The Pharaoh's Secret (NUMA Files 13)

“We have D’Campion’s diary,” the man said. “He mentioned Villeneuve many times. From there, it was easy to choose Rennes and find Camila Duchene.”

“If you’ve hurt her . . .” Gamay threatened.

“Fortunately for her, you arrived before we did. It made more sense to follow you than to harass an old woman. Now, hand over the book of letters.”

Paul and Gamay exchanged a sad glance. There was little they could do. Paul stepped in front of Gamay, allowing her to palm the pocketknife, though it would do little good against the serrated nine-inch blades the men across from them were carrying.

“Here,” he said, closing the album and shoving it forward. It slid along the smooth tabletop and came to rest beside Scorpion, who grabbed it, looked through it and then put it under his arm.

“Why don’t you leave before the police arrive?” Gamay suggested.

“There are no policemen on the way,” Scorpion assured her.

“You never know,” Paul said. “Someone might have seen you—”

“What were you doing with that painting?” Scorpion demanded, cutting Paul off.

“Nothing,” Paul said. Even as the word left his mouth, Paul knew he’d spoken too quickly. He’d never been a good liar.

“Show it to me.”

Paul took a deep breath and reached back into the rack. As he slid the frame out, he realized he’d grabbed the wrong work of art. It was the warship. Maybe that was a good thing, he thought.

Rotating it to a flat position as if to lay it on the table and slide it toward Scorpion, Paul realized he now had a weapon in his hands. He twisted his body and flung the framed painting like a Frisbee. It hit Scorpion in the stomach, doubling him over.

Following up his attack, Paul lunged forward and kicked the man while he was down. “Run!” he shouted to Gamay.

Paul’s large size had many advantages and disadvantages. Because of his height, he’d rarely been in fistfights. Few people chose a six-foot-eight-inch opponent when looking for someone to tangle with. But, as a result, hand-to-hand combat wasn’t his forte.

On the other hand, when he put his weight behind it, he could deliver a powerful punch or kick. The shot from his boot sent Scorpion flying backward into his two friends. The three of them seemed particularly surprised by the assault and not a little unsure of the best way to attack this large, angry man.

Paul didn’t wait for them to figure it out. He turned and ran in the other direction. He made it around the corner and saw Gamay running for a door in the distance.

“Get them!” Scorpion shouted.

Paul caught up with Gamay as she reached the door. Only now did he realize she was carrying the painting of the rowboat.

“I thought you were moving slower than normal,” he said.

“I just had to

have it,” she said in her best high-society voice.

“Let’s hope we can keep it,” he said, pushing the door open.

They’d come to a stairwell, a fire escape by the sparse look of things. Paul pushed open the heavy steel door.

“Up or down?” Gamay asked.

“I’m guessing down leads to a basement, so go up.”

They ran up the stairs, reached the next level and tried the door. It was locked.

“Keep going,” Paul shouted.

They continued up, spurred on by the sound of the door below banging open.

Beside a placard that read L3, Gamay pushed on the next door.