Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas (23 page)

H
UNDREDS OF STUDENTS FILED into the packed exhibit at the New York Museum of Archaeology. A large replica of the Incan treasure room dominated the main foyer. Students climbed over the teeth of the massive stone skull, crept past replicas of iron-spiked booby traps, and glimpsed actual pieces of the Incan gold inside the treasure vault.

Addison, Molly, Eddie, Raj, and Uncle Nigel stood by the information booth and stared at the mob of museum visitors that looped all the way down the front steps and around the block. Raj waved across the atrium at his three sisters. They smiled and snapped photos.

“We're a hit,” said Addison.

Uncle Nigel beamed. It was only a month since their return from Peru, yet it felt much longer. There was so much preparation required to mount the new exhibit.

A voice rang out from the crowd.

“Dr. Cooke! Dr. Cooke!” The museum director, a rotund and fussy Swede named Helmut Ingleborg, squeezed his way through the wall of people. Helmut was perpetually out of breath and red-cheeked with excitement. “What a stupendous success, no?” he cried, clutching Uncle Nigel's hand and shaking it until Uncle Nigel's glasses slipped down his nose.

“Thank you, Helmut,” said Dr. Nigel, embarrassed by the attention.

“This exhibit has rave reviews, isn't it?” Helmut laughed, his eyes twinkling. His command of English was questionable at best, but he made up for it with enthusiasm. Helmut turned to Addison's team. “The fact that tiny adults helped discover this treasure is a big news story.” He waved his arms at the immense crowd of schoolkids. “Just look at all the tiny adults coming to the museum now!”

Helmut took Addison's hand and pumped it like he was starting a lawnmower. He pinched Molly on the cheek, which she tolerated with heroic self-control. “We'll see you at the opening gala tonight!” chortled Helmut. And he disappeared into the throng of visitors.

Uncle Nigel turned to Addison's team. The noisy crowd pressed in from all sides. “You guys want to get out of here?”

Addison's team nodded as one.

“C'mon,” said Uncle Nigel, “I've got a surprise for you.”

•   •   •

Uncle Nigel led the group onto the museum's rooftop garden. It was a secret place few people knew, offering a dazzling panorama of New York City. The garden contained dozens of private hammocks, hillocks, and hideaways that Addison felt were perfectly designed for reading a book.

“Why did you take us up here?” asked Molly. “What's the surprise?”

“Well, I remember sending you and Addison to get dinner from the vending machine when I was too busy with work . . .”

“And we never ended up getting anything,” said Molly. “On account of being hunted by convicts.”

“The upshot is, I still owe you a proper dinner,” said Uncle Nigel.

Molly nodded her head emphatically.

Uncle Nigel led them to a Japanese pagoda by the meditation pool. And there sat Aunt Delia with plates, napkins, and several steaming boxes of Frank's Pizza.

Molly was so overwhelmed she nearly fainted.

Addison supported her with one arm. “Deep breaths, Mo.”

The team shared stories over dinner. Peru felt so long ago, they now found they could laugh about most of it. Raj reenacted Eddie's wrestling match with a skeleton under the Cathedral of Lost Souls. Eddie pantomimed Raj's brazen vine swing across the chasm in the Amazon. Twilight fell over the city, and the stars glowed in the sky.

“I'm glad we got some family time before the gala,” said Aunt Delia, finishing the last slice of pepperoni.

“Do we have to dress up tonight?” asked Molly, who would rather put on a straitjacket than be forced to wear a dress.

“A lot of important donors will be there,” said Uncle Nigel. “And they'll want to meet the people who uncovered the Incan vault. Tonight, if all goes well, we can save the museum.”

•   •   •

Addison dearly loved a black-tie gala. He knew how to match his tie knot to the width of his shirt collar. He knew how to match the width of his tie to the width of his lapels. He knew three different ways to fold and fluff a pocket square. And he now wore a tie bar like the one he'd admired on Professor Ragar. Addison was a person completely at home in a suit.

The gala filled the museum's atrium. A string quartet played Bach next to the Aztec temple. Guests in tuxedoes sipped cocktails by the reflecting pool that once held a half-dozen electrocuted bodyguards.

Addison and his team spent hours smiling and greeting donors. Addison enjoyed telling stories about Peru. He met a few city councilmembers and even the mayor. After a few hours, however, he grew tired and restless. Talking about adventures was not the same as living them.

He polished off his second Arnold Palmer and made his way to the bar. He handed his empty glass to the bartender. “Another AP, please, Trisha.”

“Are you sure you don't want to slow down, Addison?” Trisha asked.

“Make it strong and keep 'em coming. I've been shaking hands and getting my cheek pinched for three hours and there's no end in sight.”

“Coming right up, Addison.” Trisha grinned, scooping ice into a glass.

Addison rested an elbow against the bar and turned to survey the room. He spotted Eddie gorging himself on chicken kebabs at a buffet table. He then noticed Raj, sweating with concentration, trying to bring his hand as close as possible to the open flame of a buffet heater. Addison thought ahead to eighth grade and wondered what the future held. They wouldn't stay young forever. People grow, people change, people move away. Addison
decided that no matter what, he needed to make this upcoming summer vacation count.

Trisha the bartender slid over a fresh Arnold Palmer. Addison took a long pull.

Molly joined him at his side. “What is that, your second Arnold Palmer?”

“Third,” Addison admitted.

“Pace yourself.”

“It's my one indulgence.” He shrugged.

Eddie and Raj approached.

“Have you tried this chicken satay? It's just like Turkish kebabs, except from Asia!” Eddie polished off a skewer and had six more ready on deck.

Uncle Nigel joined the group. “Enjoying yourselves?”

Eddie's mouth was too full to answer, but he nodded vigorously.

Helmut Ingleborg parted the crowd, red-faced with excitement. “Dr. Cooke!”

“What is it, Helmut?”

Helmut was too riled up to breathe. “Donations are pouring in. The museum had a good year tonight.”

“Well, that's good news.”

“That's not what I came to tell you! I just got off the phone with our sister museum in Hong Kong. You must return to fieldwork at once! They've unearthed a hidden Song dynasty fortress in the Gobi Desert!”

“Incredible,” said Uncle Nigel, his eyes lighting up. “How fast can I get there?”

“The museum is already chartering a plane, no?”

“Excellent. I keep a bag packed in my office. I can order provisions and hire a crew once I arrive in China . . .” But as soon as the words left his mouth, Uncle Nigel thought better of it. He looked at Addison, Molly, Eddie, and Raj.

“On second thought,” he said to Helmut, “you'll have to find someone else. I've traveled too much lately. I need to spend more time with my family.”

“But this is impossible, no?” Helmut's hands flew up over his head. “You are the most qualified to lead this expedition, isn't it!”

“I'm sorry, Helmut, I just can't.”

“Take us with you,” suggested Molly.

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “It's almost summer vacation. We won't miss any school.”

“And we were helpful on the last trip,” said Raj.

Uncle Nigel shook his head. “Raj, aren't you and Eddie still grounded for flying to South America without permission?”

“Only for two more weeks,” said Raj eagerly.

Addison saw his window of opportunity. This would require all his powers of persuasion. He stepped forward. “Uncle Nigel, I racked up a lot of transportation charges
on your credit card. If you make us your research assistants for the summer, we can work off the debt.”

Uncle Nigel's eyebrows shot up. He was impressed. “Wow, Addison, that's actually pretty responsible of you. But still, I can't just jet you off to China.”

“Why not? The trip is an opportunity for us to spend time together,” said Addison.

Uncle Nigel mulled this over.

“And if the museum is already chartering a flight,” Addison pressed his point, “it makes dollars
and
sense.”

Aunt Delia emerged from the crowd. “Do you have room on that flight for one more? I'm the number two Song dynasty expert at the museum.”

“Who's the number one expert?” Molly asked.

All eyes turned to Uncle Nigel. “All right, everyone. Clear your summer schedules, get your travel visas, and start learning Mandarin.” Uncle Nigel smiled. “We're going to China.”

THE END

Watch for more adventures of

C
OMING SOON!

 

The history of the Incan treasure is stranger than fiction.

The story begins when Francisco Pizarro conquered Peru in 1532. Pizarro lured Atahualpa to the main plaza in Cajamarca, Peru, by promising a safe parley. When Atahualpa arrived, Pizarro simply ambushed him. Atahualpa's Incan guards were terrified by the sight of Spanish horses and sound of Spanish guns. The Incan guards fled, and Atahualpa was easily captured.

The Spaniards locked Atahualpa in the “Ransom Room” that still stands in Cajamarca. Atahualpa offered to fill the room once over with gold and twice over with silver, in exchange for his release. By the dimensions of the room, this amounted to 3,366 cubic feet of gold and 6,732 cubic feet of silver.

King Atahualpa's general, Rumiñahui (“Stone Face”), was given two months to gather and deliver the treasure to the Spaniards. When Pizarro executed Atahualpa before the due date, Rumiñahui never delivered. Though he was eventually captured and tortured to death by the Spanish, Rumiñahui never revealed the location of the Incan treasure.

Pizarro squabbled over lands with his fellow conquistador, Diego de Almagro, and eventually ordered him
decapitated at the prison in Cusco. Diego de Almagro's son, nicknamed “El Mozo,” was half Native American. Vowing to avenge his father, El Mozo raised an army of supporters and attacked Pizarro's palace at Lima, Peru, on June 26, 1541.

Pizarro was somewhere between sixty-two and seventy years old at the time of this surprise attack. While trying to buckle on his armor, Pizarro managed to kill two of the attackers with his sword. While his sword was trapped in a third man, the attackers slit Pizarro's throat. He fell to the ground and was stabbed repeatedly. Pizarro drew a cross on the floor in his own blood and called out to Jesus Christ before dying. In 1977, Pizarro's decapitated head was discovered in a lead box, hidden in a secret basement niche in the cathedral at Lima, Peru.

After assassinating Pizarro, El Mozo briefly became governor of Peru. But El Mozo was soon captured by the Spanish at the Battle of Chupas on September 16, 1542. He was executed in the city square at Cuzco.

After five hundred years, it is difficult to know the fates of Pizarro's Famous Thirteen knights. Pedro de Candia was a firearms expert who was killed by El Mozo at the Battle of Chupas. Domingo de Soraluce eventually became the ruler of Panama and attempted to sail home to Spain with a fortune in gold. He died at sea, and his ship was robbed before it reached port.

Over the centuries, many treasure hunters have met their death pursuing the Incan gold. A Franciscan monk named Father Longo, an Ecuadorian miner named Don Atanasio Guzmán, a British sea captain named Barth Blake, a Scottish treasure hunter named Erskine Loch, an American geologist named Bob Holt—these are just a few of the adventurers who met violent or mysterious deaths while seeking the Incan treasure.

Whether or not the treasure is cursed is a matter of speculation. Whether it is hidden in Ecuador or Peru is also a matter for debate. If the towns of Olvidados and Casa Azar exist, they are too small to be found on any map. As of the publication of this book, the location of the Incan treasure remains a mystery.