Zahra nodded. Her eyes became wet. “They killed Bernie, Dad.” She refrained from mentioning the men she had personally killed. As far as her father knew, Zahra had never ended another human's life and she wanted to keep it that way.
George looked like he had gotten punched in the stomach. He knew Bernie well. He reached a hand out and gently placed it atop hers and squeezed. Zahra winced.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, softening his grip.
Zahra smiled. “It’s okay. Just one of a hundred things that hurt right now.”
He didn’t add anything. George plucked the remote off the rectangular coffee table and powered on the wall-mounted television. The scene was excruciating to watch. The entrance to the British Museum was a charred, smoking husk of its once beautiful self. Men from what could only be the coroner’s office carried out a large black bag on a stretcher.
“You were there?” George asked, eyes wide.
“Yep. The bomb threw me halfway across the Great Court.”
“Bomb?” George shouted, leaping to his feet. “What the hell is going on in your life these days?”
Zahra stood and met him eye to eye. “I was hoping you could tell me. Dad, I need to know. Ifza said that I didn’t know. What don’t I know?”
He bit his lip, but nodded, and waved her onward. “Come with me. I’m going to need a lot more coffee. This could take a while.”
“What about work?”
He glanced over his shoulder as he stepped out of his office. “I’ll call in and tell them the truth.”
“The truth?”
He turned around, sporting a sly smile. It was the type of smile that Zahra also used quite frequently. “Yeah, the truth. I’ll tell them that I had family drop in unannounced.”
She slowed, stopping in front of a picture of her and her parents and Baahir from eons ago. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
George stepped up next to her, his reflection just visible in the glass of the framed picture. He laid a hand on her shoulder, choosing his words carefully. “Zahra… this is precisely what your mother and I were trying to prevent.”
The coffee maker percolated somewhere behind Zahra. She sat at the kitchen island, locked in on the news report. A man around her age stepped into frame and spoke loudly. The commotion behind him was chaotic and noisy.
Her face fell into her hands. “Drew and Josh. Shit…” During the raid, Ifza and her men didn’t just kill Bernie. They had silenced the entire Night Guard.
“You okay?” Her father sat beside her, placing a steaming mug of coffee in front of her.
“No, Dad, I am not ‘okay.’” Her hands fell away, and slapped the marble countertop. “Do I look ‘okay?’”
George looked away, eyeing the TV.
Zahra picked up her mug. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded but didn’t look away from the news report. They sat and watched and listened to the information being provided, which to say, wasn’t much. Spencer Tenson tossed out a few theories as to why the museum had been bombed. The most likely scenario Spencer offered, and one Zahra could vouch for, was a terrorist attack.
As they continued to watch, Spencer was handed an index card. He quickly read it to himself before repeating it for the viewers, the Kanes included.
“This just in, two employees of the museum, Zahra Amelia Kane and Grant Lawrence Upton, were not among the deceased and are currently missing from the scene. As of now, they are presumed to be alive.” He glanced up at the camera and then back to the card. “When questioned, police said that they are, and I quote, ‘not ruling out the pair’s involvement.’” Spencer took a deep breath. “Elizabeth, back to you.”
George shut off the television and faced his daughter. “Now, you’re being hunted by the police. Wonderful…”
Zahra shrugged. “It’s nice to be wanted.”
