
I whip up the wall just in time as the train careens towards me, accelerating as I do, and whipping over the top of the tunnel to come down on the other side, as the train passes me and I pass it. It's a few seconds since we're both going at such high speeds. I still hear engines behind me so some of them at least did the same stunt.
One more train. The Chunnel is pretty long actually by my estimate I'm in here for twenty minutes.
I push the bike as hard as I can, once again riding up the side of the tunnel. The train whips past, and once again I'm driving into darkness, just the glow of my rather dim headlight.
Light races up to greet me. As welcome as exiting the tomb. And I'm whipping out into the sunlight. I skid to a stop. There are sirens going everywhere and French police.
I stumble off the bike, laughing, hands up. I compose myself to whip my helmet off.
"They were chasing me. Those crazy men they have chased me, and caught my friends, I think they are murderers," I say, emphatically, pointing at the Elgin's men.
"No—no, he stole—he's a thief," oh wow it's Warwick. He's still got so many stiches from my cat. And I can't even laugh. "He's a thief he stole from the British museum, we're security."
"Take my bag, absolutely, whatever you need," I say, holding up my hands still.
One of the french cops takes my bag off my shoulders. He unzips it at my feet. Inside it's stuffed with bubble wrap.
"They stole a statue," Warwick insists.
The french policeman unwraps the bubble wrap to reaveal, a rubber duck. My father has a sense of humor.
"But—but neither of the others—," Warwick's face loses all color as he realizes he was just played.
I always like being the diversion.
"This is your statue?" The french police are now amused.
"No—no—well why—why would he be carrying a backpack full of bubble wrap and a rubber duck??" Warwick asks, possibly the greatest sentence ever spoken. I need to thank my dad for that alone. "What does he need a rubber duck for?" Oh it got better. I'm trying not to laugh.
"It's an inside joke, my friends and I were going to go on a road trip around England. To see castles. I like castles," I say, in French.
Warwick, who once nearly got shot by me, on the ramparts of castle, in 1345, "He's a liar. He stole—."
"There is no stolen goods," The french police man says, "We will talk to you both. At the station."
And we talk.
I text Anna and Rush that I'm fine and they confirm they are too. We all talk to the police. But since we had nothing in our bags but bubble wrap and rubber ducks, that's not illegal. Getting in a street race is, but we profess our fear for our lives from these apparent murderers, and that we were being chased. We're fined with reckless driving and are sent on our way. Doc and Riker, similarly, walked into a museum, got a backpack from a friend, and gave it to us before our trip. Not a crime. And we explain happily to the police that the rubber ducks were a joke, we were going to hide them for the other to find around London. Which is a fun little story to tell people because they're either like "you're very immature" or "fuck that's not bad actually". We're all released in a few days, and we gladly pay the fines. Then we move up our flights home as we had such a traumatic experience.
I don't stop laughing about the phrase 'what does he need a rubber duck for' for, oh, eighty two hours. I think Rush wants to break up with me when I insist on keeping all the rubber ducks. He actually says "I'm divorcing you" when security pulls us aside, once again ask "What do you need these rubber ducks for?" And I descend into hysterics. No he thinks it's funny too he's just more nervous around security people than I am which is weird in that I've committed worse crimes.
The flight back to Seattle is quietly jubilant. We compare news stories of the mysterious British Museum robbery they aren't releasing what is missing right now. They will later.
We pick up our cars in Seattle's long term parking, Riker took the college van which is interesting I don't know how he got that. And we drive home. I'm staying with them till I find a place.
Two days later, I drive back down to Seattle, Pike's Market. I'm not a fan of Pikes' Market honestly too many tourists. But, it's not bad for things like this.
My father is waiting at a cafe table, ripped t-shirt and shorts, he looks like anyone's embarrassing dad.
"Thanks for the rubber ducks, you don't know how happy they made me," I say, by way of greeting.
"I thought you would enjoy that," he grunts, "Here, brought you a present." He hands me a messenger bag. When I take it it's clearly nearly fifty pounds.
"Dad—," I frown. This is not just the statue.
"Who bought you that shiny Egyptology book when you were four or whatever?" He asks.
"Thank you," I say, taking the bag. It's ridiculously heavy, "You still made a profit?"
"Don't doubt me. Pleasure doing business with you," he says, moving to stand.
"You're not going to ask why?" I ask.
"Son, I've seen that place you live. I know you're not making money on it. You do what's right," he says, patting my shoulder, "You seeing that gay boy again?"
"By the grace of god," I sigh, clutching the bag.
"Good for you. He seemed pleasant. Bring him back to dinner sometime eh?" He asks.
"I will and dad— thanks," I say.
He nods, winking a bit.
I drive back home with my stolen goods. Everyone is waiting at Skagit Valley college. I step into the elevator, nearly bending under the weight of the bag, with an iced coffee, because I wasn't that nervous apparently about driving with stolen goods.
"You got it?" Rush asks, a little nervously.
"He got more than it," Anna says, seeing the weight of the bag.
I walk up to the fold out table, and open the bag, gold spills out. Gold coins. Gold chains. Old coins. An old dagger. Several child's toys. A few manuscripts in paper.
"What on earth?" Doc asks.
"He understood the assignment," I say.
"All this is real," Rush says, quietly, "None of these are the forgeries we've been feeding them how did he—?"
"He presumably cross referenced my list, and gave us some gifts," I say, staring at it.
"Well then, let's get to work?" Riker asks.
I smile, and Rush does too.
"Yeah," I say, "Let's put this stuff back where it belongs."

This isn't the end. Because time isn't linear. Technically. This is always happening. ;)