The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Riddle of Ages, page 14
“Hey,” he said as Kate handed him the platter he’d just been about to reach for, “McCracken and the others lost their weapons, right? Milligan’s agents took their shock-watches and briefcases and so on.”
“Of course,” Kate answered, turning back to the stove. “Believe me, they put as much distance as possible between the Ten Men and their toys. And that’s something, anyway, since evidently McCracken was already feeling the pinch—too many of their weapons confiscated, and not many replacements handy. At the Street Fair Melee, you know, none of them had laser pointers. Which was a lucky stroke for Milligan and me. But they still have a fair amount of hardware at their disposal.”
“Right,” Reynie said. “And for now they’ll just redistribute what they have. But that’s not what I was getting at. My question is, McCracken was probably thoroughly searched, wasn’t he?”
Kate spun around. “That letter!”
Reynie nodded. “McCracken put it into his pocket.”
“I’m sure they found it. Someone must have it.”
“Seems like we ought to have a copy of it.”
“Seems like, indeed,” Kate agreed. “Why don’t you jump on the radio? I can take over what you’re doing here.”
“Are you sure?” Reynie asked, and Kate’s laughter followed after him as he hurried back into the dining room, where he’d left the radio.
Reynie had just radioed his request to the appropriate agent when Sticky, Constance, and Tai came in, all of them still in their pajamas, all yawning.
“We ran into George in the hallway,” Tai announced in a sleep-raspy voice. “He was confused!”
Sticky was rubbing his face, trying to come more awake. “When I woke up in Mr. Benedict’s bed, I thought I was back in my bedroom across the street, but everything had been moved around. I was completely discombobulated.”
“And he was walking funny!” Tai declared.
“He appeared to be prancing,” Constance mumbled. Her scarlet hair had fallen across her face. She pushed it sleepily aside.
“I’d been dreaming there were scorpions on the floor,” Sticky said. “I think it’s easy enough to guess why. Anyway, I see you’ve both been up awhile. Are those poached eggs, Kate? You’re the absolute best.”
“I know,” said Kate, who had just swooped in from the kitchen. “Now, guess what? Reynie ordered up a copy of the letter McCracken was reading yesterday.”
Sticky was pulling out a chair. He froze, looking at Kate and Reynie. “How did I not think of that?”
“None of us did,” Reynie said. “We were all exhausted, and we kind of had a lot to deal with. I only remembered it this morning. Now we’re just waiting.”
Anxiously they all sat down to the breakfast Kate had prepared—a pot of oatmeal; toast, butter, and marmalade in abundance; eggs cooked three different ways; a pitcher of milk; and a variety of juices. They ate in uncharacteristic silence, waiting and thinking. Even young Tai, eating breakfast with the Mysterious Benedict Society for the first time, found nothing to say. He was excited, but he also kept drifting off into sleepy early-morning stares.
Half an hour later one of the morning papers arrived. This was not unusual. Several newspapers were delivered to Mr. Benedict’s house every morning and evening, most of them tossed from the sidewalk and landing some distance from the door. Today, however, this particular newspaper was carried all the way to the house, where it was propped against the front door. The gate squeaked and clanged again; the delivery person went whistling away into the gloom.
The front door opened a crack, the paper fell into an unseen hand, and the door closed.
“I have it,” said Reynie, walking into the dining room. He had already unrolled the newspaper and was flipping to the sports section—where, according to his instructions, the photocopied letter had been secreted away. He unfolded it: two sheets of unlined paper, filled front and back with handwriting so familiar it caused a shiver in Reynie, who remembered the first time he had read it. They’d been at the Institute, determined but scared, and the owner of that handwriting was a brilliant and seemingly unstoppable madman.
“It’s from Curtain,” Reynie announced, “and it’s in code.”
Kate, who had been doing handstand push-ups to clear her mind, paused in her exercise and regarded Reynie upside down.
“A familiar one?” she asked, dropping to her feet. A year or so after Mr. Curtain’s capture, the Society had been given select copies of his confiscated letters—coded exchanges between him and his Ten Men—and had figured out how to decipher them. It had been one of their projects.
“I recognize it,” Reynie said, nodding. “Where’s Sticky?”
“He went to the bathroom!” Tai said. “He has to use the bathroom just like everybody else does!”
Everyone looked at Tai, considering this pronouncement without comment. Then Reynie sat at the table with paper and pencil that Kate had produced from a drawer, and for several minutes he scribbled away furiously, pausing from time to time to flex his cramped hand.
“So what does it say?” Kate asked as soon as he’d finished.
“You’d better read it for yourself,” Reynie said, handing her the pages. With an apologetic look, he turned to Constance. “You know I hate to say it, but—”
“I get it, I get it,” Constance snapped. “There’s some reason I shouldn’t read it, because of the Listener. Who’s awake and back at it, by the way. Fine. Whatever. I believe I’ll have another cup of tea. Will someone pass me the sugar?”
“Doesn’t the Listener already know what’s in the letter?” asked Tai, who took up the sugar bowl, carefully cradling it in both hands, and passed it to Constance.
“Maybe,” Reynie said. “My concern isn’t the letter so much as what Constance might think about it. The less she knows about some things, the better. Just in case.”
“Just in case,” Tai repeated, nodding. He noticed how much sugar Constance was spooning into her cup of tea. “Oh, I didn’t know you could do that! Can I have some for my tea, too, please?” He extended his hands toward Constance in the same cradle formation, eager to receive the sugar bowl.
Constance eyed him askance and continued with her spooning. He was going to have to wait.
Kate finished reading the letter just as Sticky hurried back into the room, and with a significant look at Reynie, she passed it to him. “From Curtain,” she said. “As expected.”
True to form, Sticky read and memorized the pages at a glance. The letter read as follows:
Salutations, Gentlemen,
Allow me to congratulate you on your recently improved circumstances!
Now to cut to the chase, for I have but the briefest opportunity to write you. My tiresome brother, Benedict, has informed me that all security and maintenance personnel are being evacuated from the premises, and he alone will be allowed to remain behind as a visitor with extraordinary security clearances. He insists that he has no fear of your infiltration, for he believes the facility to be completely impregnable—believes, in fact, that for this reason he is safest where he is, “keeping me company” in my locked suite, rather than risking to move about the city, where he knows you have gathered in force. He has, however, negotiated a single exception: My devoted young follower, S.Q. Pedalian, has been given permission to procure a few supplies in the city and bring them to Benedict, who anticipates a potentially lengthy stay here until this “situation” is resolved. Yet I am told that S.Q.’s errand must be completed before sunset, when the last guard is under strict orders to activate the final locks, after which there shall be no entry into the facility whatsoever. (Such is the hope of my captors, at least. Naturally, I intend for you to spoil their plans.)
Time is short, therefore. This letter shall be delivered in a sealed envelope, with my signature across the seal, and deposited into our secret Vault. May it find its way quickly into your hands.
Gentlemen, you will not be surprised to learn that my plan is a brilliant one. Indeed, given your particular talents and tools, you’re unlikely to find it even remotely challenging to accomplish. I am laying the groundwork myself—paving your path, if you will. Allow me to explain. This shall require a bit of background.
For some years now, my brother, Benedict, has been developing a brain serum that would help the young telepath Constance Contraire to better control her abilities. During his frequent visits to me, we’ve discussed his research and experiments in full detail—indeed, in the guise of civility, I have myself contributed the most important ideas, and although he has thus far been hesitant to test the serum on his adopted daughter (in fact won’t even mention it to her, for fear of raising hopes that might eventually be dashed), I have no doubt that it will do precisely what Benedict intended. Who knows more about the complex workings of the brain than I? No one in the world. (My brother runs, perhaps, a distant second.)
Gentlemen, if you have indeed found the person we long sought (and I believe you have, as there’s no other explanation for your newfound freedom), this brain serum will enable us to rapidly cultivate her gifts; she will soon be capable of previously unimaginable feats. Under my direction, she will change the minds of key figures in government. We former Institutionalists will be seen as misunderstood heroes, and our enemies will be seen as deceitful traitors. Imagine it: No security code, no password, no secret weapon or treasure in the world will be hidden from us. All will be ours for the taking. You will be rich and powerful, and I, at long last, will be in control: I will set all crooked matters straight. It will not have been the most direct path to the destiny I once foresaw, but there is always more than one path, my friends. Some take longer to travel but are more certain in their destination. Soon we shall look back upon these recent days of curtailed freedom as a necessary step in a long process. The strongest tea must be allowed to steep.
Yes, we shall use the serum to boost the telepath’s abilities, and we shall treat her very well, offer her every comfort, until we have achieved our aims. But I have still more secrets. Though Benedict, with his limited focus, seems not to have considered the wider possibilities, to me it is abundantly clear that the serum will elevate anyone’s mental abilities—will open new doorways in the brain. The effect on my brother or myself would be minimal, I’m afraid, for (to express this in a way you can understand) the vast majority of the doors in our brains are already open. In other words, it would simply be impossible for either of us to become very much more intelligent than we already are. But on the average mind the effects would be extraordinary. Imagine suddenly being three or four times as smart as you were before you drank the serum. Yes, imagine being a spontaneous genius! Perhaps even one as brilliant as I, although I confess that possibility seems unlikely in the extreme. Nonetheless, I thrill at the notion of my top lieutenants being intellectual giants like myself. We would truly have no boundaries!
But how, you may ask, are we to acquire this serum? Allow me to explain the next part of my plan—which is, as I’ve mentioned, a brilliant one. Knowing as I do the precise chemical composition of the brain serum, and being (as you know) a gifted chemist, I’ve secretly developed the formula for a pleasant poison whose chemical compounds would be precisely counteracted by those in the serum. In other words, the brain serum is the antidote to the poison.
Over the last year, in accordance with my secret instructions (likewise delivered in sealed, signed envelopes), S.Q. has met with a network of black-market chemists, each of whom participated in one, and only one, part of the process of formulating the poison—thus, no single one of them knows the “complete recipe,” if you will. S.Q. himself knows nothing of my overall plan, having been given to understand that I am simply helping former acquaintances with their personal, private research. Today, however, among the supplies he’s being dispatched to obtain will be a famously delicious variety of tea, prepared by the last link in my chain of chemists, and awaiting pickup at a charming little tea shop not far from the location of the Vault.
Perhaps you begin to see how my plan is developing. S.Q. will deliver this poisoned tea that my unwitting brother and I shall drink together—yes, I shall have to drink it as well, for Benedict is the one who shall have to prepare it, and I’m afraid he is far too observant and clever not to notice any sleight of hand on my part. Afterward, I shall alert him to what we have consumed. He will understand as well as I what the effects of the poison will be: a day or two of increasing drowsiness, accompanied by a general sense of well-being—I told you it was a “pleasant” poison—concluding with a deep, unending sleep. You see how I put my fate in your hands. I am satisfied with any outcome, however. If I cannot join you in freedom, I am content to leave the world of the waking. Either way, I shall have my escape.
But Benedict, naturally, will wish to avoid letting the curtain fall so abruptly on his own life’s production. Therefore, I will urge him to seek assistance. He will be unable to leave the facility, however, for he will be locked inside the so-called visitors area of my security suite. And so he will be compelled to communicate telepathically with young Contraire. (You’ll recall that it was by this means that Benedict infiltrated our headquarters on our last fateful day of freedom.) Now, one of Benedict’s associates, the young Mr. Washington, knows the precise formula of the brain serum and has ready access to the necessary chemicals. He will no doubt promptly formulate a quantity of serum and attempt, with the help of Benedict’s other young minions, to deliver this antidote to my brother. (And I suppose to me as well, lest they all be accused of allowing my demise when they could have prevented it.) Despite this facility’s supposedly impenetrable nature, those four are resourceful enough (as you have all seen for yourselves), and my brother knows the facility well enough, that I’m confident they will make their way in.
What they won’t know until too late is that you will be following them. That’s correct, gentlemen, you have only to follow them, applying pressure from behind to speed them along, and using the example of their own progress through the various layers of security whenever you find it expedient. Certainly you are supremely skilled when it comes to hurting your way into and out of places, but in this case it may be helpful, even necessary, to adopt some of the young intruders’ own methods of infiltrating the facility, for they may well be informed by Benedict himself. Even more important, however, is that their presence here will be critical in breaching the last (and truly impregnable) barrier into my suite—my foolish brother will open doors for them that he would not open for anyone else, not even to save himself. (I repeat, at least one or two members of his beloved foursome must be present when you arrive at the final security door; otherwise, I fear, your efforts will have been in vain.)
And now you see why my plan is brilliant! In one fell swoop we shall secure both the brain serum and our freedom, and together we shall make our escape into our new life! (Much to the horror, I might add, of Benedict and his lackeys, who will be compelled to see it all unfold, miserably aware that they have played key roles in our escape.)
I anticipate a final question: How exactly are we to make this escape? Even with the use of signal disruption to disable the facility’s alarm systems, we cannot simply retrace your footsteps. Never fear! You’ll understand my basis for saying that I know far more about my present environs than anyone would ever guess. This is a relevant fact for more than a few reasons. First, as it happens, I—and I alone—know the whereabouts of a secret cache of weapons: weapons of my own design, ones you have used with such gusto throughout your careers. Your current supply must be precious low, limited to the emergency store that the Katz brothers will have raided prior to your liberation. Those should prove sufficient to help you make your way to me. Then you shall have a fresh abundance at your disposal. What’s more (and, oh, it is so very much more!), there is yet another weapon here, one with which you are unfamiliar. It has always remained hidden. Not a soul in the world has ever known of its existence; indeed, few would have even thought it possible. The same might have been said of my Whisperer, of course—even you doubted its abilities until I had demonstrated them. But although the Whisperer failed, in the end, to change the world forever, I have another secret means of doing so. I require only a little help from you. Come and see, gentlemen! Prepare to be amazed.
Finally, as for our exit, rest easy. You have only to reach me. Once you have done so, you may confidently place your fate in my hands. I have considered every angle, every potential obstacle, and I am triumphant in my conviction. Only reach me, gentlemen, and everything will go precisely according to my plan!
I look forward to reestablishing our acquaintance soon. I hope this letter finds you in good health, etc.
Cordially,
L. Curtain
PS. Should it interest you, I composed this entire letter in a mere eleven minutes, and as you can see, there is not a single strikeout or misspelling. Remarkable!
As remarkable as it may have been to compose such a letter in eleven minutes, even more remarkable, to the average observer, would be to see Sticky Washington read the same letter in a matter of seconds. His friends were hardly average observers, however, and were so used to seeing his prodigious abilities in action that they registered not the faintest surprise when Sticky reached the end of the letter almost as soon as it had been handed to him. His expression was now the same as Reynie’s and Kate’s, for all of them were silently thinking about the letter. Sticky, for his part, was essentially reading it again—looking at a perfect image of it in his mind—which led to a surprising announcement from Tai.
“I can see the letter in George’s mind!” he declared. “I can read it!”
