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“They don’t want you,” I said, meaning the brown-robed monk men. “They want the sword, and the sword isn’t going to be here.”
“You’re leaving? Al, you can’t leave.”
“Sure I can, Uncle Farrell. Give me your car keys.”
“You can’t have my car!”
“You’ll get fired if you leave.”
“Alfred, I’m about to be a millionaire—do you really think I care if they fire me? We’re getting outta here!”
We took the access stairs to the underground lot. Uncle Farrell drove while I sat in the backseat, the sword across my lap. Three cop cars roared past us in the direction of Samson Towers, sirens wailing.
Once we were safely away, my own panic and fear started to set in. I broke out in a cold sweat and fought back tears. “Okay, Uncle Farrell, you’ve got to tell me what’s really going on here.”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’d those guys come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“How’d they get into the building?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why is my name the code to the secret chamber?”
“I don’t know.”
Apparently, there wasn’t much Uncle Farrell did know. That made it even worse, the thought that I was the real brains of the operation.
He drove straight to our apartment. He doubled-parked on the street. It was almost three a.m.; we didn’t see anybody going up the stairs. Uncle Farrell went in first so I could check out the hall one last time.
Then I stepped into the dark room and asked, “Uncle Farrell, is everything all right?”
I flipped the switch and heard Uncle Farrell gasp. He was standing about ten feet away, by the sofa. Behind him stood Arthur Myers, his forearm across Uncle Farrell’s throat.
“Of course it’s all right, Mr. Kropp,” Arthur Myers said.
9
“Alfred,” Uncle Farrell wheezed. “I can’t breathe.”
“He’s having some difficulty breathing, Mr. Kropp,” Mr. Myers said. “Drop the sword and step away, please.”
I dropped the sword. It made a dull clang as it hit the floor.
“Very good. Step away, toward the window, please.”
I sidestepped to the window, keeping my eye on them.
Mr. Myers let Uncle Farrell go, stepped around him as he fell back onto the sofa, and strode quickly to the sword. He picked it up and turned it from side to side.
“All right,” I said. “You have the sword. You can go now, Mr. Myers.”
“Wait a minute,” Uncle Farrell said, rubbing his throat. “I want some answers first. What in the name of Jehoshaphat is this sword and who were those guys in the funny robes trying to take it?”
“They weren’t trying to take it,” Mr. Myers said. He was staring at the sword with a weird expression. “They were trying to stop you from taking it.” He leveled his eyes at me and something dark passed over his face.
