By now, to Samuel, Enigma was no longer an adversary to fear, but a ridiculous caricature, a sort of circus buffoon.
That's why he ordered his men to call him Clown.
"Who's ever heard of a thief who warns his victims before striking? Or someone who dresses up as a magician to steal? He's just a two-bit showman!" he had conceded during a meeting after Enigma's escape.
"He's not a criminal, he's a clown!"
And now, with cheesecake still dripping from his head, Samuel realizes he's become exactly the ridiculous figure he so despises.
"Give me that note, now!" he barks, slamming his hand on the desk so hard that papers fly into the air and the veins on his forehead visibly swell.
Liam, trying to stifle his laughter, hands him the envelope. Seeing his usually composed boss so out of control is a rare, almost surreal sight.
Samuel is always calm, composed, and professional, but between the day's disaster and the cake smeared on his hair, it's clear this time he's lost his grip.
[Before the end of sunset, I will take the third sunset. From: Enigma]
"Another riddle."
"I really don't understand any of this," says Samuel, ruffling his hair in confusion.
His forehead is furrowed, and his eyes reflect growing anxiety.
"Boss, if I want to interfere at sunset, I think it's the red sunset gem," replies Liam, crossing his arms with determination.
"You're right," admits Samuel, nodding.
"But I don't know if the word third is correct," adds Liam, visibly worried. The tension is palpable as time is running out.
"Yes, that's true, but it's the only clue we have left before it's too late," says Samuel, turning to the window.
The sun is almost gone on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange, red, and gold.
"Call all the people currently on duty," Samuel orders Liam, his voice firm.
"Right away, boss," replies Liam, stepping out of the room with determination.
"This time I'll catch him," Samuel whispers through clenched teeth, his gaze fixed on the note, his heart racing.
---
The police sirens break the silence, speeding through the streets of the city and passing me by.
"From their direction, they seem to be headed to the Museum of Wonders," I comment, observing their path.
"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint them, they've got it wrong," I think with a slight smile.
In the city of Thaloria, there are eight museums, each with a numerical symbol indicating the order of construction. Strangely, the Roman numerals are engraved on them: I, II, III, etc.
Over the years, people began to give various names to the museums, and the largest of all was called the Museum of the King. Only a few, especially the older ones, know this story that has now almost faded away.
I naturally head to the third museum, or rather, to Museum V. A strange name, in my opinion, but who am I to judge? My mind is focused on what I'm about to do.
At the entrance of the museum, a guard checks digital tickets with a bored expression, while the museum lights shine warm and inviting.
But today is different: the main reason I chose this museum as my target is that there is a free entry event for five days in the late afternoon.
I enter and see many people, even as evening approaches. I'm tempted and curious to look around, but I have more important things to do.
I start counting.
1
2
3
Suddenly, the lights in the museum turn red, darkening some areas of the rooms and creating eerie shadows. The background music stops, and an unsettling silence fills the air.