by Roland Smith
“The Irish survived on a mostly potato diet for hundreds of years,” Fiske Cahill pointed out, staring grimly at the spud in his hand.
“That’s correct,” Alistair agreed. “I did a great deal of research while working on my Frozen Peanut Butter–Potato Tot Burrito.”
“How’d that sell?” Ted Starling asked. He was sitting near the damaged dumbwaiter, hoping to hear a snippet of conversation from their captors above.
“Not well, I’m afraid,” Alistair said. “But I did learn that the average Irish citizen consumed five to eight pounds of potatoes a day, and they were healthy.”
“We’re getting about a pound a day for seven of us,” Natalie Kabra pointed out. She prodded the shriveled spud on her plate, then stared in dismay at her hands. “Oh, my God! My hands look like monkey paws. I’d give anything for cream and an emery board.”
“Your hands look fine,” Ted said.
“No offense, Theodore,” Natalie said. “But you’re blind.”
Alistair cut in before the kids could start squabbling. “A bigger concern is drinkable water,” Alistair said. “We’re getting dehydrated. We’ll die of thirst long before we die of hunger.”
“Let’s try to think of the positive,” Fiske said.
“Good idea,” Natalie shot back. “Why don’t you start, Fiske?”
“Well . . .” Fiske trailed off.
“Can it, Natalie,” Nellie said. “If they get us fighting among ourselves we won’t have the energy to fight them.”
“In order to fight them, we have to get to them,” Reagan said, out of breath from the crunches. She started doing one-handed push-ups with her good hand, but only managed six before losing her strength.
Phoenix waved Alistair over to where he and Nellie were sitting. “Is everything okay?” Alistair asked quietly.
Phoenix leaned over and whispered into his ear. “I think Reagan is going to die.”
As Jake drove the SUV through the dark, icy streets, Atticus’s fingers flew across the laptop keyboard to try to identify the decoy diamond they’d been given.
“I’ve got it!” he shouted. “The diamond’s called the Golden Jubilee. It’s on loan from the king of Thailand, at the Pergamon Museum.”
“Where is that?” Dan said, shifting in his seat.
“We’re three blocks away,” Jake said, pointing at the navigation screen.
They parked the SUV a block away from the Pergamon. They were on the scene, but they still didn’t have the slightest idea how they were going to steal the diamond.
“It’s one of the most heavily guarded museums in Berlin,” Atticus said. He had the Pergamon website up on his laptop. “It’s subdivided into the antiquity collection, the Middle East museum, and the museum of Islamic art. Chancellor Angela Merkel was there last week for the unveiling of the Golden Jubilee exhibit. The museum is visited by over a million people every year, making it the most popular —”
“We don’t need an audio tour!” Dan snapped. “We need to just get in there and swap the diamonds.”
Atticus flinched, but Dan didn’t care. He reached for the door handle. “We only have two hours left!”
“Hold on,” Amy said.
Dan gave her an exasperated sigh. “What?”
“We can’t just waltz in there and expect to walk out with one of the most valuable treasures on earth,” she said, panic creeping into her voice. “We need to figure out a plan.”
“Fine. But make it quick.” Dan looked pointedly at his watch.
“We’ll each go in at ten-minute intervals,” Amy said. “Interpol has probably sent our photographs to every museum in Europe. It’ll be safer if we don’t enter together.” She pulled a red wig out of her pack.
“I’m not wearing that!” Dan said. When they flew to Samarkand, the Cahills in the Attleboro comm center had made him dress as a redheaded girl named Shirley Cliphorn.
“I’m going to wear it,” Amy said, pulling it over her head and shooting her brother an irritated look.
“I’ll wear a baseball cap,” Dan said.
“Dan, you’ll go in first and find out where the Golden Jubilee is. Atticus will go in next and try to figure out what kind of electronic surveillance and alarm security they have in the museum. I’ll come in third with the fake diamond. We’ll stay in touch on our Bluetooths and get together once we have the lay of the place.”
“What about me?” Jake asked.
To Dan’s disgust, his sister blushed before she answered. “Stay in the car, keep it running, and pick us up if we somehow pull this off.”
“So I’m the driver,” Jake said flatly.
Dan stared at his watch. “Minute’s up. I’m outta here. See you inside.”
He opened the door and stepped out into the cold evening, happy to be doing something rather than talking about doing something. It was still snowing big, sticky white flakes and there was at least two feet of accumulation on the sidewalk. He wouldn’t be surprised to find the Pergamon had closed for the day while Amy jabbered their time away, as if Alistair or Phoenix wasn’t about to be murdered.
If it’s closed, how do we get the diamond?
He reached the huge entry square to the museum and his shoulders instantly relaxed. People were still walking through the front doors into the building. A bus pulled up to the curb behind him, and a group of students close to his age filed out. None of them were wearing baseball caps, so Dan took his off and joined them as they hurried across the square. A couple of the kids said something to him in German, which he didn’t understand. He smiled and nodded, hoping they weren’t asking him if he was the notorious art thief Dan Cahill, aka Fred Wimple, aka Shirley Cliphorn. Apparently they were just being friendly, because they smiled back and lined up behind their teachers.
Dan inserted himself into the group and walked inside with them. Every security checkpoint had Berliners shaking snow off their coats, hats, and umbrellas as they shuffled through. He tapped his Bluetooth.
“It’s packed,” he whispered.
“What’s security like?” Amy asked.
“Tough.” Dan put his pack on the conveyor belt. “X-ray machines and metal detectors. On the bright side, they don’t seem to be paying much attention to what people look like. They didn’t give me a second glance. Is Atticus on his way?”
“He just got out of the car.”
“See you later.”
“Dan?” Amy hated it when Dan hung up on her.
Jake turned and looked at her from the front seat. “Well?”
“Dan’s inside,” she said, keeping her frustration with her little brother to herself.
“Get into the front seat with me,” he ordered.
Amy frowned at him. “Why?”
“Because it looks suspicious that you’re in the backseat and I’m in the front seat,” Jake said impatiently.
Amy got out of the back, not because he wanted her to, but because he was probably right . . . again. She didn’t know what to think about Jake. Seventy-five percent of the time he was a jerk. The other twenty-five percent of the time he was asleep.
She got into the front seat and closed the door. She could feel the heat from his body and smelled something spicy mingling with the leather of the seats — it was annoyingly pleasant.
“What’s the problem?” he asked. “What’s bothering you?”
“Aside from being wanted by Interpol, trying to save seven hostages, and steal a priceless diamond?”
Jake smiled at her. “Yeah, aside from that.”
Amy gave him a searching look, and then decided to answer honestly. “Dan,” she said. “I’m worried about him. It’s not right that a thirteen-year-old knows as much as he does about stealing things.”
“You’re right,” Jake said. “He should have been at least sixteen like you before he became part of an international crime ring.” He paused. “But I hear you. Atticus already knows more than I will in my entire life. It’s scary. On the one hand he’s a little kid, on
the other hand he’s a supercomputer with two legs. And then there’s this whole Guardian thing.”
On her deathbed, Atticus’s mother, Astrid, Jake’s stepmother, had told Atticus that she was a Guardian and that she was passing the responsibility on to him. But what that meant and how to do it was anyone’s guess.
“What do you know about them?” Jake asked.
“Guardians?”
Jake nodded.
“Not much,” Amy answered, not quite meeting his eyes.
This was more truthish than true. What she wasn’t telling Jake was that she suspected one of the things the Guardians were protecting was a Cahill family relic, a gold ring currently hidden in plain sight on her wrist around the face of her Swiss watch. Only a handful of people knew about the ring’s existence. The Vespers wanted it — badly enough that they’d nearly killed Amy trying to get it.
Time to change the subject. She looked at her watch. “Atticus should be inside the Pergamon by now.”
“I’m going into the museum with you.”
“No.”
“I’m Atticus’s brother. He’s my responsibility.”
“The best way you can keep him safe is to stay here and keep the car running.” Jake opened his mouth to reply, but Amy jumped out of the SUV before he could argue further.
That’s one way to handle him, she thought with a grin. Then she realized she was smiling. Again.
Atticus was not thinking about keeping safe. He was standing in the security line thinking about being an international diamond thief.
Hanging out with Dan is so cool!
To pull the heist off, he would have to find the switch. All buildings had one. Well, not mud-and-dung huts, but if there’s electricity, there’s a switch, Atticus reasoned. Without power there were no lights, and more importantly no surveillance cameras, pressure plates, or alarms. He hoped Dan and Amy had flashlights in their packs, or a flashlight app on their smartphones.
He emptied his pockets and put his pack on the conveyor belt. As he walked through the metal detector, he asked the guard if he could talk to the person in charge of security.
“That would be Herr Rommel,” the guard answered in German. “The man in the black suit.” He pointed at the circular security counter in the center of the ornate lobby.
Atticus nodded. He recognized Rommel from a photo he’d seen on the Pergamon web page. He gathered his things, and his courage, and walked over to the security counter. Rommel was impeccably groomed, from his styled white hair to his perfectly manicured fingernails, creased slacks, and polished black shoes. He was going through a stack of papers as Atticus approached.
“Guten Abend, Herr Rommel,” Atticus said in nearly flawless German.
Rommel looked up from his papers with piercing gray eyes. “Guten Abend. How may I help you?”
“My name is Atticus Rosenbloom, and I’d like a behind-the-scenes tour of the museum.”
Rommel gave a short laugh. “I am not a tour guide. I am the director of security.”
Atticus smiled. “Yes, I know. And that’s why I decided to ask you. I’m doing a school assignment on museum security. In actuality, I’m not interested in how artwork and national treasures are displayed. I want to know how they are protected.”
“And what school do you go to?”
“Harvard,” Atticus lied. Technically, he’d only taken a few extension classes there, but Rommel didn’t need to know that.
Rommel put the papers down and his gray eyes narrowed. “Really?”
“Yes.” Atticus flashed his student identification card.
Rommel looked at it. “And you are how old?”
“Eleven. My father is Dr. Mark Rosenbloom, the archaeologist. I believe that you have some of his artifacts in your collection.” Atticus didn’t know if this was true or not, but it wouldn’t surprise him. His father’s discoveries were displayed in museums all over the world.
“I don’t know your father’s name, or his artifacts,” Rommel said. “I am not a curator. I am only interested in security.” He gave Atticus a thorough once-over. “You are a child prodigy?”
“I guess.” Atticus didn’t like the term. It made him sound like some kind of sideshow freak. Atticus glanced at his watch. Time was running out. Amy would be walking in soon and he’d learned absolutely nothing about the Pergamon’s security system. “What about the tour?”
Rommel shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot accommodate you. I do not give tours, and we will be closing soon.”
“That’s disappointing,” Atticus said with a crushed look. “Frau Bundeskanzlerin told me that you gave her a fabulous tour last week.”
A look of astonishment crossed Rommel’s face. “Are you referring to Chancellor Merkel?”
“Yes. She’s an old family friend. I’m staying at her residence . . . well, until tomorrow, anyway. I fly back to the States in the morning. Anyway, I told her about my paper and she said that she was here last week and that you had been very kind and —”
“I only spoke to Chancellor Merkel for a moment,” Rommel interrupted, smiling with delight. “I’m surprised she remembered me.”
Atticus would not have known Chancellor Merkel if she walked up and kissed him. He’d only read about her visit to the Pergamon on the Internet twenty minutes earlier in the front seat of the car.
“You must have made a very positive impression,” Atticus said, turning to leave. “I’ll say hello to her for you.”
“Wait, wait!” Rommel hurried out from the security station.
Gotcha! Atticus thought. It was all he could do not to pump his fist. He wiped the glee off his face, turned around, and nearly fainted. The top sheet of the papers Rommel was holding was clearly visible. It was an Interpol wanted poster.
On it was a photograph of Dan and Amy.
Rommel smiled. “Don’t look so disappointed. I will give you a tour. A friend of Chancellor Merkel’s is a friend of mine.”
“Thank you,” Atticus managed, though his mouth had gone as dry as parchment.
“Let me drop these off at the security line and we will begin.”
As Rommel walked over to the line, Atticus hit Amy’s speed-dial number with a trembling finger. She answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” Atticus asked.
“I just got inside. I’m standing near the entrance. Who’s the guy you were talking to?”
“Mr. Rommel. Head of security. You see those papers he just handed to that guard?” Atticus replied.
“Yeah.”
“The top one is a wanted poster for you and Dan!”
Dan had not gotten very far into the Pergamon before he hit a one-hundred-by-forty-seven-foot wall: the Ishtar Gate. He was not much of a museum guy, and the gate had nothing to do with the Jubilee Diamond, but it was impressive enough to stop him in his tracks. He quickly glanced at the information tag.
The Ishtar Gate, he read, was one of the eight gates of Babylon, built around 600 B.C. by King Nebuchadnezzar and dedicated to the goddess Ishtar. It was discovered by a German archaeologist named Robert Koldewey in 1899, moved to Berlin piece by blue-tiled piece, and reconstructed inside the Pergamon. The bright tiles were lined with alternating rows of golden aurochs, which Dan learned were a type of extinct wild oxen, and dragons. But what really caught his attention was the compass etched beneath one of the aurochs. Dan leaned over the velvet rope for a closer look.
His breath caught in his throat. This can’t be a coincidence!
It was the same symbol they had found on the de Virga map.
Atticus was in the Pergamon’s state-of-the-art security room, staring nervously at a bank of high-definition video monitors.
“A single door serves as both the entrance and the exit to the Golden Jubilee room. Everyone is counted going in and out,” Rommel explained, pointing to the screen.
He pointed to another monitor, which showed the huge diamond from three different angles. Two grim-faced armed guards sandwiched the case.
“The case is bulletproof,” he said. “And bombproof, and fireproof, as is the room in which the Jubilee is kept. That was just one of the many conditions the king of Thailand had before loaning the jewel to the Pergamon. The museum has no surveillance dead areas.”
The video array was impressive, but Atticus knew that Rommel was not being completely truthful. It was illegal to put video cameras inside restrooms.
“We are using the same technology as your Las Vegas casinos,” Rommel continued with pride. “We even have facial recognition software.”
Uh-oh.
“How’s that work?” Atticus asked innocently.
“Step over here and I will demonstrate.”
Rommel sat Atticus down at a computer terminal behind the monitors, then leaned over him to type in a string of numbers. Atticus followed his fingers intently, trying to memorize the access code.
“Here we go.” Rommel clicked an icon.
Several video feeds from the Golden Jubilee room came onto the monitor. Atticus scanned the frames and tried not to scream when he saw Dan standing in line to get into the room.
Rommel moved the arrow of the cursor toward Dan’s head.
“Can I do it?” Atticus asked, almost grabbing the cursor out of Rommel’s hand.
“Certainly. Just click on someone in line.”
Atticus moved the cursor as far away from Dan as he could get. He clicked on a woman at the end of the line, with two children who looked bored out of their minds.
“It is unlikely she is going to come up in our database,” Rommel said. “In fact, it is unlikely any of the patrons in line, or in the room, will result in a hit. We only use the software when we identify someone acting suspicious. And we usually identify them while they are going through security.”
