Strange Aeons [Book 1]

3.The Heist [Part IV]

Vopros and Banshee started to case the rooms, flashlight in hand, mimicking the movements seen in policemen through tv-series and, in Banshee's case, in real life as well.

Even with the Bratva's blueprint, they actually didn't know where the music box was kept. The Museum was an old building, full of nooks and crannies, and only a person quite privy to it would have imagined the position of the right storage room, of which there were lots, under the building.

But one thing Banshee knew: if you want a man to reveal his weak point, bluff. His eyes will betray him. She had based her plan exactly on that. The black-out, the diverted phone calls, they were all the biggest bluff of them all.

And judging from the three guards in front of an inconspicuous little brown door with a "no entry" sign on the side of an anonymous room filled with stuffed animals, the bluff worked like a charm.

«I go with plan B?» asked Vopros with a whisper.

«No, let's stick to plan A.» she hissed back. She was trying to concentrate to erase their images from the camera's feed without interrupting it. It was quite an exercise in Destroy, so she couldn't think about deviations from the original plan right now. «Are you ready?»

«Plan B more simple.» protested Vopros, while they approached the group of guards in front of the door.

They were but a couple of steps from them, and this time it was Vopros's time to act.

Suddenly, in the silent room, echoed a gunshot.

Banshee curled on herself with a scream, blood spatting on the left side of her uniform.

The guards sprung to action in perfect synchronous, extracting their weapons.

«What was that?» screamed one, while Vopros coldly tugged Banshee on a perfect cover, behind a tall display case.

«It came from the Prehistoric Hall!» she screamed, dramatically panting. «Go! Go! We'll cover you!»

«You're hit!» said a second guard. Some tall, blonde hunky gym enthusiasts.

«It's a scratch! Go!» she urged him, taking out her own gun. The three guards run towards the side room while Banshee faked a radio call for reinforcements. The fake wound on her side, the good old blood bag, was already empty.

The door was theirs.

She and Vopros exchanged glances and rushed inside.

There was a small metal staircase leading down towards a dimly lit corridor full of doors with numbers and letter codes on them.

«Fuck.» she muttered through her teeth. «This'll take ages!»

«Who's there?» called a voice. A fat, black man in guard uniform, positioned right in the middle of the corridor, shone his flashlight right in their faces. Banshee had just enough time to bend over, going back to her fake-wound performance.

«Plan B?» suggested Vopros with a whisper. She glared at him. The Russian moaned.

«Police! Is music box safe?» he called out, trying to dry his accent. The fat man reached them and started fretting as soon as he saw blood.

«Oh my God, what happened?»

«Didn't you hear the shots? Someone's in the museum! Is the music box safe?» asked Banshee with a fake suffering strain in her voice.

«You're wounded!»

«Can ye answer a simple question, man?» she growled.

«The... of course, of course, it is. Nobody passed through here, and I was in front of the door until now basically. Nobody could have entered!» he said, as if with hurt pride, pointing straight at the door they needed.