“We don’t want to hurt anyone,” the tall monk said. “We want only the sword.”
“So give it to them, Al,” Farrell said. “Stop screwin’ around!”
Right then the smaller monk behind me lost patience, I guess, because he leaped forward with a cry, bringing his black blade over his head. The tall monk cried, “No!” as he came for me. I blocked his downward thrust with an uppercut (if that’s the word for it; I don’t know fencing talk) of my bigger sword. I heard a loud screech of metal hitting metal. It sounded just like a car wreck.
His smaller blade shattered on impact. I grabbed his wrist and swung him into the elevator, pieces of glittering black metal raining down on us.
He fell into Uncle Farrell and the third monk, knocking both off balance. I reached into the elevator, grabbed Uncle Farrell by the hand, and pulled him out. I dragged him a couple of steps toward the stairs, but there was still the tall monk standing between us and the exit.
“Upon my honor,” he said. “All we want is the sword. Please. You know not what you are doing.”
He held out his hand. “Give me the sword and you will not be harmed. You have my word.”
I walked toward him, dragging Uncle Farrell with me, the tip of the sword pointed at the tall monk’s stomach. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was doing it pretty well up to this point.
“Step out of the way,” I told him. “We’re leaving.”
“You will not get far,” he promised.
From beneath the hood, I swear I could see his eyes glowing, not red, like a demon or something, but a gentle bluish light, like the glow of a night-light.
“You cannot keep it long,” he said. “We know who you are.”
Then the tall monk did something that took me totally by surprise: He stepped out of the way.
Behind me, one of the other monks cried out, and the head monk raised his hand. His hand was very pale and his fingers long and delicate, almost like a woman’s.
“No,” he said quietly. Then he said to me, “We will meet again.”
We hit the stairs, and the large door slammed shut behind us, echoing like a gunshot.
8
I took the steps two at a time, dragging Uncle Farrell behind me. I went down two flights, then paused at the landing, listening, but heard nothing.
“Twenty-seven floors to go,” I said. “Can you make it?”
“The freight elevator—we can take that,” Uncle Farrell gasped.
I pushed open the stairway door and pushed Uncle Farrell too, down the dark hall to the freight elevator. He fumbled with his keys, fussing at me the whole time. What was the matter with me, taking on a bunch of saber-shaking monks? He said I had screwed up everything, particularly his life. I was thinking about the duffel bag I had left in the hall outside Samson’s office. I think I read somewhere that the cops can pull fingerprints off fabric.
Uncle Farrell was right: I had screwed up everything, his life and mine too.
He finally found the right key and when the elevator doors opened, we fell inside and he hit the lobby button. We leaned against the back wall of the elevator and tried to catch our breaths.
The doors opened onto the lobby. “Mr. Myers was right,” I said. “This isn’t your ordinary sword.”
We stepped into the lobby.
“Where’d you learn to swing a sword like that?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, which was a good thing, because I didn’t have one.
“You broke the code?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Well, you’re just a young man of many hidden talents, aren’t you? What was the code?”
“Two-five-three-seven-three-three.”
“What’s that?”
“That,” I said, “is my name.”
He stared at me. I said, “It also could be ‘Alepee,’ but that doesn’t make much sense.”
“Neither do you. Somebody ratted us out, Alfred.”
“Or maybe the desktop was wired,” I said.
“Right. Alarm goes off in the monastery and the monks break from vespers and scramble for battle.”
The lobby was eerily quiet, except for the splashing of the water in the fountain.
“What happened to the cops?” I asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” he growled. “It’s true. Never one around when you need one.” He told me the third monk was waiting for him in the lobby when he stepped out of the elevator. He put a sword to his throat and took Uncle Farrell straight back to the penthouse.
Uncle Farrell stopped at his desk and hit the switches. The monitors flickered back to life. The hall on the top floor was empty. I looked at the wall behind the desk where the red indicator lights showed the location of all six elevators. The express elevator was still on the top floor.
“They took the stairs,” I said.
“What do we do now?” Uncle Farrell asked. It was as if holding the sword put me in charge.
I thought about it. “Call the cops.”
“Huh?”
“Maybe the monks or whoever they are intercepted the automatic emergency call. Call the cops, Uncle Farrell.”
“And tell them what?”
“Tell them you’ve got three guys, maybe more, running around with swords.” I reached around him again and hit a button that was labeled “Alarm.” A red light began to flash on the panel.
“Okay, and while I’m waiting for the cops I think I’ll whip up a snack for me and the monks when they get here. What are you talking about, Alfred?”
“They don’t want you,” I said, meaning the brown-robed monk men. “They want the sword, and the sword isn’t going to be here.”
“You’re leaving? Al, you can’t leave.”
“Sure I can, Uncle Farrell. Give me your car keys.”
“You can’t have my car!”
“You’ll get fired if you leave.”
“Alfred, I’m about to be a millionaire—do you really think I care if they fire me? We’re getting outta here!”
We took the access stairs to the underground lot. Uncle Farrell drove while I sat in the backseat, the sword across my lap. Three cop cars roared past us in the direction of Samson Towers, sirens wailing.
Once we were safely away, my own panic and fear started to set in. I broke out in a cold sweat and fought back tears. “Okay, Uncle Farrell, you’ve got to tell me what’s really going on here.”