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A few clicks of the mouse later, the image in question filled Karna’s screen. He studied the photo for several minutes before saying, “Do you see the seam I’m talking about? The one that looks like a series of eight dashes?”
“Yes,” said Pete.
“And the full seam opposite that?”
“Got it.”
“Forget that one. It’s a decoy. Unless I miss my guess, the dashed seam is a combination lock, of sorts.”
“The gaps are almost paper-thin,” said Wendy. “How can—”
“Two millimeters, I would say. You’ll need a shim, of sorts; a thin but strong type of metal or alloy. Inside each of those dashes will be a brass or bronze flange, each with three vertical depression settings: up, middle, and fully down.”
“Hold on,” Wendy said. “I’m doing the math . . . That’s over sixty-five hundred possible combinations.”
“Not overly daunting,” Pete said. “With enough patience, and time, you could eventually pick it.”
Karna said, “True, if not for one fact: you only get one crack at it. Enter the wrong combination, and the internal mechanism locks itself.”
“That does complicate things.”
“We’ve not yet begun to unravel the complications, my boy. Once past the combination, the real challenge begins.”
“How?” Wendy said. “What?”
“Have you ever heard of a Chinese puzzle box?”
“Yes.”
“Think of what you have before you as the mother of all Chinese puzzle boxes. As it so happens, I believe I have the combination to the initial locking mechanism. Shall we get started . . . ?”
Three hours later Sam and Remi, now awake, refreshed, and armed with cups of tea, joined Karna before his laptop just in time to hear Pete exclaim through the iChat window, “Got it!” On-screen, he and Wendy were leaning over the worktable, the Sentinel box between them. It was brightly illuminated by an overhead halogen lamp.
Another iChat screen popped up on the screen, this one displaying Selma’s face: “Got what?”
“It’s a Chinese puzzle box,” replied Wendy. “Once we got past the combination, a narrow panel popped open. Inside were three tiny wooden switches. Following Jack’s directions, we flipped one. Another panel opened, then more switches, and so on . . . How many moves now, Jack?”
“Sixty-four. One more to go. If we’ve done our job, it’ll open. If not, we may lose the contents forever.”
“Explain that,” Sam said.
“Oh, goodness, I didn’t mention the booby trap, did I? So sorry.”
“Mention it now,” Remi said.
“If the box contains a disk, it will be suspended in the middle of the primary compartment. Set into the sides of that compartment will be glass vials filled with corrosive liquid. If your last move is the wrong one or you try to force the compartment open . . .” Karna made a hissing sound. “You get an unidentifiable lump of gold.”
“I hope I’m wrong,” said Selma, “but I don’t think there’s a disk in there.”
“Why?” asked Pete.
“Odds. Sam and Remi stumble upon the only Sentinel box ever found and it just happens to contain the one genuine disk in the bunch?”
Karna said, “But they didn’t ‘stumble’ upon it, did they? They were following in the footsteps of Lewis King—a man who had spent at least eleven years chasing the Theurang. Whatever his motives, I doubt he was on a goose chase that day at Chobar Gorge. It appears he never found the Sentinel’s burial chamber, but I suspect he wasn’t there for an empty box.”
Selma considered this. “Logical,” was all she said.
“One way to find out,” Sam said. “Who’s going to do the honors? Pete . . . Wendy?”