Ark of Fire by C. M. Palov

followers and even better fodder, but were poor leaders.
    “To ensure they don’t escape, I want you to rig the Miller woman’s vehicle.”
    “I hear ya, sir!” Braxton exclaimed, his confidence clearly regained.
    “Keep me posted.”

CHAPTER 17
    Edie and Caedmon emerged from the ladies’ room. As they did, a loud alarm blared overhead; the teeth-jangling sound was accompanied by a continuously repeated recorded message. Surreally calm, the disembodied voice stated the obvious. “The museum alarm has been activated. Immediately make your way to the nearest exit lobby. Thank you.”
    “You heard the man. He said ‘the nearest exit lobby.’ That would be the one right over there.” Nudging her companion in the ribs, Edie pointed to the Fourth Street lobby on the other side of the vestibule, which was jam-packed with people clamoring and jostling as they headed toward the oversized glass doors.
    Intractable, Caedmon simply said, “I think not.” Grabbing her by the upper arm, he pulled her toward the staircase on the right.
    “What are you doing?”
    “We’re going to take the stairs to the upper level of the museum.”
    Jerking her arm free, Edie stared at him.
    The main floor of the museum? Was he nuts? They’d have to navigate their way through umpteen art galleries and a couple of sculpture halls.
    She shook her head, vetoing the idea. “It’ll be faster if we stay on the lower level of the museum. The main floor will be a mob scene.”
    “Yes, I assume that it will be. However, a mob scene will serve us well if the beast should, again, rear his ugly head.”
    Refusing to budge, Edie folded her arms over her chest. “How many times have you visited the National Gallery of Art?”
    “This is my maiden voyage.” Again, Caedmon took her by the arm, his grip this time noticeably more firm. “Though you are no doubt well acquainted with the museum floor plan, you are also suffering from delayed shock. Not the best frame of mind for making a decision.”
    “Look, I may be losing it, but I still have a mind of my own.”
    Ignoring her last remark, Caedmon pulled her toward the staircase. As they ascended, Edie twice stumbled on the steps. Twice Caedmon had to catch hold of her before she took a nosedive.
    At the top of the steps, she turned to him. “Now what?”
    Rather than answer, Caedmon strode toward an abandoned wheelchair with Property of the NGA stamped across the brown leather back support. Her eyes narrowed as he took hold of it by the handles and wheeled it toward her.
    “Bum in the chair,” he brusquely ordered.
    She balked. “Two fumbles does not an invalid make.”
    “The gunman will be searching for a female yea high.” Holding out his hand, Caedmon raised it parallel to the top of her head. “The gunman will not be looking for a wheelchair-bound woman.”
    “How do I know that—”
    “Seat yourself! Before I put a bloody boot up your Khyber!”
    Edie did as ordered, belatedly realizing that she was doing a first-rate job of antagonizing the very man who had earlier saved her from a gunman’s bullet. At great risk to his own life.
    Craning her head to peer at him, she said, “Look, I’m sorry for being a bitch. I’m just . . . really, really scared.” And unaccustomed to relying on anyone other than herself. Particularly for her safety and well-being. Over the years, too many people had let her down.
    “You have every right to be frightened,” Caedmon replied, once more the courteous Brit. Unlocking the brake, he shoved the wheelchair forward.
    Edie removed the tote bag from her shoulder and clutched it to her chest. Inside its canvas depths were cash, car keys, and passport. Everything she would need to escape this madness.
    As Caedmon navigated his way through the crowd, she realized that the wheelchair was an inspired idea; the horde parted before them like the Red Sea parting before the Israelites. Admittedly, she’d been leery of Caedmon’s plan to take the long route