Sleeper: The Seven Sequels

by Eric Walters

  “It’s actually genius to make it so simple!”

  “You can decode it?” I asked.

  “DJ, if what we’re all thinking is right, a clever five-year-old could decode it,” Doris said. “Now let’s see if we’re right.”

  SIX

  Doris frantically began cleaning off a chalkboard in the corner of the room, balancing precariously on her crutches. I hadn’t even noticed the board before. Once it was wiped clean, she picked up a piece of chalk and wrote the word Cambridge. Then the others began calling out letters to her. I watched in fascination as the words started to appear.

  Six not Five

  Apostles

  Haigha knows the truth

  It all makes sense through the looking glass

  Zzzzz zzzzz zzzzz zzzzz zzzzz

  Stanley Homer Hicks Johnson Liszt Birdie

  Amoeba

  I saw the words, but how did any of this make sense? What were the Apostles, and who were those six people? What did five sets of five z’s mean? And an amoeba? Was that even how it was spelled? And finally, who was Haigha, because if he knew the truth, he was the person I really needed to talk to—forget about Stanley and Homer and the others.

  “Does any of this make sense to anybody?” I asked.

  They all shook their heads. “Well, not yet, but we’ve converted the first part…at least I hope we have. Now we need to convert the numbers at the bottom of the page to letters.”

  “I’m going to make a basic assumption that if the numbers became letters that by applying the same formula we can make the numbers into letters,” Doris said.

  I read out the groups of letters, and they were converted and written down as numbers.

  7028*3675*02

  7312*1694*02

  982*763*3221

  05824*33956

  827*9532*161

  894962*8091

  “Is that it?” Doris asked.

  “That’s all of them,” I said.

  They all crowded around, staring at the chalkboard, silent, studying. I moved in close as well and looked over Doris’s head to see the board. I could read the words, but that didn’t mean that any of it made any sense to me. I shifted anxiously from foot to foot, waiting for somebody to have a eureka moment and explain it all, but we continued to stand in silence—a silence that was making me increasingly uncomfortable. Finally I spoke.

  “So what does this all mean?”

  They exchanged questioning looks. “I haven’t the faintest notion,” the military man said.

  “It’s gibberish to me,” the chess master said.

  “Well, I do see one connection,” the professor offered, and we all turned to him.

  “The reference to Cambridge is the obvious clue that was not coded,” he said.

  “That’s what brought me here to England—the reference to Cambridge,” I said.

  “And the word beneath it is Apostles. There is a little-known discussion group of Cambridge graduates who refer to themselves as the Apostles.”

  “Either a definite clue or a strange coincidence,” Doris said.

  “We in the encryption game don’t believe in coincidences,” the military man said. “It must mean something. Perhaps those names are members of that club.”

  “And how would we find that out?” I asked.

  “It’s a rather secretive club, but they do have a diary which they simply call the book. Members’ names are recorded there.”

  “How can I read the book?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think you can unless you are a member of the club…or know a member of the club.” He smiled. “And I know a member. I’ll make arrangements for you to go up to Cambridge and meet with him.”

  “Excellent!” Doris said. “I’ll arrange for Charlie to take DJ to Cambridge.”

  I was pretty sure Charlie wouldn’t find it excellent, but for my part, beggars couldn’t be choosers—I’d ride along with good old Charlie. “Great. Thanks, everybody.”

  “And now I will make a copy of the decoded words for everybody and send you all home to think and to look at it afresh in the morning,” Doris said.

  “Would you mind if we shared it with other people?” the military man asked. “You know, other experts in decryption or mysteries, perhaps other Holmesian societies?”

  Doris looked at me. “They say many hands make light work.”

  I shrugged. “Sure, share away.”

  I lay in bed, fighting to keep my eyes open. There was one more thing I needed to do. I pulled out my phone to text Steve.

  Hope things are going well. We broke the code—sort of—and it might work for your entries as well. Frequency of letters. 1 = e, 2 = t, 3 = a, 4 = o You get the idea. Look up the rest. Gotta sleep. Good luck.

  SEVEN

  DECEMBER 29

  “Would you like a little more tea?” the maid, Gladys, asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  She poured tea into my cup, which was made of very light, almost paper-thin china. I felt big and clumsy, afraid that I’d crush it in my grip. I already felt more than a little self-conscious about the orange marmalade I’d spilled on the expensive-looking white linen tablecloth. Right after I’d done that, Doris had dripped some on it as well, and I thought she had done it on purpose to make me feel better. It actually did make me feel better, because it was such a kind thing to do. It was the act of a gracious person—just like she’d been on the mountain, when her spirit practically carried me to the top.

  I felt good. I had a solid night’s sleep under my belt and I was ready to try to figure things out—although so far, I hadn’t been able to figure out anything.

  “Did you have any more thoughts about what the messages mean?” I asked.

  “The reference to through the looking glass refers to the classic story by Lewis Carroll, of course, and Haigha is the rabbit that Alice encounters.”

  “Sort of like the March Hare in Alice in Wonderland.”

  “They are one and the same,” Doris said. “I’m going to go through the book today, word by word, and try to see if there is a clue that will unlock the other decoded words.”

  “Do you want me to look through the book too?”

  “I don’t think that is necessary. I will have a great deal of help from my fellow Holmesians. As we suggested, with your permission we’ve cast the net wider and asked other clubs to weigh in on what they think the messages mean.”

  “That can only help,” I said.

  “So while we’re wrestling with the riddles, you need to proceed to Cambridge.”

  “I just wish we had more to go on before I head up there.”

  “The worst that will happen is that you and Charlie have a wonderful trip up to Cambridge together.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. Driving up with Charlie was going to be anything but wonderful. I was just hoping he wouldn’t push me to do something we’d both regret. “How long is the drive?”

  “It’s not much more than an hour if you take the motorway, but I hope you’ll take the back roads and enjoy the drive. That was the way my husband and I always traveled. It’s so much lovelier to take the back routes.”

  I was hoping for speed, and I was sure that would suit her grandson as well. The less time we had together the better, as far as I was concerned.

  “I know the two of you will get along famously. Don’t tell anybody, but while I love all my grandchildren equally, I really adore Charlie…such spirit… such joie de vivre…and, I’m sure you’ll agree, rather striking.”

  I didn’t even know how to answer her. I smiled and gave a slight nod of my head. I couldn’t help but wonder what Doris’s other grandchildren were like if Charlie was the one she liked the best.

  “I’m going to let you take my vehicle,” Doris said.

  “But doesn’t Charlie have a vehicle?” I wondered if he’d borrowed the vehicle he drove in from the airport.

  “I’m afraid Charlie isn’t much of a driver. I’d prefer if you drove.” She
pulled out some keys and handed them to me. I hesitated to take them. “You do drive, correct?”

  “Definitely…but on the right-hand side of the road.”

  “So now you sit on the right-hand side of the car and drive on the left-hand side of the road. Simple. Just watch the other cars.”

  I took the keys.

  “I’m surprised Charlie isn’t here by now,” Doris said.

  I was more surprised he’d agreed to come in the first place and still wondered if he’d show at all. Either way, I now had a car and could get there on my own if I had to. It might be better if he didn’t show.

  The doorbell warbled, and I could hear the maid going to answer it. Then the door opened and I heard voices. Good old Charlie was here.

  Gladys walked into the dining room, followed by a girl about my age—a beautiful girl.

  “Hello, Nana!” the girl exclaimed as she threw her arms around Doris.

  “So wonderful to see you, my darling,” Doris replied.

  My mouth dropped open. I didn’t know who she was or how she knew Doris, but I did know she was stunning—curvy in all the right places, with long blond hair and, I saw as she turned to face me, startling blue eyes. I had to fight not to look away.

  “DJ, I’d like you to meet my granddaughter, Charlie.”

  She reached out a hand to shake mine.

  “You’re Charlie?” I gasped.

  “Short for Charlotte,” she said. She still had her hand extended.

  I recovered enough to awkwardly grab her hand and shake. “I just wasn’t expecting you…when Doris…your grandmother said Charlie, I thought she meant Charles.”

  “My cousin?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes, he drove me in from the airport.”

  “That must have been a real pleasure,” Charlie said. She gave me a questioning look, and I realized I was still clinging to her hand. Embarrassed, I let it go. My hand was damp with sweat.

  “Do you remember on the mountain I told you that I wanted you to meet one of my granddaughters?” Doris asked. “Well, this is the one. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to answer that.

  “Nana, you’re embarrassing DJ and me. Please, I don’t think he came all this way to be set up.”

  “No, I mean yes—I mean, yes, she is beautiful and…this is embarrassing.” I looked away. I was sure I was blushing.

  Charlie sat down and Doris poured her a cup of tea.

  “So, my darling, do you have any commitments today or are you totally free?” Doris asked her granddaughter.

  “I’m as free as a bird for the holidays. My next shoot isn’t until January second.”

  “Shoot?” I asked. “Are you a photographer?”

  “Oh, goodness, she’s on the other side of the lens, DJ!” Doris exclaimed. “She’s one of the most—”

  “Nana, please,” Charlie said, cutting her off. “I am a photographer, but for this shoot I’m afraid I’m on the wrong side of the lens. It’s so much more interesting to point the camera than have it pointed at you.”

  “So you have the whole day free for the trip up to Cambridge with DJ?” Doris asked.

  “Certainly, although I thought I was going to be showing him the sights of London, not a dusty university campus.”

  “Perhaps that could be tonight or even tomorrow, but he has an errand to run in Cambridge first.”

  I looked to see if there was a trace of annoyance in her face about having to babysit me. If there was, I didn’t see it. All I saw was, well, those startling blue eyes set against flawless skin and a perfect little upturned nose and—

  “Then it’s settled. You’re off to Cambridge!”

  I was feeling more than a little self-conscious. Charlie wasn’t just beautiful, but beautiful in a way that was almost unnerving. I’d had girlfriends, some of them really, really pretty, but she was a cut above pretty. I had to stop myself from staring at her as we headed for the garage to get the car. Thank goodness she was leading and didn’t know I was looking at her.

  “My nana really likes you,” she said as she spun around.

  “I like her too,” I said, embarrassed that she’d caught me staring.

  “She’s always going on about the mountain and how you helped her to the top.”

  “Believe me, she helped me as much as I helped her.”

  “Now you’re just being sweet and chivalrous.”

  I wasn’t, but I’d take the compliment. I really wouldn’t have made it to the top without Doris. I hated to admit it, even to myself, but in the beginning I’d been upset there was an “old” woman in our party—I thought she would just slow me down. I guess in some ways she did—she slowed me down enough to make it to the top. Both my grandmothers died before I was old enough to know them. I like to think they were as wonderful as Doris.

  “Nana must really trust you.”

  “I guess she does.”

  “No guessing involved. Here’s the proof.” She opened up the big sliding garage door to reveal the car. It was bright red, a convertible, and the hood seemed to go on forever and ever.

  “It’s…it’s a Jaguar,” I stammered.

  “Not just a Jaguar. It’s a Jag E-Type. Twelve cylinders, capable of going a hundred and seventy-five miles per hour and accelerating from zero to sixty in slightly under five seconds.”

  “I’m impressed…by the car and your knowledge.” I ran my hand along the hood. Most cars now only had four or six cylinders, but there were twelve trapped under there. It was a beast.

  “This is considered the most beautiful car ever designed. One was purchased by the New York Museum of Modern Art, so it is the only car ever formally called a work of art by an institution.” She turned to me, and I looked up from the car. Thank goodness she hadn’t caught me staring at her again.

  “How much is this thing worth?” I asked.

  “It’s hard to put a price on something this exquisite and unique, but you couldn’t replace it for under seventy thousand pounds.”

  I did a rough conversion in my head. That was about $130,000.

  “I’ve never even sat in anything worth that much,” I said.

  “And now you have the keys to it in your hand, so I think it’s fair to assume that Nana trusts you very, very much. Get in.”

  I walked down the side of the car and pulled open the door.

  “You realize that the wheel is on the other side,” she said.

  I’d forgotten. Again. I looked like an idiot in front of her. A great start needed a better recovery. “And you realize that a gentleman should always hold the door open for a lady,” I said.

  She smiled—a beautiful, knee-melting smile—but had she bought it?

  She slipped into the seat and I gently closed the door behind her. I circled around—it was a long, long way around that hood and those cylinders—and climbed in, and down, beside her. The car was very low, and from the driver’s seat, the hood seemed even longer. I inserted the key, and the engine started with a low, powerful rumble, refinement disguising the power I knew was there.

  “I assume you’ve never driven a Jag before, correct?” Charlie asked.

  “I’ve never even been in one before.”

  “Have you ever driven on our side of the road?”

  I shook my head.

  “This could be interesting. Most people have trouble with the right-hand turn—they turn into oncoming traffic. Just remember that the driver is always in the center of the road and you’ll be fine.”

  I put the car into gear, grateful it was an automatic. Working a stick with my left hand would have been an even bigger complication. Slowly I eased out of the garage, making sure that it was clear on both sides. I turned to the right, going wide so that I was in the center and the car was on the “wrong” side of the road.

  “Do you know how to get to Cambridge?” I asked.

  “I can navigate as long as you can drive. Let’s head for the motorway.”

  “But
Doris suggested the back roads.”

  She shook her head. “Aren’t you curious to see how fast this car can go?”

  “A little,” I admitted.

  “Well, we can’t really find out how fast this thing can move along any country roads. Onward to the highway!”

  I turned onto the ramp and started along the motorway. The car responded instantly to the touch of my foot, and we gathered speed. The lane ahead was clear, and I used the side mirror to ease into traffic, settling in behind a truck. The engine purred, and the ride was soft and smooth. I was enjoying this.

  “You know, just because this is my grandmother’s car, you don’t have to drive it like you’re my grandmother,” Charlie said.

  Carefully looking in my side and rearview mirrors, I put on my turn signal and changed lanes.

  “I can see why she trusts you. You do drive like her. It seems a shame to waste such a fine piece of—”

  I put my foot down, the engine raced, and we jumped forward like the car had been stung by a bee, snapping Charlie’s head back against the headrest.

  “Is that a little better?” I asked.

  We raced past a truck like it had suddenly been thrown into reverse and came up quickly on the cars in the lane ahead. I switched lanes again, still carefully but not as obviously so, and moved into the passing lane.

  “What’s the speed limit on this highway?” I asked.

  “There didn’t even used to be speed limits on the motorways, but now it’s seventy miles an hour.”

  I looked down at the speedometer. I was doing almost ninety-five! I hit the brakes—hard—and we slowed down dramatically and moved back into the middle lane and then the driving lane at the far left.

  “So are you disappointed you have to spend this time with me instead of my cousin Charles?”

  “It’s pretty much a toss-up. I can hardly tell one of you from the other,” I said.

  She laughed. “So do you think I’m a git too?” she demanded.

  “I don’t even know what a git is.”

  “If you’ve spent time with Charles, you know exactly what a git is! It means annoying, stupid, incompetent, childish. The sort of person you want to throttle.”