Mr. Samson’s eyes were shining with a faraway look, as if he was seeing things I could not see, great battles and men in gleaming armor on horseback, thundering across rolling fields.
“You asked who those men in the Towers were. Only twelve of us are left now, but they—and I—are the descendents of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table. The Sword has been in our care for centuries and, as far as I know, this is the first time we have failed to keep it from the hands of evil men.”
“You’re a knight,” I said, slowly shaking my head. “You’re telling me you guys are knights like King Arthur–type knights?”
“Not those men, no,” Mr. Samson said, gesturing toward the two gray suits still at attention by the door. “Their organization did not even know of the Sword’s existence before tonight. Circumstances now demand the use of every tool at our disposal. You see, Monsieur Mogart has many powerful friends, Alfred, friends who would pay any price for a weapon against which there is no defense. And Mogart’s friends are no friends of humanity. They are despots and dictators who would pay anything to possess the Sword. Do you begin to understand? There is no weapon devised by man, no army or combination of armies, no nation or alliance of nations on earth that can resist the power of the Sword.”
“Mr. Myers paid my uncle to steal the Sword so he could sell it to somebody?”
“To the highest bidder, and you can guess how high those bids will go.”
He touched my arm again, and I was surprised to see tears shining in his hazel eyes.
“And what kinds of men will bid on it. Alfred,” he said, “an army with the Sword at its head would be invincible.”
11
“It is a prize beyond any price, Alfred,” Mr. Samson said. “But Mogart can expect billions for it. Tens of billions. And if we do not find him before the Sword passes into the hands of evil men, the world will plunge into an age of unimaginable cruelty and terror. Envision the horrors of Nazi Germany or the Russia of the Stalinists, multiply them tenfold, and then you will begin to understand the magnitude of this loss.”
The rising sun was shining now through the window on his sharp features.
“We must retrieve the Sword before this can happen. He may yet decide to keep it for his own use, but that result would not be much better.”
“You know where he is?” I asked.
“I know where he is going. He has been preparing a long time for this day. Right now he is crossing the Atlantic, making for his keep in Játiva.” He saw my confused expression and gave a little laugh. “In Spain, Alfred.” He smiled at me again. “You have a thousand more questions, but I’ve stayed too long; I must go.”
“Don’t go yet,” I begged. “Don’t leave me alone.”
He patted my hand and his smile faded. “That seems to be my doom—and yours, Alfred.”
He turned and went to the door. I jumped up and followed him.
“There’s gotta be something I can do,” I said. “Take me with you; I could help. I’m the one who lost it; I should help get it back.”
I expected him to say something like “I think you’ve done quite enough already.” Instead, he leaned toward me and whispered, “Pray.”
He started down the hall and I called out after him, “Just one more question, Mr. Samson! Why didn’t he kill me too?”
He paused, then turned back to me, smiling that same sad smile. “Two reasons, I think. First, it is crueler to kill your uncle and let you live. Second, there is such a thing as honor among thieves.”
He disappeared into the stairwell, followed by the two agents. Nothing he could have said would have made me feel worse than calling me a thief. I don’t think he meant to hurt my feelings, though. My feelings were the least of his worries.
12
With Uncle Farrell gone, I was now a ward of the state. A couple named Horace and Betty Tuttle volunteered to take me in, pending the unlikely event of somebody adopting me.
The Tuttles lived in a tiny house on the near north side of Knoxville. Five other foster kids lived crammed into that little house. I never saw Horace Tuttle go to work, and I knew they received all sorts of checks from the state and the federal government for each kid, so I think we were how he made a living.
Horace Tuttle was a short, round little guy, always making remarks about my size, particularly my head. I think I scared him or he resented how big I was, I mean, because he was awfully small. Betty, his wife, was short and round like him, with the same conical-shaped head. They reminded me of turtles, kind of like their name, Tuttle. Maybe some people come to resemble their names, the way some people come to resemble their dogs.
I shared a bedroom with two of the other foster kids. The very first night the older one threatened to kill me in my sleep. I was feeling so low and lousy, I told him that would be fine with me.
I usually had trouble concentrating in school, but try concentrating when your uncle has just been murdered right before your eyes and you know the world is about to end. Try studying when you know World War III is about to start and it’s all your fault.
I still met with Amy Pouchard twice a week. She asked why I had missed the past couple of weeks and I told her.
“My uncle was murdered.”
“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed. “Who killed him?”
I thought about my answer. “An agent of darkness.”
“So they caught him?”
“They’re trying.”
“Hey, isn’t your mom dead too?”
“She died of cancer.”
“You must be the unluckiest person on earth,” she said, and scooted away from me a little, probably without realizing she was doing it. “I mean, your mom and now your uncle and what you did to Barry and everything.”
“I’ve been trying to tell myself all those things had nothing to do with me, that I’m okay and everything,” I said. “But it’s getting harder and harder.”
I was Uncle Farrell’s sole heir, so I got all his things, but I only kept his TV and VCR, which I set up in my bedroom. The main thing I didn’t get was the $500,000. I didn’t remember Mogart leaving with the brown leather satchel, but it wasn’t under Uncle Farrell’s bed where he stashed it, and the police never found it, probably because I didn’t tell them about it. That cash would be hard to explain and would probably get me in more trouble than I already was in, but I started wishing I still had that money. If I did, I would have taken it and run. I didn’t know where I’d run, but anywhere seemed better than the Tuttles and the delinquents who lived with them.