The Medusa Curse Page 8

  ‘Demand could be particularly high for those pieces. He might be lending out the copies at a lower rate.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not just lending, maybe he’s selling too—copies and originals. From the secretive way he’s been keeping the lending records, I wouldn’t be surprised.’

  Jazz’s eyes widened. ‘Are you saying that he’s making forgeries to trade on the black market?’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘No, no way. That would be . . .’

  ‘Fraud,’ Phoenix finished for her. ‘That’s very bad. Secretly lending out antiquities might get him in trouble with the board of directors, but selling and copying could get him a jail sentence.’

  ‘We’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves here,’ said Jazz. ‘I just can’t see Dr Zhang as a criminal. I know he’s got all those expenses with Mrs Zhang being ill and the cost of the Velocity wing, but even so . . .’

  Her voice trailed away.

  ‘I so don’t want it to be bad for Mack and her family,’ she said finally. ‘I can’t believe that Dr Zhang would do something like this.’

  ‘It’s hard to take in,’ said Phoenix. ‘I know how much this exhibition meant to him.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Jazz. ‘You think he had something to do with the robbery?’

  ‘His whereabouts at the time are unaccounted for.’

  ‘But you saw how upset he was by those phone calls. If he is involved, surely it’s not willingly.’

  ‘He looked fine when we saw him. So why hasn’t he made contact with his family?’ asked Phoenix.

  ‘He doesn’t have his phone!’ Jazz said.

  ‘Sure. Or maybe he’s hiding so he won’t get arrested.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re accusing my best friend’s father like that.’

  ‘Jazz, cool it,’ said Phoenix. ‘I want him to be innocent just as much as you do. I want Sapphire back and I want the exhibition to go ahead. But we need to think objectively. The key to locating Dr Zhang and Sapphire is knowing how all this ties together. What’s the connection between these museum pieces and Sapphire?’

  The two of them sat in silence, racking their brains for answers.

  Despite her protests to the contrary, deep down Jazz knew that all their evidence pointed to Dr Zhang being involved in the robbery. But she was absolutely convinced he was in some kind of danger, too. And with half the first 48 HOURS already gone, she was worried that it would be too late to help him.

  Jazz’s mobile rang. It was Mack. Jazz hesitated a moment before answering.

  ‘Hi, Mack.’

  ‘I got your message. Did you find out somthing about Dad?’ Mack asked. ‘He still hasn’t come home.’

  ‘Well—’ Jazz began.

  ‘They’re talking about him on the news. Everyone thinks he’s guilty. But aside from showing us that horrible burnt-out car, the police haven’t told us anything. What if Dad was in that car?’ Mack paused on the line. ‘Sorry, Jazz, I’m just so worried.’

  ‘Mack,’ she said gently. ‘We saw your dad. Just from a distance, but he looked OK.’

  Mack stifled a sob. ‘You saw Dad? Where?’

  ‘Outside a factory. We didn’t get a chance to talk to him though. We found some other stuff, too, but we don’t know what to make of it. We think your dad might have been doing something . . . not entirely above board. It appears he was secretly “loaning” out treasures from the museum.’

  ‘What, for other exhibitions?’

  ‘No, for people—regular people, well, rich people.’

  ‘Why?’

  Jazz realised she was going to have to spell it out. ‘It’s possible he was involved in a crime racket, copying antiquities . . . and maybe even selling them.’

  ‘No, not possible.’

  ‘Mack, I know it’s hard to believe, but we’ve been gathering evidence—’

  ‘You don’t understand. It’s not physically possible. To loan out the artefacts in secret, I mean. They’re all protected so that if you take them outside the museum, an alarm will sound. The alarm can only be disabled if two members of staff agree. And even if two people agreed, there are security cameras at all the entrances. Any piece, even down to a tiny figurine or piece of jewellery—they’re all priceless; you can’t just remove them. Besides, Dad has always worked passionately to prevent the illegal trade in antiquities. That’s one of the reasons Sir Robert decided to premiere his exhibition at the Knowledge Institute.’

  This was new information. But Jazz knew it wasn’t enough to invalidate their evidence. Ignoring Phoenix’s warning glance, she told Mack everything they had discovered. ‘So now you know,’ she finished. ‘We can keep looking for Sapphire, but with your dad . . . I think we should hand over what we know to the police. If he is mixed up in something illegal—’

  ‘So you think he’s guilty too?’ Mack said angrily.

  ‘No, I don’t. But Phoenix has your dad’s mobile. There’s a voicemail alert on it from the night of his disappearance. That voicemail, his call history, his texts—they could be important. If we don’t give it to the police, we could be putting your dad in even more danger. If he’s innocent . . .’

  She glared at Phoenix as he raised an eyebrow.

  ‘. . . and I truly believe he is,’ Jazz asserted, ‘he’ll be able to explain everything. And if the police find that he’s being held somewhere against his will, that would support his story.’

  Mack sighed. ‘You’re right. But I still don’t want you to go to the police.’

  ‘Mack—’ Jazz began to protest.

  ‘No, listen to me.’ Mack spoke firmly. ‘Put the phone in my mailbox tonight and I’ll hand it into the police first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll tell them I found it so you and Phoenix won’t get in trouble. And everything else, well, the police also searched his office this afternoon, so there’s probably nothing you can tell them that they don’t already know.’

  Jazz nodded slowly. ‘OK, that makes sense.’

  ‘But Jazz, I don’t want you to stop looking for him. Even though you saw Dad for a couple of minutes, he still hasn’t come home or even called us. He’s in trouble. You rescued Anika; I believe you can rescue my dad too.’

  Jazz thought hard, searching for the right words to say. ‘Mack, I can’t promise we’ll rescue him, but I can say that I’m determined to rescue him.’ Jazz didn’t feel as confident as she sounded, but she was desperate to comfort her friend.

  ‘Thanks for everything, Jazz.’

  After Jazz hung up she told Phoenix what they needed to do with Dr Zhang’s phone. She also explained why Mack had insisted that it wasn’t possible to secretly remove artefacts from the museum.

  ‘The plot thickens. We know he’s getting the stuff out, but how?’ Phoenix wondered.

  ‘I have an idea,’ said Jazz. ‘I need to get back to the museum and check it out.’

  ‘I’m thinking the same thing about Kendricks,’ said Phoenix. ‘I’ve got new audio equipment—this could be the perfect chance to try it out. I’ll rig it up somewhere around the factory entrance. If Sammy and Dr Zhang show up there again, their conversations will be recorded. Maybe we can find out what they’re planning for the artefacts they have there. I’ll put the phone in Mack’s mailbox on the way.’

  ‘Be careful, OK?’

  ‘You too.’

  22:15

  Jazz walked quietly up the hill towards the museum’s staff entrance. Phoenix had lent her some woollen gloves and a hoodie. In the dark, on her own, the Knowledge Institute seemed like a completely different place. Without meaning to, her movements became stealthy. She felt like a spy on a mission. Technically, Jazz was allowed to be there, but her presence this late at night would be suspicious, especially after the robbery.

  Jazz had a small penlight on her keyring; she switched it on briefly, using it to blind the security camera as she swiped her staff pass and entered the building. If anyone inside saw her, she’d have to provide an explanation for her visit. But instead of coming up with a plausible exc
use, her mind kept wandering back to what Mack had said on the phone. How were the artefacts being moved out of the museum? Jazz was determined to find out.

  * * *

  Having forgotten about concocting her covert cover story, Jazz was grateful not to bump into anyone still working as she thoroughly searched a long series of dimly lit offices in the administrative wing. So far she hadn’t found anything of significance. The internal security cameras were all located in the exhibition wings, so as long as Jazz kept out of those areas, she felt confident she could look around, unnoticed. Light shone from the crack under the security office door; otherwise, the place seemed deserted.

  Dr Zhang’s office had been cordoned off with police tape. Jazz was glad she and Phoenix had checked it out on their earlier visit. Now she went over to the door to the section where Maureen and the other conservators worked. She gently turned the handle and opened the door just wide enough for her to slip inside. The hinges creaked and Jazz froze, heart pounding. But no-one seemed to have heard. It was much darker in here than the other offices, so she switched on her penlight and took a look around.

  It appeared to be a workshop with large white tables spaced evenly apart. A mix of artefacts and tools were scattered about, but nothing seemed linked to Sir Robert’s exhibition. There were no keys or secret exits either. Jazz was about to leave when her light flashed upon something pinned to the back of the doorway.

  It was a map, much older and more detailed than the one on the visitor’s brochure. She got her phone out and readied the camera. Lining up the shot, she pressed the button to take the picture. Chk. The sound of the camera seemed to boom in the silence and the flash momentarily blinded Jazz in the darkness of the workshop. She heard a door open.

  ‘What was that?’ A man spoke sharply. It sounded like Gustav.

  ‘Dunno, boss.’ That was Sammy.

  ‘We better go check it out.’

  Jazz heard footsteps moving quickly towards her. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins and she crouched down instinctively. Realising her penlight was still on, she hurriedly switched it off. Quiet as a mouse, she waited behind the door, listening as the footsteps and voices came closer.

  ‘Go and wait by the back exit while I look in Zhang’s office,’ Gustav said. ‘Make sure nobody leaves.’ The two men walked past Jazz’s hiding place.

  She was safe, but the security guards would come back. With Sammy guarding the staff entrance, Jazz needed to find another way out, or at the very least, somewhere better to hide.

  Jazz stayed where she was until she heard Gustav stepping through the police tape into Dr Zhang’s office. Then, risking a glance out the door, she saw Sammy’s back was to her as he headed down the end of the corridor. With both guards distracted, it was now or never.

  Jazz ran, silently and swiftly, through the open door of the security office towards the lobby and the main entrance. On her way, a crumpled piece of paper on the floor caught her eye. It had probably fallen out of one of the guard’s pockets as they hurried out. Recognising the Kendricks Engineering logo on the paper, Jazz picked it up. It looked like company notepaper that had been ripped in half. A single word was scrawled on it.

  Jazz felt a chill run down her spine. But then she spotted something else that surprised her even more. In small letters underneath the Kendricks Engineering logo were the words: Delgado Enterprises, Inc.

  Before she could consider the implications, Jazz heard voices in the corridor again. Sammy and Gustav were coming back! She stuffed the paper into her own pocket and sprinted to the lobby doors.

  They were locked.

  Searching for a button or a latch, all she could see was a numbered panel with an orange light. It was an electronic combination lock. And Jazz didn’t know the combination. On impulse, she tried Mack’s birthday, but the panel made a loud beeping sound and the light turned red.

  She could hear the guards settling back into their office now. Afraid to linger any longer in the open area, Jazz decided to risk entering the Antiquities wing. Maybe if she kept to the shadows, she could avoid the cameras and hide until the guards went off on patrol again.

  She adjusted her jacket hood to hide her face and peered through into the dark interior of the Antiquities room. With all the main exhibition lights off, and only the dim glow of an emergency bulb in each corner, the space seemed full of haunted figures. Keeping low, Jazz tiptoed past the gilded sarcophagus of a 3000-year-old Egyptian princess. It didn’t soothe her nerves at all knowing that its steep sides hid a dusty, decaying mummy. Nor were the three mummified cats on the shelf above the sarcophagus any comfort. Jazz wondered if they were there to guard the princess for all eternity.

  Moving past more sleeping displays, Jazz headed for the service door she and Phoenix had come through earlier that day. It was so quiet and still, she could almost hear her heartbeat. As her eyes adjusted to the blackness, she could just make out the shape of a large statue standing in front of her.

  What was that? Jazz stopped with a jolt as she heard a faint rustling. Was something moving in the darkness? Jazz was now even more conscious of being in a dark, closed museum. Her imagination saw the bones of the ancient mummy princess starting to move and articulate, like a scene from a horror movie. No way, don’t be silly, she told herself.

  But then something really did happen.

  A horrible noise began to echo around the Antiquities wing—a narrow-throated, inhuman cry. Jazz’s blood turned to ice.

  It couldn’t be!

  But it was. Jazz stood frozen with terror as the statue in front of her became a shadowy moving figure, a snake-like tendril darting about its head.

  Medusa? It wasn’t possible.

  The dreadful, unbelievable noise filled the darkness again. It was a bloodcurdling wail!

  Could it be . . . the curse? Jazz shook her head, trying to dispel her fear. Think rationally, she told herself. It’s a superstition! There must be some other expla—

  Jazz jumped in fright as the statue’s snake-like head suddenly dropped to the floor. She almost screamed as it knocked against her foot.

  Then something furry rubbed against her leg. Despite herself, she let out a relieved laugh. It was the black cat. It leapt out of the way as she bent to pat it and raced further into the Antiquities room.

  Feeling braver, she walked over to the shadowy statue and shone her penlight for a better look. It was an empty pedestal, about head height. What she had taken to be the head of Medusa had been the cat standing on top of it, black tail swishing back and forth over its head like a snake.

  She switched off her light an instant later as she heard a shout and loud running footsteps.

  ‘That came from Antiquities!’ It was Gustav again. He and Sammy had gone out into the lobby. They must have heard the cat yowling, maybe they had even seen Jazz’s light. Furious at her own carelessness, Jazz ducked behind the pedestal in a crouch. But it was too narrow to conceal her properly. Frantically, she searched for somewhere better to hide. Just as she started to feel like her mission was cursed, Sammy yelled out a reply.

  ‘Wait, boss! Someone’s tried to open the front door!’ He’d noticed the red light from where Jazz had tried the combination lock earlier. The footsteps slowed and moved away.

  ‘Thank you, Sammy,’ Jazz whispered. The surly guard had unwittingly bought her some time. Now she needed to get out, fast.

  The cat had reached a service door and was pawing at it. It turned to look at Jazz and gave a single ‘meow’.

  ‘You want to go through there?’ whispered Jazz. ‘Me too. Come on, let’s see what we find.’

  Jazz opened the door cautiously. The cat slinked through the gap. Jazz followed, closing the door quietly behind her. She shone her penlight again, its beam picking out the green glow of the cat’s eyes where it sat, waiting for her. ‘Lead the way,’ she whispered to it. Maybe Medusa was cursed, but Jazz was hoping the cat was lucky.

  The cat set off at a trot, Jazz making sure she kept it vis
ible in the beam of her torchlight. They soon passed a door marked ‘Courtyard exit’. This was where she and Phoenix had come back into the museum that afternoon. As the corridor passed the closed door, it split into two, with one side sloping downwards.

  ‘The tunnel,’ Jazz breathed. Jazz picked her steps carefully, eyes always on the cat, who seemed to know that its role was to lead Jazz to what she hoped to find.

  She noted that the tunnel was generously proportioned—more than big enough to transport large artefacts, or push several small ones on a trolley. After a few minutes the cat gave another ‘meow’ and ran slightly further ahead. Jazz quickened her pace too and soon found herself in familiar territory—the storage room under Dr Zhang’s office. A slurping sound startled her before the sweeping beam of the torch picked out the cat lapping contentedly at a water bowl.

  Jazz walked over and patted it on the head. No-one who leaves water out for a kitten could do anything really bad, she thought to herself, her faith in Dr Zhang returning. While the cat kept drinking, Jazz kept thinking. How are they getting things out though, that’s the question.

  Happy with its drink, the cat trotted over to the wall opposite the tunnel, where it started pawing once again and gave a ‘meow’ to let it out.

  Intrigued, Jazz followed the cat. Sure enough, what she had taken for the rock wall of the underground storage room proved to be clever imitation sandstone with a hidden recess that shielded a doorhandle. Jazz grabbed it and pulled gently. A large section of the wall began to slide to the left, allowing light to spill in from the other side. Unsure what, or who, she might find there, Jazz flattened her back against the wall to stop its movement. But the cat stepped forward boldly, flicked Jazz a ‘thank you’ with its tail and promptly disappeared through the opening.

  Holding her breath, Jazz peeped through the cat-sized gap. The light was from a streetlight. It gave enough illumination for Jazz to see that the storage room opened out onto the access lane and staff car park at the rear of the museum. There was no sign of anyone about. Still, Jazz took her time scoping out the area from her vantage point. Satisfied that the cat hadn’t set off any motion-sensor lights, she pulled the handle again.