“We’re FBI, not CIA,” Meng said. “You help us and you’ll walk out of here alive. You don’t want to leave your kid an orphan, do you?”

April met Meng’s threatening glare. Was he conspiring with the woman who had August? “What do you know about my boy?”

“I’ve seen you with him here before. Cute kid. It’d really mess him up to lose his mother.” Meng circled her. “Memory returning yet?”

“Take the panel off the back of the display case,” April said.

“We’ve already done that,” Meng said. “Next?”

“There’s a keypad attached to the left side of the case. It’s covered by a camouflage panel.”

Meng waved his hand, and an agent ran to the back of the display case and shone a flashlight inside. “I think I found it,” he said a minute later. “There’s a bunch of strange pictures on the keypad.”

“The signs of the zodiac,” April said. “Just like the ones on the floor of the Great Hall.”

“Interesting,” Meng said. “Is there any connection?”

“You’d have to ask someone higher up than me.”

“You seem to know everything we need to know,” Meng said. “What’s the code?”

“Taurus, Leo, Virgo, Scorpio.”

“Taurus?” Meng said. “Are you part of the code?”

“It’s just a coincidence.”

Meng put his hand around her neck. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Who do the other three signs belong to?”

April felt his fingers constrict her windpipe. Tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. “Please,” she said, straining for air. “I’ll tell you.”

Meng released his grip.

“Dr. Winter, Thomas Jefferson, and Johannes Gutenberg.” She gulped at the air. “Leo, Virgo, and Scorpio.”

“Punch it in,” Meng said.

They heard four short chirps from the back of the display case. “Seems good,” said the agent. “I see a flashing green light.”

“Push the light,” April said.

“Do it,” Meng confirmed.

“I’m pushing it now,” the agent said. As soon as the words came out of his lips, a soft hiss of air could be heard escaping the glass lid of the display case.

“What just happened?” Meng asked.

“The case is acclimating its interior to the exterior temperature and humidity. Give it a few seconds.”

“We don’t have a few seconds,” Meng said, placing his fingers under the lid and lifting. The glass rose skyward, its frame supported by a sturdy set of support hinges. The Gutenberg now lay exposed, the frailest of flowers on the verge of being tossed into a strong wind. “Lift it out so the trigger doesn’t accidentally get activated. You’re the only one here who’s done it, so I trust you won’t screw up.”