The Key

"Something even better." The last digit chimes and the door clicks open to the black recesses beyond. A big table with some hideous thing covered in a white sheet. A huge machine with giant sparks arcing up two metal rods. An attendant with a limp and a lisp wringing his hands waiting to throw the big master switch. A large window in the ceiling with a mighty electrical storm crashing away outside. None of these things appear to Adam as Michael turns on the lights. Instead, he notes, perhaps with a hint of disappointment, a small brown desk in the corner of what looks like a large off-white garage. Tools arranged neatly in another corner. Boxes and cabinets in another. Drawings and scribblings adorn a white dry-wipe board on most of the walls. Michael places his briefcase onto the desk and opens it with a key from the drawer. Within the case are folders, papers, and a few assorted writing and drawing tools. Adam's discontentment escapes from him audibly. "Did you just sigh? What's wrong?" "Hmm? Oh, it's all right, Mike. Just didn't expect that sort of stuff in your briefcase." "Ah. See, this briefcase is on loan from the company. It's a kind of titanium alloy. Extra tough. Fireproof, waterproof, bulletproof, coffeeproof . . . . It's a prototype of a line of briefcases that the company never sold. The unit cost is still far too high, so I've ended up borrowing it." "I suppose I was expecting glowing jars and folders stamped 'Top Secret' and stuff in it." "Well . . . some of the paperwork is secret, but that's not why I brought you here. What I needed was this key." Michael opens his hand to reveal a small silver ball. "It looks like a pinball." "Trust me. The bells and blinking lights that this should cause will make your ordinary pinball machine look like naughts and crosses drawn in crayon." "It still looks like a pinball." "Okay, so it looks like a pinball, but I'm telling you it's a key. A very, very special key." Michael walks over to one of the cabinets and opens it. Inside, various electronic components are stacked tightly from top to bottom. "This, Adam, is the control mechanism." Michael pushes a button. A little door slides open and a small drawer slides out. Michael places the silver ball into a cup in the drawer, and it closes back again behind its door. As various lights and sounds emit from the instruments, Michael types a few numbers into another panel. "It's taken me a long time to get this worked out right, but all of the calculations are correct. The 'pinball', as you call it, is the key. There's a whole lot of micro-circuitry mounted on gyroscopic . . . well, I won't bore you with the details. Just understand that the silver ball is the key to the whole thing." "What whole thing?" "Eh? Oh. Here, have a look at this." Michael produces a slip of paper from his pocket. "Okay. You have a lottery ticket." "Ah, but this isn't just any lottery ticket. Last Saturday's lottery was won by one ticket and the claimant hasn't come forward yet to take the money." "Yeah?" "Well, the ticket stub I have here I filled in with the winning numbers." "So you're saying you won the lottery." "No, this is just the stub you hand in to get a ticket. I haven't got the actual ticket . . . not yet anyway.