The Swagger Sword

by David S. Brody

  The clerk consulted her ledger, apparently confirming Amanda’s guess by cross-referencing the key number, and snapped the ledger closed with a sigh. She stood, straightened her skirt, and pulled a ring of keys from her top desk drawer. “Once there, you will be allowed one chance to open your box. We do not allow fishing expeditions.” She crinkled her nose as she said ‘fishing,’ as if the word itself gave off a rank odor.

  They followed her down a wide hallway, Cam and Amanda exchanging a shrug while Astarte marched ahead confidently. What had Astarte figured out that they had not? She had been certain about Maine; did she also know the box number? An overweight, unsmiling uniformed armed guard had joined them, apparently protocol so nobody tried to force their way into a box. Every ten feet or so they passed a red steel door on their right labeled with the name of a New England state. The fifth door read ‘Maine,’ which was where they stopped. The clerk opened the door with her key and stepped aside for them to enter the vault. As Astarte brushed past Cam, she whispered, “Don’t worry. I got this.”

  Cam blinked. Got this? How? He looked around. The finger-shaped vault room extended the full depth of the building’s basement, the streetlights of the parking lot entering through a narrow, barred window high on the room’s end wall. He was initially surprised to see a window, even a small one, in the vault room, but then recalled that the building predated electricity and therefore needed natural light. Both of the room’s side walls were lined with dozens of rows of lockboxes of varying shapes and sizes. Prior to the exodus to the suburbs after World War II, almost everyone stored their valuables in boxes like these.

  The clerk exhaled again. “Now, what is your box number?”

  Cam stammered, “I’m not sure, as I explained…”

  “Well, then, we are done here,” Ms. Difonzo declared imperiously, turning on her heal.

  Again, Astarte interjected. “2173,” she declared, without hesitation. “Two. One. Seven. Three.” She pointed. “I think it’s down there.”

  Amanda grabbed Cam’s arm. “The chant,” she gasped. She whispered, “Two, one, seven, three, Emmy.”

  Astarte grinned at them. She kept her voice low. “I told you the chant might be a clue. In our heads we assumed ‘Emmy’ was Emmy’s name. But I think it was really an abbreviation. ‘M-E,’ for Maine.”

  Cam rubbed his cheeks with his hands. It made no sense to entrust an ancient treasure to the randomness of a child’s game of hopscotch. And yet, here they were. For some bizarre reason, someone had made the mentally disabled Emmy memorize the safe deposit box number. And then, even more bizarrely, she had passed the information on to Astarte.

  As if confirming that Astarte had, indeed, correctly interpreted the hopscotch clue, the clerk dropped her head and burrowed her way deeper into the vault. Cam quickly followed. All that was left now was to open the safe deposit box.

  Amanda held her breath as Cam and the scowling bank clerk each inserted their keys in adjoining locks on box 2173. Ms. Difonzo turned her master key, and Cam followed with his, together releasing the lock with a single click. Amanda’s face flushed. Astarte was right. Incredible as it seemed, the treasure was at their fingertips.

  Smiling at Amanda and Astarte, Cam slid the brass-colored box—wide and deep but not tall, resembling the top drawer of an office desk—from its nest. The movement caused something in the box to roll, the grating noise freezing Cam as he tried to balance the item lest it shatter against the walls of its prison. Moving with exaggerated care, he set the box on a dark wooden table in the middle of the room. Nobody moved for a few seconds.

  Amanda turned and eyed the irritable bank clerk. Cam had tried to be pleasant to her, only to be met with increased sullenness. Well, if there was one things Brits knew, it was how to put people in their place. She cleared her throat and allowed the full timber of her English accent to ring out. “Ms. Difonzo. We require privacy.” She pronounced ‘privacy’ in the British fashion, with a soft ‘i’ sound. She lifted her chin. “Please secrete yourself to the vestibule.”

  The clerk’s eyes narrowed. “It is bank policy that I remain in the vault.”

  “Rubbish. This family is a longtime client of your bank. A good banker, a competent banker, understands the need for discretion.” Amanda folded her arms and glared at the clerk. “Or shall I go upstairs and take this matter up with your superior?”

  The clerk might have joined the battle, but for the fact she no doubt wanted to end this encounter and begin her holiday as quickly as possible. “Very well,” she sniffed, sullenly walking toward the hallway.

  Amanda turned to the overweight guard. “And you, sir, as well. The hallway, if you please.”

  Finally alone, Amanda turned on her phone to videotape Cam opening the box. “Okay,” she smiled. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  The lid of the box hinged at the middle, allowing it to be folded back on itself. With a shaking hand, Cam lifted the lid. Inside, turned slightly askew, rested a dark brown tube which resembled an oversized salt shaker. Alongside it sat a gold pendant and a pocket watch.

  “Zena Halpern’s book talked about clay tubes containing ancient scrolls brought here by the Templars,” Amanda said.

  “That’s what I was thinking also.” They focused on the tube. “Some of the scrolls were taken from under the Temple of Solomon two thousand years ago.” Cam handed Amanda the watch and the pendant. “This other stuff looks modern; we can look at it later.” She placed the contents in her purse.

  Amanda had thought to bring a pair of cotton gloves, and, after handing her phone to Cam, she slipped them on. Slowly she extracted the tube from the box and placed it atop her cashmere scarf.

  They stared at it. “Now what?” Astarte asked.

  “Normally I’d say we need a professional to open this,” Cam said. “But this is not a normal situation.”

  Amanda nodded. “Heaven help us if we destroy a priceless artifact.” She leaned closer. One end of the tube was sealed with an amber, silicone-like substance. “Looks like some kind of wax.”

  Cam fished his pocket knife from a back pocket. “You’re the museum curator. Cut it away. But save the pieces so we can have them tested later.”

  “Roger that.” She opened the blade. Poking and scraping, she was able to extract three large wads of wax from the tube opening. The rest of the wax crumbled and fell away. She peered in. “There’s a document of some kind rolled up inside. I think it’s wrapped in some kind of paper. Perhaps glassine. That’s the stuff they put between frozen beef patties you buy at the supermarket; it repels oils and other moisture. It was used a lot after World War II to preserve documents.”

  “Try to grab it. But pull very carefully.”

  Good advice, but how would she know how hard to pull without ripping the ancient parchment or vellum or whatever was inside? She had another idea. Lifting the back end of the tube, she shook lightly, hoping the rolled document might simply slide out. But it did not budge, the scroll apparently having expanded tight to its cocoon walls. The light above the table was poor, so Amanda moved to the end of the room to examine the scroll under a wall sconce. As she studied it, rotating the tube slowly to determine if there was a raised corner of the glassine wrapper to safely grasp, Astarte called out. “Look! In the window!”

  Amanda lifted her head in time to see a flash of green swoosh by the narrow, barred opening high on the basement wall.

  She knew the truth even before Astarte voiced it. “It was that guy Brian, with the green pants,” Astarte said. “I saw him. He was looking in the window.”

  “Shit,” Cam hissed. “I was afraid of that. Did he see us?”

  “I think he saw you. Mum was too close to the wall; he didn’t have a good angle. And I was behind this pillar.”

  Cam glanced at his watch. “It’s just now five. If we’re lucky they won’t let him in. Or at least not down the elevator.”

  Amanda glared at Cam. “But at some point we have to come out. We can’t spend the we
ekend here.” She should have pushed harder to keep Brian out of their lives.

  He nodded. She studied him, knowing he was trying to formulate a plan. He had better be quick, because it wasn’t likely the clerk would allow them to stay much longer. And they still didn’t know what was in the clay tube.

  Leaving Cam to his machinations, she gritted her teeth. The time for caution had passed. Pulling as gently as possible, she tugged at the glassine, slowly extracting the scroll from the tube. The smell of old books greeted her as fine particles of decaying animal skin or parchment or whatever had been used for paper escaped from the wrapping and wafted over her. “It sure smells old. Astarte, help me.” Working quickly but carefully, they unrolled the ancient scroll. Amanda removed the wrapping and laid the scroll on the table. Eyes wide, they breathlessly stared down at thick black lines of text covering a beige-colored surface, a surface which had turned yellow in places by age. The border of the document, decorated in red with a geometric design, had frayed in places, but the entire body of the text remained intact. “The writing looks Middle-Eastern. Maybe Phoenician,” Amanda said in a hushed voice, careful not to breathe on the relic.

  Astarte pointed. “But the caption and the signature lines are something else, I think Hebrew.”

  There was no time to study it. Taking her phone from Cam, Amanda snapped a few pictures and, sensing their importance, immediately uploaded them to the cloud.

  “Okay,” Cam announced. “We’re out of time. Roll it back up. I think we only have one choice.” Amanda did so, again quickly but carefully, and slid the scroll back into the canister. Cam gently inserted Amanda’s cloth glove into the opening, sealing it. To Amanda, he said, “Put the box back in the wall and call the clerk.” Meanwhile, he dropped to his hands and knees and removed a metal heating vent cover from the floor. Gently he lowered the clay tube into the void. He played around for a few seconds before replacing the vent cover and wiping his hands clean on his jeans.

  Amanda watched. “Good plan.” She smiled. “It might even work.”

  “Or some rodent will feast on a priceless artifact for dinner.”

  She placed the safe deposit box back into the wall and turned to see Cam, back on his feet, guarding the door and instructing Astarte in a low voice. “Tell the clerk you need to use the restroom. No way will she let the security guard bring you, so she’ll do it herself. Stay in the bathroom until either Mom or I come get you.”

  Astarte nodded. “Got it.”

  He took her hand. “Trust me on this, Astarte. Don’t leave that bathroom no matter what.”

  He turned to Amanda. “That leaves the two of us and one guard.”

  She had no idea what he was planning for their next move, but he excelled at this type of on-the-fly planning and strategy. After years of him getting them out of tough situations, she trusted him. Not that she didn’t also love to tease him. She smiled cryptically. “Let me guess. I take out the guard while you run to safety.”

  Now alone in the bank vault with Amanda, Cam smiled at her joke. He did not expect her to take out the guard, at least not literally. But the reality was she would not be thrilled with his plan. Hell, even he wasn’t thrilled with it. But Brian had somehow tracked them here to the bank, meaning he had officially moved into the enemy category. And he likely had a posse with him, waiting outside. Which didn’t give Cam many options. So, thrilled or not, this was the only plan he could come up with.

  “Remember that movie, Night at the Museum, with Ben Stiller?” Cam asked.

  It took her a second, then her eyes widened. “No, Cam.” She shook her head. “No.”

  “Sorry, I got nothing else. We can’t just go marching into the parking lot. You saw what happened to Ruthie.”

  She exhaled. “Shit. All right. But, well, shit.”

  Briefcase in hand, he opened the door and spoke to the security guard. “We’re all set here. But my daughter just texted us, she needs help in the bathroom.”

  He scowled. “What kind of help?”

  Cam shrugged sheepishly. “The kind of help middle school girls need from their mothers.”

  Amanda cut in. “Can you escort me to the restroom?”

  They exited the room and the guard locked the door. He led Cam and Amanda back to the elevator. Cam whispered to her, “Tell Difonzo I’m still in the vault. That should get her away from you.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then ad lib. Oh, and I need your jewelry.”

  “All I have is my wedding ring and grandmother’s brooch.”

  “The wedding ring is too modern looking.”

  She unclasped the antique amethyst and diamond cluster brooch and placed into his hand.

  He hesitated, holding her eyes. It was her only family heirloom. “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re in danger, Cameron. I’d give you both my ears if I thought it would help.” She reached for her purse. “Oh, and don’t forget these.” She extracted the pocket watch and gold pendant. “Will these help?”

  Nodding, Cam kissed her quickly and exited the elevator at the main floor, while Amanda and the guard continued to the second floor. Cam ducked behind a pillar and peered through the front door. A flash of green caught his eye. Obviously waiting for Cam to exit. He took a deep breath. His plan needed one more prop.

  Approaching a young, dark-haired teller, he held his hands out to his sides and smiled. “I know it is past closing time, but I’ve been meeting with your trust officer regarding some family business. I didn’t realize the time. Is there any way I could still make a withdrawal?”

  The teller smiled politely. “Of course, sir.”

  Fortunately he maintained his law firm accounts at Citizens. “I’d like ten thousand dollars in cash, preferably in older bills.” He gave her the account number.

  She blanched. A transaction of this size would take time, and the bank had officially closed ten minutes ago. “Well, yes sir. Yes, Attorney Thorne.” Cam would have liked to withdraw more, but he knew anything over ten grand required extensive paperwork.

  While she counted his money, he noticed a raisin-sized diamond ring in an antique setting on her left index finger. “This may sound like a really strange question,” Cam said, “but do you have any interest in selling your ring?”

  She covered the ring with her free hand and blushed. “It’s not real. Cubic zirconium. It’s only worth, like, a hundred dollars.”

  “I’ll give you five hundred for it.” He pointed his chin at the stack of money. “Cash.”

  “I don’t know. It wouldn’t seem fair.”

  Smiling, he leaned in. “I’m a lawyer. We don’t care about fair.” He chuckled. “Actually, you’d be doing me a huge favor.” He shrugged, as if the details were too embarrassing to reveal. “Please.”

  “Well, okay.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled. “A lot. And if you have some kind of bag you could put the money in, that would be great.”

  While she finished counting, he flipped open his briefcase. He had stashed half a dozen active client files in it, and he found the one he was looking for. Tucked into the file was an original property deed from the 1920s for some land in Boston. It was worthless now, the property long having changed hands and a new deed reissued by the Land Court. But it looked old, and it looked important.

  Cash, pocket-watch, gold pendant, Amanda’s brooch, diamond ring, deed. Plus a couple of bones from a dead mouse he had found in the heating vent and stuffed into his pocket. The makings of a treasure, or at least a modest one.

  Huddled together in the dark with Astarte in a janitor’s closet next to the restroom, Amanda texted Cam. We lost her. I think we are alone up here.

  As Cam expected, the clerk had scurried away, presumably back to the vault to supervise Cam, leaving Amanda and Astarte alone in the loo.

  “Now what?” Astarte whispered.

  “We wait until they lock up.”

  “And then?”

  “We make ourselves comforta
ble. It could be a long weekend.” It was actually a decent plan. It was unlikely Brian and his cronies knew that Amanda and Astarte were with Cam at the bank. And even if they did, there was no way to break into the bank to get to them. Hopefully it would be easier to figure out a way out than a way in.

  “What about Dad?”

  Amanda reached for her missing locket. “I’m guessing he’s going to try to bluff his way past them.” She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position in the cramped confines.

  “Do you think the scroll is safe in the heating vent?”

  “Hopefully they turn the heat down over the weekend. And it’s not supposed to be that cold.” She shrugged. “But obviously that’s not an ideal place for it.”

  Astarte sighed. “Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. No offense, Mom, but this closet is not exactly Times Square.”

  Amanda reached out and found Astarte’s face, allowing her fingers to rest against it. “I know, honey. Sometimes it’s hard to live with us, to be part of our family. We don’t exactly live normal lives.”

  “It was the same way with Uncle Jefferson. He was always going out to look for treasures, always worried about people stealing his secret documents. He used to say that normal lives were for normal people, but my destiny was different.” She lowered her voice. “So, I guess, this stuff is normal for me.”

  The words tore at Amanda’s heart. Uncle Jefferson was wrong: A normal childhood was exactly what Astarte should have. But first they needed to get out of this bank. Amanda forced a smiled. “If nothing else, it’ll be a fun story to tell your friends when you get home. Locked in a bank, hoping the alarm doesn’t go off.”

  “Actually, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? The alarm going off? That would bring the police. And then we could just walk out.”

  Amanda nodded. “You know, that’s a good point. Maybe we don’t have to spend the weekend here.” Sometimes adults made things more complicated than they needed to be.

  Cam had stuffed the cash in an old leather carrying bag the teller had found for him, laid the deed on top, and put the jewelry and bones into a bank envelope which he placed next to the deed. Trying to look as carefree as he could, he strolled through the bank doors, the duffel swinging at his side.