Free Einstein's Secret by Irving Belateche Page A

Eddie—the treasure hunter, the commercial archeologist—would come up with a clever way of breaking in. But he went with the old standby.
    He took a loose brick from a pathway that ran behind the smaller structure, which turned out to be a combination garage and storage building, wrapped the brick in his T-shirt, and with one quick hit, smashed through a window on the east side of the house.
    We waited to see if someone emerged from the bowels of the house in response to the shattering glass. No one did. Eddie unlocked the window, slid it open, and we climbed into Harold Weldon’s mansion.
    We were in a sitting room furnished with antique couches, high-backed chairs, and a grand piano. The paintings on the walls depicted lush rolling hills, like the hills you’d find around Cumberland.
    I felt uneasy about this whole endeavor and wanted to quickly find a clue that would make sense of this morphing quagmire, then get out. A document, a photo, some kind of record—anything that would put us one step closer to Einstein’s confession.
    “I’ll check upstairs,” Eddie said, as he headed out of the sitting room. “You take the downstairs.”
    I scanned the room, and at first, nothing caught my eye. Then I saw that the piano bench had a hinge on it, so I walked over to it and opened it.
    It was empty.
    Then I checked inside the piano itself and saw nothing but the strings and hammers.
    I turned to the door and my breath caught in my throat—
    Van Doran was standing in the doorway, holding a gun to Eddie’s head. “What did Clavin tell you?” he said.
    “Nothing,” I said, barely able to get that out because my heart was thumping so wildly, once again, that my entire body was shaking.
    Van Doran jammed the barrel of the gun into Eddie’s temple. “You want me to kill your friend?”
    “Clavin didn’t say anything.” I sounded weak.
    “You’re lying.”
    “I’m not lying.”
    Van Doran started to squeeze the trigger, and I spoke loudly and confidently. “I’m not lying. Clavin was incoherent. I couldn’t get him to tell us anything.”
    Van Doran stared at me with a punishing glare. It turned into a condescending smirk before he said, “I didn’t think you were talented enough to put it together.” He nodded at Eddie. “No doubt this man played a role.”
    How the hell does he know anything about me?
    He shoved Eddie forward. “Now, I’ve got a problem. Two more loose ends. You obviously know way too much.” He aimed the gun at my chest, ready to fire—
    “Clavin did give us a lead,” I blurted out.
    He hesitated.
    I pulled out my iPhone. “It’s recorded right here.”
    That gave Van Doran just enough pause for me to tap the iPhone a couple of times. “And now five of my friends have a copy of that lead. In case something happens to us.”
    Van Doran kept the gun trained on me. “You’re stupid. You’re not saving yourself. You’re putting more people in jeopardy.”
    “And giving you more loose ends,” Eddie said.
    Van Doran looked at Eddie. “I can take care of—”
    I hurled my iPhone at Van Doran and he instinctively jerked out of the way, which threw off his aim as he fired the gun. I lunged at him, and we both hit the floor and wrestled for control of the gun. Eddie kicked the gun out of Van Doran’s hand, sending it sailing across the room.
    I was about to chase after it, when Eddie yelled, “Let’s go!” He took off into the hallway and I followed.
    “You’re a brave man,” he said.
    “Fear of dying does that to you.”
    We raced down the hallway, past a deserted study, where I caught a glimpse of a desk and a couple of dusty easy chairs, then down another hallway, when I heard a gunshot—a warm breeze blew by my cheek—the bullet—and I sprinted as fast as I could into the kitchen.
    Eddie slammed the door shut behind us, but there was no lock. Another shot rang out, hitting the door with a thick thud. Eddie ran over to the kitchen table. “Help me!”
    We pushed