The Treasure of the Bermuda Triangle

by Steve Stevenson

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Original Title: Agatha Mistery: Il tesoro delle Bermuda

  Text by Sir Steve Stevenson

  Original cover and illustrations by Stefano Turconi

  English language edition copyright © 2014 Penguin Group (USA) LLC. Original edition published by Istituto Geografico De Agostini S.p.A., Italy © 2011 Atlantyca Dreamfarm s.r.l., Italy

  International Rights © Atlantyca S.p.A.—via Leopardi 8, 20123 Milano, Italia

  foreignrights@atlantyca.it—www.atlantyca.com

  Published in 2014 by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC. Printed in the USA.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-0-698-17201-2

  Version_1

  Contents

  Title Page

  Map

  Copyright

  Sixth Mission Agents

  Destination

  Objective

  Prelude

  1. A Wise Move

  2. The Bermuda Triangle

  3. Close Encounter with a Shark

  4. A Storm to End All Storms

  5. Traces of Sabotage

  6. The Hole in the Hull

  7. The Floating Lab

  8. A Well-Considered Plan

  Mystery Solved . . .

  Special Excerpt from Agatha's Next Mystery

  SIXTH MISSION

  Agents

  Agatha

  Twelve years old, an aspiring mystery writer; has a formidable memory

  Dash

  Agatha’s cousin and student at the private school Eye International Detective Academy

  Chandler

  Butler and former boxer with impeccable British style

  Watson

  Obnoxious Siberian cat with the nose of a bloodhound

  Uncle Conrad

  Energetic, tanned, and athletic; a water-park owner and dolphin lover

  DESTINATION

  The island of Bermuda

  OBJECTIVE

  Learn the true story of how a priceless gold Mayan calendar disappeared in the infamous Bermuda Triangle

  It was a blustery Saturday morning in late January, and Dashiell Mistery, an aspiring detective at the prestigious Eye International Detective Academy, was jumping out of his skin with excitement. He had just received an Evite from his friend Mallory, inviting him to her birthday party.

  Dash was thrilled. He’d dragged himself out of bed to sit through an online seminar on Espionage and Counterespionage, and had been struggling to cover his yawns for two hours when Mallory’s message popped up on his screen. He managed to prop his eyes open till noon, said a polite good-bye to Professor DM31, and immediately opened Mallory’s invitation.

  Her party would start at eight o’clock at Fashionista, an exclusive club in the center of London. The theme was the seventies, and guests were invited to “dress disco” in honor of that era’s most popular music. The Evite was covered with vintage graphics of people wearing bell-bottom pants, multicolored shirts with pointed collars, suffocatingly tight vests, and platform shoes with chunky, wedged heels.

  Dash loved costumes and disguises, and he decided to pull out all the stops. He was starving, so he wolfed down a take-out container of fries that had been in the fridge for at least three days. Then he started rummaging through his closet, but all he could find were jeans, T-shirts, and a couple of sweaters and suits his mother had bought him for special occasions.

  Nothing that said “seventies disco.” Not even close.

  He opened several websites at once, trying to find the right look. After browsing for an hour or so, he streamed a video clip of John Travolta in the film Saturday Night Fever. The actor’s movements were graceful and hypnotic, and his formfitting white suit would be just the thing for the party.

  There was a vintage clothing boutique a few blocks from Dash’s penthouse apartment. He dug out the last of his weekly allowance and got into the elevator. After combing through every sale rack and trying on several outrageous outfits, he hurried back home with a large shopping bag. He took a quick shower and began getting dressed. By seven o’clock he was standing in front of the full-length mirror in his mother’s room, checking the final details of his costume.

  “No girl will be able to resist me tonight!” He smirked as he buttoned the vest of his three-piece suit. He emphasized his coolness by striking a pose, with one finger pointed at the ceiling and a hand on his hip, like John Travolta doing the Hustle. To his great surprise, he pulled off the dance moves quite well.

  All Dash needed was a quick spritz of cologne, and he would be ready to dance up a storm. He grabbed hold of the bottle and pumped the squirter.

  “Oww!” he shouted as the cologne shot straight into his eye. “That burns like crazy!”

  He ran into the bathroom to wash his face. The hot water made him cry out again. He rubbed his face harder and let out a fresh scream of pain. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of torment, he dabbed a cool washcloth over his eye and managed to find some relief. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eye and looked at himself in the mirror. The eye looked like a fireball!

  “I’m going to need a gallon of eyedrops! Where did Mom put them?” the young detective cried out in despair. Half-blinded, he wandered through the apartment, bumping into furniture and slipping on piles of magazines and comic books. “Maybe it’s in the first-aid kit . . .”

  He opened a cupboard, digging through the emergency medical kit in a frenzy. It was stuffed full of bandages, gauze, and disinfectant, but there were no eyedrops.

  Meanwhile, his eyelid had gotten puffy and swollen. “I can’t go to the party looking like this!” he moaned. “I have to do something!”

  He paced back and forth for a few minutes. It was already well past eight o’clock, and the party would be in full swing by now. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “I’m such an idiot!” he cried. “Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

  He had come up with a solution, and even if it looked a little ridiculous, it was the best he could do in an emergency.

  Twenty minutes later Dash strolled into the party, whistling as if nothing had happened. He had used styling mousse to sculpt a tuft of hair over one side of his face so that none of his friends would notice the inflamed eye hiding beneath it.

  After greeting everyone, Dash scooped up an armload of snacks and found a free chair in a dark corner. All the other guests were dancing under an enormous disco ball that sent sparkling bursts of colored light around the room, but he wasn’t sure if his improvised hairdo would stay in place if he started dancing.

  “Aren’t you going to get on the dance floor?” Cla
rk asked him, shaking his hips in time to the music. “That’s where all the girls are!”

  Dash crossed his legs, tossing some popcorn into his mouth. “I’m saving my energy,” he said, adopting a sophisticated tone. “The best dance tunes always come at the end!”

  Clark chuckled, swinging his hips as he disappeared into the crowd. The disco beat set the dance floor on fire. After a fast-paced song, Mallory danced over and pulled Dash’s hand. “This is my special night, Dash,” she giggled. “And if you don’t get up off that couch, you’re going to break all the girls’ hearts!”

  Dash was about to reply with a sarcastic joke, but a couple of birthday well-wishers pulled Mallory to the middle of the room to cut a huge cake that had appeared out of nowhere.

  In the middle of all the commotion, Dash tried to figure out his next move. This looks like the perfect time to cut and run, he said to himself. I can use my incredible diversionary tactics to slip out while no one is watching!

  But as soon as he got to his feet, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. “Are you leaving already?” asked a girl’s voice. “Don’t you like to party?”

  Dash turned quickly and stared openmouthed at the girl who had stopped him from leaving. She was tall and willowy, with cascading blond curls and dazzling emerald eyes. She was a total fox, no doubt about it.

  “I’ve been watching you all night long,” she confessed with a nervous giggle. “I’m always intrigued by eccentric types. Great suit, by the way.” She held out her hand. “Do you have a name? I’m Linda.”

  “Umm . . . well . . . I’m, um, Dash,” he stammered, embarrassed.

  “How dashing! Would you like to dance?” Linda suggested.

  “Umm . . . sure . . . I guess . . .”

  They started to wend their way onto the dance floor. Suddenly Dash reached into his pocket, which was vibrating like mad, and pulled out an odd-looking phone. It was the state-of-the-art tech device given to Eye International students to help them carry out top secret missions around the world.

  Code name: EyeNet.

  Dash read the text and turned pale as a ghost. “Are you kidding me? Talk about timing!” he cried. “I need to call Agatha immediately!”

  “Who’s Agatha?” asked Linda, suspicious. “She’s not your girlfriend, is she?”

  Dash was so worked up that he didn’t even answer her. “Could I please borrow your phone? My reception is awful!” he cried.

  Naturally this wasn’t true, but he didn’t want his teachers to intercept a call on the EyeNet and find out how much help he got with his investigations.

  A moment later, he was back in the chair, sending a text to his cousin Agatha while Linda waited for him on the dance floor. As soon as he finished, he gave back her phone, apologized for the unforeseen interruption, and took off at top speed for Gatwick Airport.

  A dangerous mission had just begun. Destination: the Bermuda Triangle!

  Agatha Mistery was twelve, two years younger than Dash and with a completely opposite personality. While her cousin was impulsive, clumsy, and madly in love with technology, Agatha was thoughtful, deliberate, and usually found with her upturned nose buried in a dusty tome.

  It was no surprise that they were so different. The Mistery family tree was overloaded with a range of larger-than-life personalities who dedicated their passion and brilliance to some very unusual occupations.

  Agatha kept in close touch with her relatives all around the world, frequently gathering family news. To help keep track of them all, she recorded their contact information, professions, and other important details on an old-fashioned globe.

  A few months earlier, upon their return from a scientific expedition in South Africa, Agatha’s parents had noticed the globe in the living room and stood staring at her handwritten notes, wide-eyed with amazement.

  “Marvelous!” her father had exclaimed, clenching his pipe between his teeth as he took quick puffs.

  Her mother had rushed to hug Agatha. “Darling, we’re so proud of you! I’m sorry we leave you alone so often.” She sighed. “But we’re always thinking of you.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” Agatha told her cheerfully. “Life with Watson and Chandler is never boring!”

  She had turned to gaze at the other two occupants of the huge Victorian mansion on the outskirts of London. Watson the cat was curled up around a Ming vase, licking his fluffy white fur. Chandler, the family butler, was offering a tray of delicious canapés.

  “Extraordinary!” her father had exclaimed, leaning closer to the annotated globe.

  “The World of Mistery isn’t quite finished yet,” Agatha told him. “I’m still updating it with some of the research I’ve recorded in my notebooks. It’s going to take some time!”

  Ever since then, she’d continued to add new details to the globe about all the far-flung and eccentric members of the Mistery family. It was a challenging task, but this didn’t bother her. On the contrary, Agatha enjoyed the hard work. Her favorite pastime was digging up clues, and she hoped to become a world-famous mystery writer one day.

  That Saturday night after dinner, she was sitting at the desk in her bedroom consulting a mountain of books and taking notes. Watson played on the bed, batting around an increasingly frayed ball of yarn. A soft knock sounded at the door, and Agatha stopped writing. “Is everything ready, Chandler?” she asked as the butler entered the room.

  “Just as you ordered, Miss,” he replied.

  “The luggage is packed?”

  “Certainly, Miss.”

  “And Watson’s carrier?”

  “It’s in the trunk of the limousine.”

  “Good job. I’ll be down in a minute!”

  Agatha put on a necklace and two silver bracelets, then brushed her blond hair. The evening dress she wore was gray cashmere with lace trim—very expensive. She was going to the Theatre Royal, the most elegant theater in London, and she had to look the part!

  Stroking her small, upturned nose, she turned toward Watson. “Do you promise to behave yourself?” she whispered. “If they find you hiding in my purse, we’ll be in all sorts of trouble.”

  In response, the cat jumped into her purse and lay perfectly still. Agatha gave him a grateful pat on the head and started down the stairs.

  When they arrived at the car, Chandler held the door open for her. Even he had dressed up: a double-breasted mauve suit with a blue silk scarf in place of his usual dinner jacket. Only his bearlike stature and flattened nose betrayed his past as a professional heavyweight boxer.

  “Don’t forget to activate the burglar alarm,” Agatha reminded him. “I have a feeling we’re going to be gone for a while.”

  Chandler activated the alarm system with a remote control and rubbed his square jaw. “What makes you so sure Master Dash will be calling tonight?” he questioned.

  That afternoon, Agatha had suggested that they pack their bags “just in case.” She was convinced Dash was about to lure them away on another investigative mission. Knowing his young mistress’s incredible intuition, Chandler had obeyed without batting an eye.

  “I’m playing the odds,” replied Agatha with a smile. “I have two good reasons for thinking so. First, it’s been more than a month since his last mission. It seems strange that Eye International would leave him inactive for so long.”

  “I see,” said the butler. “So we’ll have to help him solve a crime in some obscure part of the world?”

  “As usual,” she replied.

  “And the second reason, Miss?”

  Agatha turned to look at him. “Well, isn’t it obvious? Tonight we have tickets for my favorite play, Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and Dash is an expert at interrupting my plans!”

  Chandler let out a dry laugh and started to drive with smooth confidence.

  At a quarter past eight, they left the limousine keys with the vale
t at the Theatre Royal, a grand white building in a neoclassical style. London’s high society filed through its doors in a slow, twittering procession.

  “I booked us a box,” the girl whispered to Chandler as she handed the usher their tickets. “Hurry up, I can hear Watson clawing the inside of my purse!”

  They slipped into their private box on the second floor. Chandler closed its door firmly, and Agatha let the cat out of his hiding place.

  In an instant, Watson jumped onto Agatha’s knee and gazed around, pricking his ears.

  There was a magical atmosphere in the theater. A huge chandelier with thousands of bulbs hung from the ornate ceiling.

  The lights dimmed, and the audience’s chattering softened until there was total silence.

  The curtain opened, and there was a round of applause.

  The first scene showed the crenellated ramparts of a stone castle, where two terrified guards encountered the ghost of their dead king. Then Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, took center stage, swearing to his father that he’d take revenge on his murderer.

  Even though she knew every line by heart, Agatha was hypnotized by the beauty of Shakespeare’s language. But the magic was soon interrupted by a vibrating phone.

  The butler peeked at the screen, then handed it to her with a resigned expression. “You were right, Miss Agatha,” he whispered. “Looks like a message from Master Dash . . .”

  Agatha read her cousin’s text:

  AGENT DM14 HERE. GO STRAIGHT TO GATWICK AIRPORT AND TAKE THE NEXT BRITISH AIRWAYS FLIGHT TO BERMUDA. P.S. IF YOU DON'T COME, I’M SUNK!

  Agatha gave Chandler a smile; her intuition had been right again! She grabbed her purse, stepped out of the box, and set off down the Theatre Royal’s luxurious halls, while Watson and Chandler followed closely behind. They reached the exit in moments, and soon the limousine was speeding out of the garage.