'Ira look out!' Marge Hansen shouted, as a black BMW cut in front of them, almost running their station wagon off the road.
'Damn fool!' Ira shouted as the errant driver sped off into the night 'Some people shouldn't be allowed a licence!' he bellowed.
'Calm down now honey' Marge soothed 'You know what the doctor said about your blood pressure'.
'Forget my blood pressure' Ira growled irritably, shaking off his wife's restraining hand. 'Did you get his plate Marge?'
As he raced through the late night LA traffic, jumping any red light that sought to slow him down, Mark Sloan was unaware that he was the topic of conversation in the car behind. Had he known, he would have been deeply apologetic, but he wouldn't have slowed down any. Right now, his thoughts were as erratic as his driving and just as frantic. Swerving to pass a haulage truck that had veered into the fast lane, he wiped feverishly at the sweat that dripped from his brow. Oblivious to the angry horns that blared around him, he had only one thought in his mind.
He scrabbled blindly for his cell phone.
'C'mon, C'mom' he chanted, mantra like, pleading with the phone for a response. But there was nothing at the other end, save an insistent message politely informing him that the receiver's phone was currently switched off. It had been the same for the last fifteen minutes.
'C'mon Steve, please' he begged 'Switch on the phone'.
As to why his son's cell was so uncharacteristically dead, he dared not hazard.
***
At the central library, her cell phone jammed to her ear, Amanda paced the foyer impatiently.
'C'mon Chief, pick up' she urged.
Ordinarily she would never call Chief Masters on his private line, but then this was no ordinary situation. Mark had told her to call, and if there was one thing she'd learnt over the years, it was to trust the instincts of Mark Sloan. Worriedly, she bit her lip, as the phone rang out helplessly in her ear. If the damn Chief didn't pick up soon, she'd go right to his front door and request his help in person
- only she didn't have her car!
Uncharacteristically, she swore, but there was no one around to hear. For once in her life she felt helpless and very alone. They were in trouble and at the moment help wasn't coming. Steve was in danger and whilst Mark had gone to help him, she could not help but worry for them both. Mark was brilliant, but he was no action man. Even in his youth he had shied away from physical pursuits, preferring the intellectual challenges. She knew it was a source of wonder to Mark that he had produced a son so athletically inclined
She understood why Mark had wanted her to stay – he would never willingly endanger her life. But she couldn't let him face this alone. She couldn't just stand here all night waiting for the Chief to answer his phone and praying it wouldn't be too late. She had to get over to UCLM and help Mark; she could keep ringing the Chief on the way. But how? She was stranded.
'Think!' she told herself sternly, still pacing. And then it came to her. Abruptly she cut off the phone and immediately redialled. He answered on the third ring, his jovial greeting so starkly at odds with her current state of mind. In the background she could hear the clinking of glasses, the buzz of numerous muted conversations, the faint melodic tinkling of a piano.
'Jesse' she gasped, weak with relief 'We need you'.
***
Entering the archaeology department at a run, Mark prayed that he wasn't too late. If he'd only figured it out earlier, he could have warned Steve before he left the beach house. But it wasn't until he'd opened the thesis, seen it before him in black and white. By now it could be too late.
So far the building seemed quiet, the silence broken only by his laboured breathing and the hammering of his heart. In his flustered state he'd lost his bearings.
'Where is it? Where is it?' he thought frantically. Looking round wildly, he was flooded with relief, as he finally caught sight of the sign 'Egyptology - Level 2'. With no patience for the elevator he set off up the stairs, wishing he were 30 years younger and at least ten minutes faster.
Painfully opening his eyes, Steve groaned. The floor beneath him was cold and unrelenting and the room, or what he could see of it, was tilting in an alarming fashion. Sickened, he closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing to regain a sense of control. Tentatively he reached up, fingers gingerly exploring his right temple. He winced in pain, and his hand when he retracted it, was sticky with congealing blood. He had no idea how badly he was hurt, or how long he'd been out, but knew it was imperative that he get up and fast. If only he could get his body to co-operate. The finely honed muscles had turned to jelly; the hours spent at the gym seemed merely a figment of his imagination.
'Steve!' Mark shouted in alarm as he emerged from the stairwell onto the second floor landing. His heart leapt, as he saw his son lying prone on the floor. As he got closer he could see that Steve was conscious and stirring, but bleeding profusely from a wound to the head. The grogginess of his movements and his obvious disorientation suggested a probable concussion. It was bad, but it could have been worse – much worse. Kneeling down beside his son, Mark reached out gentle restraining hands to halt Steve's already laboured progress.
'Don't try to move son' he soothed 'Just lie still, you're gonna be alright'.
'No' Steve moaned. Shaking his head, trying to say more, he weakly pushed his father's hands away, and resumed his feeble attempt to get up off the floor.
Mark winced, his son was obviously distressed and in pain. 'Please Steve, just lie still' he coaxed 'the ambulance will be here any minute'. With more composure than he actually felt, he reached for his cell phone and began to dial. Before he could complete the call, he felt an intense pressure as Steve's hand gripped his arm like a vice.
'Tanis' Steve croaked weakly.
Their eyes met. As Mark registered the urgent intensity in his son's gaze, he was filled with a sudden and horrified understanding. This time when Steve attempted to get to his feet, Mark helped him.
Up right, but swaying dizzily, Steve faintly blinked the blood from his eyes. Leaning heavily on his father for support he drew his gun. With Mark shouldering the strain, the two men staggered forward, their progress painfully slow.
***
In Natasha's office, Tanis picked up the Masters thesis from the floor where Steve had tossed it aside. Flicking idly through the first couple of pages she rolled her eyes - Steve was right, this sure was heavy going. About to toss it, she froze suddenly as one word caught her eye. A chill ran down her spine and involuntarily she shivered 'Oh my God' she said aloud, her voice echoing eerily in the empty building. She had to show this to Steve and fast. Scrabbling around for her bag, she froze again – he should have been back by now.
She looked at her watch – 11.30pm, at least 10 maybe 15 minutes since he'd gone to check out that noise. He'd promised to come straight back, she thought uneasily. Either he'd found something very interesting or, more worryingly, something had found him.
Looking down at the desk, she quickly began to collect up the all-important evidence, clumsy in her haste to reach him.
Half way across the room she dropped her bag 'God damn it!' she cursed turning to retrieve it. As she turned, a powerful arm snaked around her neck. She tried to scream, but it died in her throat as the pressure cut off her air. Choking she struggled frantically, but to no avail. With each subsequent breath she was weakening, losing her battle to stay alive. Black spots danced in the periphery of her vision, teasing and tormenting. With one final surge she kicked and clawed, but her finger nails raking down her attacker's face met not human flesh but the cool, hard smoothness of a mask.
Tears of frustration, anger and finally fear streamed down her cheeks, as she realised the futility of her situation. Help wasn't coming. Her life was gonna be snuffed out tonight in this dingy office and tomorrow she'd be another statistic, just one more cop killed in the line of duty.
'Freeze police!'
The voice sounded a million miles away, but dimly Tanis could see Steve, blood pouring down his face, swaying unsteadily, but gun drawn. As the pressure eased slightly at her throat, she realised the impossibility of their situation. Her attacker could squeeze out her life in the time it took for Steve to pull the trigger – stalemate.
Her eyes met Steve's; it was obvious he knew it too, but what of the man or woman whose arm encircled her neck? Did her masked assailant have thoughts of life and death? Would they kill her and sacrifice themselves to a cop's bullet, some sort of martyr to a sick cause?
They had covered situations like this in training, sure, but right here, right now who knew which option to take? She had to make a decision, simple as that. With one final look at Steve, willing him to understand, she made her decision. Taking a deep breath she stopped struggling.
Blinking feverishly, Steve fought to hold the gun steady. The image of Tanis and the mummy wavered before his eyes. His head throbbed and for a moment he thought he was gonna pass out. Eyes closed, he swallowed back the nausea that threatened. It was hot, too hot and yet the sweat that ran in waves down his face and the back of his neck was cold. He felt strangely adrift, almost outside himself and yet the part of his mind that was still functioning clearly, knew that this was no dream. Opening his eyes, he blinked again, as impossibly, Tanis and the mummy had increased in number before him. His brain struggled to make sense of the double image that swayed crazily across his vision.
He moved the gun wildly from one image to the other and back. What to shoot? Which one was real?
A tear of frustration rolled down his cheek and then he fired.
TO BE CONTINUED …….