Page 84 of Afraid to Hope

He sighed and kissed her again—perfunctorily—then helped Natasha to her feet and off the blankets. “Come on. Let’s go exploring.”

The back door was secured with a heavy chain and two padlocks. “Seriously?” Natasha whispered hoarsely. “Are you going to pick it?”

“Fuck no,” Bane said, pulling a compact bolt cutter with folding handles from his backpack. He snapped the handles into place and cut through the chains easily. He folded the bolt cutter back up and slipped it back into his pack, then looked at Natasha. “If an escape is needed, remember there are no side doors, only the overhead and other door in the front, and no cover for us. Ready?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling the goggles back over her eyes, then popping the snap on her holster and drawing her gun.

Bane drew his Glock, then opened the door. It creaked on its hinges, sounding ungodly loud in the silence. They waited a few moments. Nothing.

Natasha slipped inside first, her goggles not registering any heat signature or movement. She flipped them up and pulled her flashlight from her belt, balancing the gun on top. She slowly swept the room with the beam of light, ready to fire if necessary.Holy God.Natasha whistled appreciatively. “It’s a warehouse. We’ve got a mother lode.”

Whoever oversaw this leg of the operation within the American network was sloppy. Artifacts filled the enormous dusty room, which was roughly half the size of a soccer field. Two smaller rooms were off to Natasha’s right—one appeared to be an office and the other a bathroom. The floor was covered in dirt and dust, and rough walls were cracking in many places. Many of the artifacts were strewn about without any seeming regard of their cultural and historical importance, yet others were organized on shelves made of wood planks and clay bricks against the long wall. Larger items leaned against the ancient walls—slabs containing cave art and engravings and a stone obelisk in a corner, at least fifteen feet tall. Next to them was what looked to be the cart Zach and Connor had delivered earlier in the day. Overhead lighting and a single large fan had been installed, certainly helpful in the windowless room. There was no evidence of cameras.

Natasha strolled over to the shelves to get a closer look at what they held. Behind her, she heard Bane do the same. He took photos of everything that their beams illuminated, checking often to make sure the details were sharp.

“There’re easily several moving vans of stuff in here.”

“I know,” she said, taking in the overflowing shelves. The enormity of what was in the vast room was stunning. Items from all over Africa, among them a bronze sculpture and plaques, an elaborate filigree-designed gold crown, soapstone birds and animals, and carved wood sculptures. Boxes of coins. Piles of human bones, bone fragments, and human skulls. One skull stared at Natasha, eye level. It seemed as if it was speaking, crying. She shivered and let out a shaky breath. “Do you think theHomo sapiensremains are here?”

“I don’t know.” Bane started to approach closer. “Safety your gun.”

Natasha bobbed her head, too overcome by the level of theft, the looting of culture, to speak. She wanted to cry. Scream. Destroy the bastards.

“Nat…”

“Yes.” Natasha holstered her SIG, then gazed at him, her soul filled with sadness.

Bane drew her into his arms and rubbed her back. His solid form helped her to calm down, to breathe more slowly.

“I’m good, thanks,” she said, easing out of his arms. She approached the large metal cabinet between the two small rooms, pulling a drawer open and rifling through it. She searched more drawers, finding nothing of interest. The last drawer was locked. “I need your assistance.”

Bane popped the lock easily with his tools and opened the drawer. Inside were several ledgers with papers tucked into them.

“These papers resemble those attached to the artifacts.” Natasha angled one of the small papers and read it, then another and another. They were attached to the items with heavy thread. “The cataloging system, I believe. It must correlate to something else. I’m hoping the answer might be in the office,” she said, walking toward it.

Bane followed, clearly anxious to leave. “We need to hurry—every minute we’re here increases our risk.”

“You sense something?” she asked, moving her beam over the computer on the scarred wooden surface of the desk. It was cool to the touch. She opened it and entered Amastan’s password, sure there was no chance in hell it would work. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is their security?” She shook her head, clicked through a series of files until she found the one that stopped her. “Are they just lazy, or what?” She asked rhetorically, pulling a USB from the zipped inner compartment of her backpack and inserting it into the computer. She prayed the download was quick.

“Just a feeling. This has been too easy. It’s bothering me. What do you have?”

“The more recent logs. We can compare them to Amastan’s.”

He inspected the printer and placed his hand on it. Cool to the touch. The tray was empty.

The file had downloaded.

“I certainly didn’t expect to be able to access with Amastan’s password.” She had ejected the drive and was turning off the computer when a loud sound broke the silence.

“Front door. Let’s go.”

Natasha’s heart pounded in her throat as she slid the slim books and drive into her backpack. She turned off her flashlight and adjusted the goggles over her eyes, following Bane out the back door, closing it as more noise sounded behind her. Someone had entered the building.

Bane hooked both of them onto their paracord, then walked the wall, pulling himself along until he reached the top. He flipped his leg over and straddled the wall, staying low.

“Up. Now,” he whispered urgently.

Natasha scrambled up the wall, going over with Bane’s assistance.

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