Yet while the mystery of the message had been solved, what could not be explained was the uniqueness of the symbols themselves. Each of the pictograms had been stamped into the soft clay using carved seals, one of the earliest known instances of typographic printing. Some ancient craftsman had carved the forty-five seals, used them to create the Disc, and then evidently destroyed them so they could never be used again. The symbols on the Phaistos Disc were unique, appearing there and nowhere else.
Or so it was believed.
Fiona knew differently.
They closed in on the display, and Pierce shone his red light on the keyhole of a cabinet lock, which was partially concealed in the base of the display. Fiona selected the appropriate tools from the pick kit and went to work on the lock. It took less than two minutes for her to defeat the simple mechanism, and this time she double-checked for an alarm before opening the case.
Pierce moved the beam of his light to the shadowy interior of the display, illuminating the Phaistos Disc. It looked so ordinary, a slightly irregular pat of clay, like a grade school art project stamped with what looked like decorative images. It was hard to believe that something so ordinary could be so mysterious, and potentially dangerous.
Fiona reached a hand in and grasped the Disc between thumb and forefinger. She eased it from the bracket and brought it out. Pierce took the artifact from her, and then proffered something with his other hand: an exact replica, created using 3-D molecular printing technology, precise down to the microscopic level. A scientific analysis of this duplicate disc might reveal it to be a fake — or it might not. The technology at the Herculean Society’s disposal was truly that good — but because such a test had never been conducted on the real McCoy, no one would suspect that a substitution had been made. The assumption would be that the infamous Phaistos Disc had been a hoax all along.
With equal caution, Fiona reached back into the case and placed the duplicate where the original had been. She made one final adjustment, rotating the bogus disc a degree or two, then closed the display while Pierce slipped the authentic Disc into a cloth pouch, which he then stowed in a small satchel slung over one shoulder.
Behind her black ski-mask, Fiona allowed herself a satisfied smile. They had done it. Now all they needed to do was relock the display case and get out without—
Her smile died along with the hopeful sentiment as she caught a glint of white light, reflected in the glass pane. She looked up just as the source of the light, a flashlight in the hands of a uniformed man, appeared in the doorway. Then it shone right into her eyes.
3
Pierce gave the end of his MagTac a quick twist to remove the red filter cap and aimed the naked light directly into the face of the startled watchman. The man flinched, throwing his hands up and looking away, too late to prevent temporary blindness. The high intensity LED bulb would leave him seeing bright green spots for the next few minutes.
Pierce grabbed Fiona’s shoulder. “Run.”
He sensed her hesitation, so he gave her a shake to snap her out of her paralysis. “Remember the plan.”
The exhortation broke the spell. She whirled around and bolted for the exit. Pierce was just a few steps behind her, but as they reached the door, he slowed and glanced back at the guard. Despite being unable to see, the man stumbled through the maze of display cases, intent on pursuing them. Pierce checked to make sure that Fiona was still moving toward the door, and then he turned back toward the night watchman, sweeping the room with the beam of the MagTac to make sure he had the man’s attention.
The ‘plan’ Pierce had spoken of, which had been worked out in detail during their earlier reconnaissance, was simple. In the event that they were discovered, they would split up and leave the museum by different routes to confound pursuit. Because she had no experience with such things, Fiona accepted the plan without protest. This break-in was, after all, her baptism by fire. It was her first taste of what being an agent of the Herculean Society really meant.
As missions went, this one was pretty tame, but even so, allowing Fiona to accompany him and get her feet wet had been a tough decision for Pierce. She was an adult now, in both the legal and literal sense of the word. Old enough to vote and enlist in the military, old enough, as she all too often reminded him, to make long-term life decisions for herself. Nevertheless, she was still young and immature, and more importantly, she was Pierce’s responsibility, which meant that if anything happened to her — if she was caught and arrested, or God forbid, injured — it would be on his head. The fear of what might go wrong hadn’t been enough for him to leave her behind, though, especially since she was eager to take on greater responsibility. But that did not mean Pierce would throw all caution to the wind.
Some discreet inquiries had revealed that the museum utilized only one watchman for the night shift. He walked the galleries and manned a security station at the locked front entrance. Because there was no way to completely eliminate the possibility that the guard might stumble upon them, they had rehearsed several egress routes. The escape plan hinged on giving the guard two targets to pursue, each going in a different direction. Pierce, however, had not told Fiona the whole plan — specifically, his part of the plan. After splitting up, it was his intention to draw the guard after him, to give Fiona the best possible chance for a clean getaway. Unfortunately, he was the one with the Phaistos Disc, which meant that if he was caught, there would be hell to pay.
He definitely had the watchman’s full attention. The man cursed loudly as he collided with a display case, rattling pieces of three-thousand-year-old pottery off their shelves, but he managed to keep his flashlight trained in Pierce’s general direction. Pierce moved along the wall of the gallery, toward the opening in the corner that led to another room, but he didn’t turn and run until he was certain the guard would follow.
The next room contained artifacts from other major Minoan palace sites, but Pierce kept his focus on the spaces where there were no relics on display. There was an arched opening to his left, and the archway ahead led to the gallery where treasures from the Stone Age were exhibited. Beyond that room lay the entry foyer and one possible exit from the museum.
He glanced back and glimpsed the dancing beam of the watchman’s flashlight only ten steps away.
Okay, maybe this part of the plan is working a little too well, Pierce thought, returning his gaze forward. No more fooling around.
He flicked off his light and sprinted toward the lobby. The museum was not pitch black, but the abrupt absence of illumination from the MagTac made it seem that way. Pierce knew that there were no obstacles ahead but he had to fight an almost primitive urge to slow down and grope in the darkness like a blind man.
Once he reached the relative openness of the lobby, he hooked left, away from the main entrance, which was too close to Fiona’s exit. He darted through another gallery full of Minoan antiquities, making a beeline for the stairwell on the other side of the room.
He risked a glance back as he veered toward the stairs and saw that his lead on the security guard had shrunk to just a few steps.
This isn’t working, he thought. Change of plans.
As he ducked into the stairwell, Pierce grasped the central handrail and vaulted over it like an Olympic gymnast. He felt an abrupt strain in his forearm as his forward momentum stretched the limb, but then like the business end of a bullwhip, he was flung around 180 degrees, right into the path of the watchman.