“Hey, Richie, could you burn me a copy of this material?” asked the young detective, pulling out his EyeNet. “Mr. McBain will be thrilled if we come back with some evidence.”
“Sure thing. Got a flash drive?”
Dash pushed a sequence of buttons, then handed over his EyeNet.
Richie’s eyes lit up at the sight of an unfamiliar electronic toy. “Hey, what is this thing?” he asked.
“A new portable media player,” Dash lied.
“Cool! As soon as we get back on land, I’m gonna order one!”
Richie connected the EyeNet via the USB port and started uploading his files. The transfer was completed within a couple of minutes.
“Do you have any more questions? I love meeting new people, especially fellow tech geeks,” said the young technician, grinning at Dash. “All I’ve seen for the past few months are the ugly mugs of the captain and crew!”
“They’re not all ugly mugs,” said Uncle Conrad.
Richie laughed. “Yeah, right! Those Sanchez twins are something else. Did you see—”
“Thanks,” Agatha interrupted. “That’s all we need for now.”
Richie said good-bye and turned back to his computer.
Back on the Loki’s deck, Agatha found a place away from prying eyes and turned to Dash. “So, what did you get?”
Chandler rubbed his forehead. “Did I miss something?”
“Agatha suggested that I should use the Argonaut,” Dash explained. “It’s a sophisticated kind of computer virus that instantly sifts through data on a computer. Since it was developed using a new programming language, no other software can detect it.”
“You’re just full of surprises, young nephew,” said Conrad Mistery enthusiastically, slapping him on the shoulder once again.
The results from their scheme were amazing.
“The Argonaut reconstructed a file that was double-deleted yesterday,” exclaimed Dash as he read the display. “It is coordinates for a route starting right here on the Loki and ending in . . . Miami, Florida!”
“It must have been for the AUV,” said Agatha. “That means Captain Larsson wasn’t the one who stole the calendar!”
The others stared at her, stunned.
“It was Richie Stark?” asked Chandler.
Agatha stroked the tip of her nose. “The mystery is solved, colleagues!” she announced. “But to unmask the culprit, I’ll need Uncle Conrad to do me a small favor . . .”
Following his brilliant niece’s orders, Conrad Mistery invited Captain Larsson for dinner on his yacht. The burly Norwegian was a little resistant, but the idea of eating something tastier than the slop that O’Connor usually dished out convinced him to accept. The sound of clinking plates and glasses, and Larsson’s coarse voice singing sea chanteys, sounded from Conrad’s boat.
Meanwhile, Agatha gathered the rest of the crew on the deck.
Chandler stood beside the young mistress with his big arms folded, while Dash nervously rubbed his temples, and Watson continued to prowl the deck, sniffing for traces of fish. The sky had clouded over and only the glow of the boat’s running lights illuminated the Loki.
“Friends, I’m about to explain what happened on the night the calendar disappeared,” Agatha began calmly.
“Awesome!” exclaimed Ramira happily. “Just like a TV mystery!”
“Couldn’t we have done this below deck?” grumbled O’Connor. “My bones are too old to be standing outside on a damp night.”
Santiago didn’t say anything. He simply stared at them with narrowed eyes.
“The calendar was positioned right where we’re standing now,” Agatha continued, pointing to the deck. “According to the captain’s theory, the Mayan disk was thrown overboard during the storm. But that isn’t what happened.”
No one said a word.
Agatha moved toward the bow, followed by the rest of the group. “The most curious thing about this case was the abundance of clues. Of course, none of them are definitive, and nothing points directly at Captain Larsson . . .”
“That doesn’t mean he’s not the culprit,” Richie objected.
Agatha stopped next to the pulley Santiago had finished repairing. “Over to you, cousin,” she said.
Dash reached between the crates and pulled out the severed metal cable Chandler had found that afternoon.
“As you can see, it was cut clean through. To do so would require a very sharp weapon, like Santiago’s machete.”
“What are you trying to say, little boy?” growled the hulking boatswain.
“Señor Santiago, I am simply saying that you lied when you told us that the cable broke during the storm,” replied Dash.
“After we found this clue,” Agatha continued, “we interviewed the Sanchez sisters. There were several contradictions in their account of what happened that night—for example, which sister had let Larsson know there was a leak in the hold.”
“So the captain made a mistake!” protested Ramona. “That’s not our fault!”
“Maybe not,” said Agatha, smiling. “Larsson also said that he saw you both wearing wet raincoats, but you said you spent the storm inside your cabin, working on your diving gear.”
“So that means the captain lied twice!” interrupted Ramira. She sounded angry.
“Everyone knows he’s a liar!” Ramona agreed.
“Maybe he is, but not about this,” responded Agatha. “Anyway, let’s move on. Mr. O’Connor, would you be so kind as to escort us down to the hold?”
The Irishman led the way, guided by the galley lights. He cast a furtive glance at the patched-up hole.
Agatha noticed, but didn’t comment. “Mr. O’Connor told us that the boat was taking on water and that he had asked for the captain’s help,” she recounted.
“That’s right, I surely did,” O’Connor agreed.
“It’s too bad that this hole wasn’t caused by the storm. The repair is too old. So the only logical conclusion is that you must have been trying to lure the captain away from the bridge. Could you tell us why?”
The Irishman held his tongue, taking an extra-long sip of his medicine.
“Never mind, I’ll tell you why,” announced Agatha. “The purpose of Mr. O’Connor’s staged flood was to keep the captain distracted by work for ‘an hour or so’—the time needed to make the precious Mayan calendar disappear!”
The silence following this statement seemed to go on forever.
Agatha continued. “Now let’s proceed to the lab,” she said calmly. “Richie, could you please lead the way?”
A few minutes later, they stood in front of the bank of computer equipment.
“When we paid Richie a visit here this afternoon, we found out something interesting. Isn’t that right, Dash?” Agatha started.
“Exactly!” her cousin said, joining her at center stage. “We found that the AUV never actually sank, because right at this very moment, it’s heading to Florida!”
The young technician paled.
“According to the current coordinates,” Dash continued, tapping the screen of his EyeNet, “it seems to be heading toward the Miami Maritime Museum.”
“I don’t know where they’re getting these crazy theories from,” blurted Ramona.
“We’re trying to figure out who stole the calendar,” Agatha replied with a clever smile. “Actually, we already know who it was, but poor Richie is going to pay the price for the rest of the team.”
“Me? But, why me?” whispered Richie in desperation.
“Because you’re the one who reprogrammed the AUV,” explained Dash. “I’m sure the Miami police will want to have a chat with you when they find the calendar on board.”
Richie gazed around in bewilderment. He seemed about to blurt out something, but he kept his mouth shut.
“
Do you really have nothing to add?” Agatha asked the crew. “If so, then it’s up to me to reconstruct the full story. The whole theft was planned in advance, and the storm provided the perfect cover,” she said. “While the captain was busy in the hold with O’Connor, the rest of you helped transport the gold disk to the AUV. It was a tricky job because the weather made moving around very difficult: the wind, the waves, the tilting of the boat. Also, the relic is huge and extremely heavy.”
“But the AUV wouldn’t have enough space for an object that size, you little busybody,” Ramira protested.
“Explain that if you can,” snapped Ramona.
“Richie provided me with that answer, as well,” said Agatha.
“M-m-me?” stammered Richie.
“Yes, that’s right. The calendar was attached to the AUV’s claw—the one you explained had been added to the new prototype. You entered new coordinates into the navigation system, Santiago cut the cable, and then you went around the ship causing more damage so the captain wouldn’t be suspicious that only the calendar and the AUV robot went missing. Then you tried to blame the whole thing on the storm.” Agatha paused briefly, then turned to the twins. “When the captain came back to look for Santiago, he spotted you in your wet raincoats. You’d just come back down from the deck and hadn’t had time to take them off yet—isn’t that right?”
“You can’t prove a thing, little girl,” Santiago said slowly.
“No, I can’t,” Agatha admitted. “It’s still unclear to me why you plotted to steal the calendar. I suspect it wasn’t because it is worth so much money. The AUV is heading straight for the Miami Maritime Museum, which makes me suspect . . .”
Dash and Chandler exchanged nervous glances. Agatha was now at the most crucial juncture.
“Fine, we’ll explain the whole thing,” sighed O’Connor. “It’s not right that poor Richie should take all the blame.” He gave the technician a pat on the back. “Go on, son, explain everything.”
The technician cleared his throat. “I’d been listening in on a phone conversation between McBain and Captain Larsson,” he whispered. “The Shark told the captain that the location of the Alcazar had been revealed to the curator at the museum, who wanted to put it on public display. Having extorted the information he needed, McBain decided to recover the calendar for himself before the museum could get to it.”
“When Richie told us what was going on, my sister and I decided to get involved,” Ramona interrupted. “Since we’re from Mexico and the Mayans were our ancestors, we wanted the calendar to end up in a museum, where it could show the world our people’s great artistic achievements.”
“And you, Señor Santiago?” asked Agatha.
The Cuban man snorted. “We need to respect all beliefs. The Mayan calendar belongs to the gods. It’s not right that greedy men like McBain and the captain should profit from it. Yemaya would praise me for helping the boy!”
Agatha turned to O’Connor, who sighed.
“I only got involved because I can’t stand Captain Larsson. He’s a good-for-nothing liar who wouldn’t hesitate to commit a crime for money. He’s always treated me like trash. Well, now he can’t afford to buy the shiny new boat he’s been craving. That was reason enough for me, Miss.”
“So you can’t just blame Richie,” Ramira declared. “We were all in this together.”
“Will you turn us in?” Richie asked in dismay. “Will you tell McBain the whole story?”
Agatha picked up Watson. “I’m not happy about working for Mr. McBain myself,” she admitted. “But this is my cousin’s case, so it’s up to him to decide what the right thing to do is.”
Dash looked at the Cuban man, who was so proud of his beliefs; the twins, who just wanted to stand up for their people; the old steward, who was weary from years of oppression; and Richie, a fellow tech geek, not much older than himself, who was full of ideals. He let out a long sigh, then made his decision. “Even the best detectives lose a case every once in a while,” he reassured them with a hint of a smile.
Back at Uncle Conrad’s water park, they phoned McBain to tell him they’d been unable to find evidence that the Mayan calendar had been stolen by anyone. The billionaire was furious, and told them he’d be complaining to the upper echelon of Eye International about the incompetence of its agents.
Dash spent long hours tossing sleeplessly in his bed. This case would be his first failure, but he still felt proud of having supported the crew’s plan to hijack the calendar from McBain. In some ways, he, too, was an accomplice in the theft, but he decided there was some honor to be had in robbing a shark.
He fell asleep with this thought just as dawn started to break. But all too soon, he was abruptly awakened.
“Come on, you slug!” roared Uncle Conrad, throwing the windows wide open. “It’s a gorgeous day in Bermuda! Let’s send you back home with a tan!”
Blinding sunlight hit the young detective, and he hid his head under the pillow. His uncle reached over and pulled it away, laughing. “Everyone’s waiting for you!” He beamed. “Jet Ski safari!”
These were exactly the magic words that Dash needed to hear.
He jumped out of bed and went down to the patio to gorge himself on guavas, papayas, and pineapple. He could see Agatha and Chandler swimming around in the pool with the dolphins. Watson had climbed up onto the trampoline and was looking down at Agatha and Chandler with suspicion, as if he was afraid they’d switched species.
Dash felt a hearty thump on his back. “Put on this life jacket, Dash,” said Uncle Conrad in a hearty voice. “I wouldn’t want to have to call the lifeguard because you’ve fallen into the lagoon!”
They walked down to a small turquoise bay overlooking the ocean. The water was so clear that they could see tropical fish swimming in the coral reef half a mile away.
“Good morning, Dash!” Agatha greeted him with a smile. She was already perched on a sparkling silver Jet Ski.
“Did you sleep well?” Chandler asked him. His Jet Ski was black and wobbled under his extreme weight.
Dash gave them a confident grin. “As soon as Uncle Conrad gives us the signal, I’m going to be flying across the water!” he declared, boarding a flame-red model.
“Everyone ready to go?” asked Conrad Mistery, turning toward them. “I call this a Jet Ski safari because we’re off to explore otherwise inaccessible areas. Needless to say, they are incredibly beautiful!”
“So what are we waiting for?” Dash asked, challenging him. “I’ve ridden these beauties before. I’m a Jet Ski rock star!” He turned on the engine, pushed the START button, and took off like a rocket.
Behind him, his uncle shouted, “Dash, be careful! It’s not a race!”
The young detective laughed and stood up on his toes to go even faster. He wanted to get out to the middle of the lagoon, where he could show off his acrobatic maneuvers. But after a few moments of feeling the rush, his waterproof titanium device vibrated in the pocket of his surf shorts. He slowed right down, pulled out the EyeNet, and saw a message from his school on the screen.
“Uh-oh, what now?” he muttered, hesitating. He turned red as a lobster as he contemplated the failure notification the message was sure to contain.
The others caught up to him and saw him staring at his EyeNet.
“This is going to be hard on him,” Agatha whispered to Chandler. “Who knows what nasty things McBain told his teachers about our ‘failed’ mission.”
Uncle Conrad dived right in. “What’s got you looking so spooked, Dash?” he barked, scaring away every fish within yards. “Man up and face your fears! Get it over with, boy!”
Dash shook himself and stared at his companions in terror. “Do I really have to open this message?” he asked in a barely audible voice.
They all nodded.
“Okay, here goes nothing. If I have been expelled fro
m school, at least it was for a good cause!”
He pushed a button and stared at the screen.
As he scrolled through the message, a smile lit up his face. “I’ve been promoted!” he shouted. “The museum’s curator safely received the Mayan calendar and sent his congratulations to all of us!”
Agatha moved her Jet Ski over closer to Dash’s. She scanned the message quickly and immediately understood what had happened. “They were testing you, Dash!” she said, grinning. “They knew how greedy McBain was and wanted to find out how you would handle a client like that!”
The two children hugged one another, while Uncle Conrad and Chandler traded proud glances.
“Brilliant!” said their uncle with an enormous smile. “Now, what do you say we keep going with our safari? If we head out to those sandbars over there, we’ll be able to see the remains of an old shipwreck . . .”
He didn’t even have time to finish his whole sentence before Dash took off, even faster than before. “I’m the best detective in the world!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, ecstatic.
Unfortunately, there was a big flat rock just under the surface. Dash didn’t see it and kept accelerating. His Jet Ski started to swerve, then bounced up into the air as if it were jumping off a trampoline.
“HELLLLPP!” Dash’s shout echoed across the lagoon as the world’s best detective did a triple somersault, diving face-first into the crystal-clear waters of the Bermuda Triangle.
It was a Sunday morning in the middle of February when a loud blare of trumpets rattled the window glass of the penthouse apartment above Baker Palace. The stereo’s surround sound was state of the art; it sounded as if General Custer himself had come back to life and ordered his bugler to play right into the ear of the tall teenage boy stretched out on the sofa.
Dashiell Mistery jolted awake, as quickly as if someone had thrown him under an ice-cold shower. His hair flopped over his forehead as he clapped his hands over his ears and jumped into action, dodging piles of clothes and stray electronic devices to slam down the volume control on his stereo. The trumpets cut off midnote.
The Treasure of the Bermuda Triangle Page 5