The Secret Cipher, page 8
“Look, I know you have it,” I told her, keeping my arms at my sides. “But why did you bring it here? Are you meeting someone? Is someone paying you?”
She glanced around. Who was she looking for?
“If you give it back to us right now, we won’t call the police.” Of course we’d never call police. The last thing we needed was for the urn to be taken into custody as evidence or worse—uncorked because they thought it contained drugs.
She didn’t flinch. She looked me right in the eye. “Do not interfere with my quest, Jax Malone. Return to your home before you get hurt.” It didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like she actually cared about my safety. She turned and continued up the aisle, the bag slung, once again, over her shoulder.
I groaned with frustration. She’d called my bluff. All I could do was hurry after her, Ethan at my heels.
Then she stopped in front of a booth. Its banner read, The Puzzle Master.
“Hey,” Ethan said. “Tyler mentioned this, remember? He told her to visit this booth if she came to the festival.”
I nodded. But why, after stealing a magical urn, would she stop here?
The shelves were filled with board games and jigsaw puzzles. People stood around a table, working on different puzzles, some wooden, some made from metal. Rubik’s Cubes were stacked to the ceiling.
“Are you the puzzle master?” the girl asked a woman who was sitting on a stool. The woman was very plump, with frizzy black hair sticking out of a red scarf. Her big, golden hoop earrings and white blouse made her look like a pirate wench.
“The one and only,” the woman said.
“It was told to me that you are an expert in puzzles.”
“That’s true.” Then she pointed at a little boy. “Hey, kid! Don’t open the box unless you’re going to buy it!” The boy put the box down and darted away.
Ethan and I stood to the side, watching as the girl reached into her black bag and pulled out a brown leather belt. She straightened the leather belt and held it in front of the woman. The puzzle master pursed her lips. “I don’t sell belts,” she said. “Costumes are in aisle five.” The girl flipped the belt over and the puzzle master’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see.” She leaned close to the leather. “What language is this?”
“Greek,” the girl answered.
“I’m afraid I don’t read Greek.”
“I do, but this message makes no sense. The letters form no words.”
The puzzle master tapped a finger to her round chin. “It would appear that what you have is a cipher.”
“A cipher?”
“Indeed. A cipher is like a code, however it requires a key. Let me show you.” The puzzle master slid off her stool, then pulled a box from one of her shelves. After opening the box, she removed a wooden rod and a long strip of leather. Ethan and I stepped closer so we could see what was going on. “When ancient armies needed to communicate, they often used a cipher. The commanders would carry identical rods. After winding the leather around the rod, a message was written along the length of the leather. You see how it says, The enemy is near?”
The girl nodded. So did Ethan and I.
The puzzle master continued. “Once the message was written, the leather strip was unwound and the blank spaces filled in with other letters. Thus, when the leather strip lies flat, the message is indecipherable to the naked eye.” She unwound the leather and showed it to the girl.
“It makes no sense,” the girl said.
“Exactly. That is the genius of a cipher. Only those with the proper key can decipher the message.” She rewound the leather onto the rod. “Voilà. The message appears once again.”
The girl took her leather belt and began to wind it around the wooden rod. “It doesn’t fit,” she said.
“It will only work if you find the correct size key, both in length and width.”
“What does this have to do with the urn?” I asked Ethan. We were standing shoulder to shoulder, watching as the girl tucked the belt back into her bag.
“I don’t know,” he said, reaching into his pocket. His phone was ringing again.
“Tell Tyler to quit calling. We’re trying to accomplish something!” Seriously, Tyler had zero patience. All he had to do was wait in the car and be ready to drive at warp speed. We were doing all the work. But how were we supposed to focus when he kept interrupting?
But Ethan pushed the telephone in front of my face. The screen read, Ricardo.
15
Ethan
FACT: There are two types of stress—acute and chronic. My nosebleeds came from acute stress, which is a temporary reaction to a situation or event—like lying to my parents or getting a phone call from a mysterious evil villain. Chronic means living in a constant state of stress. I was heading in that direction, thanks to the urn situation.
The tickle in my sinuses began the instant I read the screen.
Incoming Call from Ricardo.
I didn’t wonder how he’d gotten my number. So many people assume we still have privacy. That is an illusion. Any time you do anything online, or by phone, you make yourself traceable, trackable, contactable. What I was trying to figure out was—should I accept or decline?
It rang again.
“Don’t answer it,” Jax said. She shuffled in place. “I mean, why would we answer it? We don’t want to talk to him. Then again, maybe we should answer it. Would it hurt to answer? I don’t know what to do.” She looked at me, her face all scrunched up as if she was about to get sick.
“If I answer the call, he’ll hear exactly where we are,” I said. “Although there’s also a GPS tracking unit in my phone.”
“What? Why do you have one of those things?”
“They come with the phone,” I told her.
“Then don’t answer it.”
The phone stopped ringing. We both gasped as a message popped onto the screen. From Ricardo: We must talk about the urn. Meet me at the concession stand. Now.
“He’s here?” Jax cried.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. The tingling was stronger now. The bleeding would start soon.
“I knew it!” Jax said. “She came here to meet him. She’s working for him. If we don’t get that urn, she’s going to give it to him.”
“If she’s going to meet him, then why is he calling us?” I asked, pulling a wad of Kleenex from my pocket.
“I don’t know. This whole thing is crazy.” Jax whipped around. “Ethan? Where did she go?”
The girl was no longer in the Puzzle Master’s booth.
“Do you see her?” Jax asked. We hurried down the aisle. “She could have reached the exit already.”
“But Ricardo’s at the concession stand. Wouldn’t she go there?” I held the tissues to my nose.
“Concession stand! Of course!” Jax led the way down the aisle. “This is a really bad time for a nosebleed, Ethan.”
“There’s no need to point out the obvious.” I checked the tissues. Phew! There was no blood. I’d applied enough pressure. “Are we really doing this? Are we really going to meet Ricardo?” I asked.
“What other choice do we have?”
I started to list a half dozen other choices, but Jax was too far ahead of me to hear any of them.
The concession stand was actually a bunch of different vendors whose booths were lined up along the back wall. The scent of fast food filled the air. Every table was crowded, the conversation level high. A group of Pokémon characters sat eating mini pizzas. The Fabulous Four were slurping noodles. Jax ducked behind a display of energy drinks that had been stacked like a pyramid. “Put the mask back on,” she said.
As much as I dreaded the mask, I pulled it over my face. Ricardo probably knew exactly what we looked like, thanks to the Camels. If he’d been following us, then he also knew what we looked like in our bat costumes. Hiding seemed impossible.
I imagined what would happen if Ricardo opened the urn. It would be like a scene from a comic book. The tornado would whip through the hall, churning up everything in its path. Characters would fall to the floor, waiting for someone to save them. As the urn took all the hope it could find, Ricardo would laugh wickedly. Batman and Batgirl would be powerless to help. We’d be stupefied like everyone else.
“Do you see her?” Jax asked.
“No.” And since we didn’t know what Ricardo looked like, I didn’t see him, either.
“Call Tyler. Warn him that the girl might be leaving the building. Tell him to follow her, even if he has to leave without us.”
I unlocked my phone and was about to press Tyler’s number, when it rang again. Incoming Call from Ricardo. Jax grabbed it and pressed Accept. Then she pressed Speaker. “Leave us alone. We don’t have the urn!”
“Hello, Jacqueline. There is no reason to be afraid of me. I am here to help you.” His voice was exactly as I remembered from when we hid in the Camels’ hotel bathroom. It gave me the chills then, and still did. He sounded like he could turn things to ice. “You are in great danger. You must give me the urn.”
“Why are we in danger?”
“The urn will hurt you, as it hurt your cousin. Give it to me and I will destroy it.”
He wanted to destroy it? I looked at Jax. Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy after all. Maybe he was on our side. But Jax narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “We don’t have it.”
“That is a lie,” he hissed. “You will not leave the Seaport World Trade Center until you give me the urn.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jax was trying to sound calm but her voice was trembling. “We’re not at the Seaport whatever-you-just-called-it.”
“Do not play games with me, Jacqueline Malone. I followed you here. I know you have the urn because I can sense its presence. It is close. Very close. You will surrender or face the consequences.”
“We’re not afraid of you!” Jax said, then she hung up.
“Jax?” My voice cracked. The tingling was peaking, and the nosebleed would start any second now. I grabbed her arm and pointed.
A man was walking toward us, a phone held in one hand. He was tall and skinny, wearing black pants, a black shirt, and a black fedora. His stride was fast and determined. He pushed a little girl out of his way.
“Run!” Jax said.
We turned on our heels and headed in the opposite direction. Once again, there was no plan. How could we have a plan? None of this made sense. If the girl was delivering the urn to Ricardo, then he’d know she had it. But he thought we had it. He’d followed us. He knew we were visiting Juniper. He—
Something crashed behind us. I looked over my shoulder. The tower of energy drinks tumbled to the floor, the bottles rolling in all directions. Neither Jax nor I had bumped into it, so why had it fallen over? Ricardo stumbled.
“Keep running!” a voice ordered. A shape darted in front of me. Red braids swung back and forth as the girl grabbed a stack of folding chairs and threw them to the ground behind us. Like a bulldozer, she pushed though the crowd. She knocked into a kid carrying an armful of books. When she grabbed a stand of toy swords and tossed it behind us, I realized she was creating the obstacle course on purpose. I might have pointed out that she was engaging in vandalism, but this was one occasion when breaking the law was okay by me. She raced in front of Jax and motioned for us to follow. Was she leading us away from Ricardo?
What was going on? Who was the good guy and who was the bad guy?
Our capes flying, Jax and I tore after her. I glanced back again. We’d gained some ground. Ricardo was caught in the sword chaos, as people rushed to the scene trying to help clean the mess. It suddenly looked like we might outrun him. But another problem reared its head—we’d attracted the attention of three security guards. As we dashed out of the exhibition hall and past the registration tables, the guards joined the chase. “Stop!” one of them called. The entrance wasn’t far. Only a few more yards to run and a group of Klingons to get past.
I squeezed between plastic armored chests and fake battle weapons. Jax stopped and said something to the biggest one, a guy who must have been three hundred pounds. He growled and said something in the language of his people. The next thing I knew, they were stomping away, like an army on the warpath. The entrance was free and clear. I turned again, catching sight of the Klingons blocking Ricardo’s path. They were waving their arms and jumping up and down.
“What did you say to them?” I asked Jax.
“I told them that the man chasing us was Spock in disguise.”
Brilliant, I thought.
The girl raced toward the exit and out she went, her braids swaying with her long strides. Jax was next. As I emerged from the convention hall, a soft breeze brushed across my face, carrying the scent of seawater. Immediate relief washed over me. No elbow-to-elbow crowd. No loud music, no blaring announcements. Cars drove past. A boat honked in the harbor. Would life return to normal?
But what was that screeching sound?
It was like a James Bond movie. Pedestrians jumped aside as Tyler’s car skidded to a stop right in front of us. Huh? I looked around. This wasn’t a road. He’d driven onto the sidewalk. That wasn’t legal! Mom would kill him!
The girl grabbed the front passenger door and yanked it open. Then she flung herself inside. Jax opened the back and dove in. I looked over my shoulder. Through the glass entryway doors I could see a tall, dark figure rushing down the hallway. And three security guards.
“Ethan!” Jax cried.
I scrambled in next to her and slammed the door shut.
“Well, hello there,” Tyler said to the girl. “This is unexpected. Did you come back to see me?” He smiled.
“No time to talk,” Jax said. She and I were breathing like out-of-shape racehorses. “Ricardo is chasing us!”
“There he is!” I announced as Ricardo burst out of the building, the guards on his tail.
“I advise you to move your chariot,” the girl told Tyler.
“Go, go, go!” Jax hollered.
Tires screeched as Tyler did a 180-degree turn. A car horn blared as we bounced over the curb and pulled onto the road. To avoid a head-on collision, Tyler slammed the brakes. Jax and I were thrown against the front seat. Another car honked. We desperately searched for the seat belts. Just as we strapped in, Tyler accelerated and we were thrown backward. “You’re going to get us killed,” Jax complained, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Don’t tell the getaway driver how to drive,” he snapped.
I guessed that it wasn’t the appropriate time to remind them, once again, about the dangers of teenage driving.
Both Jax and I looked out the back window. Ricardo stood on the sidewalk, his face clenched as if he was about to have a heart attack. I’d never seen anyone look so angry. He yanked his phone from his pocket. Ringing filled Tyler’s car. My phone’s screen glowed. Incoming Call: Ricardo. “He’s trying to track us!” Jax cried. “Don’t answer it!”
As blood trickled from my left nostril, I opened my privacy settings and disabled the GPS tracking device. Then I muted the phone. “He can’t track us now.”
Jax tore off her mask and fell against the seat. “That was so close. He almost caught us.”
I struggled to get my mask off. As I pushed a wad of tissue against my nostril, Jax cringed. She’s always gagged at the sight of blood. It was one of the few things that grossed her out. “You broke a lot of stuff,” I told the girl. “We could get in serious trouble. What if the security guards take down our license plate number and call the police?” As I tilted my head back, I imagined Mom and Dad getting a phone call from the festival organizers, or from the Boston police chief. I’d promised I wouldn’t let Jax get me into any more trouble.
“Somebody better tell me what’s going on,” Tyler said. “Where’s the urn?”
Jax leaned over the seat and pointed at the girl’s leather bag.
Tyler gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. The road led us over a bridge. Boston Harbor lay on our right, a channel on our left. He glanced nervously at the girl, who was hugging her bag to her chest. “I don’t want that urn in my car. I don’t want to be anywhere near it,” he said through clenched teeth.
I didn’t want to be near the urn, either. But our goal was to keep it away from people like Ricardo. I looked at Jax. She was deep in thought, her eyes narrowed, probably planning her next move.
“The urn will not harm you,” the girl said, wrapping her arms tighter. “Do not try to take it from me.”
Jax and I looked at each other. Was the urn having the same effect on the girl as it had on Jax? Did she think of herself as the protector? Would she do anything to keep it safe?
“Listen,” Jax told her. “That urn makes you feel weird. It gets into your head. It will tell you to protect it. It’ll make you think that we’re bad, but we’re not bad. We want to do the right thing.”
“And what is the right thing?” She turned halfway around. Her hair sparkled in the sunlight that streamed through the windshield.
“We want to give it back to our great-aunt,” Jax said. “It belongs to her. She is the rightful owner.”
The girl’s voice remained calm. “That is incorrect. I am the rightful owner.”
Despite my nosebleed, I kept looking back, to see if anyone was following. So far, it looked like we were safe. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Tyler admitted. He followed the road to the right. The harbor was still in view and we passed a sign for an aquarium.
“You are taking me to Poseidon,” the girl said as she looked out the passenger window.
“Huh?” Tyler asked “Where?”
“There is a fountain nearby, in which Poseidon is seated. I must return to that place immediately. My quest is to return the urns.”
Jax gasped. “Did you say urns? As in more than one?”
