فصل چهل و ششم

chapter-46

“I need numbers,” Kyle muttered, as much to himself as to Abia and Miguel.

“What numbers?” said Abia.

“I don’t know!”

“Kyle?” said Miguel. “We’ve been buds since like first grade but I got to tell you, this is the most backward game plan you’ve ever come up with.” “That’s it!” said Kyle. “Backward. Maybe Mr. Raymo used backward logic. Told Mr. Lemoncello he didn’t use R-E-A-D because he actually did!” “Um, okay,” said Miguel. “I guess…”

“Seven-three-two-three!” shouted Abia. “Those are the alphanumeric positions for R-E-A-D on a telephone keypad.” Kyle tapped in the numbers.

The keypad flashed red.

The words “false entry” scrolled across an LED window followed by “after two more false tries alarm will sound.” Great.

“Wait a second,” said Miguel. “What about ‘open sesame,’ like on his front door at home?” “What’s that in numbers?” said Kyle.

“Uh, um, er…,” stammered Miguel, staring at the keypad.

“6-7-3-6, 7-3-7-2-6-3!” said Abia.

Kyle tapped it in. The red warning lights flashed again. The LED scroll warned that he had one more try.

“You’ll never catch us!” they heard Angus shout from somewhere not too far away.

“We better head back to the bookmobile,” said Abia.

“No,” said Kyle. “We have one more shot.” “But if you are wrong, the alarms will sound!” “I know.”

Kyle closed his eyes. Concentrated. Mr. Lemoncello always used R-E-A-D. Mr. Raymo changed it, though. “Open sesame” was backward at his mansion. So was the scratched code on the fence outside his childhood home.

Could it be that simple?

It was worth a try.

He put his fingers on the keypad.

“Yo, bro,” said Miguel. “Be ready to run if you’re wrong.” “I will,” said Kyle.

Kyle tapped 3-2-3-7 on the keyboard—the numbers for R-E-A-D if you spelled it backward.

He heard a whirr, a clank, and a KERTHUNK.

The front door whooshed open.

“Come on!” Kyle, Abia, and Miguel leapt inside and shouldered the vault door shut.

They heard tires squealing.

The bookmobile had just taken off—hopefully with Akimi and Angus inside.

“We’re in,” said Kyle, his heart pounding.

He took a deep breath.

The library lobby was eerily dark and quiet. Someone had switched off Mr. Lemoncello’s trickling fountain. The only illumination came from sporadic security lights mounted on the walls.

“Let’s head down to the basement,” whispered Kyle. “But no flashlights until we’re safe in the stacks.” The trio tiptoed into the Rotunda Reading Room, which was already being set up for the Grand Gala the next night.

“They’re using the same new exhibits,” said Miguel.

Ghostly green hologram grids for Thomas Edison, Emily Dickinson, Michael Jordan, the Wright brothers, and Abraham Lincoln were arrayed around the floor of the rotunda like figures in a wax museum.

The holographic Mr. Lemoncello was there, too, but he wasn’t alone. That Supreme Court justice, Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., was posed next to him, sitting behind an elevated judge’s bench, a gavel poised in his hand.

“My guess,” said Abia, “is they have programmed the three-D Lemoncello image to make some sort of public confession tomorrow night during the gala.” She was probably right. The stiff Mr. Lemoncello was holding a board game in his hands as if it were a cafeteria tray. “Family Frolic by Irma Hirschman” was printed boldly across the box top. This is so unfair, thought Kyle. He knew the good guys didn’t always win. But he was going to make sure Mr. Lemoncello at least had a fighting chance!

“This way, you guys,” whispered Miguel. “Andrew and I took these steps over—” He stopped talking when they saw the silhouette of a short, shadowy, bald-headed figure scurry into the room.

Mr. Raymo.

“Hello?” he said, squinting into the darkness. “Is anybody here?” Kyle snapped on his flashlight. Waved.

“Good!” said Mr. Raymo in a hushed voice. “You were able to crack my rudimentary code.” Suddenly, they heard footsteps clomping down one of the spiral staircases.

“Quick,” said Mr. Raymo. “Hide! It’s the Krinkles!” “Under the tables, guys,” said Kyle, snapping off his flashlight.

Kyle ducked under one of the reading tables. Abia and Miguel followed his lead—each one hiding beneath a different table to increase the odds of at least one of them not getting caught.

“There you are,” Kyle heard one of the Krinkle brothers, the grumpier one, Frederick, say. “The shoebox wasn’t in the Lemoncello-abilia Room.” “Which,” said the other brother, David, “we need to padlock before tomorrow night.” “On it,” said Mr. Raymo, tapping on his tablet computer, playing along.

“We’ll continue the search for Luigi’s legendary shoebox later,” said Frederick. “Right now we need to locate whatever other new game ideas he’s been dreaming up, so we can send them along to our design department and watch them become brand-new Krinkle Brothers games!” What? Kyle fumed to himself. No way was he going to let that happen. The Krinkles would take all of Mr. Lemoncello’s brilliant ideas and make them stinkle!

“Where’s Luigi’s office, Chet?” demanded David.

Mr. Raymo led the Krinkle brothers back to the fiction wall and opened the secret bookcase panel. The second the hidden door swung shut, Kyle, Abia, and Miguel scrambled out of their hiding places.

“Okay, Miguel,” said Kyle. “Mr. Raymo just bought us some time. Take us to that shoebox.” “Follow me.”

They scampered across the marble floor to the staircase that led down to the basement and the stacks—the place where the library stored its collection of research materials that couldn’t be checked out but only used in the building.

“I hope I can remember where we put that stuff,” said Miguel nervously.

Kyle hoped he could, too.