Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas (16 page)

Addison winced. Sometimes you roll the dice and come up snake eyes.

“Don Miguel will want to hear about this,” Guzmán's son declared.

“Señor,”
said a tall security guard with a shaved head. “We can not bother Don Miguel in the middle of the festivities.”

“That is true,” said Guzmán's son. “We will lock them up.”

Security guards dragged Addison and Molly back down the winding passage and onto the landing. Eddie and Raj were herded before them.

“Whatever you do,” said Addison, gesturing anxiously to the third door on the landing, “please don't lock us in that tower.”

“Why not?” Guzmán's son leered. He slid on his shades and smoothed his hair in one practiced gesture.

“I can't stand closed spaces! I have claustrophobia.”

Don Guzmán's son looked at Addison, perplexed.

“Eddie,” said Addison, snapping his fingers, “what's the Spanish word for claustrophobia?”

“
Claustrofobia,
” said Eddie.

Addison turned back to Guzmán's son. “I have
claustrofobia
.”

The man shook his head. He'd known Addison for thirty seconds and had already lost all patience for him.

The bald security guard grabbed a set of keys from his belt and unlocked the third and final door. He gripped Addison by the neck, far more painfully than was absolutely necessary.

“No! Please!” said Addison. “I can't!”

“You will!” shouted Guzman's son.

One by one, the guard shoved Addison, Molly, Raj, and Eddie through the open doorway.

“You will stay locked in here until Don Miguel is ready to deal with you,” said Guzmán's son, smoothing his slicked-back hair. “Then, whoever you are, you will be punished.”

The door slammed shut. The key turned in the lock, the dead bolt slid home.

“Great,” said Eddie. “This is just
harika
.”

“This
is
harika,” said Addison, rubbing his aching neck. He turned in a full circle, taking in his surroundings. “That helpful gentleman put us exactly where we want to be . . . the high tower.”

•   •   •

They mounted the dusty wooden stairs that spiraled upward toward the tower eyrie. It looked as if no one had climbed the tower in centuries.

The stairs hugged the curved castle wall, each oak plank slotted into the stone masonry. Several rotten
boards were missing entirely, and there was no railing to prevent someone from plummeting down the center of the shaft. Addison tried not to picture this, but it was easier said than done. Every few steps one of the warped and worm-eaten planks would creak underfoot, ready to snap.

“I hope Don Miguel has good liability insurance,” said Eddie.

Addison trudged up the stairs, growing dizzier with each footfall. The higher they climbed, the more his stomach filled with dread. He kept his eyes trained on each step before him, trying to ignore the gaping abyss a few inches to his right.

Halfway up the tower, Eddie stumbled on a loose plank. The team watched it fall, tumbling end over end, disappearing into the darkness below. Addison counted six Mississippis before he heard the echo of its landing.

Addison panted for air, fighting his panic. He pressed both hands against the outer wall, steadying himself for balance. “It's times like these I wish I'd listened to what my aunt Delia told me about becoming an archaeologist.”

“Why, what did she say?” asked Raj.

“She said, ‘Don't become an archaeologist.'”

Despite his gnawing fear, Addison forced his feet to keep lifting, carrying him higher. At last they made it to the highest landing. Addison collapsed on the wooden floor and put his head between his knees to keep from
fainting. The floor was covered with an inch of dust. There was nothing to see except abandoned rat nests, and rat nests that Addison wished were abandoned.

The oak plank ceiling was so low it was easier to sit than stand.

“A trapdoor!” Raj cried, excitedly.

He clawed at the rectangular seam in the ceiling, and an old rotten trapdoor swung open, revealing nothing but a thick roof of stones and mortar immediately above.

“I guess it's a dead end,” said Molly.

“Does this mean we have to go all the way back down now?” asked Eddie.

“You know, it's a bit odd,” said Addison, still trying to steady his breathing. “From the outside, this tower was domed. But on the inside, this ceiling is flat.”

“I think you're right,” said Raj. He moved to an arrow loop cut in the stone wall of the tower, thrust his head outside, and peered upward. “We're nowhere near the top,” he reported. “There has to be another thirty feet of tower above us!”

“A false ceiling,” Addison concluded. “Look for another trapdoor.”

The team examined the flat oak beams of the ceiling, searching for any loose plank, trigger, or hidden switch. “Nothing,” Raj concluded. “The ceiling's completely solid.”

Addison studied the way the rafters joined with the masonry. He placed his palms flat on the wooden ceiling and rotated, counterclockwise. Pushing with all his might, the entire ceiling shifted an inch.

“Help me! Rotate the ceiling like you're winding a clock.”

The team pushed, and with a grinding of wood, the ceiling swiveled a few feet on its axis. The rectangular opening of the wooden trapdoor moved to reveal an empty space in the stone ceiling. Addison's group pushed until the two holes lined up flush.

A single ladder led upward into a hidden eyrie.

“I wish I knew El Mozo's interior decorator. He must have been worth every penny,” Addison said.

“Let's keep moving,” said Molly.

Addison rested a hand against the rickety old ladder, but found he could not take a step.

“You can do it, Addison,” Molly said quietly. “Every ladder has a first rung, right?”

Addison's hands trembled. “It's not the first rung I have a problem with. It's the third, fourth, and fifth rungs.” His arms shook.

“What's wrong with him?” Eddie asked.

Addison took a deep breath. “I'm afraid of heights,” he admitted. He shut his eyes and turned his head away.

Raj and Eddie scaled the ancient ladder. Eddie called back down, “Well, are you coming or not?”

“I'll be down here,” said Addison. “Keeping a lookout.”

Molly stayed by his side for another moment. “I wish I knew why you had this fear of heights, Addison. Maybe then I could help you get better.”

Addison only shook his head.

Molly climbed the ladder to the eyrie.

•   •   •

The eyrie was lit by a single shaft of light from an arrow loop in the masonry. The floor held little of interest. Ditto for the sandstone walls. It was the domed ceiling that was spectacular.

It glittered with tens of thousands of painted tiles, every color of the spectrum. The mosaic depicted a radiant blue sky with brilliant white clouds. Angels with trumpets soared in the heavens. And floating in the clouds rested dozens of Incan gods. Some gods were male and some female. Some were part jaguar, llama, or snake. Molly, Eddie, and Raj stared upward with their jaws agape.

“What do you see?” Addison called up from the bottom of the ladder.

“A painting of the sky,” Molly replied.

“Remember—look ‘
closest to the gods.
'”

“There are too many gods,” said Molly, searching the
painted sky. “There's nothing
but
gods.”

“Do any of them point to a key?”

Molly, Raj, and Eddie searched. But none of the gods appeared to have anything to do with keys.

“I see a deer god and a monkey god,” called Eddie, “but I don't see any key god. Addison, is there an Incan god of keys?”

“I can't remember.” Addison shut his eyes and concentrated. He called up the ladder. “What other gods do you see? Call them out for me.”

“I see a thunder god,” said Molly, pointing to a god riding on a rain cloud. “And a sea god, an earth god, and a moon god. Which god would have the key?”

Addison, at the foot of the ladder, took a deep breath to relax his mind. “King Atahualpa,” he said at last. “He would have the key.”

“But he wasn't a god.”

“He was to the Incas.”

“All right. So what does he look like?” called Molly.

Addison opened his eyes. He was pretty sure he knew the answer. “The Incan emperor was considered the child of the sun. Inti, the sun god, the most powerful Incan god.”

“You want us to look closest to the sun?”

“Yes.”

Addison's team studied the sun in the center of the
mosaic, spreading its rays to all points of the compass.

“There,” said Molly at last. She pointed to a single discolored tile. “That tile, in the middle of the sun. It's a slightly different yellow.”

The team looked closely to where Molly was pointing. And sure enough, the tile in the center of the sun was not a tile at all . . .

It was in the shape of a key. And it was made of solid gold.

•   •   •

Molly piggybacked on Eddie's shoulders and carefully chiseled mortar from around the Incan key using one of Raj's fishhooks. The ancient masonry crumbled away, releasing the key from the mosaic. Eddie lost his footing; he and Molly tumbled to the floor. They held their breath, waiting for a booby trap that never came.

Molly, Eddie, and Raj carefully passed the key back and forth, feeling the weight of the solid gold. Then they raced down the ladder to show the key to Addison.

A clue was engraved on the flat golden surface of the key.

Eddie squinted at the tightly scrawled calligraphy. “I think some of these words have ancient spellings.”

“Do the best you can,” said Addison.

Eddie took a deep breath and read aloud:

“The top of the world holds the treasure of the Incas.

Above the sacred valley in a palace in the sky,

Supay's mouth is open wide to swallow up the brave.

Beware the curse of Atahualpa or you will surely die.”

“Eddie, this clue actually rhymes in English,” Molly said.

“Yeah, I guess so. I like that bit about the palace and the treasure. I'm not sure I like the part about the curse and the dying.”

“That's just to scare away the amateurs,” said Addison.

“It's working,” said Eddie.

“The clue mentions that Incan god Supay,” said Molly. “I think El Mozo's obsessed with death.”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” said Addison, turning the golden key over in his hands. “It's no concern of ours. We're just one puzzle away from finding the treasure.”

•   •   •

The team spiraled their way down the rickety steps to the base of the tower and stood staring, flummoxed, at the locked door.

“The good news is we found the Incan key,” said Addison. “The bad news is, it doesn't open this door.”

“Well, we can't just stay locked up in here waiting for Don Miguel,” said Molly.

Raj picked up a loose plank of wood that had once been a riser in the staircase. He gripped it firmly in his hands like a baseball bat. “We could bash the door down,” he suggested hopefully.

“Or we could try knocking,” said Eddie.

Addison figured the latter option couldn't hurt. He knocked.

A second later, a key scraped in the lock, and the door cracked open. Addison recognized the scowling face of the tall security guard with the shaved head. His hulking body filled the doorway. He looked angry and resentful, presumably from getting stuck guarding a door when he could have been downstairs enjoying a wedding.

“Well, what do you brats want?” grunted the guard.

“Only one thing,” said Addison, smiling. “And you have already done it.”

“What's that?” the guard asked.

“You opened the door.” Addison stepped aside, revealing Raj, who took a running start and swung his plank hard into the man's stomach. It connected with a satisfying smack, like a Jell-O mold chucked from a high window and meeting the pavement.

The security guard doubled over, clutching his gut, moaning a three-part harmony of anger, pain, and disbelief.

Addison's team slipped past him. They ran, fists pumping like pistons, across the landing and down the grand staircase of the castle.

“I feel a bit bad about that,” said Addison.

“I feel
great
about that,” said Raj.

Addison reached the main floor and halted outside the library. “Now we just find Guadalupe and slip out of here.”

“How do we find her?” Eddie asked. “She could be anywhere.”

Addison never got a chance to reply. From the next room, they heard a heart-stopping scream.

Remember

A
DDISON'S TEAM ROCKETED THROUGH the library and skidded to a halt at the dining room doorway. They cracked the door open a sliver and silently peeked through.

Guadalupe lay pinned to the dining room table, Zubov's hand clutching her throat. Professor Ragar, flanked by his men, smiled triumphantly. He pried a few pieces of silverware from Guadalupe's fingertips. “Where are the Cookes and their little friends?”

Addison's group pressed their eyes to the gap in the doorway.

Guadalupe squirmed under Zubov's grip and spat out a few choice Spanish words that Eddie refused to translate.

Addison noted that Zubov had already procured a new knife—a stainless-steel stiletto switchblade. Zubov brushed the hair back from Guadalupe's neck and ran the blade along the folds of her ear. “How about I pierce those pretty ears for you?”

“We should rejoin the wedding, or our host will be upset,” said Professor Ragar. “Besides, we can't have any more screaming. Don Miguel is trying to unite rival gangs today—he wants no violence here.”

“So how are we supposed to find those kids?” Zubov growled.

“The beauty of a castle is it has only one way in and one way out: the main gate. Wherever those kids are, they cannot escape without passing through the wedding. With any luck, they are finding the third key for us.”

Ragar led his men back outside to the tented pavilion. Zubov dragged Guadalupe with her arms pinned behind her back.

Addison turned to his comrades for a strategy session.

“Let's get out of here!” suggested Eddie.

Raj and Molly bobbed their heads in wholehearted agreement.

“What about Guadalupe?” asked Addison.

“She's getting what she deserves.” Eddie shrugged.

“She's always stealing. And now someone stole her,” agreed Molly. “It fits.”

“Let's make a run for it,” said Raj.

Addison shook his head. “She helped get us this far. We can't just abandon her.”

Molly, Eddie, and Raj looked at Addison with astonishment.

“She stole your wallet,” said Eddie. “Twice.”

“She lied about being an Amazon expert,” said Raj.

“She almost got us killed,” Molly added.

“She's got pluck,” Addison agreed. He tried to imagine fleeing the castle and leaving Guadalupe behind, but knew he just couldn't do it. Addison drew in his breath and looked each team member in the eye. “86ers don't leave a team member behind.”

“She's not an 86er,” said Eddie.

“Yes, but we are,” said Addison. “Look, Guadalupe doesn't have any friends or family besides us. If we don't help her, nobody will. We landed her in this, and we're going to steal her back.”

“We can't trust her, Addison.”

But Addison had made up his mind. He played his trump card, the one thing he knew Raj, Eddie, and Molly could not refuse.

“Code Blue.”

•   •   •

Addison's team sneaked through the empty dining room and huddled by the French doors. Addison peered out at the wedding. “All right, everybody clear on the plan?”

“I'm going to sneak up to Zubov and pour a pitcher of ice water down his back,” said Eddie, his voice trembling.

“Then I hit him with a catering tray,” said Molly.

“I whack Ragar with a second catering tray,” said Raj.

“And then?” prompted Addison.

“We grab Guadalupe and run like mad for the parking lot,” said Raj.

“Good. It's not our finest effort, but we're working within time constraints.”

“What are you going to do, Addison?” asked Molly.

“I,” said Addison, suavely smoothing the lapels on his jacket, “will provide the diversion.” And with that, he stood up and marched confidently into the wedding reception.

•   •   •

Addison decided he needed his brain juice—an ice-cold Arnold Palmer—before creating a diversion. Besides, he wanted to relax while his team maneuvered into position. Not caring who saw him, Addison casually took a seat at the bar and extended a hand to the bartender.

“Addison Cooke.”

“Felix,” said the bartender, giving Addison a firm handshake. “American, huh?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Me too.”

“No kidding.”

“Westport, Connecticut. I moved down here for the weather and never looked back. What can I getcha?”

“I wouldn't say no to an Arnold Palmer.” Addison smiled.

“Coming right up,” said Felix, scooping ice into a fresh glass.

Addison turned to survey the room. He noticed the seating was split down the middle; Don Héctor Guzmán's cartel sat on one side of the banquet hall, suspiciously eyeing Don Miguel's cartel on the other side.

Professor Ragar's table was located in the center. Guadalupe sat beside the Professor, clamped firmly in place by Zubov's two hands digging into her shoulders. Ragar's bodyguards roamed the room in dark suits and even darker glasses. No one had yet spotted Addison.

“Arnold Palmer,” said Felix, sliding Addison the glass. “And I went easy on the ice.”

“Felix, you are a rose amongst thorns.” Addison took a careful sip. “Exquisite,” he declared, reaching for his uncle's wallet. “Credit card is okay?”

“Open bar, Mr. Cooke. Everything's on the house.”

“Then you don't mind if I try your shrimp cocktail?”

“Be my guest.”

Addison plucked a fresh shrimp from the buffet and dipped it in cocktail sauce. He breathed the salty sea air, listened to the band's light cha-cha, and drank in the exotic décor of the party. “Felix, this is a lifestyle I could get used to.”

“Amen, Mr. Cooke.”

Addison savored the moment. His mind turned to all the history he'd learned at his uncle Nigel's knee. He remembered how Julius Caesar outfoxed the Gauls at the Allier River and conquered France. He thought of the Greeks sneaking into ancient Troy. He thought of the Americans surprising the Germans at Normandy. The trick, Addison knew, was to create a big enough diversion.

He heard a yelp from the crowd and turned to see the headwaiter pinching Eddie's ear. Eddie, caught in the act of pilfering a pitcher of ice water, turned red with embarrassment. Eddie yielded the water pitcher to the angry waiter as Ragar's men closed in on him.

Across the reception, Addison spotted Molly and Raj, clutching two filched catering trays and sprinting as a furious caterer chased them down. Raj tripped over something—possibly himself—and his tray flew from his hands to shatter a large and expensive-looking floral
centerpiece. Addison's rescue attempt had officially lost the element of surprise.

Don Héctor Guzmán's thugs, easily spooked, leapt to their feet and drew guns from the cummerbunds of their tuxedos. They aimed their weapons at Don Miguel's men.

Don Miguel's men responded in kind, drawing their weapons from holsters.

Don Miguel himself flapped his hands desperately, waving the gunmen to remain calm. “Relax, there's no problem!” he exclaimed. “Try the hors d'oeuvres—they're delicious!”

Ragar's bodyguards captured Eddie, Molly, and Raj, gripping them by the backs of their necks. Addison's team's feeble rescue attempt had lasted all of twenty seconds.

From her table, Guadalupe shook her head in disbelief. She put her face in her palm, unable to watch.

Addison polished off his Arnold Palmer and set the empty glass on the felt-topped bar. He sighed. This was going to require all his powers.

•   •   •

Professor Ragar's men dragged Molly, Raj, and Eddie toward the Professor's table. Nobody noticed Addison stroll casually up to the bandstand, slip the bandleader a few pesos, and step onto the stage.

Addison gripped the microphone, feeling at home under
the lights. The mic shrieked with feedback for a second, but then Addison was off and running.
“Buenos días.”
He smiled at the crowd. “How's everybody doing out there?
Muy bueno?
”

The gangsters in the audience cautiously holstered their weapons and sank back into their chairs. They clapped tentatively.

“Here's a song I'd like to dedicate to a very special professor I know who likes to kidnap orphans,” said Addison. “Everyone, please put your hands together for Professor Ragar!”

A spotlight found the professor just as he was winding up to give Eddie a smack. Ragar froze, bewildered, in the spotlight.

“Let him know how much you love him,” Addison told the applauding crowd. “This number is one of my favorite jazz standards, ‘They Can't Take That Away From Me.'” Addison plucked the gold key from his pocket and tossed it in his hand so that it sparkled in the light. He winked at Ragar in the audience.

Addison gave the band a four count, and they came in hot. He worked the crowd, giving the old Gershwin tune all the topspin he could muster . . .

“The way your smile just beams

The way you sing off-key . . .”

Addison twirled the Incan key in his fingers, taunting Professor Ragar . . .

“The way you haunt my dreams

No, no—they can't take that away from me.”

What Addison lacked in singing ability, which was a lot, he made up for in showmanship.

Professor Ragar ground his teeth and waved his men toward the bandstand. Eyes glued to the Incan key, the bodyguards released Molly, Eddie, and Raj, and zeroed in on Addison.

Only Zubov remained with Guadalupe. He pressed his stiletto to the skin of her neck so that she flinched.

Addison gave a thumbs-up to the spotlight operator and put his heart into the next verse.

“The way you hold your knife . . .”

Zubov saw everyone's eyes swivel to him as the spotlight captured him in its glow. He lowered his stiletto uncertainly from Guadalupe's neck. Addison belted out his big finish.

“The way we danced till three

The way you've changed my life!

No, no—they can't take that away from me.”

Ragar's men decided enough was enough. They charged the bandstand like pillaging Vikings.

“You guys have been great,” Addison told the applauding audience. “Don't forget to tip your waitstaff.”

Black-suited guards hurtled onto the stage. Addison dropped his mic in a pitcher of water. The mic crackled loudly and shorted out. Somewhere, a fuse box exploded like a firecracker. The tent's generators blasted sparks from their transformers. Power cut to the tent. The band's amplifiers clicked silent. All the bright lights on the bandstand switched off.

Guards lunged for Addison. He took a running start and performed a flying leap off the stage.

•   •   •

Timing is everything,
Addison thought as he sailed through the air and crashed directly into one of Professor Ragar's guards. They both collapsed on the ground, the man gripping Addison around the knees.

Wedding guests shouted in alarm. The furious bride used the occasion to scream at some more waiters.

Héctor Guzmán's jittery gunmen drew weapons on Don Miguel's crew. Don Miguel's nervous gang drew their weapons right back. Don Miguel stood in the middle, ordering everyone to remain calm. “This is a wedding!” he exclaimed. “Don't turn it into a funeral!”

Addison managed to roll onto his back and saw Ragar looming over him. Zubov stood beside him, glowering, Guadalupe held tightly in his grasp.

“Zubov did not think you would try to rescue this girl,” said Professor Ragar. “But I knew you would take the bait.”

Addison looked from Ragar to Zubov to Guadalupe. He scrambled to his feet. He considered his options and discovered he didn't have any.

“Quite,” said Addison.

Don Miguel pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Ragar, what is the meaning of this?”

“These kids crashed your daughter's wedding and attempted to rob your castle. I am getting rid of them.”