The Art Thief's Guide To Freedom

11: Step Eleven: How To Scrape A Dead Guy Off The Ceiling

"Police are hunting a gang of art thieves after four masked men broke into a museum in Bath and stole priceless jade and gold artifacts. The raid on the (MEAA) in Bennett Street took place at about 1.20am on Tuesday 17 April. A first-floor window was smashed and the thieves broke into several display cabinets to steal a number of artifacts described as culturally significant. Among the objects taken were a jade monkey holding a peach, jade Mandarin ducks and a Chinese stoneware vase."

~Steven Morris, The Guardian, 18 April 2018

~**~~**~

His vision was coming back in waves. Flashes of light and dark shadows raced past his face and his eyes couldn't pick one thing to focus on.

Everything was silent except for a shrill ringing in his ears. It pounded in his skull, ripping at his mind with an eager fierceness.

With a grunt, Will pushed himself up onto his elbows and then his knees. A piece of glass cut into the meat of his palm and stayed lodged there. The scent of thick, hot smoke filled his senses, choking him. He coughed rapidly to expel it from his lungs but every breath was agony.

Something hot was dripping down his face and Will raised a hand to touch it.

It came away bloody.

His mind finally pieced together what had happened.

A bombing.

Choking, Will heaved himself to his feet. His radio was in his back pocket and he struggled to pull it out. Finding it intact, he radioed out.

"This is Agent Patterson, serial number alpha delta four seven one tango. I have 10-80 on Walsh and South. Requesting 11-99. Over."

He unholstered his weapon and crouched low, making himself as small a target as possible.

There could be another device triggered upon a secondary response.

He coughed as the radio transmitted a message. "Copy, Agent Patterson. Help is on the way. Is there an 11-44?"

He could smell the scent of burning flesh flood the air, along with the plumes of black smoke.

"Possible," he spoke into the radio. "Requesting 11-41, over."

"Copy, help is on the way. Remain where you are."

His eyes swept the area, desperately trying to focus.

About fifty feet away, he saw a prone body lying on the ground, a mess of black hair covering the face.

Nico.

"Do you copy?" the radio crackled.

Flames rose above her, spiraling towards the sky. Her left leg twitched slightly and Will pocketed the radio and raced forward.

"Agent Patterson, do you copy?!"

He could hear the operator calling him but he ignored her.

Covering the ground in seconds, he crouched over her body. Pressing two fingers to her throat, he felt for a pulse.

Her vein throbbed under his touch.

A sigh of relief threatened to escape him but they weren't out of the woods yet. He holstered his gun and rolled her to the side.

He knew that he shouldn't move her in case there was an internal injury but she was too close to the blast zone.

Either could prove fatal.

His decision was made for him when the breaking of glass sounded in his ears and another explosion rocked the ground. Sweeping her into his arms, he tried to drag her to safety.