“Are you okay, Molly?” Emmett asked.
She was openly crying now. Not out of fear for Robot, but because it had finally sunk in that he also feared for her. “Yeah, I’m good.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked around. “So where are we?”
“I took us to the nearest castle,” Robot replied. “Since I am a knight.”
“You know, you can probably take the helmet off at this point,” Emmett said.
“Incorrect. I cannot,” said Robot. “It is stuck.”
Molly gazed up at the red sandstone towers of the majestic building whose gardens provided their current hiding spot. There were multiple towers, some in excess of a hundred feet tall, stabbing at the sky with spear-like spires. The tallest was octagonal, housing a massive clock face halfway up and bearing a lightning rod similar to the one Thomas Edison was installing on the Washington Monument. Gothic arched windows lined the walls, but the reflections of the setting sun made it difficult to see inside.
“Hey, this must the Smithsonian Institution,” Molly said with a touch of awe. “Super sciencey folks work here. I’d love to go in.”
“Maybe on our next trip,” Emmett said. “Now doesn’t feel like the best time for a museum visit.”
“Actually, the most interesting stuff is going to be in there,” Molly said as they moved stealthily along the hedges. She pointed to the vaguely schoolish-looking building next door to the castle. More red sandstone and more towers (though not quite as tall), it was a long rectangular edifice with a colossal dome rising from its center. “The Smithsonian’s Arts and Industries Building,” she said. “They’ve got the very first telegraph message Samuel Morse ever sent in there. You know you’d want to lay eyes on that, Emmett. They’ve got the desk that Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence on. They’ve got Lewis and Clark’s compass, George Washington’s salt and pepper shakers—”
“Molly,” said Emmett.
“I know, I need to focus,” she said. “But historic salt and pepper shakers!”
“No, Molly, look. They’ve got something else in there too.” Emmett pointed to the banner across the front of the Arts and Industries Building, which became visible as they rounded the corner of the castle: SPECIAL EXHIBIT: 2 WEEKS ONLY! SPACE ROCKS AND METEORITES! SEE GENUINE PIECES OF ANOTHER WORLD!
“Space rocks,” Robot echoed. “I have a space rock.”
“Yes, you do, Robot,” Molly said, her face lighting up. “And does that space rock in the picture look familiar to you?”
“It looks like a rock,” said Robot.
“A glowing rock,” Molly specified, grinning widely.
“Look, I don’t want to get overly excited,” Emmett cautioned. “I mean, it’s a painting of a rock. But they did draw those squiggly glow lines around it . . . Wow, could they really have Ambrosium in there?”
“It’s the Smithsonian and they’re advertising space rocks!” Molly crowed. “If there’s anyplace we’re gonna find more Ambrosium, it’s there!”
“We have to check it out,” Emmett said. “I mean, if they have it, Robot could potentially be saved! If there’s any reason worth detouring from our Rector mission, this is . . . Oh.”
“Oh, what?” Molly asked. “Emmett, are you okay?”
“Yeah. It just hit me that this might not be a detour. I mean, we may not be the only ones looking for Ambrosium. Maybe that’s what brought Rector to DC.”
“Oh, man, that makes sense,” Molly said, her enthusiasm deflating. “But . . . but he had so much of it when we last saw him. Two huge chunks, bigger than any of the pieces he had when he attacked the World’s Fair. Why would he need to steal more?”
“Maybe he used up all his space rocks getting home from Antarctica,” Emmett said.
“It is a known fact that Ambrosium degrades with use,” Robot added.
“All right, then.” Molly stood up. “Looks like we get to visit the museum after all!”
Molly raised her leg to step over the shrubbery, but Emmett pulled her back down. “That’s not what I was suggesting,” he said, peering over the top of the bush for anyone who might spot them. “First of all, look—it’s closed for the day.”
“So . . . tomorrow?” Molly tried.
Emmett shook his head. “Agent Clark probably has every cop in DC looking for us by now. And anyway, if Rector’s the one who lured us here—which I think he is—what if this exhibit is part of his trap for us?”
Molly plopped onto the grass and crossed her arms. She couldn’t argue with Emmett’s logic. “Okay, let’s do the whole talk-it-through planning thing that always makes you feel better.”
“Thank you.” Emmett glanced across the lawn at the Arts and Industries Building. “We should come back in a few hours, once it’s really dark,” he said. “There’ll undoubtedly be security on ground level. But it’s unlikely a museum would bother to guard the roof . . .”
“Ooh, look at you,” Molly cooed. “You’re getting into it! We’re gonna heist the Smithsonian!”
Robot tipped his head toward them. “There is too high a probability you will get caught while attempting this,” he said. “I do not want you to become convicts for my sake.”
“It’s not just for you, Robot,” Molly said. “If they’ve got Ambrosium in there, you can bet your shiny big toe that Rector is going to try and snatch it. The only way he won’t is if we snatch it first. Plus, we’re experienced heisters. We’ve pulled off riskier break-ins without getting caught. So, the pros outweigh the cons.”
Robot nodded. “We will not become cons, because we are pros.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Molly.
Emmett held his hand at different angles, and looked through his fingers at the building. “There’s a cracked window on the upper portion of the rotunda. They’re casement windows, which means they’ll open with a crank. I bet we could slip a hand through the missing section of windowpane to reach it. Getting up to the roof would be the issue—and no, Robot, you cannot fly us up there. If I can get my hands on some rope, though. Some pliable metal, maybe a spring or two . . . Heights terrify me—Why am I suggesting this?”
“Because it’s an amazing plan!” Molly jumped to her feet. “Come on, I’m pretty sure we flew over a junkyard as we approached the city. Let’s go shopping!”
“Oh, no!” Emmett said suddenly as he stood. “I just realized there’s nobody chewing on my shoe. We left the dog back with Agent Clark!”
“I could not carry all three of you,” said Robot. “So I chose to leave behind the one of us most capable of escaping federal custody. Have no fear. Dr. Stinkums will no doubt rejoin us soon, regaling us with tales of his daring escape. I quite look forward to it.”
With their heads held low and their coat collars flipped high, they scurried off into the growing twilight.
17
Night at the Museum
MOLLY WAS GLAD to see that the streets of the nation’s capital were much quieter at night. And while the moon was bright overhead, the heavy tree coverage along the Mall kept the paths and sidewalks shrouded in darkness, allowing her, Emmett, and Robot to remain unseen as they traversed the long shadowy stretches between dim corner gas lamps. It was a stark contrast to the well-lit New York boulevards they’d skulked along the previous winter. Maybe Thomas Edison’s influence in Washington wasn’t as strong as Molly had assumed. If the man actually took up residence in the White House, though, she was certain the Edison Electrical Company would make midnight in DC as bright as high noon.
Molly pulled her coat tight to guard against the chilly October air as they weaved among the shrubbery behind the Smithsonian’s Arts and Industries Building. Molly gazed up to the edge of the roof. “Can you see your target, Robot?” she asked.
“Yes,” came the reply. “I am ready and eager to try out my new toy.”
“It’s not a toy,” Emmett said. “It’s a complicated piece of mechanical equipment. That I built out of random garbage. And rus
h-installed into your arm in less than an hour. And have not adequately tested. You know, this is sounding less and less like a good idea.”
“New toy, Robot,” Molly said, jumping piggyback-style onto Robot’s back. Robot raised his right arm and—pop!—launched his hand into the air like a rocket. The flying hand sailed upward, trailing a sturdy length of rope behind it, until its fingers clamped on to the lip of the museum roof. Robot then startled Emmett by wrapping his left arm around the boy’s waist.
“Wait, don’t—” Emmett began.
“New toy,” Robot echoed, and the rope retracted back into his hollow arm, pulling him—and both children—up into the air. Three seconds later, they were dangling from the Smithsonian’s roof.
“Woo-hoo,” Molly softly cheered as she climbed off Robot onto the rooftop. She grabbed Emmett’s hand and pulled him up so they could both then help Robot.
“I like toys,” said Robot.
Molly was giddy, but Emmett was simmering. “I know what you’re thinking, Emmett,” she said. “But what you should be thinking is, ‘Man, I am a super-genius inventor, because I just created a way for Robot to fly without Ambrosium.’”
She couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, but she thought she saw the corners of Emmett’s mouth turn up a bit.
“Let’s just get to that window,” he said.
Moving deftly in the moonlight, they crept across a flat section of roof and then scurried along the perimeter of the massive dome, scanning the tall, arched, multipaned windows until they found the one with the broken pane. Peering in, they could see all the way down to the museum’s main atrium three stories below. Much closer, however, was a railed mezzanine that girded the interior of the dome, overlooking the main hall. It would only be a three- or four-foot drop to the tiled floor of that mezzanine.
“That’s promising,” Emmett said.
Molly was surprised by his optimism. Because, for once, she wasn’t feeling it herself. Down beyond the gilded mezzanine railing, that grand first-floor chamber housed a gridlike maze of artifacts, tall wooden cabinets, and glass showcases that were lined up like library bookshelves. There had to be thousands of items on display down there. And that was just in the atrium. The building had two more expansive wings that stretched out on either side of it for the length of a full city block. Locating a single rock among all those exhibits suddenly seemed an incredibly daunting prospect.
Molly sighed. “I guess it was too much to hope the meteorites would be directly below this window.”
“It’s a special exhibit,” said Emmett. “I’m sure we’ll see signs for it once we’re inside.”
Molly knelt beside the window. A portion of glass was missing from the pane in its lower right corner, the opening just large enough for her to slip her arm in. She cautiously did so, careful to avoid the sharp edge. She pressed her cheek against the glass and pushed her arm in nearly to the shoulder. Her hand finally found the interior handle. She cranked it, praying the mechanism wouldn’t creak too loudly, and the window began opening outward, like a door. As soon as the opening was wide enough, Emmett squeezed through and dropped to the mezzanine floor, where he relieved Molly, easily cranking the window the rest of the way open.
Molly silently hopped down to join him. But when Robot attempted the same, his armor clanged audibly as he landed. The children both shushed him.
There was no immediate signage, so Molly led the group, on tiptoe, to the nearest of the many hallways that branched off the mezzanine. Thunk-clank, thunk-clank, thunk-clank.
They stopped, and Emmett gave Molly a raised eyebrow. “Maybe the big metal man shouldn’t be joining us on this stealth mission?” he whispered.
Molly knew there were security guards down there somewhere and that this cavernous building was basically an immense echo chamber, but knowing how worried Robot would be about them, it would feel cruel to banish him back to the roof alone.
“Hey, Robot,” she whispered. “Any chance you can move more quietly?”
“Of course.” He levitated a half inch off the ground.
“No powers!”
“But—”
“Softer steps! Just take softer steps, okay?”
Molly held her breath and crept farther down the corridor, with Robot taking “softer steps” behind her. His clanks and clunks were now tinks and plinks, but still audible. Should she make Robot wait? No. She couldn’t. Because when it came down to it, she didn’t trust him. She loved him, but she didn’t trust him to keep himself safe when he thought his loved ones might be in danger. Suddenly, Molly had a much greater understanding of Emmett’s father. She took a deep breath. Tinks and plinks would have to be good enough. At least no security guards had come rushing to investigate yet.
The trio continued down the dark hallway, poking their heads into each exhibition room they passed. One showcased skeletal wildlife, another had crafts from local native tribes, a third housed old-fashioned weaponry. This was awful, Molly thought. It was going to take them forever to find the meteor exhibit. And she couldn’t even take the time to appreciate all these awesome bones and skins and swords while they were looking!
“Keep moving,” Emmett whispered when she lingered too long by a fossilized beetle.
Molly huffed and moved on. “Where are all these signs you were so sure we’d see?” she whispered between clenched teeth.
“It was a guess,” Emmett hissed back. “Did you have a better plan?”
“I thought we were being quiet,” said Robot.
“We are,” Molly snapped. “But—ooh!” She ran to a glass display case at the entrance of the next room.
“Ambrosium?” Emmett asked hopefully.
Molly shook her head. “George Washington’s salt and pepper shakers!”
Emmett pulled her away. “Molly—”
They froze at the sudden sound of shattering glass.
“It was not me,” Robot said quickly.
“It came from back on the mezzanine,” Molly said. “Drat! Here we are, being so impressively stealthy, and then some other creep has to break in and be all noisy about it!”
“Who’s there?” a guard called out. His footsteps were heading their way.
“Hide!” Emmett whispered.
Molly and Emmett huddled in the nearest corner and Robot stood stiff and tall in front of them. They held their breaths as a man in a blue, copper-buttoned coat stomped by, holding a lantern in one hand and billy club in the other. The guard paused in the doorway and swung his light around, shining it directly on Robot’s face. He squinted at the metal man, swung the lantern to illuminate the rest of the room’s memorabilia, then returned his attention to Robot.
“Huh,” the guard mumbled to himself. “Hadn’t realized George Washington used to be a knight.”
The man turned away and continued down the corridor.
As soon as he was gone, Emmett leaned out past the doorframe and peered back the way they’d come. “Guys!” he whispered, pointing.
A man in black was emerging from a hiding spot of his own.
Molly seethed. What were the odds that some other dumb burglar would try to burgle the same museum they were burgling at the same time they were burgling it? It was ridiculously bad luck. Unless . . .
The man in black turned their way and stopped. He stood tall in a wash of moonlight that spilled in through a nearby window. His face was covered by a white mask—the warped and twisted face of Hephaestus, Greek god of craftsmen.
“Well, if it isn’t my least favorite non-adults and their pet coffee grinder,” said Ambrose Rector. “At least I assume that’s Bell’s stolen cog puppet under that poor man’s excuse for a jousting helmet.”
“I am a knight,” said Robot.
There was so much Molly wanted to say—to scream—but her mouth, like the rest of her, seemed to have forgotten how to work. The man responsible for her past two years’ worth of nightmares was standing before her once again. The sight set astir a maelstrom of emotions within h
er: shock, anger, disbelief, fear. But also curiosity: Whose face was Ambrose Rector wearing under that mask? His own? Archibald Forrest’s? Someone she had yet to meet?
“I must admit, you’ve taken me by surprise here,” the madman continued. “I assumed the next time I’d see you people would be in a police notice about your arrest. I mean, credit where credit is due—you’ve done a better job of annihilating your reputations than I ever could have. But I assumed that meant I’d be free of you for a while. What in the world would bring you two out of hiding when— Oh, I get it. I should have expected this. You’re after the same thing I am, aren’t you? I bet you didn’t even know I’d be here, did you? Not that it matters. Because here you are, in my way. Again.” He sighed. “Of all my many enemies, why must it always be the prepubescents who get in my way? It’s unfair, really. I deserve better nemeses. Or at least taller ones.”
Suddenly, all the emotions fogging Molly’s mind congealed into one overriding feeling: the overwhelming desire to defeat Ambrose Rector. “Follow my lead,” she said, shoving herself against the nearest display case and tipping it over. The glass box hit the floor and shattered, startling everyone. From among the broken shards, Molly snatched up a pewter pepper shaker and hurled it at Rector’s head. “Go, revolutionary seasonings!”
The small metal shaker thunked into the front of the villain’s mask, staggering him. “Agh! It stings! How is there still pepper in that thing?” He doubled over, wiping hundred-year-old spice flakes from the eyeholes of his mask. “What did I do to deserve this? Besides all the murdering and kidnapping.”
The voices of security guards reverberated from down on the first floor: “I told you it wasn’t my imagination! Go! Go!”
Molly began racing for the nearest stairwell, but Emmett stopped her. “They’re going to be coming straight up those steps.”
“Drat.” None of the exhibition rooms along this hallway had exits. They were trapped between Rector and the approaching guards.
“Ha!” Rector scoffed. “You children have gotten too cocky for your own—ah-choo!”
The Final Gambit Page 15
