by Ben Zackheim
"You're a good friend," I told Wylie. "Thanks." That was me being warm and fuzzy. It felt weird.
"You're...welcome," Wylie said, exhausted by my existence on the planet.
Chapter Three: Earning My Pay
In the school hallway, we passed Officer Joey Jones, the rookie cop who still hasn't learned to keep his mouth closed around me. Since he started on the job, he's been a great source of secret information that should never, ever reach my ears. He's just gabby that way. He's my second favorite cop, behind my mom.
Joey was grabbing some coffee and muffins from a table that had been set up for the security guys outside the library. He told me he'd been on duty since last night's delivery of the comic book. He also said a guard was scheduled to rotate every few hours.
"Good morning, Shirley," Mr Reese said. He was chipper. I think he liked all the attention his school was getting. Some local news teams were scheduled to drop in later. "You joining us, Wylie?"
"Yes sir," Wylie said, slapping his hands and rubbing them together. We walked toward the library, which I call the Scriptorium. It's my favorite hangout in the world. Oak and mahogany detailing everywhere, thousands of volumes carefully picked by Ms. Conway, stained glass windows--the place oozes comfortable.
Mr. Reese led us through the double doors.
And there it was.
A display stand was sitting in the middle of the main room. It was the same kind of podium you see in a museum. A dim light inside a thick glass box shone on one hundred thousand dollars worth of pulp paper.
I scanned the room quickly.
Some details stood out.
The display sat alone, like an island in a sea of carpet. Twelve feet of absolutely nothing surrounded the comic on every side. It looked nice.
The officer on duty would be sitting on a fold-out chair approximately twelve feet from the comic.
The fire sprinklers in the main room had been capped off to avoid accidental water damage. Ten fire extinguishers were stationed against the back wall, to compensate for the lack of sprinklers.
I didn't bother going straight to the display. Instead, I climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor balcony and looked down on it.
Again, I surveyed the scene.
I counted twenty-four windows in the library. Most notably a beautiful stained glass skylight directly above the comic book. I estimated all other windows to be at least twenty feet away.
"Is the display case's glass treated in any way?" I asked everyone around me.
"Yes, with UV coating to protect it from the sun," Ms. Conway, the librarian, answered from her desk. She's a pretty woman, even with her hair pulled back so severely that it looks like she's wearing a helmet.
"Bullet proof?" I asked.
"I don't believe so, no," she answered.
Officer Grant chuckled. "We can test if you want." He put his palm on his holstered pistol. His buddies laughed. Ms. Conway gave them a glare that shut them right up.
I headed downstairs to take a closer look.
The glass case was bolted to the podium. Easy to unscrew. It would take someone about ten seconds with the right tool.
The comic book was actually kind of beautiful.
Its paper cover shimmered, making it appear brand new. The inside pages could only be seen from the edges, but were well-preserved with a white sheen, like fresh newspaper. The cover had Thor, Hulk, Wasp, Ant-Man and Iron Man (who's wearing an all-gold suit). Loki, Thor's brother, is the bad guy.
He says loudly, "THE AVENGERS... BAH! I'LL DESTROY YOU ALL!"
Thor hollers back, "LOKI! PREPARE FOR BATTLE!"
No wonder Wylie likes this stuff. It sounds like him at a soccer game. He's a pretty good goalie.
"Thanks Mr. Reese," I said. "It looks decent. The only recommendation I have is to tighten those bolts. You can add a few seconds to the amount of time it would take a thief to unscrew them."
"Which they won't," Officer Jones said, resting his hand on his pistol.
I did my best to ignore all the manliness in the room. "Is there a twenty-four-hour guard on duty?"
"One man will always be on through tomorrow night," Officer Jones answered.
Officer Grant clapped his hands, making everyone flinch. "Jones! Keep yer yap shut!"
"What? It's Shirley!"
I smiled. Rookies.
Chapter Four: Threatened
Now that I'd done my job for Mr. Reese, I wanted to get to the bottom of this virus on my computer.
The Scriptorium's computer room is so cool. The PCs are lined up against two walls. Ms. Conway hates fluorescents, so it's lit by pendant ceiling lights and desk lamps. She may never smile, but the lady has style.
I typed in xpyt, and the search verified my conclusion. Xypt is an Egyptian word for death. Directly below it was a list of other Egyptian terms for death.
mni
qbH
mt
The exact same words in the virus' name.
xpyt!mni!qbH.mt
I checked the PC. It had the virus, too. After testing two more and finding the culprit, I assumed they'd all been infected. It was clearly spreading over the school network. But did it send data outside of the network? A quick test revealed that it was communicating with an IP address in Greece. An IP address is the number that computer servers look at to send you to the right website when you type in a regular web address like www.shirleylink.com.
I typed the ip number in the browser, hoping it would hit a real website. A page loaded. It had some hand-drawn pictures on it, with a white background and nothing else...
I had no idea what they meant, but they were definitely Egyptian hieroglyphs. Luckily, my dad is an archaeologist with a special love for Egypt. In fact, he's there right now. I saved the images and sent him an email.
"What does it mean?" I asked in the email's subject line, then pressed Send.
I sat back and sighed. I have a good sense for trouble, and my senses were going nuts.
"Whatcha doing?" came a voice from behind me.
I barely swallowed a shriek.
"Marie, you freaked me out!" I yelled.
My friend Marie had sneaked in. She's good at doing that.
"Wow, that's a first. I actually shattered Shirley Link's Mask of No Drama," she said, as she threw her books down on a table, sat, and put her feet up on my chair. "So what are you so on edge about?"
"Nothing."
"Shirley, don't lie to me. We have another case? I hope it doesn't have to do with this stupid comic book. It's all Wylie talks about these days. If I hear 'Hulk would easily beat Thor in a fair fight' one more time, I'm going to show him how Marie can beat Wylie in an unfair fight."
"Nice of you. And no, we don't have a case. You just surprised me."
"Uh huh, sure." She pointed at my computer screen. "Hey. Looks like you got an email."
Dad had answered already.
Shirley
It could mean a few things, but 'Link' and 'Tomb' are prime candidates. What have you gotten yourself into this time???
Dad
My stomach sank. So then the hieroglyphs represented my last name, Link, plus a grave? And the virus' name contained several ancient Egyptian words for death?
Someone was threatening me. Someone smart.
I responded.
Dad
Don't worry about it.
S.
Good thing he's in Egypt, I thought. I knew he'd mention it in his daily call to Mom, though.
"So what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Marie asked. It seems to be a common questions these days.
"Someone sent me a not-nice message."
"Who sent you a not-nice message?" Wiley asked as he pushed the door closed with his butt. My two best friends have a nose for trouble. My trouble. When a case heats up? They show up.
"Someone smart who knows I'm smart and wants to prove that they're smarter."
"So it's not Wiley," Marie shot across the room.
&nbs
p; "That's as funny as your hairstyle," he hurled back.
I wish they'd just get together already. The back-and-forth between the two of them is like watching one of those scenes in a movie where the rope is shredding slowly. You know it's going to break, but will the hero leap to safety in time?
Of course, I only use that as an example because the chain that's holding me thirty feet up in the air just made a super-scary clanking sound.
I've got to find a way to get down from here.
Chapter Five: I Meet the Enemy
My success as a detective hasn't made it to the media yet, thanks to Mom. She's a local police sergeant with a lot of pull. I deducted that whoever started this mind game knew me personally. He knew I'd be intrigued by these clues. He also knew that I could crack his message. It had to be someone from Shelburne Falls, my hometown. Probably even from my school.
Today was the longest school day ever. I tried to focus on my classes, but I kept looking over my shoulder. One thing I've learned is that I thrive on clues in the real world. Internet and digital clues leave me cold. If I survive being dangled over the street like a flag, I need to work on that. It's a weakness.
The Avengers #1 grand opening event went well. People were fascinated that a pile of paper, originally priced at ten cents in 1963, could be worth 1,000,000% more today. The line of people was out the door.
After school, I squeezed by the crowd and walked up to the Scriptorium's second floor, where students could actually get some work done.
I set up shop in one of the cushy chairs near the 'Y' authors. When I snapped my laptop open, I glanced up and saw him.
He was new. My age. Cute, if you go for that perfectly combed hair, strong-chinned type. He smiled. I didn't see any reason not to smile back. I went back to my homework but couldn't concentrate. When I glanced up he glanced up too, and smiled again. I controlled myself that time and looked at my screen.
Then it happened.
He coughed lightly. I expected to see him smiling again, and he was. But this time it was a chilling smirk. His eyes had no joy in them, only analysis, like he was observing me and my reaction to the book he was holding up.
A large book of Egyptian hieroglyphics.
I clicked my laptop shut.
I hoped he could tell that I was going to utterly destroy him.
So I knew for sure that the threat was a test. I guessed that the comic had something to do with the whole act he was putting on. Why else would he reveal himself to me in the library? There was one thing that worried me, though. I'd surmised that the perp was someone I knew. I was wrong. My first conclusion was incorrect. That was a blow to my ego. How good was this guy?
On my long walk to his chair, he appeared to be playing the staring game. I don't work that way. I looked at everything. I knew him pretty well by the time I stood over him, arms crossed.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Right to the point," he said. "I just wanted to say hi."
"You could just meet me at my locker like a normal person."
"Normal." He spat the word out like it was revolting to him. "Neither of us is normal, Shirley."
Ah-ha, a big ego. Impressed by himself and his own abilities.
I knew just the button to push.
"Abercrombie and Fitch shirt and pants. Pretty normal stuff, if you ask me."
His smile faded and his eyes went through me.
"Please. Go on."
"New hair cut by Sally at the salon on Bridge Street. Horrors. More super-normalness. Rich enough to have a driver, but you don't have enough access to the family funds to buy a decent watch, apparently. Casio watch, right?"
"Well done. It's a good watch actually. Very precise. I don't like lateness. Or procrastination. Why put off for tomorrow what can be done today, right?"
"Sure. Whatever," I said. I should have known that was a clue I'd need later.
"How did you know about the driver?" he said, fiddling with his watch.
"I saw an unfamiliar black car with tinted windows leave the parking lot before lunch today. Did you go out to get the haircut for my benefit?"
"I need to look my best in the presence of the best," he said.
"It's against the rules to leave school grounds during the day," I scolded.
"I don't care," he replied, simply. "And the haircut by Sally? How did you know about that?"
"She always cuts boys' hair the same way, with those '90s thin sideburns. No matter what they ask for."
"Brilliant, Shirley."
"How do you know my name, Jacob?"
That threw him. He never told me his name.
"Have we met?" he asked, trying to keep his cool.
"Lucky guess, with odds on my side. Almost ten percent chance. Jacob was the most popular name for American baby boys in the late '90s, when we were born."
"What if I wasn't American?"
"Abercrombie and Fitch."
"Fair enough. And I know your name because I make it my business to know everyone in my league."
"You think you're in my league?"
"I know I am. And I want you to know something." He glanced at the comic book in the vestibule below.
"I know."
"Do you? This is fun! Enlighten me."
"You want to tell me that you'll steal The Avengers #1. If you have the melodramatic gene, then you'll tell me there's nothing I can do about it."
"In fact, it's as good as stolen right now."
His smile would be charming if it were attached to a charming person.
"Mind games don't work on me," I said, and walked down the stairs.
As I left the library I glanced up at him. He was texting someone, so he wasn't working alone.
Down the hall, I spotted Mr. Reese coming out of his office.
"Shirley!" he yelled, smiling. "Will you look at this beauty?"
He held up a sign. Every letter on the sign was a different color. It gave me a headache. "From the new color printer. That thing is a marvel!"
"I know. I've used it already."
"You did? For what?"
"Who's the new kid?" I asked, changing the subject.
"New kid? Oh, Jacob? He's Graham's son."
"Graham? D.L. Graham?"
D.L. Graham is a local recluse. An inventor. Worth a billion bucks according to my estimates. Graham is also my prime suspect in the mystery of who gave a million dollars to build our awesome school library.
"I thought he home schooled his kids."
Mr. Reese pinned his sign to the wall board. "He did. But Jacob wanted to come here."
"Any idea why?"
Mr. Reese looked over his shoulder at me, irritated. "You two are certainly asking a lot of questions."
"Us two?"
"He was asking about you, too."
Uh-oh.
"What did you tell him, Mr. Reese? Tell me everything."
Chapter Six: The Bedroom Brigade
Marie was at my place for a sleepover earlier tonight. There's school tomorrow, but her mom is working the night shift and she gets lonely at home alone. The sleepover quickly became a 'Let's Overanalyze Jacob' event. I concluded that he wasn't taunting me for money or fame. My theory was that he saw me as a threat to how he saw himself, which is probably "the smartest kid in the world" or some nonsense. It was also really clear to me that he was not a deadly threat. I know when I'm in danger and now that I'd met him he didn't set off my alarms like that. He was more bored than dangerous.
However, I'd decided he was for real. He'd definitely make a move for the comic book soon. I also concluded that he'd use money to buy what he couldn't achieve with his wits. I needed to be careful of his pocketbook.
My gut told me he was a big liar, too, but I had no evidence of that. Yet.
"So he's an egomaniac like you," Wiley said with a mouthful of meatballs. He was eating a midnight snack (at 10pm). Marie and I spoke with him on a Skype video call, trying not to barf at the sight of his half-digested meal.
"But if he's going to steal the comic, then what are we doing sitting here in our pajamas?" Marie asked.
"He's not going to steal it tonight," I said.
"How do you know?"
"He hasn't let the world know about it yet. He's not just going to take it without bragging to everyone first."
"Wouldn't that be kind of danjruhfim?" Wiley asked while tearing another bite of meat from his fork.
"Any idea what he just said?" Marie asked me.
"No idea. Something about having dandruff?"
"Not again."
"I said," answered Wiley, "isn't that dangerous for him? I mean, between showing you who he is and then announcing his big heist...that sounds like he's just going to get caught."
I shrugged. "He either has supreme confidence that he can get away with it, or he wants to get caught."
"Wow. He's messed up," Wiley said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe we should tell your mom, Shirley."
"Tell me what?"
Mom had slipped in and was standing behind us with a basket of laundry.
"Brilliant, Wiley," I said.
"What'd I do?" He moved his face so close to the screen that his nose bumped the web camera.
"What are you into now, Shirley Link?" Mom dropped the clothes where she stood and crossed her arms. "Does this have to do with those 'link' and 'tomb' hieroglyphs your dad told me about?"
"That was just some hacker who wanted to prove to me he's smart." Technically true. And considering all the buzz around my last case, I've had a lot of people challenge me in one way or another.
"You don't have anything to do with that note on The Avenger's display case do you?" Mom asked, looking scary and intimidating.
"What note?" I responded. She checked me out, using her considerable abilities to sniff out a lie. I inherited Mom's nose. "Mom. Really. What note?"
"They found it stuck to the comic book's display case a few minutes ago. It said 'This most valuable comic will be stolen tomorrow night at the elite military time.'"