Page 65 of Beehive

Will moved toward the case, the beam of light bouncing slightly with his strides. I hung back, my attention shifting between Will and the entrance. The voices drifted through the building. They were far enough away, but their presence made my skin crawl.

We had so little time.

Will set his satchel on the floor and retrieved a small tool—a suction device—and pressed it into the top of the glass. It lifted cleanly, without a sound. Slowly, he supported the bottom and lowered it to the ground.

That’s one way to do it, I thought.

His smirk in the darkness made me wonder if he had read my mind.

His fingers brushed the smooth wood of the statue, a gentle caress. It was an oddly tender moment, despite the impending doom of Soviets with rifles who could burst in at any moment. Will wasn’t Jewish. His friendship with Arty was as close as he came to membership in a tribe. Still, the reverence with which he handled the rabbi spoke of a deep respect, a love even, for the faith of his closest friend.

For a moment, the room held its breath, the weight of what we were doing settling heavily around us. And then—

Clatter.

The sound of a metal object hitting the floor echoed through the gallery, sharp and startling.

Will’s eyes flew wide.

I froze.

My heart leaped into my throat.

“What was that?” he mouthed.

I shook my head, holding up my hands as if to say, “Not me.”

The sound came again, closer this time.

Footsteps joined the clatter, deliberate and measured, as they moved through the main gallery headed in our direction.

“Guards,” Will mouthed before slipping the statue into his satchel. We abandoned the glass case, leaving it on the floor where it lay.

My eyes darted about the room.

There was nowhere to hide.

There were no displays to duck behind nor door to exit without discovery.

We were trapped with only one way out.

Will motioned to the far side, where darkness appeared strongest, and we pressed ourselves against the wall. A hint of light would pierce our veil, but we used what we had.

My blood ran cold.

The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the murmur of voices. Two, from the sound of it. Beams of light, far stronger than the pitiful one we’d used a moment before, swept about, slicing through the darkness like knives.

I held my breath.

My body tensed.

Every muscle screamed to move, to run, but we stayed still.

We had to.

One of the guards muttered something in Russian, his voice low but sounding annoyed. The other responded with a grunt.

One man flicked off his torch, and a beam extinguished. The other, making one last pass over the room, passed over the empty pedestal, as though nothing was amiss, then snapped back to it, illuminating the empty glass case.

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