F. Wilson - Secret Histories

“Ja-ack!” She made it a two-syl able word.

“Okay, okay. Wil do.”

Before leaving he returned to his room and checked the tepin-treated pistachios on the windowsil . Nice and dry. Great. He opened the envelope Mr. Canel i had used for the peppers and scooped them into it, then placed that in the top drawer of his desk.

He rubbed his hands together. Later today, if Tom stayed true to form, big brother would get his. Oh, yes. In spades.

Mwah-ha-ha-ha!

On the way from Weezy’s to USED, Jack noticed that she looked different. Her hair was down and her clothes were a little dressier than usual. Stil al

black, though.

He explained what he’d overheard about the klazen.

Weezy shook her head. “I don’t get it. What’s it supposed to do? Kil you?”

Jack remembered Mr. Brussard’s words: Maybehisheartsimplystopped…it’s thewayaklazenworks.

“I think so. He said it can ‘sniff out those responsible.’”

Weezy looked at him. “Responsible for what?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. I’m pretty sure it’s a Lodge thing.” “Which means it could have something to do with that body we found.” That would be cool, but too coincidental.

“Oh, that reminds me,” he said, realizing he should have told her earlier. “Kate

learned something about how he was kil ed.”

He told her about the arms being cut off at the elbows and sewn into the armpits.

Weezy looked shocked, then annoyed. “And when were you going to tel me about this?”

Jack gave a sheepish shrug. “This klazen thing sort of knocked it out of my head.”

“Forearms cut off … sewn into his armpits …” She visibly shuddered. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. It’s gross.” Then she smiled at him. “But

kind of cool that we found it.”

Jack hesitated, then decided to go ahead. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Something else you haven’t told me?”

“It’s about Steve.”

“Brussard? What’s up?”

“He’s drinking. Like every night.”

“You mean alcohol?”

“No, Gatorade.” When she looked puzzled, he said, “Yes, alcohol. I’m afraid he’s going to wind up like Weird Walt. But I don’t know what to do. Any

ideas?”

“Tel his folks.”

Was she kidding?

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

“So what are you going to do, stand by and watch him go down the tubes?”

“No, but I can’t rat him out. He’l never speak to me again.”

“At least he’l stil be able to speak.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then make an anonymous cal to his dad. Disguise your voice—”

“He’l know it’s me.”

“Wel , if he’s your friend, then you’ve got to do some thing.” She threw up her hands. “I don’t believe this. You ask me what to do, and then you shoot

down every suggestion I make.”

Jack shook his head. “Probably shouldn’t have said anything. Girls just don’t understand.”

“Wel , I’ve given you my solution.” She sounded annoyed. “You don’t like it, come up with your own.”

“I wil .”

But just what that would be, he didn’t know.

They arrived at USED then. Jack led the way inside and found Mr. Rosen behind the counter. He looked up with a surprised expression.

“You’re clairvoyant, maybe?”

Jack stopped and felt Weezy bump into his back. “What do you mean?”

“I was just looking up your number to cal you. I heard from Professor Nakamura and he wants to tel you something about that pyramid you brought him.”

Weezy grabbed Jack’s upper arm and squeezed. “He’s found out something?”

Mr. Rosen shrugged. “He didn’t say, just that he needed to talk to you.”

In a blink Weezy was out the door, heading for the bikes.

“Let’s go!”

“Be right there,” Jack said as he stepped closer to the counter. “Mister Rosen? You ever heard of something cal ed a klazen?”

“A klazen?” The old man shook his head. “Never. What is it?”

Jack hid his disappointment. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Okay, see you later.”

When he stepped outside, Weezy was already on her bike, wheeling in tight circles.

“Come on, Jack! What are we waiting for? He’s found out what it is!”

“Don’t get al worked up. Mister Rosen said he just wants to tel us something. That something could be anything—like it was made in Japan two weeks

ago.”

She gave him a hard look. “Why are you always trying to rain on my parade?”

Jack couldn’t help but hear Barbra Streisand belting out those lyrics from Mom’s FunnyGirl album. Not his favorite.

“I’m not, Weez. You know better that that.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry.”

“I just don’t want you disappointed. I mean, you know, sometimes your parades march right off a cliff. And then you know how you get.”

She tended to get herself so worked up in anticipation, only to crash and burn when it fel through. He’d seen an up mood change to down in a

heartbeat. It wasn’t pretty.

“I’l be fine. Because I know he’s found al sorts of strange things about it, keys to a secret. Who knows? It might open the door to the hidden truths of al

history!”

There she goes, Jack thought as she headed toward the highway—off on her bike and off on a bubble of expectation. He hoped the professor wouldn’t

burst it, but he sensed it coming. He didn’t want to be there when she fel , but someone had to catch her.

The professor took them to the library and pul ed up an extra chair so both Jack and Weezy could sit, then seated himself behind the desk.

“What is it?” Weezy said, squirming in her seat. She couldn’t seem to sit stil .

Looked like she was going to vibrate herself into another dimension.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing useful, I am afraid. Most sorry. Almost everything points to your artifact

as of modern origin.”

Uh-oh, Jack thought, glancing at Weezy. Here it comes.

“That can’t be,” she said softly—too softly. “Your tests are wrong. They’ve got to

be.”

He shook his head slowly. “I fear not. We did electron-micro scanning of the symbols and found they have the fineness and sharp edges that only a laser

can do. Actual y, sharper than most lasers.”

“‘Sharper than most lasers,’” she said, her voice rising. “Doesn’t that tel you something right there?”

“It tel s me it is a hoax. Those engraved characters are meant to lead us to believe your object is pre-Sumerian, but no pre-Sumerian culture had such

technology. As I told you yesterday, they scraped their writings, their pictograms and ideograms, onto clay tablets.”

“But what if there was an advanced civilization before Sumer? One that was wiped out by the Great Flood?”

The professor smiled. “That is the stuff of fantasy. No record of such a culture or civilization exists.”

“Al right then,” she said. “What’s the pyramid made of? Did you figure that out?”

He shook his head—a bit uncertainly, Jack thought. “No. But we know it is some kind of al oy.”

Weezy leaned back. “An al oy that can’t be scratched—or at least I couldn’t scratch it. Could you?”

Professor Nakamura looked even less certain. “We did not try. It is not our property—it is yours.”

“That’s right. And I’d like it back now.”

Jack said, “We’re forgetting about the most important test. What about that argon dating you mentioned?”