Brooklyn Knight (7 page)

Walking—

As the door opened, the first of the scouts exited the stairwell and moved cautiously out into the dark hall beyond. If the professor was correct, everyone within the museum had been rendered unconscious by a casting—one that would have targeted every living being, surrounding their heads with a cloud of chloroform. This would have dropped any-and everyone who could have been of any interference, acted as a witness, called the police, et cetera.
If this was timed correctly, Knight was assuming the intruders made their move at the evening security change. That meant they could have entered with any of the night shift, which meant no breaking and entering. No assault charges.

They didn’t avoid the elevators because of the cameras,
thought the professor as he watched the first man make his way out into the shadows of the hallway.
They’ve dampened the building’s electrical systems. The elevators aren’t working, because they wanted to take out all the cameras. The motion detectors, the laser alarms …

And yet, the designer of the invasion had known the museum’s systems well enough to not interfere with the few lights for which any passing patrol car would be looking. That told Knight volumes about the magical abilities of his opponents. With the museum’s security routed through both the city’s primary electrical utility and the building’s own backup generators, if select lights controlled by both power sources had been dampened while others were still functioning, those moving into the hall had to possess controlling abilities of things not only natural but mechanical as well.

This, old man
, both sides of his mind warned the professor,
is not going to be easy
.

In the handful of seconds it took for the first thief to ascertain that the hallway was clear and to signal his compatriots to follow him, Knight had realized he was up against something far more than any simple band of brigands. Holding back, he continued to study them from a distance. As he did, his respect for the intruders he had listened to for the last few minutes as they made their way up from the basement continued to grow. No matter who they were, or what they were after, they were part of something extraordinarily sophisticated. Their assault was well planned and certainly seemed to be working thus far without a hitch.

Looking the scout over, the professor noted his garb—soft boots, pant legs tucked in, pants and pullovers loose enough to allow movement but tight enough to minimize snagging or noise. His hands gloved, head masked, even his eyes covered by goggles. Impossible to identify if seen, equally unlikely he would be leaving behind much in the way of forensic evidence, either.

More disturbing than any of that, however, was the filled holster the professor could see hanging from the man’s belt. He also spotted fitted pouches for spare ammunition, and what he thought might be others for grenades. As the two thieves carrying the quartet’s prize began to emerge from the stairwell, Knight’s anger grew exponentially. That his museum was being robbed was enough to anger him by itself. But, the men doing so had brought both guns and explosives with them.

That they would risk any of the irreplaceable artifacts within his museum—
his
museum—among all of its priceless statues, the paintings, the ancient cups and pieces of jewelry, the tapestries, the tablets, all of it,
any
of it …

The thought of bullets streaming through his beloved corridors was upsetting enough. The added notion that those looting his museum might be willing to hurl about shrapnel weapons within range of any of its treasures was more than he could tolerate. As the fourth man, the one watching their retreat, emerged into the hallway, the professor admitted to himself that he had the quartet in the best possible place to contain them. They were in a hallway where no art, no curios or trinkets of any kind, was on display.

“I do believe it’s now or never, Piers.”

And, so saying, the professor returned the disc of levitation he had extracted a moment earlier to its place within his suit jacket’s inside pocket. With the disc removed from the atmosphere, its effects began to dissipate, and Knight drifted from his vantage point on the ceiling down toward the rear guard. His plan was simple.
With surprise on his side, he would take down the last man, he hoped quietly enough that he would be able to also take out one of the pair carrying off their prize before the others were alerted. Only two yards away from his intended target, the professor was preparing himself for his assault when suddenly the hallway was filled with a blinding light as a voice from the stairwell shouted;

“Four—above you!”

Below him, Knight could just make out the barest outline of the rear guard pulling his automatic free. Then, the overwhelming illumination stole what little was left of the professor’s vision, leaving him helpless.

“Kill him!”

Once more the order came from behind the blinded Knight. Not wasting time with worrying over how anyone else could possibly be present, the professor instead hurriedly jammed his hand back inside his suit coat, once more pulling free his disc of levitation. The mental commands needed to activate it screaming through his brain, Knight shot toward the ceiling even as the invader identified simply as “Four” opened fire. The man emptied his weapon, laying down a blanket pattern in a crisscrossing direction, then ejected his spent clip. As he pulled free a fresh replacement with professional detachment, slipping the empty inside his belt, the voice from the stairwell screamed at him;

“Did you get the son of a bitch?”

“Can’t tell.”

“And why not?!” The voice roared once more, demanding its answer, screaming to be heard over the
still-echoing ring of the previous gunfire. Uncowed, Four bellowed in return;

“Because I’m half-blind despite the goggles, you moron. You’re supposed to warn people before you illuminate. Before you—”

“Enough.” The stairwell voice screamed the single word. Continuing as loudly as possible, it commanded, “Four, One, find that bastard and eliminate him. Two, Three—keep going. We’ve got to get that damn hunk of rock out of here!”

“Relax,” growled the man designated as “Two.” Hefting his end of their prize, he added reassuringly, “This thing’s no problem. It’s actually lighter than it looks.”

As the no-longer-shining fifth member of the band of thieves finally entered the hallway, from his vantage point in the shadows high above Professor Knight cursed himself, thinking;

And so much for your “knowing more about everything than anyone else” crap. Miserable fool, I’ve warned you about your damned arrogant lack of caution—

Not so busy castigating himself was the professor, however, that he was not able to also continue paying attention to those below. His eyes finally readjusting to the gloom, he suddenly discovered why he had not taken note of the fifth man earlier when he had heard the others. As he exited the stairwell, the new figure did not walk as did the rest of the thieves. Instead, he glided forth. The same as Knight, the intruder was levitating. Finding his foes to be possessed of further extraordinary abilities did not so much fill the professor with fear, but it did make him wonder;

So he wasn’t giving off any footfalls for me to hear. Still, he has to breathe; his body had to rub against the passing air; everyone burps or farts sooner or later. Why—
And then, suddenly all was revealed. As the fifth intruder continued floating forward, he passed too close to Four. There was no collision of the pair, however,
except in the most technical sense of the word, for the levitating man’s arm passed through Four’s shoulder without making actual contact.

Well, now there’s a news flash
, marveled Knight.
My new playmate’s not physically, not
really
here.

The professor grimaced at the knowledge. Realistically, he knew he had but seconds in which to act—but what actions should he take? The leader of the intruders was untouchable. Whether holographic or some form of astral projection, Knight was well aware he himself was armed with absolutely nothing that could affect a phantasm. Yes, there were certain relics within the museum that might afford him some ability to combat the intruder he had designated within his own mind as “Five,” but such pieces were all locked away on other levels. And with the thieves less than a hundred yards from their chosen exit, he could reach none of those other pieces quickly enough to utilize them in any helpful fashion.

More to the point, two armed professionals were actively searching for him, men who had no compunction over using brute force, nor who seemed surprised by his own use of magic in the slightest. They might not be magicians themselves, but they were obviously no strangers to the arts—were comfortable around their use, and evidently not frightened by them. Hidden within the shadow-draped folds of a ceiling tapestry large enough to envelop his entire body, the various sections of Knight’s mind went to war once more.

He could easily ascertain that Four and One below were not hunting him actively, despite Five’s rabid bellowing. With the cold calculation of longtime mercenaries, they were certainly watching for him, both with guns drawn and ready. But the pair were backing their way to the door, more covering the team’s escape than worrying overly about murdering Knight.

And why not? After all, the professor mused, it was not as if
he was going to make much in the way of a useful witness. The thieves were all of equal height, more or less, and completely masked by their uniform outfits. Adding murder to their list of crimes would do the intruders no good—escaping without further incident would. Watching their carefully guarded retreat, Knight had no doubt that if he simply did not interfere further with the quintet below him that he could remain quite safely hidden until they made their exit.

But then
, he thought, grinning as he did so,
where’s the fun in that?

The part of his brain urging cautious withdrawal shrugged in defeat but also refused to allow him to simply rush forward and further risk his life without running one last inventory on everything in his possession. Having no actual weapons, Knight gave in to the preserving thought, forcing himself to go through his pockets once more. The Disc of the Winds was still firmly in his left hand. With his right, he quickly felt through all his pockets, finding the usual accessories of modern life—his keys, wallet, some spare change. His baton was, of course, in its especially designed holster within his jacket where it should be.

Wait—

Suddenly, as he checked his vest more carefully, his fingers brushed against something small caught in a mass of loose threads in the corner of one pocket. Smiling, he pulled the blue stone circlet free of its snare and slipped it onto his finger, beginning his final descent with the complete approval of all his brain’s formerly warring factions.

MOVING ACROSS THE WIDE LOBBY AS QUICKLY AS THEY MIGHT, considering the weight of their prize, the five intruders had almost begun to relax. Whoever the would-be hero was who had tried to stop them, the fundamental bluntness of hot lead seemed to have
severely decreased his interest in any further heroics. Still, those comprising the quintet were professionals, and none of them were about to relax their vigilance so close to the conclusion of their evening’s endeavor.

“Haste still makes waste, gentlemen,” said Five, his tone surprisingly lighter, almost joking. “Let’s wrap this operation up, carefully, but let’s do move on.”

The group progressed boldly toward the central doors of the museum’s front entrance. It was where they had entered, and their plan called for them to exit the same way. Knight had been wrong in his assumption of the band having followed personnel into the building. Such would have called for luck or chance, and this particular set of intruders was not in the habit of counting on either. These were professionals keeping to a strict timetable, one that was close to running out.

Still, none of the quintet was overly worried. The four corporeal thieves knew they were not trapped. When they reached the doors, their ghostlike companion would simply drift through the metal and glass before them, the electrical charge of its form disrupting the locks as it did when they entered. Once outside, they would allow the door to close, their astral leader would pass a wraithing appendage through the locks, sealing the mechanisms once more, and that would be that.

None would know what had happened or be able to explain how any of it had been accomplished. The meddler who had tried for a moment to stop them would have some idea, of course, but he would say nothing to anyone. Of that they were most certain. Magic users needed to maintain a certain anonymity. It might no longer be the Dark Ages, when magicians and witches were burned and hung on a regular basis. But still, mankind’s primal fears had not changed all that greatly. Certainly not to the point where any real practitioners of the arts would dare expose themselves to even the slightest
hint of publicity. To do so was understood by all, no matter what their orientation, to be taking the first step toward their ultimate destruction.

No, the four men walking across the lobby were smugly confident they had seen the last of their unexpected, and, indeed, unexplainable, assailant. Considering the spells used on the museum that evening, they should not have encountered even the slightest interference. Then again, they were not the types to rely solely on necromancy to see them through an operation. That was why they had all come well armed, was it not?

Thus it was that, thinking themselves as close to success as possible, only a scant three yards from the front doors of the Brooklyn Museum, the band of thieves received the last great shock of their lives.

“I GIVE YOU MEN ONE WARNING ONLY—PUT DOWN THAT WHICH you are attempting to steal and leave this place at once.”

“I don’t believe it.”

The words spoken by One were understood and felt by all his fellow intruders. Unexpectedly—unbelievably, for that matter—Knight had returned. Hanging in the air above the group, the professor drifted down to take up a position before them, between them and the outside world. As his feet touched the bare floor, he stood casually but prepared for action. His eyes were alert, his mouth a thin line curled in the barest of smiles at one end only.