We both move from painting to painting, but it’s no use—they’re all identical.
Eighteen minutes remaining.
“Do you think we missed a clue in the office room?” I ask.
“That’s it,” he says. He begins to jog back to the office. As he passes, he lays a chaste kiss against my lips, and yells, “Sorry, Ted.”
“Where are you going?”
“You’ll see.”
He returns a couple minutes later holding a piece of paper and a small black device.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s how we win. I found it in one of the desk drawers earlier.” He hands me the piece of paper, and on it is a small picture of the thing Tanner is holding. Across the top reads:Fake Art Finder. Under the photo are instructions. “Read me what it says.”
“Okay, place the black box in the center of the painting. If it beeps, it’s fake, and if there’s no beep it’s real.”
Tanner quickly starts to move from painting to painting.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
No beep. Of course the last painting is the one we need. He lifts it off the wall and turns it around. Hanging off the back is a key. He grabs it and runs over to the black box. The minute he unlocks it, a dozen white and orange ping-pong balls fall onto the floor.
“Looks like another puzzle,” he says.
Eleven more minutes.
“We’re going to have to hurry.”
“We got this,” he assures me, starting to turn over the little balls. All but three are blank. On those, the letters X, L, and V are written in black sharpie.
“Another word?” he asks.
“It can’t be. There’s only consonants. Is there a letter lock somewhere?”
“I haven’t seen one.”
“Do you think by some miracle they coordinate with the code to get out?”
Six more minutes remaining.
Police sirens and lights start to be piped into the room, and even though I know it’s not real, my heart rate soars. We both stare blankly at the balls.
“Fuck, we’re almost out of time,” he says. “I think we assume it’s the code to get out and try.”
“Are they Roman numerals?” I ask. “L is a Roman numeral, right?”
Three more minutes remaining.
“God, you’re so fucking hot when you figure this shit out,” he says, grinning. “L is the Roman numeral for fifty.”
