American Heroes Series - 01 - Resurrection (16 page)

So normal, in fact, that Cydney wasn’t paying any attention to the well-dressed man making his way toward The Lucius Robe case.  Truth be told, Cydney wasn’t very alert; her mind was focused on her missing daughter and she wasn’t able to concentrate on much else. 

 When she heard the first pop of a gun, she had no idea what it was. It sounded weak and muted.  But she turned in the direction of the noise just in time to see one of the FBI agents guarding The Lucius Robe fall to the floor. The second agent was just drawing his weapon when the gunman turned his weapon on him, sending a bullet through the man’s head. It happened so fast that it was like watching it all in fast motion, a scene out of a movie that was horrific and abrupt.  There was hardly time to take a breath as it all went down. 

Chaos erupted and Cydney found herself sprinting towards the case. All she could think of was protecting the robe. The gunman planted three armor-piercing rounds into the acrylic case in rapid succession, splitting the corner seam of the case and knocking the entire display onto the floor.  People were screaming and undercover FBI agents were running towards the case from all directions.  The hermetically sealed, vandal-proof case was cracked open and the gunman reached in and yanked out the ancient robe.

With the robe in one hand, the gunman proceeded to lift his weapon and cap off several rounds at the FBI agents closing in on him.  The men dove for cover as the explosive tipped rounds exploded against the walls and priceless artwork.  Cydney screamed at the museum security force to hit the ground or run away, reaching the shattered case about the same time Stu did.  The gunman turned on them both and shot Stu in the shoulder as the man put himself between Cydney and certain death.

Cydney shrieked as Stu went down.  Looking up, she found herself looking down the barrel of a gun and into very dark, wicked eyes. The gunman stared back at her for a split second before giving her a wink and turning the gun on two other agents who were running at him from the south gallery.  He continued firing his weapon as he began to run, hitting another agent in the chest. People were falling to the ground all over the place as the gunman capped off round after explosive round, doing severe damage to the gallery as he fled toward the front doors.

Suddenly, a museum security guard ran right at the man and Cydney yelled at the guard to back down.  She was positive he was going to be killed. But the man wasn’t listening to her; in fact, he pulled out a gun of his own and took down an agent who had just stepped off the elevator and into their path.  Now there were two gunmen, firing their weapons wildly and hitting walls, artwork and, on occasion, people.  Cydney dropped to the floor when a bullet whizzed past her head, moving to Stu and throwing herself over him protectively. As she watched in horror, the two gunmen fled out of the front door with The Lucius Robe in their possession.

They could hear more bullets fired outside and people screaming in the parking lot.  People in the museum, lying on the floor, began to stir but Cydney loudly and calmly ordered them to stay down.  Abruptly, the door from the roof access stairs shot open and Ethan, followed by J.D., bolted across the gallery entry and out the front door.  Cydney could see Ethan as he ran down the long entry courtyard, watching him in the distance as he suddenly dropped to one knee and fired off several rounds into the parking lot.  Then he, and several agents who had been outside of the museum, ran out of her sight.

It was suddenly still in the gallery. Like a switch thrown, everything went from bedlam to deafening quiet all in an instant. Dust and smoke were everywhere. People were crying, some were moaning. 

Stunned, Cydney looked down to see Stu’s blue eyes gazing up at her.  He was bleeding profusely from the shoulder wound.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed, looking around for something to stop the bleeding with. “Stu, you’re going to be okay. It doesn’t look that bad.”

There was a woman a few feet away with a sweat jacket around her waist.  Cydney reached out and pulled at the jacket; the woman saw what she was doing and untied the garment, throwing it to her.  Cydney pressed it hard against Stu’s shoulder.

“You’re going to be all right,” she repeated, pressing the jacket against his shoulder with one hand and stroked his forehead with the other. “Say something, Stu. Can you hear me?”

Stu was staring up at the ceiling now.  He nodded his head faintly. “I was just thinking,” he muttered. “Two tours in Iraq and I finally get it in a museum of all places. This really sucks.”

Cydney smiled. “You’re not going to get it yet,” she said firmly. “It’s just a shoulder wound. You’ll be fine.”

She said it but she wasn’t sure she believed it.  She wasn’t a doctor. Around them, people were picking themselves up off the floor.  Anne-Michelle suddenly appeared from the stairwell that led from the lower levels and her brown eyes widened at the horror and destruction.  She clapped a hand over her mouth as if to hold back the scream at the sight of all the blood and damage. 

Behind Anne-Michelle appeared three of the preparators, young men with wide eyes and open mouths. It looked like a war zone.  Anne-Michelle’s gaze finally fell on Cydney and the Director of Operations waved her over.

Anne-Michelle was shaking violently by the time she reached Cydney.  Then she saw Stu on the ground and she fell to her knees.

“Oh, my God,” she gasped. “Stu, are you all right? What happened? We could hear the noise downstairs.”

Cydney took Anne-Michelle’s hands and placed them on the sweatshirt covering Stu’s shoulder wound.

“Gunmen,” she told the woman in a low voice. “One of them was dressed like a museum security guard.”

Anne-Michelle looked horrified. “An inside job?”

Cydney shrugged grimly and Anne-Michelle looked as if she was about to cry. As she put pressure on Stu’s shoulder, her dark gaze fell on the remains of The Lucius Robe case.

“The Robe,” she breathed. “My God, they took it.”

Cydney stood on unsteady legs, her gaze falling on the shattered case. She couldn’t even speak.  Numb, stunned, she went to the agent who had been hit first by the gunman, seeing that the man had been hit in the stomach.  Two museum patrons, elderly women, were putting their sweaters over his wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

  Already, Cydney could hear the sounds of sirens as she moved to the second agent who had been hit in the head.  The handsome African American lay prone on the floor, a hole in his forehead and blood and brain matter on the ground underneath him. Cydney didn’t know what else to do but take a jacket from an elderly man nearby and put it over the agent’s head.  She struggled not to vomit.

People were crying and trying to move outside but Cydney stopped them.  She stood in the middle of the gallery and lifted her voice.

“Please, everyone,” she said loudly. “If you are hurt in any way, please come over by the stairs and sit down. I’m sure the paramedics are on their way.  If you’re not hurt, please move into the south gallery and stay there.  I’m sure the police don’t want anyone to leave right now. Please go have a seat and we’ll have coffee and water brought to you.”

People were reluctant to stay but did as they were told.  Several people had been nicked by bullets or flying debris and the injured moved to the area near the staircase and sat down against the wall.  One elderly man had a bullet burn across his forehead but he was in surprisingly good spirits.  He even helped the preparators as they tried to assist the wounded. 

Those who were unharmed moved with sobs and whispers into the southern gallery while some remained behind to help with the injured.  Cydney sent one of the preparators downstairs to make sure the fire department was on their way. She also instructed the young man to grab all of the office personnel he could find to bring up water and coffee up to the uninjured.

As the dust began to clear and those who were mobile began to move to their designated areas, Cydney got a clearer picture of the carnage. There were at least five dead and almost double the amount wounded. Taking some jackets from a group of uninjured ladies, she moved to the dead agent near the elevator and gently placed a jacket over his face.  Then she moved to the agent who had raced in from the south gallery to cover him, only to realize that it was James Lowell.  The explosive-tipped bullet had entered his chest and blown a hole the size of a basketball out of his back.  It was an awful wound. When she realized who it was, the tears came.  Gently touching the man’s head, she placed a pink ladies’ jacket over his face. She was just rising to her feet when strong hands grabbed her.

Startled, she found herself looking into Ethan’s face.  The man’s expression was taut, his jaw ticking faintly.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

She nodded but her lower lip was trembling. “I’m okay,” she replied in a whisper. “Are you okay?”

He exhaled heavily, nodding his head. “I’m fine.” Then he did what he told J.D. he would not do; he put on a public display of affection by pulling Cydney into his arms and holding her tightly.

Cydney clung to him, her terror finding comfort in his powerful embrace. It took her a moment to realize that he was shaking. She pulled back, putting her hands on his cheeks to better study his face.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, sniffling away her tears and caressing her cheeks with her thumbs.

He nodded again, closing his eyes at the tenderness of her touch. “Fine.”

“What happened out there?”

He shook his head. “They disappeared into the heavy brush that runs between the museum property and the freeway.  They must have had a car waiting on the other side because by the time we got there, they were gone.  They somehow lost themselves in hundreds and hundreds of cars on the freeway.”

Cydney closed her eyes, sickened at the thought. “And now they have the Robe,” she mumbled. “Those must be the same people who have my daughter.”

Ethan didn’t want to frighten her any more than she already was.  He rubbed her arms gently, trying to distract her. “You’re safe and that’s all I’m concerned with right now.”

Cydney knew he was diverting the subject but she let it go; she couldn’t possibly become any more upset than she already was.  She was feeling very numb and disoriented but a glimpse of Lowell’s arm down by her foot brought her back to reality.  The tears returned.

“Ethan, I’m so sorry,” she moved aside, pointing to the body at her feet. “It’s your partner.”

Ethan’s jaw flexed tightly as he gazed down at the prone body with the pink jacket over its face.  After a moment’s hesitation, he crouched down and lifted the jacket. When he saw it was James, he almost became physically ill but he fought it.  He carefully replaced the jacket and stood up.

“The police are sending a command post over here and we’ve got a helicopter on the way,” he told her, struggling to ignore his grief. “I want you to go down to your office and stay there. I don’t want you up here in this mess.”

She shook her head. “I had a front row seat to all of this,” she said softly. “I don’t want to go hide in my office. There are a lot of people up here who need help and I feel strongly that I’m needed here. Besides, Museum Operations is my jurisdiction. Someone really messed up my operations and I need to assess the damage.”

He sighed heavily. “All right,” he muttered. “I don’t like it, but I understand what you’re saying.”

She smiled at him and he winked at her as they moved into the main gallery.  Anne-Michelle and one of the preparators were helping Stu, giving him some water and putting wads of gauze from the First Aid kit on his shoulder.   Ethan saw Stu and headed straight for him.

“Is it bad?” he asked whoever could answer.

Cydney replied. “It’s a shoulder wound. I don’t know how bad it is.” She looked up at Ethan and lowered his voice. “He put himself between me and the gunman, Ethan. He took a bullet meant for me.”

Ethan didn’t know what to say.  When the first of the paramedics began to arrive, Ethan told them to take care of Stu first.  The ex-Marine was the first one to get medical care before being transported to the local trauma hospital.  More and more paramedics arrived, some from neighboring cities, and soon the main gallery was filled with medical personnel, cops and firemen, all efficiently working as one big team. 

The day progressed and the news media arrived. Reporters and their choppers were everywhere as emergency personnel tried to work around them. The Pasadena Police pulled a massive newer-model, state-of-the-art forty foot American Coach into the parking lot, setting up their command post.  The FBI also brought in a mobile crime investigation unit that wasn’t nearly as large as what the police had, but it had more gadgets. There was some serious police envy going on as a result. As noon approached, the wounded were moved out of the gallery but the dead were left in order to better map out the chain of events.

Cydney was key to the investigation. She had lost sight of Ethan somewhere around mid-morning and spent the rest of the day with the Pasadena Police detectives and then the FBI investigators. She told her tale a hundred different times without any variations, including the part about the other gunman in a museum security jacket.  Other security personnel were also questioned repeatedly and released one by one when they could no longer produce any useful information.  But Cydney was left in the gallery with two uniformed officers, never out of their sight, as the FBI ran her through the events second by second.  By the time early evening rolled around, she was tired, irritated and hungry and her patience was growing thin. Still, she did her best to cooperate.

At nearly nine o’clock, Ethan entered the gallery with a bag of food in his hand. He headed for Cydney, telling the uniformed officers to get lost and then politely asking his fellow agents the same.  The men vacated as Ethan sat down next to Cydney on the bench in the main gallery and handed her the bag with grease stains.

“Thank God,” Cydney muttered as she opened the bag. “I’m starving.”

Ethan watched her pull a burger out of the bag before reaching in and claiming his own.