“Make the phone call and I’ll tell you,” August said.

“Who is he?” Xandria asked again.

“Make the call,” August said, dragging out the words, drawing a line in the sand.

Xandria pulled out the phone and dialed. “Joe? You can keep the kid alive for another hour. And stitch up the woman.” She paused, listening. “I don’t care how, just don’t let her bleed to death. But if she gives you any trouble, shoot her. Got it?” She hung up. “No more fooling around. Who is the man in the illumination?”

August couldn’t help but grin. He couldn’t imagine the audacity it would have taken to have such an illumination created. It was the work of either genius or madness. Or both. “You know who it is. The man in the image is none other than Gutenberg himself. And this”— August carefully picked up the journal—“is the book he’s holding!”

Eight

eight

The Thomas Jefferson Building—the central structure of the Library of Congress—stood in the distance like a white fortress surrounded by a moat of bustling boulevards: to the north, East Capitol Street; to the west, First Street; to the east, Second Street; and to the south, Independence Avenue. The gargantuan temple of the arts took laborers over eleven years to complete, and once finished, its interior was adorned with the work of over forty American painters and sculptors, their most magnificent production being the grand entrance, the Great Hall.

April sat nervously in the passenger seat of Norman’s car, watching the sun sink, contemplating how she had come to the point of needing to steal the Great Hall’s crown jewel.

“They were right,” she said.

“Who was right?” Norman asked.

“The FBI guys were afraid I was going to take the Gutenberg, and now, here I am, trying to figure out how the two of us are going to sneak past Meng to do exactly that.” She put her head in her hands. “How can this be happening?”

Norman put his hand on her shoulder. “The authorities will understand once you explain. I still think we should just call the police now and tell them what’s going on.”

“No. Any police involvement and they’ll kill Charlie.”

“But—”

“We can’t,” April said. “I’m sorry. But we just can’t chance it.”

Norman looked out the window of the car at Meng, who appeared to guard the entrance. “So how are we going to get in?”

April twirled the ends of her hair between her fingers, deep in thought. “I’ve got an idea,” she finally said. She turned around and put her arms behind her back. “Cuff me again.”

“What?”

“Meng probably doesn’t know that I got away. And he certainly doesn’t know that you had anything to do with it.”

“What if one of your chaperones called him? That might be why he’s standing there in the first place!”