The Public Alexandrian Museum is situated in Egypt's second city, merely a mile from the ruins of the original library. It had it's own helicopter landing zone, which could be found near to the large public canteens.
It was the public canteens that Miss DeMode, Word Chain, Bones Piern and a lab rat by the name of Joan entered first, as they were led by the curators assistant from the helicopter pads and towards the curators study. "This way please." The man asked.
DeMode clutched Joan's hand tightly, as that was part of the guise and grimaced. Mister Baled hadn't been able to come, so they were one man down. They'd adjusted the plan so they didn't need him but she didn't feel nearly as confident. "Where do you want to do the filming then?" The assistant asked to Word Chain.
"The grand hall is our main interest, with the majority of the rest being filmed in your small collections." Chain replied.
Bone Piern interjected quickly. "I'd like some texture shots."
"I don't understand?" The man replied, putting in a key code, unaware that Joan was filming him.
"Whilst we cut from one shot to another, the producers will often put other quick shots in."
"Oh." The man replied still none the wiser.
The curators study was filled with books and resembled Peter Abbandons, apart from the fact that the man sat behind the desk wasn't small, old and quaintly English, because the curator of the Public Alexandrian Museum, was overweight, thirty five and Egyptian. With every step, the floorboards creaked, weakened from years of the curator walking over them. "Hello!" He cried. "Please, sit down, sit down."
Despite the amount of tourists visiting the museum every week, the Museum had become less and less popular. This sudden media attention, as that was their guise, had filled the curator with such enthusiasm that he'd waved them in, no questions asked, just as Abbandon had predicted.
The plan was simple: they were to infiltrate the museum by pretending to be documentary makers, with Bone Piern acting as the director, Word Chain acting as a cameraman, Miss DeMode as the presenter and Joan the lab rat acting as Miss DeMode's daughter. The plan was that, one night whilst filming, Joan would pretend to need the toilet. At this point, Piern and Chain would distract whoever else was present whilst Joan and Miss DeMode would steal the eye.
The curator didn't suspect a thing, and so he waved them on to start filming. They spent the day making a fake documentary and noting where the security camera's were, stopping only for a brief lunch provided by the Museum.
That night, as they settled in the restaurant in their hotel, Word Chain came back dismayed. "I had a group of my librarians set up communications with the Museum, just to make it more realistic."
"So?" Asked Joan, taking a sip of the orange juice she'd been presented with.
"One of them was doing a routine call about little details, and so to keep the illusion working, they asked lots of questions. Anyway," he cut to the point, sensing the others boredom, "one of the questions was about anything been sold or bought. Well, you'll never guess what's being sold to a museum in Rhodes."
Miss DeMode buried her head in her hands. "The eye."
Chain nodded.
"God. When are they selling it?"
"They already have. It's being sent on Tuesday." Today was Sunday.
"Right." DeMode sighed. "We're going to have to pull it forward."
"When to?" Piern asked.
"Tomorrow." Miss DeMode climbed up. "Please excuse me. I need to make some arrangements."
"Cut, cut, cut!" Piern cried, displaying his natural flare for acting. "Whose phone is that?"
The curators assistant apologised and hurried out. As he went, Joan jumped up from the seat she'd been put on and extracted something from Pierns zip bag. Piern, Chain and DeMode continued their routine. The thing she'd removed was a miniature electromagnet. She placed it inside a not too expensive vase and returned to the chair, as the curators assistant returned, beaming. "This is a great week for us! Not only have we managed to sell our Colossus of Rhodes Artefact, but we've also managed to sell our replica of David's head."
"David's head?" Questioned Joan.
"David, by Michelangelo. It's a famous statue. Replica's, depending on their accuracy, often go for a lot. We happen to employ one of the greatest copiers in Europe."
"Why say from Europe?" Joan asked. "Egypt is in Africa, right?"
"Yes, but our copier is from Ireland. He did a lot of work for your queen."
"Oh!"
The day continued without hitch, until lunchtime. Miss DeMode came running, pretending to be distressed. The curators assistant looked up, concerned. "Whatever is wrong?"
"I just had a call from the studio. We need to finish for tomorrow."
"Why?" Piern replied, following the script.
"You know the copier we were talking about earlier."
"Yes?"
"Well, he's had a heart attack and the channel are having a special night in remembrance of him."
The curators assistant hurried to the curators office, probably to fill him in.
"Clever reason to finish it quickly." Joan replied.
"No it isn't." Miss DeMode replied. "He's actually dead."
There was a silence.
"That really isn't good."
To be continued
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