Chapter Two

Paloma's

ALBUQUERQUE

NEW MEXICO - THREE DAYS LATER

The bar was called Paloma's, named after a fiery Mexican beauty who could stop her husband's heart with a smile and send cold chills of terror through him when he unfortunately inspired her fury. Although she passed a decade before the establishment of the bar, he missed her spitfire temper and chose to name it in homage to the woman who gave him the scar over his forehead after hurling a mug at him.

The bar was very much a throwback to the old days when New Mexico was called the Territory and small towns, now swallowed up by time and the desert, made up much of its landscape. With polished wooden floors, a solid walnut bar counter holding court over the room, and a mixture of seating that included comfortable arm chairs and stools, it had a pleasant, welcoming atmosphere. There was enough illumination for clarity but soft enough to provide a smoky haze over the place. In the corner, a Wurlitzer belted out ' Lulu's back in Town ' while waitresses sailed across the sea of men carrying drinks.

This was a refuge for men who came not only for the drinking but also for the company.

Three years ago, following the Great Crash of '29, Paloma's owner Roberto was almost in danger of losing the bar and was rescued by a fresh infusion of cash from one of his regulars. For a 49 percent stake and the agreement to remain a silent partner, Roberto was able to keep the doors open, much to the relief of its patrons. The future of the Paloma was assured with unspoken hopes no other calamity would befall the business to ever endanger its existence again.

"Did you know Roberto was sick Ezra?" JD Dunne, now back in civilisation, looked very much like the college kid he was, dressed in light pants and a shirt, with a sweater vest and two toned spat shoes, asked Ezra Standish. Ezra, with the rest of the seven were seated around the table, toasting the man whom they'd learned on their return from Africa, had died of a heart attack during their absence.

"Not at all," Ezra said sombrely, gazing into the amber cognac in his glass, deep in thought. The Seven's chief procurer as always, looked too well dressed for this establishment. Appearing as if he stepped out of the pages of a magazine, Ezra always wore custom tailored suits, with silk shirts and ornate ties hanging from his neck in half Windsor knots. His waistcoats always stood out against the colour of his suit. Roberto often claimed he told patrons Ezra was some Hollywood movie star who wandered into the place and amused himself when they tried to figure out which one.

Ezra reflected on Roberto, a man who had come to mean so much to them since they began their association four years ago, with his dignified voice and his patrician features, always welcoming patrons with a smile on his face. "I always thought him immortal to tell you the truth."

"No one's immortal Ezra," Josiah frowned, just as saddened by the man's death from beneath his tweed cap. As always, Josiah wore his favourite Corduroy jacket with shirt buttoned to the top, with dark pants, never caring for a tie to complete the ensemble. Closer in age to Roberto than most of his friends, the two often shared long talks at the bar about life and the changing world around them. They were two old war horses, trading stories about their past and the women in it. "Not even us."

"Well hell," Buck sat up straighter in his seat, stretching the turtle neck he was wearing as he leaned against the leather of the aviator's jacket draped on the back of his chair. "We know that old boy wouldn't want us behaving like a bunch of sorry heifers. He'd want us to drink up and remember what a fine man he was."

The rogue lifted his mug of beer and prompted the group, all save Chris and Vin who were meeting their client to deliver the Kpinga, to raise their glasses and offer Roberto a parting farewell.

"To Roberto!" Nathan declared. "A decent guy who made everyone feel welcome."

The former medic thought of how Roberto ignored the demands of some patrons who objected to a coloured man drinking in the same place as them. Even though he was dressed in a light suit with bow tie, looking dapper, they stared at him like he was nothing more than just another uppity coloured man. Those who argued the point were thrown out and when Nathan thanked him, Roberto had merely shrugged, indicating it was best he carry out the deed himself because Chris and the others would not have been as forgiving.

"I wonder what's going to happen to this place now that he's gone," JD said to the others.

For once Ezra remained silent because he was Roberto's secret partner. Three years ago, when the man was on the verge of bankruptcy, Ezra, who had accumulated a stipend from various business ventures decided to offer the bar owner the funds needed to escape his debtors. While Ezra owned 49 percent of the business, with Roberto gone, he wondered if perhaps he ought to invest further and buy the place outright, if for no other reason than to keep the establishment as it was.

"So, do we have any idea what our illustrious leader has planned for our next jaunt?" Ezra inquired, deciding a change of subject was in order. "I hope it is somewhere with less opportunities for my person to become the main course at a local feast." He shot Nathan a look of accusation.

Nathan picked up his mug and took a sip of his beer. "Oh, come on," he grinned at the southerner, "it wasn't that bad."

"I beg to differ," Ezra sniffed, still thinking he could smell that awful soup instead of his Blenheim Bouquet cologne, when he saw Chris and Vin entering the bar.

Chris Larabee always cut a distinct figure with his favourite black duster worn over his dark suits, with a black fedora perched on his head. In contrast, Vin Tanner looked every much like the rugged Texan he was, wearing his checked shirts and dark jeans, hidden beneath a tan skin coat, with cowboy boots and his favourite hat.

As they approached the table where the rest of the seven were presently seated, Ezra noted the slight frown on Vin's face while Chris, as usual remained impassive. Ezra hoped nothing went wrong with the delivery of the Kpinga. He hated to think he'd ruined a good set of clothes for nothing.

"Chris, Vin," Buck greeted as they reached the table, "we were just toasting Roberto."

"As we oughta," Chris remarked as he pulled up a chair and gestured to the passing waiter to bring him and Vin their usual. "He was a good man."

Indeed, it was Chris who first chose this as their meeting place after he'd mined the five men from across the country, when he decided to embark on his new venture. At the time, all of them except for JD, were struggling to get by in the wake of the crash because 1931 had been a hard year for everyone. Chris who left his military career in 1930 following the death of his wife Sarah and son Adam, was on his way to becoming a full-blown alcoholic even though Buck had kept him from eating his gun.

A chance meeting with former commanding officer Orin Travis, now Curator of the New Mexico Museum of Antiquities, set him on a new path.

Tracking down his old comrades from K-Troop, the men he served with in the 3rd Cavalry Regiment during the war, he found Vin Tanner in Texas, working as a ranch hand, after the Texas Rangers he had been riding with for five years reduced their numbers. Even worse was Nathan Jackson, a respected medic in the trenches of Europe, forced into mopping floors at a hospital in Topeka, Kansas to avoid the bread lines.

Buck who was one of the best Reconnaissance pilots of the Western Front, was flying crop dusters in California. To remain close to his institutionalised sister, Josiah made ends meet as a mechanic at a local garage in Colorado near the state-run facility. Ezra, Chris found in jail, which didn't really surprise the former cavalry captain. The man's penchant for scams during their years in the war, not to mention his skill as a conman made incarceration inevitable.

"So, I take it everything progressed as expected Mr Larabee?" Ezra asked, interrupting Chris's foray into the past.

"Yeah," Chris replied, meeting the gazes of the men who were looking at him expectantly. "Smooth as silk." He reached into his duster and withdrew the plain brown envelopes in his inside coat pocket and distributed them appropriately. "Five thousand a piece."

After almost three years of carrying out jobs of similar risk, everyone at the table except for JD was financially stable enough to see themselves through the decade if they chose to live conservatively and walk away from the life. The money was always divided equally with a portion allocated to pay for their equipment and supplies, which included the fuel for the Darlin' Millie , the Fokker F20 plane used to ferry them across the world.

"Then why does Vin look like he swallowed a bad clam?" Nathan asked as he slipped his envelope into his jacket without looking at its contents.

Vin scowled at Nathan. "I ain't looking like anything." He grumbled, unhappily.

"He's just sore because he's going to have to get prettied up tomorrow," Chris remarked, throwing the sharpshooter a look. "In fact, we all are."

"We going to a party?" Buck asked, the idea of party meant women and that always had Buck's unconditional support.

"Something like that," Chris replied picking up his glass of whiskey when it was served to him. "The Doc invited us to an opening at the museum for their new exhibit. Something called the Heart of Enki . Anyway, it's a formal thing and its tomorrow night. He asked us all," he shifted his gaze at Vin, "to come."

"Chris you know I can't stand getting into those monkey suits," Vin complained. "A whole evening of standing around and jawing with strangers."

"Hard to jaw when the last one of these things you were at, we had to drag you from where you were hiding behind that Egyptian statue." Nathan pointed out.

"I weren't hiding," Vin protested. Actually, he was but they didn't need to know that.

"Vin you got to learn to appreciate these kinds of parties," Buck remarked. "You get top shelf women and they're all prettied up, not to mention..."

"Liquored up," both Ezra and Josiah said in unison. "Nice Buck, nice." Josiah frowned.

Ezra found it strange that Professor Travis would invite them to such a function. While the Curator had given their team its start, the man preferred to keep his treasure hunters away from the faculty. This invitation reeked of an ulterior motive in the gambler's opinion. "Mr Larabee, do you think that the Professor might have another agenda for this invitation? It is out of the ordinary, you must admit."

"I'm almost certain of it Ezra," Chris replied, once again showing he was well ahead of them. "When I spoke to him on the phone this morning, he seemed like he had something on his mind."

"Well I guess there's only one way to find out," Josiah remarked. "We're going to a party."


Professor Orin Travis searched the room for the girl and wondered if she would accept the invitation and attend the opening tonight. Somehow, he suspected not. She was still grieving over William's death and Orin couldn't blame her. The relationship between father and daughter had been a thing to envy ever since William had lost his wife Yasmine during childbirth. Raising Alexandra on his own, William was the kind of father Orin had tried to emulate when raising his own daughter Mary.

If she did not attend tonight, he would have to seek her out or better yet send someone to act on his behalf in this matter. With William now gone, he was the last of them and he had better start making plans as to how he was going to deal with the situation.


The first place Chris Larabee headed towards after arriving at the Arabian wing of the museum was to head in the direction of the artefact being showcased for the evening. For a change, the museum had acquired the artefact through a legitimate archaeological expedition and Chris was curious to see for himself, what was considered a significant Mesopotamian find. Dressed in the tuxedo he only wore these occasions, he had to admit, he did not have the aversion to tails that Vin seemed to have.

Indeed, as soon as they stepped through the doors of the museum, Vin had been itching to escape and find some unobtrusive corner of the building to hide. Chris had no idea why this surprised him of course. Vin had been forced to learn how to hide from his youth. First from the orphanage he escaped from, and later from the authorities at the end of the war when his real age was discovered, and he was still subject to return to that terrible place.

Vin had joined the army and was shipped out to the Western Front at the age of twelve. By the time he arrived in Europe, the war was a year away from seeing its end and there was still plenty of fighting. Chris had been furious at how some recruiter could look the scrawny child and somehow believe him old enough to enlist. Then again, after Chris saw the scars on his body, wondered if the same sentiment that made him ensure Vin remain in the regiment, had moved a recruiter in the same way.

Nevertheless, Vin became a member of K Troop, first looking after the horses but eventually graduated into riding with the rest of the cavalry. He was good on a horse but what he did with a Winchester rifle was damn near beautiful. The kid was a natural sharpshooter and when the war's end approached, he and Buck resolved to keep Vin with them. Chris especially wanted Vin at his side, they shared a connection he didn't understand, a kinship that was not just fraternal.

Except the instant they shipped stateside, the authorities swept in and took the boy without Chris realising it until it was all over. For more than a year, Chris did his best to locate the thirteen-year-old boy, aware Vin did not return to the orphanage. Finally, he had no choice but to give up the hunt and returned to his life, praying wherever Vin Tanner was, he was alright.

It was only years later, did Chris receive a letter from Vin who had joined the Texas Rangers, telling Chris he was alright and still alive. Vin had escaped the authorities shortly after they had retaken custody of him and made his way to New Mexico. Somehow, he had become lost in the Indian Reservation occupied by Navajo tribes and instead of ejecting the boy, the Indians had given him sanctuary. Vin spent five years in their company, safe from Federal authorities, and learned everything he could from the Navajo, including their tracking ability.

Emerging from the Reservation, Vin's skills as a marksman, his ability to track and his expertise on a horse made the Texas Rangers a natural fit. Although Chris wished he had been able to help Vin years before, the young man's natural resilience made his concern unwarranted. By that point, however, Chris was married with a child on the way and decided if Vin needed help, the young man would simply ask.

He should have known better.

Moving across the marble floor of the wing, he glimpsed the rest of the seven. Ezra was hobnobbing with a group of people, some of which he recognised as faculty from his visits here. While Nathan was engaged in conversation with Professor Travis. Meanwhile Josiah was at the bar getting a drink, probably because flutes of champagne were not up to the man's taste, while Buck was putting his most charming smile forward for a lovely brunette in a sapphire coloured gown with a low back. JD as always was filling up on the free food. The kid had a metabolism like a dozen runaway horses.

Reaching the artefact, he studied it for a moment beneath the harsh lighting and the glass case protecting it on its pedestal. The object was made of brass and gleamed under high polish. The marking was almost certainly Sumerian, the Sasanian period. It was shaped like a diamond with five sides, four of which were hollow and if Chris didn't know better, thought it was somehow incomplete.

"It must be a change for you to see something here you and your team didn't have to acquire." A decidedly feminine voice said behind him.

Chris straightened up and turned around, about to respond when he found himself staring at what had to be the most dazzling female he had ever seen. She stared at him with captivating blue eyes, long golden hair, held in place by a brocade pin that glittered against her already lustrous locks. She was dressed in a gown of light pink satin which clung to every inch of her perfect figure. His throat went dry for a moment, as he collected himself.

"Collecting antiquities isn't a monopoly Miss..." Chris returned smoothly, his eyes drinking her in.

"You can call me Mary," she gave him a coy smile. "And you're Chris Larabee."

"Nice to meet you Mary," Chris replied, gesturing to a waiter walking by with a tray full of drinks to make a detour their way. "So, you're interested in the Heart?" He shifted his blue eyes in the direction of the gleaming object beneath the glass case.

"In a manner of speaking," she said smoothly, and Chris thought he could listen to that voice all day, and night if he could remember how this whole charm thing worked. It had been a good while since he'd had to dust it off. "I'm covering it for the Albuquerque Journal, I'm a reporter."

Aw hell, Chris groaned inwardly. A news reporter. He knew the type. They were generally pains in the asses and Chris took a moment to debate whether she was worth the trouble. "Sounds like interesting work." He offered neutrally, still undecided and having to admit her perfume was making astonishing arguments in her favour.

"Well not as interesting as what you and your team encounter frequently I am told," she eyed him with amusement, aware he was somewhat taken back by her profession. Most men were. "In fact, I heard through my sources you recently acquired the Kpinga of Creation for an unknown buyer."

Chris frowned, not at all liking the fact she was privy to that information. How the hell had she found out? "No comment." He said plainly, his blue eyes issuing her a silent warning not to proceed any further.

Mary could care less. "I don't suppose you'd let me know who your unknown buyer was...?

"No comment," Chris decided, he wasn't about to be interrogated and started to draw away when he heard Professor Orin Travis's voice.

"Chris, glad you could make it. You've met Mary?" His former commanding officer declared with a smile.

"You know each other?" Chris's eyes flared as he stared at her in accusation.

"Of course," Orin Travis looked affectionately at the golden-haired siren. "She's my daughter."

Daughter? Chris winced inwardly. It was official. God hated him.


Pulling the hood over her head, Aisha stared into the sky and saw a thousand stars glittering in beautiful splendour against the dark indigo canvas. This land was so much like her home, she felt a hint of homesickness as she felt its dry heat against her skin. When this task was done, and she could leave this accursed country behind, perhaps she would return home and spend some time there. Of course, she knew it was not possible, not when there was so much to be done. Levelling the hood of her cloak over her head so that her face would be concealed in shadow, she looked over her shoulder.

The men in the alley were waiting for the word to proceed. Across the street, the museum lights were a beacon, drawing them forward. Cars rolled to a stop in front of the main entrance, depositing the rich in their expensive clothes and jewellery onto the red carpet leading up the steps. They emerged languidly, drawn to the festivities already begun. Standing over the men like the Sphinx watching over the Valley of the Kings, Kreston's fierce glare ensured they showed no signs of impatience.

They were Children of Erran and they knew discipline.

"Come," Aisha said looking at Krestos. "It's time. No one believes a museum would be the target of an attack so there is no constabulary present."

"With all those weak Americans, I doubt we will encounter much resistance." Krestos commented, the cruel looking dagger at his waist, waiting to be blooded.

"As per my brother's orders," she said. "We will leave no one alive."