American Heroes Series - 01 - Resurrection Read Online Free PDF Page B

were through the door, out onto the porch.  Milt brushed by her without looking at her.
    “Good night, Cydney.”
    “Good night.” You jerk.
    Cydney shut the door and locked it.  She stood there for a second, allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts.  It was all fairly overwhelming. When she finally turned around, she saw that her daughter was standing there, her green eyes wide with everything she had absorbed.
    “Terrorists!” Olivia hissed.
    Cydney shook her head. “No, sweetpea. Just freaks out to see what they can get away with. Don’t worry about it.”
    There was no way Olivia couldn’t worry about it, nor could Cydney, although she tried.  She forced her daughter to bed and followed shortly thereafter.
    But sleep was hard to come by. Cydney kept thinking of her security personnel, of Stu, putting their lives on the line when the mere thought was ridiculous. They shouldn’t even be in this situation.  They were a small antiquities museum, not the Louvre.  They just weren’t geared for this kind of thing.
    The Resurrection exhibit was taking an ominous turn.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Los Angeles wasn’t an old city, relatively speaking.  Although settlement of the area began back in the late eighteenth century in the area known as the Pueblo, in the grand scheme of cities, L.A. was an infant; a very large infant with more than its share of adult problems.  Functionally speaking, Los Angeles was an enormous cripple of crime, glamour, money and power.
    The city was so vast that even the alleys had alleys. The homeless had their own zip code. There were an infinite number of nooks and crannies into which one could fade into oblivion, never to been heard from again.  Lots of people came to the city for just that reason. Skyscrapers soared into the smoggy atmosphere, riding the earthquake faults like a surfer on a monster wave.  It was in this mixture of risk, thrill and oblivion that millions of people existed.
    Olvera Street was in the heart of the Pueblo area, across the freeway from the Federal courthouse and not too far from the heart center of the city.  It was a hive of closely knit booths, each containing the treasures of Mexico to be sold to the throngs of tourists that visited the city.  It was like going to Tijuana without having to make the trip or without having to deal with the orphans selling gum on the street.  It was safer, without the depression inherent to a third world nation. Every day was a busy day, safe in the bosom of America’s most diverse city.
    There were several Mexican food restaurants in and around Olvera Street. One in particular faced Union Station, the main thoroughfare for rail traffic in and out of the city.  The restaurant was small, with a few tables outside upon which to sit. It was always busy at lunch time and people crowded around the tables and counter, breathing in the smog and ambiance of the historic City of Angels. This particular day, the temperatures reached the high eighties and the smog index level reached the unhealthful stage.  It was just another day in L.A.
    A man in a designer shirt and dark slacks sat under a tree, alone, at one of the tables. He wore Oakley sunglasses and smoked a cigarette.  In front of him sat a half-empty bottle of beer and he took a sip as another man joined him at the table.  The second man brought food, carnitas, and delved into the concoction with gusto. He didn’t offer any to his companion.
    “You shouldn’t eat the food here,” the man with the beer said.  “All of these restaurants grade low on the health inspection scale.”
    The second man chewed loudly. “Tastes all right to me.”
    The first man toyed with his beer bottle, watching his companion eat. “So,” he said casually. “I understand we are successfully in.”
    “I start the job on Thursday.”
    The man with the beer nodded his head with satisfaction. He gazed up at the trees, watching the birds above