The Curse of the Ancient Emerald (7 page)

“So,” he continued, “the Phantom has not been sending you riddles.
Or
stealing things. I'm the Phantom. Or, I
was
. And I assure you, it's not me.”

“But . . .” I picked up the riddle. “We saw you—him . . . whoever—at the museum, at the house.”

“When?”

“Last night and the day before that. Do you have an alibi for those times?”

“I don't. My son saw me early in the evening yesterday, but he went out to a party. The day before that I was home sick. Some twenty-four-hour bug.”

Interesting,
I thought. He was still claiming his innocence, but he didn't have an alibi. So no matter how much this guy objected, he was probably just trying to bluff us. Question was, what to do about it? Make a citizen's arrest? No proof. Tell the police everything and point them in Kruger's direction? That was a possibility, but I knew they couldn't do anything without proof.

I looked at Frank, but he seemed to be just as lost as I was. He sighed and stood up.

“Okay, Mr. Brody. Thanks for your time.” He held a hand out for Kruger to shake.

“Uh, can I rely on your discretion? About my new identity, I mean. I just want to make a fresh start. To get my life back on track.”

“Your secret's safe with us.”

I looked at Frank in surprise. That was news to me. But I didn't say anything. I shook hands with Kruger, and we left his office.

“What's going on?” I asked Frank as we headed to the car.

“I don't know,” he said.

“Wait—you don't actually believe him, do you?” I asked in disbelief.

“I'm not sure,” said Frank slowly.

“Come on, Frank! He was just covering. It
has
to be him.”

“But he seemed so . . . sincere.”

“He'd kinda have to be, Frank. He doesn't want to go back to jail.”

“But don't you think he seemed genuinely confused by the riddle? And he didn't recognize us when we walked in. I'm sure of it.”

“No. I'm not buying it. He's just a good actor, that's all. Besides, who else could it be if not Kruger?”

“I've been thinking about that,” said Frank. “Who stands to profit from the Phantom getting back to work?”

“You mean, besides that man over there,” I said, pointing at Kruger's office.

“Yes,” said Frank, a slight edge to his voice. “Besides him.”

I thought about it. “I give up.”

“Maybe someone who's writing a book about the Phantom? Who would see his book probably become a bestseller if the Phantom started up his old tricks again?”

I turned to Frank in amazement. “You think it's Trethaway?”

Frank shrugged. “I saw something when we were climbing out his bathroom window. It didn't click at the time, but looking back . . .”

“What did you see?”

“A pile of old magazines. Like, this high.” Frank held his hand above his head.

“Lots of people have piles of old magazines.”

“Some of these were lying on the floor. Open.”

“So he reads magazines? Big deal.”

“Or maybe he cuts them up. To make riddles.” He turned to face me. “Think about it. This could only benefit Trethaway. Any controversy will get him free publicity.”

“I suppose. You think he's smart enough to do that? Trethaway, I mean?”

“What is it Dad always says? ‘If you judge anyone on appearances, you're already five steps behind them.' ”

“Then that makes me, like, twenty steps behind,” I said. “Because I seriously don't think Trethaway could have done this.”

Frank and I climbed into the car. “Regardless, it's an angle we need to look into,” he said as he pulled into the road. I glanced over my shoulder as we drove away. Kruger was standing by a repaired car, watching us leave.

•  •  •

I saw it instantly as we drew up to our house. An envelope lying on the steps.

I got out of the car and hurried over. It was the same style of envelope, the same writing. I picked it up and pulled out the sheet of paper as Frank joined me.

Of

18

16

By

61

12

For

750,000

11 o'

I blinked, then looked at Frank. “And now? Is this a riddle?”

“Must be.”

“And he expects us to crack this before tonight?”

“Looks like it.” Frank sighed. “Call Chet and Amber. Ask them to meet us at the Meet Locker. I think we'll need some help with this.”

C
HET AND AMBER WERE ALREADY
waiting at the Locker, Chet tucking into a burger and fries while Amber searched the Internet for clues.

“Anything?” I asked, slipping into the booth next to her.

She shifted over to give me room. “Not yet. There doesn't seem to be any pattern. It just looks like random numbers.”

“Except for the last line,” Joe pointed out. “That's obviously the time we need to solve it by.”

I checked the last line.
11 o'.
Short for eleven o'clock. Fair enough. One point to Joe.

“Okay,” I said, “let's break it down.”

Joe studied the piece of paper. “There
is
kind of a pattern. Each pair of numbers is preceded by a word. Of 18–16. By 61–12. For 750,000–11 o'.”

“Could they be referring to biblical passages?” asked Chet around a mouthful of fries.

The waitress approached while Amber checked her laptop. I ordered a chocolate shake and Joe ordered a club sandwich.

“I don't think so,” Amber said eventually. “I mean, they
could
be. But there's an 18–16 in the books of Proverbs, Luke, Revelation, Exodus . . . pretty much
all
of them.”

“Probably not that,” I said.

“Combination locks?” suggested Amber.

“To what?” asked Joe.

“Safes? Do safety-deposit boxes have codes?” she said.

I shook my head. “No. Keys.”

“Map coordinates,” said Joe, sitting upright suddenly.

I looked at the numbers again. It was a possibility.

Amber broke the numbers into map coordinates. 18:1:6.611 latitude and -2:7:50.000 longitude. She entered them into a mapping program, but nothing came up.

This was getting frustrating. I stared at the piece of paper. There was something familiar about the words.
Of, by
, and
for
. Where had I heard that before?

The waitress brought my shake and Joe's sandwich. He took a bite, then said thoughtfully, “What about an anagram? The words?”

We spent the next few minutes rearranging
of, by
, and
for
, but we didn't come up with anything helpful. Then we added up the first two sets of numbers, getting 34 and 73, but again, there was nothing we could
do
with the numbers.

It was already after four, and we were no closer to solving the puzzle.

“What about Dad?” Joe suggested.

“What about him?”

“Can't we phone him? Ask him if he can help?”

“The Phantom said not to tell the police
or
Dad. It's not worth the risk of endangering Mom. Or Aunt Trudy.”

By this time we had all finished our food and sat in dejected silence, staring at the riddle lying in front of us. Joe pulled some cash out of his wallet and dropped it on the table where the waitress had left the check. The top note was a five-dollar bill; Abraham Lincoln's face stared at me.

Amber reached over to collect the money. But before she did, I slapped my hand down on the notes.

Honest Abe. Sixteenth president of the USA. I grabbed the pen from the table and drew a line through the number 16 on the paper.

“Of the people, by the people, for the people,” I said.

Chet stared at me as if I was nuts. But Joe and Amber looked at me with expressions of dawning realization.

“The Gettysburg Address,” said Joe.

I looked at the last three numbers: 18, 61, and 12.

“Quick—the date—the exact date the Civil War began.”

Amber typed into her laptop. “April 12, 1861,” she answered.

That just left 750,000. “Are you on the wiki page?”

Amber nodded.

“How many people died again?”

“Seven hundred fifty thousand,” said Amber in an awed voice.

We all stared at one another, then down at the sheet of paper. We'd cracked the code!

“I still don't get it,” said Chet. “The Civil War, sure. But what's going to get stolen?”

I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut again. He was right. We still didn't know the target.

“It must be something to do with Lincoln?” asked Chet.

“No,” said Amber. “This is all about the Civil War. Not Lincoln.”

“Was there anything at the museum?” I asked.

Joe shook his head. “Not that I saw.”

Something rang a bell in my mind. The flyer that came in the mail. The Civil War exhibition reopening at the town hall!

“The Civil War exhibition!” I gasped. “We got a flyer in the mail! It's been reopened in the town hall. All the stuff went away to be cleaned and restored.”

“Yeah, but the town hall is right outside the police station,” said Joe doubtfully. “He wouldn't be that stupid.”

I shook my head. “I think
that's
where the Phantom is going to strike. At eleven o'clock tonight.”

•  •  •

At nine o'clock, Joe and I were sitting in our car a few houses down from Trethaway's place.

This time we had a plan. We still weren't sure if the Phantom was Trethaway or Kruger or someone else entirely. My money was on Trethaway, but Joe was still stuck on Kruger.

We had split into two groups. Amber and Chet had staked out Kruger's workplace and followed him home. They were watching his house, while Joe and I took Trethaway's. All of us had video cameras. This time our aim was to get solid evidence of the theft.

Joe checked the battery in his video camera and switched it to night-vision mode. “Want to place a bet?” he asked.

“On?”

“On whether it's Trethaway or Kruger.”

“Sure. Ten bucks?”

“Come on. Put your money where your mouth is, bro. Twenty.”

I held out my hand. “Deal.”

About an hour later we saw Trethaway's door open, and the man himself stepped outside. I leaned forward, and Joe focused the camera on him.

He was wearing dark clothes—perfect for breaking and entering. He looked both ways down the street, then jogged to his car, slid behind the wheel, and drove off with a little spin of his tires.

“He's in a hurry,” I pointed out, checking the rearview mirror before setting off after him. “Looks like you might owe me twenty bucks.”

I kept my distance as we tailed Trethaway through the city streets. There was enough late-night traffic that even if he had looked in his mirrors, he wouldn't have noticed we were following him.

Still filming, Joe picked up the two-way radio we were using to stay in touch with Chet and Amber.

“Guys? Any movement on your side?”

There was a hiss and crackle, and then Chet's tinny voice echoed through the car. “Delta One, remember?”

“Huh?” said Joe.

“Use the proper code names. Delta One and Delta Two. Come on. You gotta do this properly.”

Joe rolled his eyes at me. “Fine. Delta Two to Delta One. Come in, Delta One.”

“Delta One here. No movement in target's house. Everything dark.”

I frowned. “Everything dark? Not even a single light?”

“No, no lights on at all. Looks like nobody's at home.”

That was a bit worrisome. Why would Kruger be out at this time? Unless he was asleep already?

I gestured for Joe to hand over the radio as I eased to a stop at a traffic light. Trethaway had made it through before the light turned red, but I could still see him up ahead.

“Guys, do me a favor and go knock on his door. Make it loud. We need to know if he's in there or not.”

Amber's voice came over the speaker. “Sure. Give us a couple of minutes.”

I handed the radio back. The light had turned green, so I hit the gas and headed off to find our target.

Only problem was, he had disappeared.

I slowed down, searching the road ahead, checking the cars parked along the sidewalk. Joe was staring out the passenger window, trying to see if he had pulled off onto any side streets.

“You think he saw us?” he asked.

“Nah. We weren't tailing him too closely.”

“Yeah, but what if he's paranoid?” Joe said. “He was in prison for a while.”

I hadn't thought of that. Up ahead, a police car pulled out of a gas station and passed us, heading in the opposite direction. It disappeared into the darkness.

A second later I heard the squeal of tires and Trethaway's car skidded into view, sliding onto the main street from a side alley. His car sped off into the distance, then skidded around yet another corner, vanishing from sight.

“After him!” shouted Joe.

I stomped on the gas and gunned the engine. I could see his taillights up ahead, swerving from side to side as he fought to keep control of his car.

“You think he spotted us?” I shouted.

“I think the cops spooked him,” said Joe. “Looks like I might owe you that twenty bucks after all.”

Trethaway took us on a chase away from the city's center, moving through smaller suburban streets. Our cars skidded around corners, spinning along the asphalt as we played cat and mouse through the narrow streets.

I managed to keep him in sight, but I didn't know what to do. We couldn't ram him off the road. And this was getting dangerous.