Chapter 4
Babs continued swimming through the tunnel and found it connected to another well shaft. She began swimming up.
Mere seconds later, she surfaced from the pool and found herself face to face with a large, red and gold-colored wall. And Demond. The NASP agent was blankly staring at the wall as if trying to figure out what to do next.
“You should stay right there,” Babs said as she walked up and got a satisfying surprised jump from Agent DeCourte, “it’ll be a good spot to watch me leave with the Fist.”
“You’re soaked,” he observed, then glanced at the dive pool.
“Ah, yes. That would make sense.”
Babs ignored him and looked at the inscription on the wall.
“Ah, yes, that,” DeCourte said, “not really a student of foreign languages and such. Just thought I’d wing it without the instructions.”
“Yeah, that’s worked well for you so far, hasn’t it?” responded Barbara. She then began translating, “Numbered like the beating of a heart and the fists within.”
“Hearts and fists?” a confused Demond mused.
“It’s a riddle,” Babs replied condescendingly. “You may need to use that squishy thing in your skull as something other than padding.
Barbara then assumed a meditative position and began pondering the meaning of the clue.
“I’ll just wait here while you ponder then?” Demond asked. “I’ll ponder too then. Two heads and all that. Fists and hearts. Hearts and fists. Yeah, I got nothing.”
Barbara’s thoughts turned over the exact words. Beating of a heart. A single heartbeat. But the heart pulses twice per beat. Fists. That combined with the double beat of a heart could mean two fists. Fists within. It’s the venting holes in the wall! They’re not two vents. They’re two handles for the door. The two fists go within the vents into the heart of the wall.”
She then sent Demond to one while she took the other.
As they both reached in, they found handles (after Demond squirmed because of the presence of bugs). Turning the handles, they stepped back and watched while the wall shifted and opened, revealing the treasure room within, the Fist of Simla sitting atop its pedestal, and a smirking Victor Clavell.
“So nice of you to act as my rescue party,” he said with a self-satisfied grin. "I'm afraid I won't be sharing the prize, however. In fact, I’d already ensured myself full access to the profits from this venture.” At this, he gestured toward the unmoving form of a man laying against the far wall. "The door had a pressurized trap and shut on me when I lifted the Fist. Seems that you've solved
that problem, though, so I guess I'll just collect my treasure and go now."
“Think you're leaving with the Fist, huh?" Babs asked. "Well, you're about to get a fist, but it's probably not the one you're expecting."
"Yeah, you're not leaving with the Fist," added Agent DeCourte, lamely.
“And who’s going to stop me?” asked Clavell.
“She is,” responded Demond.
At Barbara’s look of derision and disgust, Agent DeCourte added, “Well, don’t look at me to stop him. I get by in this role on my charm, not my fighting prowess. As they would say, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“As smooth as you’ve been throughout this little adventure,” Babs added, “I can’t really confirm you’re much of either.”
Seeing this exchange of banter as a chance to gain the upper hand, Clavell tried attacking the apparently unsuspecting Barbara. If he’d known her reputation, he might have thought twice about it.
Clavell is a rough houser. He knows how to fight dirty and he knows how to hit hard.
Agent Pleasant-Mithrilen is a trained martial artist with years of training. She knows where to hit and when to strike.
Clavell didn’t stand a chance.
Realistically, Clavell only accomplished one thing through fighting Babs: he kept her busy while DeCourte snuck off with the Fist.
Though he did leave her his card.
