The Billionaire’s Curse by Richard Newsome

toward the Egyptian sculptures at the other end of the Great Court.
    Gerald was left standing with the policeman, who was still flustered after his run-in with the elderly couple. He noticed Gerald staring at him.
    “What are you lookin’ at?” the officer demanded.
    “Um, nothing,” Gerald said as innocently as he could. From the corner of his eye he could make out a good deal of activity inside. In the middle of the room at least five people in white overalls were crawling on their hands and knees around the base of a black pedestal. Occasionally, one would stop and pick up something in rubber-gloved fingers and drop it into a clear plastic bag. To one side a group of uniformed police and some men in blue suits chatted and sipped from paper cups. At the very far end of the room, beneath a huge gold clock on the wall, more men in overalls hefted chunks of what appeared to be broken plaster into a Dumpster.
    The police officer at the door shunted in front of Gerald.
    “I said clear off, all right?”
    At that moment, two policemen emerged from the Reading Room and ducked under the blue-and-white tape.
    “Interviewing a prime suspect, are we, Constable Lethbridge?” one asked, smirking.
    Lethbridge swung around but before he could open his mouth the other officer said, “Haven’t you got better things to do than harass innocent children, Crystal?”
    Lethbridge flinched.
    “What’s this?” the first officer asked in mock confusion, winking at Gerald. “Why’d you call him Crystal?”
    “You know…crystal vase.”
    The pair erupted in laughter and sauntered off, leaving Lethbridge seething.
    Gerald decided it was time to find Professor McElderry.
    He went back to the information desk, but it looked like the tourists were still arguing over the whereabouts of the Mona Lisa . He spotted a museum attendant.
    “Excuse me,” Gerald said. “Could you tell me where—” He stopped midbreath. Over the attendant’s shoulder he saw the photographer with the red vest step into the Great Court.
    The snapper had a camera slung over his shoulder and another clutched in his hand. He stood inside the entrance, his eyes sweeping the space like searchlights. His face shone bright with sweat and the thrill of the hunt. Gerald was too stunned to move. He had clean forgotten about his pursuer. And now he was standing barely thirty yards from him.
    The crisscrossing tourist traffic provided Gerald with some cover but he felt painfully exposed.
    “Can I help you?” the museum attendant asked.
    “Um. No, it’s all right,” Gerald mumbled. He looked about, darted across to a large plinth, and slid down behind it. It held a statue of a Roman youth on a horse. Gerald sat with his back against the cold white marble, half wishing he had a horse to escape on. He took a deep breath and poked his head around the corner. The photographer hadn’t moved—he stood feet apart like a big-game hunter waiting for his prey to break cover. Gerald knew there was no way he could get through the museum entrance without being seen. And to go either left or right from his hiding spot would put him out in the open. He thought about staying where he was, sitting behind the statue. If the photographer moved off to one of the galleries on the western side, he could make a dash for the exit. All he needed was a few minutes.
    “Can I help you, young man?”
    Gerald winced. He looked up to find the museum attendant glaring down at him.
    “Um…no,” Gerald said in a hoarse whisper. “I’m quite all right. Thanks.”
    “Well, you can be quite all right somewhere else,” the attendant said. “No sitting on the floor and no leaning against the exhibits!”
    Gerald looked back around the plinth and saw in alarm that the photographer was staring in his direction, watching a museum attendant talking to someone hiding behind a statue. The snapper took a step closer. Then another.
    It was time to act. Gerald leaped to his feet and grabbed the attendant