Free Midas Code by Boyd Morrison

for a great story,” Tyler said, “but you’re right that the part about the Midas Touch is absurd. Alchemists have tried to create their own version of the Midas Touch for centuries by transmuting lead into gold. They failed every time, because it’s physically impossible.”
    Stacy hadn’t taken a science course since high school, so her grasp of chemistry was rudimentary at best.
    “Why is it impossible?” she asked. “Maybe it’s some hidden formula that we’ve never found.”
    Tyler laughed. “Unless the hidden formula involves a fission reaction, it won’t work.”
    “Fission as in nuclear?”
    “Lead has a higher atomic weight than gold, meaning it has more protons, so the only way lead can become gold is if it sheds protons. Removing protons from an atom’s nucleus is the definition of a nuclear reaction. I suppose you could accomplish that in a nuclear reactor, but it would be so expensive it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.”
    “So you think Orr is crazy?”
    “Certifiable if he believes in magic.”
    “I can see why he wants you in on this. You built the geolabe. But why me? There are a thousand other PhD classicists out there.”
    “My humanities studies weren’t a real priority in college,” Tyler said. “What are Classics, exactly?”
    “The study of classical Greece and Rome.”
    “Which is why you know Greek. Latin, too?”
    “I got my undergraduate degree in linguistics. I’m fluent in Greek, Latin, Italian, French, and German.”
    Tyler whistled. “That’s amazing. I wish I knew some foreign languages. Just don’t have a knack for it, I guess. Unless you count ASL. My grandmother was deaf. I also taught it to Grant.”
    “Sign language counts,” Stacy said, “but I can’t sign. Just verbal languages.”
    “So why Classics?”
    “I grew up on a farm near Des Moines. My parents didn’t have a lot of money, so we never traveled except to go camping in Minnesota. I always wanted to see all those wonderful cities in Europe, so I thought getting a Classics degree would help me do that. Halfway through grad school, I realized research wasn’t my calling. I forced myself to finish anyway, but I still had a hundred thousand in student loans to pay back, so when I heard about auditions for Chasing the Past I signed up. I’m not an actress, but they wanted someone with solid credentials rather than some bimbo reading a teleprompter, so I got the job. I paid my loans off in one year.”
    “Your parents must be proud. They still in Iowa?”
    “They’ve passed away. They were both smokers. Cancer got them.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s just me and my sister now. She was in law school. Is in law school, dammit.”
    Tyler gave her knee a squeeze. Just a small gesture of sympathy, but she appreciated it.
    His phone pinged. “Probably Grant,” he said, but when he looked at the screen, his expression became grim.
    “What?” she asked.
    “It’s Orr. He says to check my email.”
    After a few taps, he leaned in closer and expanded a video on the screen. Stacy heard some words, but she couldn’t make them out.
    Tyler angled the phone so that Stacy could see it and restarted the video. The opening frame was centered on a newspaper with today’s date. Then it receded until she could see a man in a black ski mask standing next to another man sitting in a chair. The seated man appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties and was dressed in a suit. His wrists and ankles were cuffed, but he didn’t look injured. In fact, he looked incredibly fit, and not just for his age. He was blindfolded, but his strong jaw and short brown hair left little doubt that she was looking at Tyler’s father.
    A voice in the video said, “Name.” The picture changed slightly, as if it had been edited. The seated man then confirmed her suspicions.
    “Sherman Locke,” he said with a sonorous baritone, reminiscent of Tyler’s voice but deepened with age.
    The proof-of-life video abruptly