It was dark and dreary in spite of the sun as Harry Pearce made his way into the British Museum that Saturday afternoon hoping to find something to capture his interest, to take him away from the misery of his life. Suspended. Rejected. A traitor. Stepping into the room of plaster casts, Harry was drawn to Kraft's Shreyer-Landauer Monument, a massive relief depicting the crucifixion. That about sums up my life: crucified for the sake of love —love of country, love of woman. A childish giggle to his left caught Harry's attention. Why do people bring small children to museums? he wondered in irritation.
"Mommy, look! It's Jesus!" A small boy ran up to the cast, planting his little hand over the foot of the cross.
"Yes," she responded kindly. Harry looked over to see a mid-thirties woman in a bright red jumper and a denim skirt, a pack on her back loaded with soft toys, juice boxes and granola bars. A younger boy sat on her hip playing with the ends of her dark brown hair. She smiled back at the little boy standing before her and Harry saw a moment of joy slip into her otherwise sorrowful gaze.
"Why does he look so sad, Mommy?" the little boy asked.
"He's sad for the people. He's sad because they're going to hurt him."
"Why do they hurt him?"
She sighed sadly. "Because of the things they've done."
Because of the things they've done. Those words brought the memory of other words to Harry's mind. 'Because of the things you've done. Because of the things we've done together.' Ruth's response.
He stepped forward. "Why do you say that?"
Cautiously, she responded, "From one point of view, Jesus was crucified because he challenged the world view of the day. From another point of view, though, you could say that they killed him because he forced them to see their own weakness, their own frailties," she explained, looking him over warily.
Harry nodded once and then moved to the stairs, detecting a clear warning from the mother: BEWARE – mother bear on patrol. As he moved away he heard the little boy again.
"But when you're God, they can't keep you down for long!"
Harry heard her bright laughter follow him up the stairs and a tiny smile began at the corner of his mouth interrupted by the unexpected rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. Harry froze, flattening himself against the wall of the staircase. Yelling could be heard above. Harry inched his way up the stairs to the second landing, peeking around the corner to see masked gunmen firing into the air.
"Teddy. Wait up!" The mother called up the stairs and Harry looked back to see the older of the two boys running toward him. The mother and the younger boy hadn't turned the corner yet. More gunfire. Harry stepped back down the stair. Descending two at a time, he pulled the little boy up and into his grip, covering his scream with his large hand.
"Let him go immediately!" the mother demanded, reaching forward to remove Harry's arms from Teddy.
"Quiet!" Harry ordered. "There are gunmen upstairs. Get back down. Now!" She looked, then listened and then spun to descend the stairs. Harry followed, hot on her heels. He shoved her into the space between the wall and the plaster cast, handing Teddy in to her. Harry crouched at the entrance pulling out his mobile phone.
"Emergency services. What is the nature of your emergency?"
"Victoria & Albert Museum. Gunfire."
"Sir, could you please give me your name?"
"Harry Pearce. Clearance code 99672."
"I'm sorry, sir. I need you to stay calm—"
Emitting a growl, he responded, frustration surging through his chest. "I am perfectly calm. Transfer me to CO19 immediately."
"Sir, there's no need to use that tone—"
Harry snapped his phone shut. "One mistake and I'm cut off," he muttered.
"Who are you?" she whispered, tapping his shoulder.
"Harry Pearce," he responded quietly.
"Harry, what is going on?"
He turned as well as he could in the confined space. "I don't know but there are several masked gunmen upstairs. Stay quiet."
"Mommy, what's wrong?"
"I'm scared."
Harry listened intently beyond the little whimpers and complaints of the boys and the mother's attempts to soothe their fears, closing his mind to the apprehension behind him. There were definitely footsteps on the stairs now. He turned back.
"Keep them quiet. What's your name?"
"Sarah. Sarah Deschambault."
"Sarah, there's someone coming down the stairs. Keep them quiet." She nodded, pulling the boys more tightly to her in the confined space. They waited together, silent vigil broken by sniffs and whispery hushes, waiting and waiting.
"Check it out!" he heard, the voice nearby.
"CCTV showed a family with a couple kids. Check the toilets."
Three armed men came into view, one standing off to the right of the plaster cast, holding a sub-machine gun in his hands. One man moved across the path of the cast and off to the left toward the toilets. Harry glimpsed the left boot of a third man who must have moved off to the right.
A light touch on his back became a firm nudge. He waved his hand behind him but the nudge became a poke. He shifted, holding in his frustration as he turned to see Sarah's stricken face as she indicated the stream of urine flowing down the smallest boy's leg onto the floor, making a path through the dust on the floor beneath the plaster cast.
Panic gripped Harry's chest. If they notice the stream, we're finished. Shifting sideways in the space, he mouthed, "Apple juice."
Misunderstanding, she shook her head and mouthed, "Pee."
He shook his head brusquely. "Give-me-apple-juice."
She nodded, whispering to Teddy who crawled over her shoulder, unzipping the bag and reaching inside. His mother admonished him to be quiet. Teddy pulled out an apple juice tetra pak and handed it to Harry in response to his mother's nod. Harry popped the tinfoil with the pointed straw and began to squeeze a gentle flow to mix with the already visible stream. Sarah watched him, confusion printed across her brow. Harry continued to hold the emptied container.
The voices continued, "Toilets 'er empty."
"Check the—" the next word was interrupted by a little splash and Harry's stomach clenched. "What's this? Dex, come see this."
Footsteps and doom approached. The click of the safety release sounded directly in front of the plaster cast.
"Get outta there, now!"
Harry took a deep breath, motioning for Sarah to stay put, and then rose, exiting the space. He felt her hand grasping his sleeve but he pulled away. As he stood, he raised his arms to ward off aggression, the squashed juice box still clutched in his right hand.
His arms were grasped roughly and a sharp pain in his leg indicated the contact of the SMG with the back of his knee, knocking him to a position, kneeling on the floor.
"Are you alone?" The question came from the burly man in front of him, Dex. He stood straight and tall, his black curls neatly coiffed and his moustache trimmed. The khaki fatigues he wore gave him a military appearance but his manner was definitely 'businessman'. He struck out, a blow as fast as lightning, to slap Harry for his tardiness in responding.
Harry clenched his jaw. "I'm alone," he responded slowly, ire in his voice.
"Your wife and children?"
"My wife took them upstairs to see the Tipu's Tiger."
"You?"
"I—uh hid when I heard the gunfire."
"Given away by apple juice. Idiot! Take him upstairs with the others."
Harry was jostled roughly up the stairs toward the central foyer. And then it happened. A sneeze. Harry groaned. Why is it always a sneeze that gives you away to the bad guys? That little sneeze was enough to alert the three gunmen. They grabbed Harry, shoving him back down the stairs and smacking him back onto his knees at the bottom, instructing him to lace his fingers behind his head. Sarah stood, her boys held tightly in her arms, a look of fierceness in her eyes. She followed as instructed, likely knowing that resistance would only endanger the children.
Topping the first flight of stairs, passing the fire doors on the first landing, Harry had an idea. He thrust his body to the right, slamming one gunman against the corner of the stairs, hearing his grunt as his head smacked against the corner. Pushing off his body, Harry reached forward to rip the gun from the man in front of him firing twice behind him to send the third gunman skittering down the stairs. Spinning, Harry slammed Sarah and the boys against the fire door, effectively ejecting them from the building. He saw her trip and then catch her balance, casting a glance back briefly before following his instructions.
"RUN!"
The slam of the rifle butt snapped his head around and he felt the kicks and punches to his trunk, head and shoulders as he gradually lost consciousness.
