Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas (10 page)

“Your aunt and uncle have not been very helpful so far, but I possess the gift of persuasion.” Professor Ragar nodded to his guards, who stood at attention. “They are all deadly men like Zubov, who have survived the Siberian prisons.” Ragar leaned close to Addison, his scarred face ghostly white in the dark of the night. “I will keep your aunt and uncle alive as long as they help me solve the
clues. But the second I don't need them anymore, they will join your parents on the other side.”

Addison stiffened, straining against the men who gripped his arms. “What do you know about my parents?”

Ragar's laugh was a raspy, joyless wheeze like a car engine that won't quite start. “Zubov, do what you like with these kids. I never want to see them again.” He gestured to his men, who released Addison.

The professor stepped into his stretch limousine. For a brief moment, Addison caught a glimpse of his aunt and uncle, blindfolded and gagged, before Ragar slammed the limousine door shut. The bodyguards climbed into a caravan of black Jeeps that trailed the limo. The motorcade rumbled across the muddy square. The Jeeps turned the corner and disappeared into the labyrinth of Olvidados.

A
DDISON TURNED TO FACE
Z
UBOV
.
“Addison Cooke,” he said, offering his business card. “Pleasure to meet you. I admire a man of talent.” Addison felt if he could get a conversation going, cooler minds might prevail.

Zubov stared down at Addison with the speculative look of an underfed tiger.

Molly looked up at the giant man. “How come they call you Teeth?”

Zubov grinned, revealing teeth filed down to points.

“Ah,” said Molly.

Raj stared up at Zubov in amazement. He could not help but feel impressed. “How did your teeth get that way?”

Zubov turned his predatory gaze on Raj. When he spoke, his accent was even heavier than Ragar's. “I was locked in Zinsk gulag, in Siberia, sharing bread and water with deadliest criminals in Russia. I needed weapon to stay alive. I stole iron file from work mine, but had no metal to sharpen into a shank. Not even spoon or fork. So I file my own teeth. Now I always have weapon.”

Zubov smiled again and clicked his teeth.

Addison respected a man of resource. He was pleased to have Zubov opening up about himself. The thing was to get on Zubov's good side. Perhaps Addison could begin to soften him up. “We're just seventh graders. You're not really going to hurt us, right? You could just let us walk away and never see us again. Less work for you, less hassle for us—everybody wins. Deal?”

Zubov leveled his slow gaze on Addison. The icy glare did little to inspire Addison with confidence.

“There were children in Zinsk.” Zubov eyed Molly. “Even women and girls. None were shown mercy.”

“Why work for Ragar?” asked Addison, looking for the angle. “What's in it for you?”

“Ragar freed all of us from Zinsk. We owe him our lives.”

“Will he share the Incan treasure with you?”

“Every day I am free is a treasure I owe Ragar.”

“So, I'll take that as a ‘no,'” said Addison.

Zubov reached out one gigantic paw and grabbed Addison by his necktie. He lifted Addison off the ground.

Addison's feet dangled helplessly, pedaling the air. He realized, to his immense regret, that he had completely failed to get on Zubov's good side.

With his free hand, Zubov flicked out his butterfly knife, the steel flashing brightly in the moonlight. “You're going to have ten less fingers by the time I'm finished.”

“Ten
fewer
fingers,” Addison corrected.

Zubov began squeezing Addison's windpipe. “Forget fingers. I start with your tongue.”

Addison twisted and kicked, but could not shake free of Zubov's iron grip.

Zubov pressed his knife to Addison's cheek.

For once, Addison shut his mouth tight.

Eddie and Raj were paralyzed with shock. It was Molly who acted.

Her first instinct was always to run. But to her amazement, she found herself sprinting toward Zubov, rather than away. She took a running start, wound up, and kicked Zubov hard in the kneecap. Her soccer cleat struck home with a satisfying crunch.

Zubov barked with rage. He hurled Addison to the ground and whirled to face Molly, whipping and spinning his butterfly knife.

Raj snapped out of his daze and snapped into action.
He had spent countless hours of his life daydreaming about being in a knife fight. He wasn't about to let this golden opportunity pass him by. He stepped forward. “I've got this.”

“Raj, no,” Addison croaked, clutching his bruised throat.

“It's okay, everyone. I read a survival book with a chapter on knife fights.” Raj shed his jacket and wrapped it around his arm as a shield. He squared off with Zubov, who welcomed the challenge with a wolflike grin.

Addison watched in horror. “Raj, are you sure? I don't want to sound negative, but you're five foot two and weigh ninety pounds.”

“So?”

“So the smart money's on Zubov.”

“The human body is capable of incredible feats when its survival is threatened,” said Raj.

Raj and Zubov slowly circled each other, Raj watching Zubov's every movement. Zubov swiped, and Raj dodged. Zubov slashed, and Raj rolled. Zubov jabbed like a fencer, and Raj somehow scrambled past him.

“Enough of this,” said Molly, with annoyance. And with all her strength, she stomped on Zubov's foot with her soccer cleats. There was an audible snap. Zubov howled in pain and surprise. In the same split second, Molly swatted Zubov's hand. His butterfly knife clattered to the ground.

Addison quickly scooped up the knife and pocketed it. He watched Zubov sink to the ground, clutching his broken toe. “Zubov, sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”

Raj stared at Molly in wonder, and then at Addison. “You Cookes are amazing.”

Zubov gritted his sharpened teeth and swallowed down his pain. He tested his weight on his foot and rose back to his full height.

Eddie hopped nervously back and forth. “What do we do now?”

Addison narrowed his eyes, weighing the options. “Run!” he suggested.

And with that, they turned and bolted.

•   •   •

At that exact moment, several blocks away, Guadalupe was running for her life.
Policía
, waving their batons, chased her through the night market. All Guadalupe had done was relieve a street vendor of a single churro. Well, maybe a handful of single churros. The point, in Guadalupe's opinion, was that the street vendor possessed altogether too many churros. Whereas Guadalupe possessed far too few. In her hunger, she had done him the favor of rebalancing this equation. It seemed like a keen idea at the time.

The
policía
surrounded Guadalupe. She frantically
crammed an entire churro into her mouth before they could take it from her.

The lieutenant stepped forward. He glared down his long nose at her. “Stealing again,” he said in his Bogotá dialect. “This is your third strike, Guadalupe. I'm going to lock you up for a long time.” To emphasize this point, he took a long time saying the word “long.”

Guadalupe kissed the toasted sugar from her fingertips and swallowed down the last of the delicious churro. “It was worth it.”

“I've been saving a spot in my jail for you.”

The
policía
closed in on all sides. Guadalupe saw no way out. Sighing, she lifted up her wrists for the handcuffs. Her wrists were already covered in bracelets; two more couldn't hurt.

Guadalupe believed in fate. Whatever will be, will be. Life, it seemed to Guadalupe, was often nothing more than a series of random coincidences, and it was not for her to stand in the way of chance. As it happened, in fact, she did not have to stand at all.

At that precise instant, Addison, Molly, Eddie, and Raj barreled around the corner, pursued by a limping Zubov. They collided with Guadalupe and the
policía
like five bowling balls striking seven bowling pins. Everyone was knocked off their feet entirely.

Addison sprawled on the muddy ground. He looked up
from the general tangle of limbs to find himself face-to-face with Guadalupe.

“You!” he growled.

“You!” she gasped.

“Addison, c'mon!” shouted Molly, grabbing his arm and yanking him to his feet.

Guadalupe, Addison, Molly, Eddie, and Raj sprinted through the market pursued by Zubov and the
policía
.

•   •   •

Guadalupe hotfooted across the bazaar, her feet barely touching the ground.

Addison tore after her, like a cheetah chasing the world's last gazelle.

“Why are we following her?” called Molly, pumping her fists for speed. “We can't trust her!”

“She knows this town better than we do, and she's not interested in getting pinched by the police.”

Molly took Addison's point. They loped after Guadalupe, the
policía
fast at their heels.

The market was as noisy and colorful as a circus. Salted fish and skinned venison hung from shop rafters. Barefoot children rolled spices onto smoked mutton, agouties, and pacas. Barking venders shilled bananas, oranges, and mangos. Wrinkled Quechuan women hunched over cooking fires, smoke-curing beef and drinking white rum.

“Left,” Molly called, watching Guadalupe skitter down a side alley.

“Stop following me!” Guadalupe called over her shoulder. “You'll lead the
policía
right to me!”

“You owe us,” shouted Addison. “We just saved you from being arrested!”

“Not yet, you haven't!” Guadalupe dodged as the
policía
nearly tackled her from a side lane. She whipped open the back door of a house, surprising a family over dinner. “Just passing through,” she called, sprinting through their dining room.

Addison and his team chased Guadalupe through the living room and out the front door, followed by a dozen
policía
and one rather furious Zubov.

Guadalupe hurtled between the tin-walled shacks of the shantytown. “You keeping up?”

Addison's group gasped for breath. They darted past dark-eyed men hunched over dice games. Past bandits rolling corn-husk cigarettes with shreds of rope tobacco. Past tattooed desperados cheering over ten-peso cockfights.

“See if you can follow
this
,” cried Guadalupe just as Addison could feel the
policía
's breath on the back of his neck. Guadalupe sprinted along an overpass, leapt the guardrail, and jumped off the bridge.

With no time to consider a better idea, Addison and his team dove off the bridge after her.

•   •   •

For a few seconds, Addison plummeted through the air. This gave him plenty of time to reflect on the wisdom of his actions. They might fall ten feet, or a hundred feet. They might land in a raging river, or a rocky ravine. Addison had simply not taken the time to check before leaping off a bridge. It was like Aunt Delia always told him: he had to learn easy lessons the hard way. Whatever happened, Addison decided, it was probably going to hurt.

A split second later, the group landed in what can only be described as a giant pile of tires.

It did not hurt at all.

Addison bounced a few times and came to a stop.

Guadalupe brushed herself off and looked at Addison with begrudging respect. “Not bad for a tourist.”

The
policía
, high on the overpass, weren't so inclined to take the jump. They circled to find another way down. Zubov, gritting his pointed teeth, faded silently into a darkened alleyway.

“It's Guadalupe, right?” ventured Addison.

“Yes.”

“I like your style.”

Guadalupe looked Addison up and down, appraising him. “I guess you did help me escape.” She climbed down
from the heap of tires and turned toward a warren of wooden huts. “Try to keep up.”

She led the group through a maze of alleys. They climbed a storm drain and crossed a row of rooftops overlooking the town. Spanish tiles creaked under their feet, followed by stretches of flat white stucco where they moved as quickly and quietly as cat burglars. At last, they reached a rooftop with a sprawling view of the Andes Mountains.

“This is where I sleep,” Guadalupe announced.

Addison scanned the village below. He watched the
policía
running to and fro, blowing whistles and searching the surrounding streets.

“Is it safe?” asked Molly.

“The
policía
are like cattle,” Guadalupe sniffed, “they never look up.”

“Either way,” said Addison, “I think this is a good time for us to take our leave of Olvidados.”

•   •   •

Addison and his team sat behind the parapet, catching their breath. Guadalupe set to work on a churro she had hidden in her pocket.

“Well, where do we go now?” asked Molly.

Addison opened his pocket notebook and examined the sketch he made of Atahualpa's second key. “Eddie, have a whack at translating this.”