by Paul Aertker
“You’re sick,” Astrid spat.
Ms. Günerro was calm and confident. “It was beautifully executed, if you ask me. What more could you possibly want from a museum tour? It was terribly exciting.”
“You’re right,” Nalini said. She nudged Jackknife and Astrid.
Lucas considered her tone. He realized Operation Obnoxious was in motion. They were going to confuse Ms. Günerro again by nettling her with questions and comments.
“True,” Alister said. “Museum tours are the worst.”
“Right you are, young man,” said Ms. Günerro with a proud grin.
The New Resistance kids crowded around the CEO’s feet.
“Excuse me, Ms. Günerro?” asked Jackknife in the nicest voice Lucas had ever heard him use. “How much do you think the Guernica painting cost anyway?”
“The question, young man,” Ms. Günerro said, “is not how much does it cost but rather what is its value?”
“Please tell us,” said Kerala. “What’s it worth?”
“I would imagine a hundred million US dollars,” said Ms. Günerro. “Maybe more.”
“I disagree,” Astrid said. “Guernica doesn’t have a value, per se,” she said as she leaned against the wall. “I would argue that the painting is priceless.”
The kids grumbled in agreement.
“It is priceless,” said Kerala.
“Art is not science,” Travis said. “You can’t measure art.”
“Art and value are both subjective,” said Nalini.
“I agree,” said Ms. Günerro. “So long as you can determine the price.”
“Truly,” said Alister. “There’s no value other than what we receive or perceive from a particular painting.”
Lucas listened. He couldn’t believe the baloney his friends could come up with.
“No, no, no,” said Ms. Günerro, stomping her foot. “You’re all wrong. The value is how much someone will pay us for it—I mean pay a person for it.”
“This is silly talk,” Goper said. “They’re trying to confuse the situation. I was a kid in middle school once. I know what they’re doing. That’s why Lucas is not talking.”
“Yeah,” Ekki said from the back of the car. “What he said.”
Ms. Günerro turned toward Goper. “What do you think we should do then?”
“I think,” Goper said, “that Lucas Beans is the real problem. The others are just brats.”
“Very well, Goper,” Ms. Günerro said calmly. “Take the math boy out of the equation and we’ll have no more problems.”
She chuckled.
“He might still have some secrets,” Goper said.
“Goper, you’re getting smarter by the day,” Ms. Günerro said. “Yes, I do think I will make you head of Good Company Security—one day.”
Goper smiled broadly.
“Why don’t you and Ekki take Lucas to see the paintings,” Ms. Günerro said, “while I get some more quality time with these kids.”
Goper and Ekki lifted Lucas by the shoulders.
“And once he’s seen the paintings,” Ms. Günerro said, “tie him up with Ekki’s little friend.”
“Hircus?” Ekki asked.
“Yes,” Ms. Günerro said. “That beast you insisted on carting around with us.”
Goper and Ekki pushed and pulled Lucas through the gap between the train cars and into the next compartment.
This part of the train looked like a regular overnight passenger train, with sleeping bunks, bathrooms, and a café car. They continued to march through the moving train and cut through an equipment compartment with shovels, axes, and the jackhammers the Curukians had used to blast through the museum walls.
Goper pushed Lucas on, and they crossed into the next car.
Dangling from the ceiling, a single lightbulb swayed with the rocking of the train. A dull white shone on the paintings leaning against the wall.
Picasso’s Guernica took up the whole left side, while on the right a fat yellow strap held the other stolen paintings against the wall.
Ekki and Goper marched Lucas between the artwork, down the center aisle covered in hay, and into the next train car.
Lucas cringed and covered his nose. This compartment stank. He gagged as he tried to pinpoint the odor.
Old wet basketball shoes, he thought. Not quite. Maybe . . . vomit. No, not that, either. Dirty armpits. That’s it.
Using a sisal rope, Ekki tied Lucas’s wrists behind his back. Goper forced Lucas to the floor, and he lay in a pile of hay. Ekki looped Lucas’s ankles together and then lashed the ropes to a hook of some kind on the wall.
Below the sheet metal floor the train thundered across the tracks.
Lucas could barely move, and he felt particularly vulnerable because he couldn’t see a thing. And he was dying to know what was making that awful smell.
“Hey,” Lucas asked, “can you guys turn on a light?”
“There’s no light in this room,” Goper said.
Ekki rattled a tiny box. “I have some matches,” he said.
“Smoking is stupid,” Goper said. “Everybody knows that.”
“Well, did you know-” Ekki said.
“Yes,” Lucas said, frustrated with their banter. “Did you know there is hay in this car, and this whole train will catch on fire if you strike a match in here?”
“Oh,” Ekki said. “Good point.”
Goper slapped his partner. “Let’s go.”
The guards turned to leave.
“Wait,” Lucas asked. “What’s that smell?”
“Oh,” Goper said. “That’s your new roommate, Hircus.”
THE TRAIN STAYS MAINLY ON THE PLAIN
Lucas found himself tied to a wall inside a dark train car that stank like armpits. He yanked on the cords and twisted his fingers to untangle the knots, but it only made the ropes tighter.
The purpose of a knot or hitch was to hold something until you wanted to untie it. Unfortunately, the clump Ekki had put together was not a knot. It was some haywire jumble of fibers. Lucas tugged on the ropes again, but he knew it would be impossible to undo. He would have to figure out something else.
He buried his head in a pile of hay and drifted into thought.
He tried his best to avoid thinking about his current situation.
Sometimes when you’re alone, you can figure out who you are or who you want to be. Spend a little time alone, and your heart and your mind will connect and let you know what you should do.
This was not exactly what Lucas had envisioned as a good time to think about what was important in life. A camping trip would have been better. Lucas couldn’t help but think about all the kids who he had seen and met who were not free to do as he was. But now he wasn’t free either. He was a good guy and he was going to do some good in the world. That much he knew.
His mind wandered back to the beginning. This mission had started with his mother’s cryptic message.
Priceless, he thought. What is more valuable than priceless?
He nodded as he felt his heart speaking clearly to him. He could feel the answer coming. He rolled over and lay in the hay and listened.
He soon heard a noise. A rustling. Someone was in the compartment with him. Lucas’s whole body tensed with fear.
“Hello?” he called out cautiously.
“Hello?” he said again.
Something deliberate moved in the hay. Footsteps. Lucas counted but it was dark in the compartment, and he couldn’t tell if it was two feet or four.
Then he heard “Baa.”
Lucas got up on his knees and his eyes adjusted.
“Baa,” said the voice.
Lucas stretched his neck and looked deep into the dark compartment. He was face-to-face with a goat.
A goat? Lucas thought. Hircus is a goat?
He was most definitely a goat, a stinky one. But Hircus also gave Lucas an idea.
The solution to many problems is often very close at hand. Or in this case: very close at
mouth.
In the dark Lucas looked in the direction of the goat. “You must be Hircus,” he said.
“Baa,” the goat bleated.
“You’re probably hungry. Aren’t you?”
“Baa.”
“I bet you’d like some yummy rope for a midnight meal!”
Lucas turned around and backed up to the goat and offered the knot as a snack. At first Hircus licked the salt from Lucas’s palms.
“Go ahead,” Lucas said. “You can have the whole thing.”
The goat crunched on the knot, and Lucas curled his fingers, hoping Hircus was a vegetarian like the Curukian girls.
For a few minutes the goat munched and chomped on the rope like it was the best meal he’d ever had.
About halfway through the goat’s dinner the clunking of the train wheels grew deeper and seemed to be slowing. Lucas knew that if the train stopped he would have only a few minutes to escape. He looked back over his shoulder.
“There’s a lot of fiber in rope,” Lucas said. “It’s just like cereal. It’s good for you, Hircus. Keep on eating.”
The old goat seemed to understand. He chomped down one more time on the knot, and Lucas felt the jumble loosen just enough. He wiggled his wrists and slid his hands free; then he untied the ropes from his ankles.
Soon the train slowed to a crawl.
Lucas petted Hircus on the head. “It’s time for me to go,” he said. “And I think you might want to brush your teeth before bed!”
Lucas wiped the goat slobber from his hands. Then he bent down and grabbed a loose metal plank in the floor and ripped it clean off.
He stared down through the gaping hole in the container and watched the railroad ties click past. He listened for the slowing rhythm. In a few moments the metal wheels squeaked as the train braked.
Lucas would not have much time to escape. He lowered himself onto the railcar frame; just below him the tracks rolled by. If he slipped, he would be sliced into thirds.
He waved good-bye to Hircus and slid the flooring back over the hole he had created. Then he held on for dear life.
The train finally came to a complete stop, and a long whistle sang out. As far as Lucas could tell, they were still in the countryside.
On both sides of the tracks he spotted boots running toward the back of the train. Ekki and Goper, Lucas figured.
Someone’s walkie-talkie screeched in Spanish, “Waiting for another train to clear the route.”
In the distance Lucas could hear the rumble of a passing train. The boots ran past again, and Lucas eased himself down onto the railroad ties, between the rails. Above him, he stared at the bottom of the train car. For a second he felt claustrophobic.
Lucas crossed his arms over his chest and lay perfectly still. As he waited, he could feel the pressure building in every cell in his body.
Three minutes later, a whistle wailed into the night. The train lurched forward, and the metal couplings connecting the cars clanged together.
Lucas had to move. In just a second the train would travel over him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle that. And there were chains hanging underneath the car that would shred him like cheese.
The space between the front wheels of the car and the back wheels provided plenty of room, if he was fast enough. Before the train really started moving, he had to bolt.
As the train horn blasted, Lucas let out the scream that had been brewing in his gut.
In one motion Lucas rolled over the rail between the moving wheels of the train and into a rock bed. The train kicked in and started moving down the tracks.
Click. Clack.
REFUGE
The red lights at the back of the train faded into the darkness, leaving Lucas all alone in the middle of nowhere.
For a good long while he waited and lay still in the grass that ran alongside the railroad tracks. He wanted to make sure the train was truly gone and that no one had seen him.
Briefly he replayed in his mind what had just happened. He had rolled between moving train wheels.
He thought, Don’t try this at home, kids. He laughed at being able to make fun of something that had been so scary.
The joke got him going, and he collected his thoughts. Lucas hopped up and started walking along the tracks with no real destination in mind. He knew somehow, someway he had to get to Granada, where his friends and the stolen artwork would soon be. He figured he was several hours away on foot.
So he just started putting one foot in front of the other. It was the only way to get anywhere.
A waning crescent moon drifted over the land.
The light made the train tracks glisten as if they had been oiled. Lucas followed the two iron rails for about half an hour. Soon he felt himself moving slower and slower. He would have to rest.
In about four kilometers, roughly two and a half miles, he spotted the tiny light of a farmhouse in the middle of what looked like a vineyard.
Lucas left the tracks and scrambled through the underbrush and down into a field. He cut between two rows of vines. They were laden with thick bunches of grapes. Food and something to drink at the same time. He stuffed his face with the biggest, fattest red grapes he could find, the juice pouring between his fingers and down his neck.
He couldn’t believe how sweet they were.
He ate for a few minutes, and then pure exhaustion hit him. He guessed the time was about two-thirty in the morning, and he knew he had to stop. The choices out here were slim. He thought about curling up in the dirt under the vines and sleeping for a few hours, at least until sunrise.
On second thought, he would take his chances and check out the farmhouse and see if he could possibly sneak into the barn and catch a few winks.
He cut diagonally through the vineyard and came to the house. The white building was a circular structure with a conical thatched roof. Around the property there were no cars or bikes or motorcycles visible. A few pieces of farm equipment lay stacked in a pile. No way to get out quickly.
A distinct horse smell came from the attached barn.
Lucas peered through a small window in the main building. Inside he saw an old man in scruffy-looking clothes plucking feathers from doves.
Lucas could feel his brain shutting down. He had to do something quick. In the moonlight he scurried over to the barn and listened. No one. Still, he would have to be super quiet. He nudged his shoulder between the two doors and pried them open just a bit. He slipped his head inside. Soft moonlight shone through a window, and he could see horses in some of the stalls.
He stepped into the barn and discovered a perfect hideout. Lucas would crawl into a stall, and the old man would never know.
He creaked open a metal gate.
“Buenas noches,” said a voice behind him.
Lucas’s heart jumped into his throat.
The old man hit a switch, and a dim light illuminated the barn.
In Spanish Lucas said the same back to the man. “Good evening.”
“May I help you?” the man asked in Spanish.
Lucas calculated that this guy was going to do him no harm at all. In fact he probably could even help Lucas.
They spoke Spanish.
“I’m lost,” Lucas said.
“What are you doing out here in the dead of the night by yourself?”
Again Lucas decided that honesty was the best policy.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about the art heist at the Reina Sofía yesterday,” he said.
The man nodded.
“I was there when the robbery took place,” Lucas said. “And I know who it was, and I have been tracking the stolen paintings all night.”
“The police have no leads,” the old man said. “But you’re telling me that a lost boy in my barn knows who did it and where they are?”
Lucas nodded. “I don’t lie about things that matter.”
“Where do you think the paintings are?”
“They’re on a train to Granada,” Lucas said. �
�They’re going to the Good Art Institute.”
“How did you get here?”
“I was on the train,” Lucas said. “But I hopped off.”
“And then you ate my grapes.”
Lucas swallowed. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his cheek. “I was starving and thirsty.”
The man glanced over at the horses in the stalls.
“You look tired,” he said. “Come in and you can eat and drink and rest awhile.”
The inside of the little cottage smelled of garlic, onions, and meat. The old man gestured for Lucas to take a seat at the wooden table in the center of the room.
In a moment the man put a deep bowl of pringa meat stew and a clump of crunchy bread in front of him. Lucas devoured it almost without breathing.
When he was finished, Lucas took his plate to the sink where the old man was washing a few dishes.
“I don’t sleep much,” the old man said. “You can take my bed there in the corner.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I am going to call a friend.”
The man pointed Lucas toward a cot in the corner.
Lucas didn’t argue. He crawled into the single bed while the man finished cleaning up.
“Buenas noches,” said the man. “Good night.”
Lucas didn’t hear him. He was already fast asleep.
THE ALHAMBRA
Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning before the sun rose, the Good Company train carrying the stolen paintings arrived at the Granada train station.
The train tracks terminated between two small concrete platforms. On one side, rows of locomotives sat idle. On the other, wooden benches lined a lobby covered in mosaic tiles.
Bleach and her Curukian girls unlocked the private sleeping compartments where Astrid, Jackknife, and the other New Resistance kids slept. The kids got up and shuffled to the café car. Wearing a housecoat and with her hair in curlers, Ms. Günerro sat alone at the far table drinking tea.
The kids didn’t speak while they had bread and hot chocolate for breakfast. Astrid and Travis stared out the windows and watched.
A moving van backed up to the train. A sign on the side read:
VAN GOGH
ART MOVERS:
FINE ART TRANSPORTS LOCAL & INTERNATIONAL