“You keep telling us we’ve only got forty hours, and now you’re wasting our time,” Ray said. “Make your point.”
“I think that’s what he’s doing,” Amanda said. “He’s giving us clues to the game. Right?” she asked the voice. “You told us we’re in an obstacle race and a scavenger hunt.”
“You’re becoming my favorite player.”
“Swell,” Ray said. “Now she’s got an advantage.”
“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” Amanda told the Game Master. “At each stage, you give us a problem to solve and a threat to evade. Then you reward us with information we need to know to win the game. Is that what you meant by learning how to play the game as we go along?”
“You must play the game to learn the rules.”
“But how do we win?” Ray yelled.
“Why don’t you tell us, Amanda?” the voice asked.
She rubbed one of her bruised arms.
“Amanda, have you figured it out?”
“The words on the altar.”
“Yes?”
“The Sepulcher of Worldly Desires.”
“Yes?” The Game Master sounded eager.
“Nothing’s here by accident. That’s another clue.”
“But what does it mean?”
“Sepulcher? Sounds like a grave,” Derrick said.
6
Police officers ran up the stairs.
“Do you have any idea how large this building is?” a library administrator asked. “It’ll take hours to search it.”
“I can’t wait that long,” Balenger said.
“Is this woman dangerous? She’s not a terrorist, is she? You don’t suppose she has explosives or weapons.”
“I have no idea if she’s armed.” Balenger thought about everything that had happened. “But, yes, she’s dangerous.”
More police officers ran across the huge lobby and up the stairs.
Ortega hurried toward Balenger. “No sign of her.”
“Maybe she left the building before the police arrived,” Balenger said. “Or else she’s hiding on the third floor. That would explain why no one saw her running down the stairs.”
The reading-room guard was with them again. “Hell, I didn’t see her either.”
“But she was right there at the entrance to the room,” Balenger insisted.
“My back must have been toward her. When you jumped up and ran from the table, you were the only person I noticed. You made quite a commotion. She could easily have slipped away.”
“But why would she show herself and then run?”
“Good question,” Ortega said.
“Maybe she wanted me to follow her. But if that’s the case, why did she hide? Why didn’t she give me a glimpse of her so I could keep chasing her?”
“More good questions.”
“Something bothering you?” Balenger asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’m still waiting for answers to another part of the investigation.”
“Another part?”
“I’ll talk to you about it later.”
Puzzled, Balenger glanced at his watch. Almost four o’clock. Time, he thought. He pulled out his cell phone and pressed the numbers for information.
“Who are you calling?” Ortega wanted to know.
Simultaneously, a computerized voice asked Balenger what city he wanted. He stepped back from the noise of the hurrying police officers.
“Atlanta.”
“What listing?” the voice asked.
7
“Oglethorpe University,” the female receptionist said.
“I need to speak to someone in the history department,” Balenger said into his phone.
His heart beat faster as he waited.
“History department.”
Balenger remembered that the fake professor had mentioned something about a time-capsule society at Oglethorpe University. He prayed that wasn’t a lie. “I don’t know if this is the right place. Does anybody there know anything about time capsules?” It was a measure of how drastically his world had changed that he felt his request made perfect sense.
“I’ll transfer you.”
Balenger’s hand sweated against his phone.
“International Time Capsule Society,” a male voice said. “This is Professor Donovan.”
“I’m trying to get information about an object you might have a record of.” To escape the noise in the library, Balenger stepped outside. Instantly, the din of Fifth Avenue made him press the phone closer to his ear. “Its name reminds me of the Crypt of Civilization.”
“Which is here at Oglethorpe, of course,” the voice responded enthusiastically.
“Just a second. I’m calling from Manhattan, and the traffic noise is awful.” Balenger stepped back into the library’s vestibule. “Have you ever heard of the Sepulcher of Worldly Desires?”
“Certainly.”
“You have?”
“Possibly it’s a legend. But assuming it’s real, it would be on the list of the most-wanted time capsules.”
“Tell me everything about it.”
“That’ll take a while, I’m afraid. The Sepulcher’s a mystery, but there’s plenty of historical context. I’ll check the files. If you call back tomorrow—”
“I don’t have time! I need to find out today!”
“Sir, I’m about to leave the office for an appointment. This’ll need to wait until… Did you say you’re calling from Manhattan? Maybe you can find out today. The person who knows the most about the Sepulcher of Worldly Desires teaches at New York University.”
8
Washington Square South. The shadows in the faculty building contrasted with the sunlight on the grass and arch in the park outside. Feeling the increased rush of time, Balenger got off an elevator at the seventh floor and hurried along a corridor until he reached a door with a name plate: PROF. GRAHAM, HISTORY DEPARTMENT.
Beyond it, he heard gunfire. When he knocked, no one replied. Breathing quickly, he knocked again, and this time, a distracted female voice said, “Come in.”
Opening the door, Balenger heard the gunfire more clearly. He saw a woman in her early sixties, small, with short, white hair and a narrow, wrinkled face. She wore a pale blue blouse, the two top buttons of which were open. She sat at her desk, captivated by her glowing computer screen, fiercely working the mouse and keyboard. The shots came from her computer speakers.
“Professor Graham?”
She didn’t reply.
“I’m Frank Balenger.”
She nodded, but whether it was in response to his name or what was on her screen, he didn’t know. Given her age, she manipulated the mouse and keyboard with amazing speed. The shots were rapid.
“I phoned a half hour ago,” Balenger continued.
She kept pressing buttons.
“What I need to talk to you about is important.”
The shots abruptly ended.
“Shit,” Professor Graham said. She slammed down the mouse and scowled. “Broke it. That’s the second mouse I destroyed this week. Why can’t they make them stronger? I mean, how much strength can these old fingers have?” She showed the fingers to Balenger. They were bony with slack skin and arthritic knuckles. “You said you’re a police officer?”