McEwan felt a wild excitement as she cradled the cryptex and began dialing in the letters. Jimmy and Rodriguez seemed to have stopped breathing as they looked on."Carefully," Rodriguez urged. "Ever so carefully."McEwan aligned the final dial. "Okay," she whispered, glancing up at the others. "I'm going to pull it apart.""Remember the vinegar," Jimmy whispered with fearful exhilaration. "Be mindful."McEwan said that if this cryptex were like those she had opened, all she would need to do is grip the cylinder at both ends, just beyond the dials, and pull, applying slowly, steady pressure in opposite directions. If the dials were properly aligned with the password, the one of the ends would slide off, much like a lens cap, and she could reach inside and remove the rolled document, which would be wrapped around the vial of vinegar. However, if the password they had entered were incorrect. McEwan's outward force on the ends would be transferred to a hinged lever inside, which would shi
The Gizmogo is on final approach.John Spitz - Executive service officer at the airport - paced the control tower, craning nervously at the rain-drenched runway. He never appreciated being woken up early in the morning, but it was particularly distasteful that he had been called in to oversee the arrest of one of his most lucrative clients. Sir Albert Rodriguez paid them not only for a private hangar but a "per landing fee" for his frequent arrival and departures. Usually the airfield had advance warning of his schedule and was able to follow a strict protocol for his arrival. Rodriguez liked things just so. The custom-built Jaguar stretched limousine that he kept in his hand was to be fully gassed and polished. A customs official was to be waiting for the plane at the hangar to expedite the mandatory documentation and luggage check. Occasionally, customs accepted large tips from Rodriguez in exchange for turning a blind eye to the transport of harmless organics - mostly luxury foods
Sterling street? Jimmy asked, eyeing Rodriguez in the back of the limousine. So far, Rodriguez was being playfully cagey about where he thought they would find this tomb which, according to the poem, would provide a password to opening the smaller cryptex. Rodriguez grinned and turned to McEwan. "Miss McEwan, give the Harvard boy one more shot at the verse, will you?" McEwan searched in her pocket and pulled out the cryptex, which was wrapped in the parchment. Everyone had decided to leave the rosewood box and the larger cryptex behind in the plane's strongbox, carrying with them only what was needed, the far more portable and discreet cryptex. McEwan unwrapped the parchment and handed the sheet to Jimmy.Although Jimmy had read the poem several times onboard the jet, he had been unable to extract any specific location. Now, as he read the words again, he proceeded them slowly and carefully, hoping the rhythms would reveal a clearer meaning now that he was on the ground. Despit
In an alley very close to the Solemn church, Scott Beardsley pulled the Jaguar stretched limousine to a stop behind a row of industrial waste bins. Killing the engine, he checked the area. Deserted. He got out of the car, walked toward the rear, and climbed back into the limo's main cabin where the monk was. Sensing Beardsley's presence, the monk in the back emerged from a spiritual-like trance, his eyes looking more curious than fearful. All evening Beardsley had been impressed with this trussed man's ability to stay calm. After some initial struggles in the Porsche, the monk seemed to have accepted his plight and handed over his fate to a higher power. Loosening his bow tie, Beardsley unbuttoned his high, starched, wing-tipped collar and felt as if he could breathe for the first time in decades. He went to the limousine's wet bar, where he poured himself vodka. He drank it in a single swallow and followed it with a second glass. Searching the bar, Beardsley found a standard s
Each of the carved knights with the church lay on his back with his head resting on a rectangular stone pillow. McEwan felt a chill. The poem's reference to an "orb" conjured images of the night in her grandfather's basement. Forcing the image from her mind, she advanced with Jimmy and Rodriguez toward the first group of knights. Despite Rodriguez's insistence that their investigation should be conducted cautiously, McEwan felt eager and pushed ahead of them, making a cursory Walk-through of the five knights on the left. Examining these first tombs, McEwan noted the similarities and differences between them. Every knight was on his back, but three of the knights had their legs extended straight out while two had their legs crossed. The strangeness seemed to have no importance to the missing orb. Examining their clothing, she noted that the two knights wore tunics over their armor, while the other three wore ankle-length robes. Again, utterly helpful. McEwan turned her attention to th
Beardsley was stunned. "And you know the tombs' whereabouts?""Of course. Later, I will tell you. For the moment, you must act quickly. If others figure out the true location of the tomb and leave the church before you take the cryptex, we could lose everything."Beardsley didn't give a damn about the cryptex and its contents, except the Teacher refused to pay him until it was found. Beardsley every time thought of the money he would soon have. He had pictured the beach town he saw on TV. Where he planned to live out his days basking in the sun and letting others serve him for a change.Now, however, in the church, in which Jimmy threatened to break the Archstone, Beardsley's future was at risk. Unable to bear the thought of coming this close only to lose everything, he made the decision to take bold action. The gun in his hand was a concealable small- caliber, but it would be seriously deadly at close range.Stepping from the shadows, Beardsley marched into the circular chamber and a
In Château Sunnyvale's fireplace in the drawing room Suslowicz paced as he read the faxes from Interpol. Not at all what he expected.Fombellida Alexandra, according to official records, was a model citizen. No police record - not even a parking ticket. Educated, he had a degree in international finance. Interpol said Alexandra's name appeared in the newspaper from time to time, but always in a positive light. Apparently the man had helped design the security parameters that kept the bank a leader in ultramodern world of electronic security. Alexandra's credit card records showed a penchant for art books, expensive wine, and classical CD's-which he apparently enjoyed on an exceptionally high-end stereo system he had bought several years ago.Suslowicz sighed.The only red flag tonight from Interpol had been a set of fingerprints that apparently belonged to Rodriguez's manservant. The chief examiner was reading the report in a comfortable chair across the room.Suslowicz looked over. "
Jimmy felt completely spent as he and McEwan hurled a turnstile at the church tube station and dashed deep into the grimy labyrinth of tunnels and platforms. The guilt ripped through him. Beardsley's involvement had been a shock, and yet it made sense. Whoever was on the quest with them had recruited someone on the inside. Throughout history, those who held knowledge of the Archstone had always been magnets for thieves and scholars alike. The fact that Rodriguez had been a target all along should have made Jimmy feel less guilty about being involved. It did not.Jimmy followed McEwan to Western District and the circle line platform, where she hurried to pay a phone to call the police, despite Beardsley's warning to the contrary. Jimmy sat on a grungy bench nearby, feeling remorseful."The best way to help Albert," McEwan reiterated as she dialed, "is to involve the London authorities immediately. Trust me."Jimmy had not initially agreed with this idea, but as they had hatched their