Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  Addison searched for options, his eyes settling on the giant floodlights illuminating the stone walls of the temple. He gripped the metal girder of a floodlight and strained with all his might, trying to wrench the light free of its rocky mooring.

  “Addison, what are you doing?”

  “Destroying museum property.”

  Molly shook her head in amazement. “It’s like I don’t even know you!”

  Addison snapped the floodlight free and dragged it to the edge of the moat. He watched the bodyguards splashing closer. “Mo, do you know why Aunt Delia gets mad when you leave the hair dryer near the bathtub?”

  “Because it’s messy?”

  “Well, partly.” Addison casually rested his foot on top of the bright floodlight, poised on the edge of the moat. “But also, electricity and water don’t mix.”

  The bodyguards paused, suddenly aware of their danger.

  Addison smiled at them and winked.

  He kicked his foot and the giant floodlight crashed into the water. Electricity jolted through the reflecting pool with a thunderous zap. Bodyguards collapsed like felled oaks, hitting the water in a sizzling, jiggling mess. They yowled like cats stuck in a clothes dryer. The men raced from the moat, retreating to the safety of the atrium where they crumpled to the ground, shaking and twitching, their hair standing on end.

  Zubov stared down at his men in disgust. He raised his cold eyes to glare at Addison across the moat. His face was a pale mask of rage.

  Molly joined Addison at the water’s edge. “Will those guys be okay?”

  Addison nodded. “They will be soon. In the meantime, I suggest we take the fire exit at our earliest convenience.”

  • • •

  Addison and Molly had never used an emergency exit before. But they felt reasonably sure their situation constituted an emergency. They escaped out the back of the museum and scrambled up the grassy embankment that fed into the wilds of Central Park. The two Cookes knelt in a screen of bushes to catch their breath.

  The thunder and rain had fizzled to a drizzle and was now pierced by the din of police sirens closing in from all directions.

  “Look—it’s Uncle Nigel!” Molly pointed to the service parking lot behind the museum. Addison watched Professor Ragar shove a handcuffed Uncle Nigel into the back of a stretch limousine with tinted windows. Ragar slammed the door and locked it.

  Police arrived seconds later, red and blue sirens flashing on their squad cars. A dozen police cruisers surrounded the museum. Officers aimed spotlights on all the doors.

  From the hillside, Addison watched the police commander leap from an armored police van, one hand on his holster. The commander shouted at Professor Ragar, “Hands in the air where I can see them!”

  Addison turned to Molly, grinning with relief, “Finally, the police can restore some sanity.”

  Professor Ragar stepped forward and greeted the police commander affably. “Commander Grady, just the man I want to see.”

  Commander Grady froze, confused.

  “Professor Vladimir Ragar,” said Professor Vladimir Ragar. “I sit on the board of the police memorial fund. I believe we met at a recent fund-raiser.”

  “Professor Ragar, of course,” returned the commander, shaking Ragar’s hand vigorously. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. And thank you, by the way, for your generous contribution. What’s the situation here?”

  From the hillside, Molly watched, aghast. “Do you think Ragar really donates money to the police?”

  “I doubt it. I suspect Ragar is just an extremely smooth talker.” Addison shook his head in begrudging admiration. “I can learn a thing or two from this man.”

  The police commander stood only a few feet from the limousine where Uncle Nigel was hidden, bound and gagged. Professor Ragar acted completely relaxed. He set a friendly hand on Commander Grady’s shoulder and led him away from the limousine. “I was just visiting the museum for some specimens and spotted a crime in progress. And I believe I know who the criminals are.”

  “Who?” asked the commander, who loved a case that solved itself.

  “A boy and girl. They broke into the museum, smashed displays, and ruined priceless artifacts. These criminals must be found.”

  “Of course. Are they nearby?”

  “Yes, I recommend you search the grounds, Commander Grady,” said Professor Ragar, pointing to the woods that hid Addison and Molly. “These are—how do you say?—urgent circumstances.”

  “At once.”

  In the bushes, Molly turned to Addison. “Time to go.”

  “Agreed.”

  The two left their hiding place and crept farther up the forested hillside.

  “I love it when things get completely bad,” said Addison.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because once things are truly awful, they can’t possibly get any worse.”

  At that moment, they heard a shout from Professor Ragar below. “There they are now, Commander! Quickly!”

  Ragar pointed his ivory-tipped cane up the hill at Addison and Molly. Police spotlights swept the hillside and lit up the pair like the stars of a Broadway show. Addison and Molly froze in midstep. Addison offered his brightest smile.

  A squadron of duty-hardened New York City police officers surged up the hill, batons drawn, closing fast.

  “Addison,” Molly said, “I think things just got worse.”

  Chapter Four

  A Sticky Wicket

  ADDISON AND MOLLY CRESTED the hill, plowed their way through thorn-encrusted briar bushes, and touched down onto a jogging path. Addison searched frantically for a fast escape. “Where are the bike messengers when you need them?”

  The shouts of police officers drew closer through the woods.

  “C’mon,” Molly said. She and Addison tore along the jogging path, heading for the Central Park livery stables.

  The two raced past a tourist carriage and ducked into the stables. They crawled under a wooden fence to join a mare in her enclosure. The horse chomped hay and nickered at them cheerfully.

  “Shhh!” said Addison.

  Policemen surrounded the stable, their voices crackling through walkie-talkies. “They must be inside!”

  “Set up a perimeter.”

  “Cover the exits.”

  Addison quietly opened the horse’s paddock. Seizing the horse’s withers, he climbed up onto the mare’s back.

  “Addison . . . are we going to steal a horse?”

  “These are—how do you say?—urgent circumstances,” explained Addison, imitating Ragar’s accent.

  “Can you even ride a horse?”

  “How hard can it be? I’ve read about it in books.” Addison helped Molly clamber up behind him.

  “Go!” said Addison to the horse. “Please,” he added.

  The mare simply stood there, pleasantly chewing hay.

  “Some things you can’t learn from books, Addison.”

  “I will be sure to remember that.”

  Outside in the corral, dozens of policemen could be heard marching into position, surrounding the stable. A policeman switched on a megaphone, which sparked with static. “Come on out. You’re surrounded!”

  Addison leaned close to the horse’s ear. “Step on it!”

  The horse smacked its teeth with its great tongue and did nothing else.

  “I think you’re supposed to kick it,” Molly offered.

  “That’s your answer for everything!”

  Molly decided to take matters into her own hands. Or feet, in this case. She knocked her cleats into the horse’s sides.

  It did the trick. The mare sprung into gear. With a thunder of hooves, the horse burst from the stable.

  Molly and Addison held on for dear life.

  Surprised policemen dove from the
path of the galloping steed as it vaulted the paddock fence. Addison and Molly clung to the horse like a wet bathing suit. The mare bolted across the baseball diamond and onto the football field, picking up speed. Behind them, a squadron of uniformed officers gave chase.

  Overhead, a police helicopter caught them in its searchlight, tracking them across the open field.

  Molly bounced along on the horse, hanging on to Addison. “Why am I always in back?”

  “Because you’re younger!”

  “Do you even know how to steer this thing?”

  “You ask too many questions!”

  The horse plunged directly into the dense foliage surrounding the football field. Soon they were enveloped in the dark forest, tree limbs whipping past their faces. Addison ducked low over the horse’s mane, Molly’s face catching all the branches that missed Addison.

  The helicopter blades grew quieter as Addison and Molly fled deeper into the woods.

  Molly’s voice shook with each powerful stride of the galloping horse. “Why kidnap Uncle Nigel?”

  “Professor Ragar needs his help to track down the treasure. Uncle Nigel is famous among archaeologists. He is the number two Incan expert in the world.”

  “Who’s the number one Incan expert?”

  Addison’s face slowly turned white. “Aunt Delia!”

  Addison reined the horse. “She must be in danger, too. We need to get back home.” He tugged on the mare’s reins, aiming the horse north for West 86th Street.

  • • •

  Addison and Molly cantered north on Amsterdam and hooked a right onto 86th Street. Police helicopters circled in the distance, combing the neighborhood with searchlights.

  Addison dismounted, parallel-parking the horse in an empty spot in front of the local deli.

  “You can’t park there—it’s a handicapped spot,” said Molly.

  “Molly, they’re not going to ticket a horse!”

  As police sirens swept the surrounding streets, Molly and Addison hurried inside their apartment building.

  They bolted up the endless set of stairs and reached the fifth-floor landing out of breath. They rushed down the hall and skidded to a halt. The apartment door was ajar.

  Addison lifted a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet. When he crept into the living room, his jaw fell open in shock.

  The sofa was overturned, and the coffee table lay broken on its side. A bookshelf was toppled over and ten years of National Geographic magazines were scattered across the floor. Aunt Delia’s drawings and paintings hung crookedly on the walls. Her well-worn copy of the complete works of Lady Florence Craye lay on the rug, torn into tatters.

  Addison and Molly searched the entire apartment. Every room was ransacked.

  “Aunt Delia’s gone,” said Addison. “But her purse and keys are still on the side table.”

  “She’s been kidnapped like Uncle Nigel.”

  “Well, she put up a better fight than he did,” said Addison, considering the wreckage of the apartment. Then, noticing Molly’s horrified expression, he added, “I’m sure she’s fine. Ragar needs her cooperation to find the treasure.”

  Addison and Molly righted the overturned sofa so they could sit down.

  “This is definitely a sticky wicket.”

  “Addison, we just fled the police and illegally parked a stolen horse in a handicapped zone! This is more than a sticky wicket!”

  “Patience, sister. It is in moments like these that the Addison Cooke brain is at its finest.” Addison stood up to pace the floor. “Any moment now, the neurons will click into gear like a well-oiled machine.”

  Police sirens howled in the distance, drawing closer. Molly stood up, assessing the situation. “Aunt Delia is kidnapped, Uncle Nigel is kidnapped, and we just hijacked a horse.” Molly spread her arms wide. “We weren’t supposed to be in the museum after hours. We broke expensive artifacts. Professor Ragar tried to kidnap us. And now the entire New York Police Department wants us arrested. We’re fugitives!”

  “And to think,” Addison mused, “just a few hours ago we were worried about being grounded.”

  Molly flopped back down on the sofa.

  Addison clasped his hands behind his back and furrowed his brow. He knew that the solution to a problem often lay at the end of a well-paced floor. He took a few meditative laps around the overturned coffee table. “We need to find that second key,” he said at last.

  “We need to help Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel. That’s what’s important, Addison!”

  “Two steps ahead of you, sister. Professor Ragar needs their help solving the riddle and finding the second key. So if we get to the second key fast enough, that’s where we’ll find them.”

  Molly weighed the truth of this. “We’re just middle schoolers. We can go to the police. We’ll explain what happened in the museum. They’re not going to throw kids in jail.”

  “We are just middle schoolers. So who would believe us? Molly, listen to all those sirens outside—there’s a full-on manhunt. For us. Besides, Ragar is practically best friends with the police commander.” Addison shook his head. “We can’t show our faces. Ragar has seven hundred and fifty tons of treasure at stake. If he can kidnap us, too, he will.”

  “Why? We’re not Incan experts.”

  “Blackmail.”

  “Explain it like I’m a sixth grader,” said Molly, who was a sixth grader.

  “If Professor Ragar kidnaps us, he can get Aunt D and Uncle N to do whatever he wants. They’ll be forced to cooperate and help him find the treasure.”

  Molly nodded. “Those sirens are getting closer.”

  Addison sighed and shook his head. “In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have parked the horse directly in front of our building.”

  “Right,” said Molly.

  Addison locked the front door. He crossed to the windows and turned off the lights so he could peer out into the night. Flashing sirens paraded up the streets. “The police could be here any minute. We need to slip out of here.”

  Addison snagged a backpack and fresh clothes from the closet. He fished through his aunt’s desk and found his passport. “I’m going after the Incan treasure. That’s the only way to find Aunt D and Uncle N.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  “Mo, you can go stay with our uncle Jasper. I don’t need any help—I can do this myself.”

  “You can’t even ride a horse by yourself. How are you going to flee the country, find the treasure, and save Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel? You’re not even old enough to have a driver’s license.”

  “I’ll hire cabs.”

  “We’re not allowed to.”

  “These are urgent circumstances.”

  “All right, how are you going to hire a cab in South America? You don’t speak Spanish.”

  Addison looked up from his packing. “There’s something in what you say, Molly.” He creased his brow in thought and gave a deep sigh. Finally, Addison arrived at a decision, his face resolute. “Molly, it’s time to assemble the team.”

  Chapter Five

  Code Blue

  ADDISON CRAWLED ACROSS HIS bunk bed and cranked open the rear window that faced onto the apartment courtyard. On the window ledge, he kept a rubber ball tied to a long piece of string. When he tossed the ball out of the window, it dropped exactly thirty feet to bounce against the bedroom window three stories below.

  Eddie Chang woke to the familiar signal of Addison’s rubber ball tapping against his window. He desperately wanted to sleep, rather than get involved in another one of Addison’s inadvisable adventures. If seventh grade had taught Eddie anything, it was that following Addison on one of his schemes was a surefire path to a grounding. Eddie hid his head under his pillow.

  But the b
all kept tapping. And curiosity always got the better of Eddie. He rolled over in bed and switched on the walkie-talkie he kept on his nightstand. “What is it?” he asked sleepily.

  “Code Blue!” crackled Addison’s voice through the walkie-talkie.

  “Please,” croaked Eddie, “please no Code Blue.” Eddie looked at the alarm clock on his dresser. “Addison, it’s after midnight.”

  “Code Blue is a mission of the highest urgency. You took an oath!”

  “I have a piano lesson first thing in the morning. I’m going back to sleep.”

  “Fine. I guess I don’t need your help retrieving seven hundred and fifty tons of Incan gold.”

  “You are correct.” Eddie switched off the walkie-talkie and closed his eyes. After a minute, his eyes flickered back open. Eddie clicked on the walkie-talkie.

  “Addison,” he said slowly, “did you say seven hundred and fifty tons . . . of gold?”

  • • •

  At his window ledge, Addison clipped a second walkie-talkie onto a zip line. He gave it a push and watched it whisk along the wire across the apartment courtyard. The walkie-talkie slid directly into the open bedroom window across the way, conking a sleeping seventh grader on the head.

  Raj Bhandari woke with a start, rubbing the bump on his temple. He switched on the walkie-talkie and immediately heard Addison’s urgent voice. “Code Blue, Raj!”

  Raj’s eyes opened wide. He'd spent his entire life waiting for a Code Blue. And he was ready.

  Raj ripped off his bedsheets, already dressed in his camouflage army pants, combat boots, black T-shirt, and dog tags. He wore a bandana wrapped around his forehead, and another one tied around his bicep.

  Raj always kept his bug-out bag waiting by his bedroom door in case of emergency. It was crammed with survival gear: nutrition bars, a Swiss Army knife, a snakebite kit, fishhooks, camouflage makeup, malaria pills, iodine pills, a bear whistle, a passport, waterproof matchsticks, binoculars, ten feet of snare wire, and a pack of Jolly Ranchers.

  Raj shouldered his pack and kissed his dog tags. He vaulted out of his window and onto the fire escape. Scaling the wrought-iron railing, he crept around the perimeter of the building. He slipped through the neighbor’s fire-escape landing and reached Addison’s open window. Raj rolled inside, landing on Addison’s bed. Then he bolted across the floor and somersaulted into Addison’s living room.