The Curse of the Ancient Emerald (10 page)

“Really?”

“No.” He handed me the paper he'd been writing on, which read,
fhdiosfnsoortndangnvangopapqnvcncnspavvgngoo
.

“Maybe it's a Scandinavian work of art.”

“That's exactly what it's not. Nice try, though.”

He turned back to the screen. I grabbed a blue tack from his desk and stuck the riddle on the wall. I paced, staring at it, trying to figure out what it could mean.

An hour later Chet and Amber both e-mailed to say they had come up with nothing.

“I'm going to the kitchen,” I said with a yawn. “Want anything?”

“Orange juice,” said Frank absently, not taking his eyes from the screen.

I headed downstairs and made myself a sandwich. Then I poured two glasses of orange juice, balanced one on my plate, grabbed the other in my free hand, and climbed back up the stairs.

Frank's room was at the far end of the hall, so I could see into it as soon as I hit the landing. As I approached, my eyes fixed on the riddle stuck on the wall.

I stumbled to a stop. I blinked, moved back a few steps, then forward again, making sure I wasn't seeing things.

“Frank,” I said, carefully putting down the food and drinks. “Look.”

“You okay?” he asked, and stood up. “You look weird.”

“Turn around,” I said calmly, “and look at your wall.”

Frank did so, and when he gasped in surprise, I knew he'd seen what I had seen.

The riddle—the puzzle made up of ones and zeros—was actually a picture!

The ones and zeros imitated shading in the image, but the pattern they formed could only be seen from afar.

And the picture Frank and I were staring at? The image formed from all those ones and zeros?

It was the Emerald of Astara!

W
E
HAVE
TO CALL THE
police,” I said for the hundredth time as we were driving through the twilit streets of Bayport on our way to the museum. We'd finalized our plans with Chet and Amber earlier. “This jewel is worth millions. It's too big to keep to ourselves.”

“No,” insisted Joe. “The Phantom has been leading up to this the whole time. And if he was willing to harm us when he was after swords and Civil War artifacts, just think about what he'd do to get his hands on this. He might have someone in place ready to hurt anyone we know if we go to the police. We can't risk people's lives.
We
have to finish this. That's what you said yesterday, remember?”

I sighed in frustration. In a way, I agreed with Joe. But I couldn't shake the feeling that we were pawns in a game we still didn't understand.

“I mean, why even
send
us the riddle? Why not just steal the jewel?” I asked.

“That's easy. He wants to prove he's better than us.”

We parked a few blocks away from the museum. Still close enough to keep it in view, but far enough away so that it wouldn't look suspicious. It was only five o'clock, but we didn't want to be left in the lurch like last night. If the Phantom showed up early, we'd be ready.

We got out of the car and crossed the street. Since the museum was closed on Sundays, the place was deserted. We entered the empty parking lot and approached the glass doors, peering inside. Everything looked the same as it had on our school trip. I checked the walls close to the ceilings, spotting the telltale blinking red light of a motion sensor. I could also see the alarm-system keypad just inside the door. The Phantom would have to disable all that if he wanted the jewel.

We checked around the back. There was a delivery entrance there, the doors secured with a key-card reader. Huge steel trash cans and empty crates lined the walls of the lot.

“This is where he'll try to get in,” Joe said.

I nodded. “We could use some of these crates to hide out in.”

Joe peered into one and made a face. “I suppose. What's wrong with watching from the comfort of the car?”

“We're closer here.”

Just then there was a noise behind us. We whirled around, but it was only Amber and Chet.

“We saw you guys come in,” said Chet

Amber looked around. “You thinking of hiding out in these crates?”

I nodded. “But Joe wants to watch from the car.”

“Shouldn't we do both?” asked Chet. “What if he tries to get in another way?”

“Good point,” I said.

We decided that Chet and I would wait in the crates, while Joe and Amber would watch from each of the two cars.

Joe and Amber left to take their positions, and Chet and I shifted two of the crates so that we could see the entire back of the museum as well as the driveway that led to the front. The crates had slats wide enough for us to see out of without being spotted.

“Right,” I said. “Now we wait.”

If I ever write a memoir about being a detective, I'm going to be sure to mention the waiting. Sometimes I think 50 percent of the detective business is spent waiting: waiting for people to show up, waiting for clues to make sense, waiting outside buildings for people to leave. It never ends.

The hours passed and darkness fell. Streetlights flickered to life. Crickets chirped in the warmth. And we watched.

Seven o'clock rolled by. Then eight. Then nine.

The crate I was sitting in was huge, easily big enough for me to stretch out my legs, but I was still getting cramps. I was just about to risk a quick jog around the back lot when I heard something that made me freeze.

I couldn't see anything. But I had definitely heard a scuffling sound. Like a shoe on concrete.

I waited, holding my breath.

And finally saw him. He was standing in the shadows against the wall, merging seamlessly with the darkness. I carefully lifted my camera and pushed record. Using night-vision mode, I could clearly see a black-clad figure that must have been the Phantom. Chet had brought his own camera, as had Amber. Hopefully we'd get the whole night on record.

The Phantom, wearing a ski mask, stood there for about five minutes, then moved to the back entrance and crouched down. He attached a black box with wires trailing from it to the key-card reader. He fiddled with something out of sight, and a couple of minutes later stood up and opened the door.

No alarm.

I took out my phone and texted the others.
HE'S INSIDE.

I climbed out of the box and hurried over to Chet. He was already getting out, having seen the Phantom as well. We moved across the lot pressed up against the wall, just in case the Phantom saw us.

Joe and Amber arrived a minute later, and all of us moved to the door. I checked the keypad on the wall. The Phantom's gizmo was still attached to it.

We entered the museum. A few of the display cases were lit with soft glows, but that didn't really help us see; it just made everything look creepy. We moved along the corridors, passing the Ice Age exhibit, then through the Life in Victorian Times exhibit, and past the Wild West room, until we finally approached the room where the Emerald of Astara was kept.

I held my hand out to the others, signaling for them to wait while I slowly peered around the side of the door. I could see the jewel in the center of the room, lit from above by a spotlight. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was still there.

But where was the Phantom? I checked the shadows, even went up to the roof.

But he didn't seem to be here.

“What about the security room?” whispered Joe after I had reported back. “Maybe he's trying to disable the alarms for the jewel. Remember when the guide said they were separate?”

I nodded. “Anyone know where the security system is?”

“Maybe down that corridor?” Amber suggested. “The one that led to the restoration room?”

We retraced our steps, heading to the front of the building. But as we were about to pass the Ancient Egypt room, we froze.

There was banging coming from within.

Inside I could see glass cases filled with hieroglyph-covered sandstone. Sarcophagi lined the walls.

It was here that we saw the Phantom. He was tugging one of the sarcophagi open, checking inside before moving on to the next.

“What's he doing?” Chet whispered.

I shrugged and held up the camera as we all entered the room. We stood before the door so he couldn't escape.

“Turn around,” I said.

The Phantom whirled around to reveal—

Jack Kruger.

He had his ski mask rolled up onto his head. His eyes were wide with shock.

“What are you doing here?” he said in amazement.

“We could ask the same thing,” growled Joe. “But we
know
what you're doing.”

“Then help me!” he hissed.

I lowered the camera, keeping Kruger in frame. “What?”

“Help me find him!” Kruger said.

He turned away and pulled open the next sarcophagus with a crowbar.

“Hey!” exclaimed Joe. “You're damaging them!”

“I don't care. I need to find my son!” Kruger cried.

His son? I glanced at Joe, but he looked as confused as I felt.

“You've lost us,” I said. “What about your son?”

He whirled around. “You said you knew!”

“We knew you were going to break in here to steal the Emerald of Astara!”

“I have no idea what you're talking about! I got a text message. Someone calling me by my old name. It said Lance was sealed inside one of these sarcophagi. That I only had an hour to save him! Look!”

He fumbled for his phone and showed us the screen. Sure enough, there was a picture of the guy we'd seen at the window of Kruger's house shoved into a sarcophagus. His eyes were closed. I shook my head in confusion. This made no sense at all.

Kruger glared at me, his face twisted in anger. “Other than Trethaway, you're the only two who knew who I was.
You
did this. Why?” He took a threatening step forward.

“Hey, we have no idea what you're talking about,” said Joe. “You're the one who threatened our family. You've been sending us riddles, trying to steal treasures. Just give it up. We've caught you!”

Kruger stared at us. Then he turned to the next sarcophagus and fiddled with the lid. It was empty, just like the others.

“Lance!” he shouted. He put his ear to the next one. “Lance!”

I looked around nervously. He was shouting, his voice filled with panic. It looked as if he was telling the truth.

I put away the camera and went to one of the last three sarcophagi. “Help me,” I said to Chet.

Chet was about to argue, but he saw the look on my face and decided against it. He helped me pry open the lid while Joe and Kruger did the same with the last two.

All were empty.

“Where is he?” hissed Kruger. He turned to us. “What did you do?”

I was about to answer when an earsplitting howl echoed through the museum. The alarm!

We looked at one another in horror. I didn't even want to think about what would happen if we were caught in here. “All of us need to get out!” I shouted. “Now!”

Kruger looked around in frustration.

“Your son isn't here!” I cried. “This is the only Egyptian exhibit in the museum.”

Kruger kicked one of the sarcophagi, and we sprinted from the room. The front door was closest. Kruger broke the lock with his crowbar and shoved the door open. We ran out onto the museum steps—

And what felt like one hundred spotlights erupted to life, shining directly into our faces, blinding us to anything that lay beyond.

“This is the Bayport Police Department,” the familiar voice of Chief Olaf echoed. “You're all under arrest. Put your hands up and get down on your knees.”

I
DROPPED TO MY KNEES
as a figure walked out in front of the lights, blocking some of the glare. As he approached, I saw it was Chief Olaf. He looked angrier than I'd ever seen him.

He stared down at us as if trying to understand what he was seeing. “Explain this to me. We get a tip that someone is stealing a prized French Renaissance painting, and we turn up here to find you four.”

French Renaissance painting? The Renaissance exhibit was at the other end of the museum. Then the rest of his words registered.
Four
of us? I looked around and realized that Amber had managed to escape. That was something, at least.

“It's not what it looks like,” said Frank.

Chief Olaf turned to him. “Really? Then the story you tell me at the station is going to have to be pretty amazing, Frank.” He shook his head. “What are your parents going to say?”

I gulped. He was right. This looked
incredibly
bad for us. No matter how we tried to explain it, we had been caught red-handed breaking into the museum.

The alarm was still going off. Chief Olaf frowned and turned to his crew. “Can someone stop that alarm and kill the lights?”

After the searchlights had winked out, I blinked furiously and looked around, wishing suddenly that the harsh glare was still hiding everything from sight.

Olaf signaled for officers to come forward. “Cuff them,” he ordered.

As soon as he said these words, Frank shot to his feet and grabbed hold of Chief Olaf's arm.

“Chief, please don't arrest us. There's a perfectly good explanation for this, I promise.”

Olaf tried to pull away, but Frank held on tight. In fact, he moved in closer, grabbing a surprised Chief Olaf by the shoulders.

What was Frank doing? This wasn't like him.

“We'll do anything,” he pleaded. “Just don't put us in jail!”

Chief Olaf managed to pry Frank's hands off his uniform. “Come on, Frank. You know how this has to go.”

Frank hung his head. Olaf cuffed his hands in front of him and led Frank to a police van parked just beyond the squad cars. I was next. I climbed into the back of the van and sat next to Frank. Then came Chet and Kruger.