Omyyyygoodnesss it's been like 1.5 months and I feel like I've committed a crime. I'm so sorry, lovely people. That will never happen again. Promise.
It's fun to see the writing on this account develop as it is passed on from writer to writer. But it's also pretty awesome to see that this account is fulfilling its name (Olo Eopia - a man of many worlds). But no matter what, we're all still somehow connected with the same goals in mind.
Anyways, Ira got drugged! Shem is leaving to the Library of Congress because he feels something is fishy! He thinks Otto did not actually steal the money, so whatever info Shem might find might be in one of the most highly guarded places in D.C.! What to do, what to do. Thank you everyone for the alerts and reviews while I was gone!
Btw, have y'all read blood of olympus yet? ;)
Review, and Good Luck!
-Olo Eopia03
- Chapter 21 ~ The Dark Room -
Curiosity is such a curse, but so too is knowledge . . . pity.
A black Mercedes sped into view, its engines emitting a quiet hum as it rounded a corner. The crack of dawn - the ebony road devoid of cars - not a soul filled the streets.
It won't be long until the sun is back in the sky.
"You know, Otto might get to you," Shem said. Lynx shrugged. "That 1.75% might matter."
"Yeah, so? Fuck it. I can hold down my fort on this side."
Shem turned another corner, not paying heed to the rising needle that indicated the speed limit. There wasn't a single person out on the road. Yes, ever since he'd started worldwide detective consultancy before he turned twelve, he'd agreed with Chiron that he could start driving as soon as he turned of age.
Perhaps when people started getting up for work, he'd probably have to comply with the speed limit. It had been a few hours since he left Rhode Island, on his way to Washington D.C.
"Lynx, you would make a great asset to Camp Half-Blood," Shem had told him as the door to the basement opened. "But that only makes your life all the more valuable."
Lynx shrugged, a tiny half-smile on his face.
"You have your own life, I have mine," Lynx said. "But maybe I'll consider. Besides, I have to return Toby anyway, don't I?"
Shem ran over a red light, eyeing the small black bag resting idly next to him in the passenger's seat. It was more than enough - a farewell gift from Lynx.
"You need more than just a car, you know," Lynx said, and he thrust a small black bag to Shem's chest. "Enough money for a hotel, and for anything you might need to buy."
"Thanks." Shem said again as he picked out his car. It was a shame that he couldn't stand there longer to admire the rows of ferraris and lamborghinis in the platinum blond's possession.
"Oh come on, you have all these cars in front of you, and you go for the Mercedes?" Lynx threw his hands up in the air.
"Inconspicuousness is key, you know."
"To hell with inconspicamabob," Lynx waved a hand. "I still would've chosen the black ferrari. I even added a few tweaks and designs to it myself."
Shem added a little bit more pressure on the pedal. Being able to drive a Mercedes though was still very satisfying, not to mention - pretty awesome, as Petra would've put it.
"Okay, I guess this is it," Shem said, as the garage door proceeded to slide open. The window at the front seat was rolled down, and Shem could see Lynx a few feet away from the car. "You and I both be careful, yes?"
Lynx nodded and smiled.
"All memory of the flash drive that had been in Otto's possession has been erased. If you say that someone else other than Otto tracked down my data, they would never be able to do it again."
"So much for your worrying about the 1.75% then," Shem smirked.
Shem took a right turn, passing about a dozen lights before bothering to slow down the car just a bit. Inwardly, though, he still didn't believe that they wouldn't be able to trace Lynx. The thief had left no trail while he had stolen the data. Why couldn't he just steal the money outright instead of Lynx's drive? Besides, could the code Otto used to lock the data have some kind of meaning?
"Well then," Shem said, shaking Lynx's hand. "Take care of her. And I wish you luck on that project of yours now that you have all your data."
"Yeah, I kinda have been thinking of a name for a while now. Wanna hear?" Lynx had a wide grin on his face. "Anyone who knew anything about it would find out that the project just had to incorporate the word demigod in it."
"Okay, and?"
"I've decided to call it The Demo," Lynx said simply. "Kinda sounds like a test trial, but it can stand for The Demigod, Project Demigod - they all have a cool ring to it."
"Hm, I think I like the sound of it."
"Good, 'cuz I want you to be there when it's in motion, Mr. Holmes!"
And after that, Shem had gone on his way, wishing Lynx good luck on The Demo. What the details were on the project, Shem didn't know, but he was sure that he'd find out some time in the future.
Still . . . Slightly perplexed, Shem thought to himself.
More and more, he'd decided that Otto couldn't have been the one to steal the data.
Maybe he hired someone? Maybe someone framed him? Conspired with him?
If he'd wanted the data to begin with, he could easily have looked at it and then given it to Otto to blackmail Lynx with. It was a win-win situation: the thief would go undetected, and Otto would get what he wanted.
Damn, what was that code to Otto's vault again?
Two, two, five, three, seven. The code appeared immediately in Shem's mind. Maybe he'd find some answers in the Library of Congress? It was so farfetched, but it wouldn't hurt to go to the heart of America's base of research.
A series of thoughts ran through his head.
Well, the set of numbers could not have some kind of pattern to them.
Was not given to him in written form, but through dictation.
Any additional clues were concealed.
Code was dialed on a keypad . . .
"Shit." Shem muttered to himself. An idea blinked into his mind.
In the middle of the dark street, the car screeched to a sudden stop.
Shem's fingers raced to the panel in the middle of the car. In a few clicks, the holographic screen soon pulled up a window of a calling keypad, with the corresponding letters next to each number.
If Shem's hunch was right, then the combination of numbers could give a word as it translated to a set of letters.
Two, Shem though as his finger punched the key twice. Two.
Five.
His hand was shaking.
Three.
Seven.
Just like when anyone would've wanted to text a message quickly to a friend, a word blinked onto the screen - the word that had the most combinations with the set of numbers that would make sense as it was dialed into the keypad.
Baker.
[xxx]
It won't be long until the police get here, Shem thought to himself as he mounted the steps to the Library of Congress. I suppose I'll make it quick.
The black Mercedes had been left at the base of the building, ready to go in case anything went wrong.
Library of Congress currently occupies three buildings across from the Capitol. They collect manuscripts, maps, films, photographs, and books in the form of about 430 languages.
Shem gazed upward as he neared the entrance. There, at the front of the building, stood a statue of Poseidon - or Neptune, since at the time Romans had dominated during the process of building the Library of Congress - at the center, surrounded by his underwater subjects.
Statue crafted by Roland Hinton Perry.
Shem entered the building.
The collections of artifacts and sources continue to grow, with the Library adding approximately 10,000 items each working day.
After the course of seventy years, the only difference that seemed to have been made for the Library was that in the main reading room a large chandelier hung from the top of the ceiling. Shem's footsteps echoed across the marble floor, and he looked up as the beautiful crystals reflected an array of lights filled with different colors.
Honestly, exploring the Library and taking the leisurely hour to look at all the exhibits would have been Shem's favorite thing to do at the moment, but he knew that by now the police all the way from North Carolina would start to find a trail that would eventually lead to Rhode Island - and then to here.
If one were to keep something safe for a long period of time, and would not want anyone to go looking for it, Shem thought as he walked to the front desk. I would imagine someone would be looking to place it in some sort of . . . safe. Some sort of sanctuary that could deposit the most valuable of items, but would not be so easily taken out.
That would be where one would hide information concerning Lynx's data, of course.
Presumably, Shem thought to himself. This all rests on a slight conjecture, that is all.
But if someone would want to hide it in a safe, then maybe that could at least lead to one thing.
"Excuse me," Shem cleared his throat as he stood in front of the reception desk. A lady in dull, grey clothing turned around, her eyes seeming to stare down at him like a hawk. "I'd like to find more information about the National Bank."
The old woman's scarlett framed glasses slid on her nose slowly as she drew up closer to Shem's face. Shem huffed in response, rolling his eyes.
"Please?" Shem muttered under his breath. The old woman scowled again at him.
Her fastidious attitude is exacerbating, Shem thought, not afraid to show annoyed he looked. What anathema to the Library of Congress.
"Go find it yourself, kid," The lady tossed him a brochure, and Shem walked away, opening it to find the map.
Shem around the area, trying to pinpoint the section that could hold information on the National Bank, but his feet stopped him as he neared the back of the library. As he looked up, he saw a sign overhead just next to a deserted doorway.
Rare Books and Special Collections Reading Room, the sign read.
Shem shrugged. It would make a nice place to explore, but a place like that would be too obvious. Unless - of course - the source would want to be found fairly easily.
But, what if this was all - entirely wrong? Shem thought as he walked into the hallway. An array of bookshelves filled the room. Why would any information of the data thief be in the Library of Congress?
Shem walked to the back corner, running his finger across the numerous, old, and dusty books. But when one tries to think about it, the code did spell out his last name.
But what if it was a coincidence?
Coincidence? All the more to make it his business.
What if this was just a waste of time?
What if -
Shem looked down as a glare of white caught his eye.
A folded scrap of paper lay on the floor, looking as though it had been hastily crammed into the crack in the floor. Shem bent down as his fingers reached to pry the piece of paper from the floor, unfolding it in the process.
Sketched on the center of the paper was . . . a drawing of an owl.
Too many coincidences to count, Shem thought to himself as he stood up. Another glint caught his eye, and he looked down to see a thin string attached to the piece of paper. It was such a thin string, only seen if one stooped down to look closely.
With his fingers, Shem followed the thin thread to one of the bookshelves near the corner of the room, all the way to one of the books on the shelf.
Shem could feel his chest bubbling with excitement as he pulled the book from the shelf. A small knob on the back of the shelf revealed itself, and Shem felt his fingers around it. The wood was so smooth . . .
No sign of dust anywhere near the knob, or on the knob itself.
Shem felt more around the edges, and then brushed against a patina of dust. The layer of dust formed a radius and started a few inches away from the knob. That meant that this knob had been used before . . .
Shem pushed the knob once, and the wooden figure seemed to sink itself deep into the shelf. For a few moments, Shem looked down at the paper containing the sketch of the owl, and decided to detach it from the string, placing the sketch in his back pocket.
Shem took a few steps back. The corner that he was standing next to started to move slightly - crumbling away as a door - tall enough for anyone to walk through - came into view. Shem released a breath that he didn't know he had been holding.
It was so clever - for someone to be able to do this. It was a little careless, to leave the piece of paper lying on the floor of a section filled with rare books, but if something wanted to be found, then this was just brilliant.
But why the drawing of the owl? Because Lynx was the child of Athena?
The thief would've stored information in a place no one would care to look, but again, why in the Library of Congress? To get it back? To show someone else?
For the first time, Shem breathed in. I am lost.
But not completely. It was just this feeling of heading to the Library of Congress. Maybe some kind of instinct only a demigod would possess.
When Shem opened the door, he was met with a flight of old stairs. Anywhere beyond that was pitch black.
Shem headed down, feeling the temperature drop as the space around him began to narrow into a small hallway only big enough for one person to fit through. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Shem found himself in an empty basement, its walls filled with many other tunnels and passageways. He wasn't sure if anyone knew about this, but he was sure that old lady at the reception desk did not. The one he entered through must be unknown.
On the other end of the room was a door that was open just a crack.
As he stepped through the door, it led to a small room, half of which has been filled with locked up shelves. Everything - any classified information that regarded the United States - was probably here in this room.
A label on one of the shelves caught his eye.
Records Regarding the U.S. National Bank, The label read. Shem walked to stand in front of it.
Well, this is where it might start, Shem thought to himself. Like all the other shelves, this one was locked, with a keypad containing numbers and letters next to it. There was a passcode programmed into it.
Shem's mind was blank for a moment.
There's not enough information . . .
If a thief were to hide something, he'd want it to be found by a desired someone. Maybe he'd stored in this location just in case, so that he can get it back.
This was one of the most valued places, so the thief definitely must've had some knowledge on how to overwrite the system and replace the password with only something he knew.
Period of time that it would need to be locked up? Unknown, but before one of the officials of the Library of Congress knows it.
The data was stolen about a week and a half before, therefore could be stored during that time. When would anyone want to check this shelf, if they even knew of its existence? It all depended on how high an official was ranked, and when they were assigned to check this location.
Something was related to the information hidden. A relation between . . . maybe Lynx and the thief? The only one who was smart enough to get past Lynx . . . One of the only ones . . .
He'd have to be a demigod.
Only one demigod would be able to get past another.
Putting in 22537 would be too easy . . . would it?
Shem dialed the code onto the keypad, and nothing happened.
If only one demigod would be able to get past, the reason he would steal the data would be because he knew of this Demigod Project . . . Somehow . . .
Shem typed in the word: demigod.
He couldn't contain his excitement any longer when he heard the click of a shelf.
His footsteps on the carpet were muffled as he stepped into the narrow gap of the shelf, and scanned all of the documents that were kept neatly in rows - from booklets, to newspapers, to bill statements - all with a really old and withered look to them.
It was not hard to spot what he could be looking for - which was anything that was . . . Obvious.
His fingers reached up on the topmost shelf as they pried down a small, immaculately white notebook.
Shem's brow furrowed for a moment. It was a little careless - that when it was clear that all the documents would be as old as dust - that the thief would leave such a new notebook on the shelf. It was as new as a button.
To Shem's frustration, the book had a locked embedded in the front.
No ordinary hammer could break this open, or any sort of tweezers pry it free. The cover of the book was made of a material that was unknown to him.
A small engraved shape that looked like a long, thin rectangle was embedded near the bottom center of the book. Was that . . . some sort of key hole?
There's no harm in taking this anyway, Shem thought to himself as he pocketed the book and walked out of the shelf. However, there still remains one last question to be asked.
Why was the door to this room open, even just a crack?
"Hm," Shem murmured to himself, hoping that when his voice broke the long silence he would be slightly comforted.
The short moment of warmth was soon taken away as Shem froze in place.
The door was open, Shem realized.
Because someone was still inside the room as well.
Still assuming the same stance, Shem let his eyes roam freely around the room, looking for any signs of movement. Could there be some kind of shadow somewhere . . . ?
"Ira, dammit," Shem called out as he neared the corner of the room. "Stop hiding under that hat and come out now-"
I have Annabeth's cap, Shem realized, his skin crawling. It isn't Ira who is in this room, unless she somehow miraculously arrived here before I did.
And then he heard them.
A scream.
And then another.
And then one more - until it cut off so abruptly it felt as though it had never happened.
A multitude of screams and yells erupted from the main floor above, and Shem scanned the room one more time. He could just find the culprit right now . . .
But people were in trouble.
Shem sprinted out the door and back up the flight of stairs, a panic rising in his chest.
Back in the dark room behind the tallest shelf, there was a soft scuffle.
Then, a sigh of relief.
The mysterious figure below remained behind, utterly forgotten.