All-American Adventure Read online

  Copyright

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2019 by James Patterson

  Illustrations by Juliana Neufeld

  Cover art by Juliana Neufeld

  Cover design by Stephanie Yang

  Cover copyright © 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  JIMMY Patterson Books / Little, Brown and Company

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  First ebook edition: June 2019

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  ISBN 978-0-316-41744-0

  E3-20190514-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  MAP

  QUICK NOTE FROM BICK KIDD

  PART I: FAMILY TREASURES

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  PART II: DIGGING DEEPER

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  JIMMY PATTERSON BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

  This one is for Teddy Penn—a great reader with a big imagination and a shiny-star future.

  —James Patterson

  QUICK NOTE FROM BICK KIDD

  Got to make this super speedy, guys.

  Half an hour ago, we were bored out of our minds. Now? We’re finally on an adventure—one with a time limit, too!

  Once again, I, Bickford “Bick” Kidd, will be the one telling this tale. My twin sister, Rebecca “Beck” Kidd, will be handling the illustrations.

  But she better scribble fast.

  Like I said, we’re on an adventure!

  CHAPTER 1

  There was an elephant lurking in the shadows behind us.

  It just stood there. Stiff and silent. I figured he was waiting for us to make one false move and then—boink!—pointy tusk to the butt.

  “Um, can we get out of here?” whispered Beck.

  “Chya,” said our big brother, Tailspin Tommy. “That elephant has its trunk curled up like it just sniffed a bag of hot roasted peanuts.”

  Definitely not the first thing I’d think to experience in a museum—but stranger things have happened to us Kidds.

  “Or, he just got a whiff of Bick,” added Beck. “He smells like hot roasted gym socks.”

  “Do not,” I countered.

  “Do, too.”

  “You guys?” whispered Storm, our brainy older sister. “We have only fifteen more minutes to find the Hope Diamond!”

  Ah, the Hope Diamond. The treasure we were currently hunting. It’s got 45.52 carats (the kind they use to measure diamonds, not the kind bunnies nibble). It’s also 45.52 times bigger than the average engagement ring, which, Storm told us (because she memorizes trivial factoids in her spare time), is only about one carat. That’s right. The Hope is also the Humongous. It’s about the size of a walnut and is the largest deep-blue diamond in the world. Some people say it’s worth a quarter of a billion dollars!

  They also say it’s cursed.

  “It was originally plucked out of the brow of an Indian temple statue by a Hindu priest,” Storm had told us the night before we set off on our adventure. “The priest’s punishment for the unholy theft was a slow and agonizing death. The diamond showed up in Europe in 1642 when a greedy merchant sold it to King Louis XIV for a handsome profit. But the merchant didn’t get to spend his money because he was soon mauled to death by a pack of wild dogs.”

  Storm. She loves the gory details. Says they make history way more interesting.

  Anyway, she told us that when Marie Antoinette (Queen “Let Them Eat Cake”) owned it, she was caught trying to flee France with the ginormous diamond. That was in 1791, during the French Revolution, so the big blue bauble was seized by the French revolutionary government.

  “They also chopped off Marie Antoinette’s head, so she probably didn’t need a diamond necklace anymore,” Storm had added.

  The Hope Diamond was then stolen. More people bought and sold it (many of them getting murdered or losing their fortunes along the way). Finally, an American heiress brought it to the United States. It’s why we’re on our current expedition in the heart of Washington, DC.

  We’re also trying to ignore the whole “Hope Diamond Curse” thing.

  But it might’ve found us.

  Because ten seconds after we slipped away from the scary elephant lurking in the dark, we were face-to-face with two snarling lions attacking a wildebeest!

  CHAPTER 2

  “Dudes?” whispered Tommy. “Can we, like, lose all these angry mammals?” My knees are starting to get a little shaky.

  I totally agreed with my big brother. Especially when I saw what looked like a tiger ready to leap off a cliff!

  “Follow me,” said Storm, backtracking to where we had spotted the elephant. “Up this way,” she directed. She doesn’t need a map because she has a photographic memory—the map was in her head.

  Suddenly, I
heard footfalls echoing in the distance.

  “Somebody’s following us!” I said as quietly as I could while running up a steep set of steps.

  “They probably know about the Hope Diamond!” said Beck.

  “Uh, everybody knows about it,” countered Storm. “It’s sort of famous.”

  “This way!” I said because I saw what I thought would be an excellent hiding place.

  I was wrong.

  I yanked open a series of doors and we were, somehow, transported to a tropical rain forest. We’re talking 90 degrees with 90 percent humidity. A swarm of butterflies, some with ginormous wings, fluttered near our faces. One tickled my nose with its flappers.

  “I have something tangled in my hair!” shrieked Beck.

  “That’s a Madagascar moon moth,” said Storm, calmly. “And a Gulf fritillary butterfly. And, I believe, a pink cattleheart. Hard to tell, it’s so dark in here.”

  “Because it’s the middle of the night and we’re not supposed to be here!” I exclaimed. “This is a top-secret treasure hunt!”

  “Then you might want to lower your voice, little bro,” suggested Tommy. “Maybe quit exclaiming stuff.”

  We heard a door swing open. Felt the whoosh of air being sucked into the airlock chamber that we’d just passed through.

  “They’re following us!” I said.

  “Out the back door,” said Beck, pointing straight ahead. There was a butterfly perched on her fingertip. One that looked like it had an owl face printed on its wings.

  We dashed through one door, stepped into a room with a major fan stirring up a breeze, made sure that no moths or butterflies were hitching a ride on our clothes or in our hair, and then yanked open an exit.

  Ten feet later, we were surrounded by bugs. We’re talking tarantulas, praying mantises, bees—the works. It was like every creepy crawler in the world was there, waiting for us in the dark.

  “This place bugs me!” I shouted as quietly as I could because whoever was chasing us was right behind us, coming out of that second door from butterfly world.

  “This way!” whispered Storm.

  She led us into a chamber filled with mummies and then one lined with bones.

  “We only have two more minutes!” We’re not going to make it!

  We rounded a corner, passed a gift shop, and headed into a dimly lit room filled with sparkling glass cases.

  There it was. Sitting in a display case under its own mini rotunda. The Hope Diamond!

  “Well done, children,” said Dad, stepping out of the shadows, clicking his stopwatch.

  “You made it up here with time to spare,” added Mom, who’d been hiding in the rare gems room with Dad.

  “You guys?” I said.

  “Yes, Bick?”

  “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but—”

  “This was the easiest, lamest, most boring, worst make-believe treasure hunt ever!” said Beck, finishing my thought for me. It’s a twin thing.

  “I concur,” said Storm. “All we really needed was a floor plan for the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History.”

  “Chya,” said Tommy, grabbing one from a nearby rack. “It’s like printed right in here. See?” He started tapping icons. “First floor, Mammals. Second floor. Butterfly Pavilion, Live Insect Zoo, Mummies, Bones, Gift Shop, Hope Diamond. Even I could figure it out.”

  “But you had a time limit,” said Mom, acting as if that made the whole thing some kind of huge challenge.

  It didn’t.

  But the security guards who barged into the room swinging their bulky flashlights?

  They definitely made the whole adventure a little more interesting.

  CHAPTER 3

  “What’s going on here?” asked one of the Smithsonian security guards.

  “Just a little harmless family fun, George,” said Dad, who obviously knew the guy.

  “Oh, hi, Dr. Kidd,” said George, holstering his flashlight. “Didn’t see you there.”

  “Hi, Doc,” said the other guard, waving his flashlight like a chunky baton.

  “Good evening, Jayden.”

  “We hope we didn’t cause you guys any trouble,” added Mom.

  “Nah, not at all,” said Jayden, hiking up his belt a little. “Needed the exercise.”

  “Gets kind of boring around here at night,” added George.

  “Tell us about it,” muttered Beck. She wasn’t a big fan of fake treasure hunts inside museums. Me, neither.

  But it was the best we could do for the time being. Mom and Dad had agreed to curate an exhibit at the Smithsonian about the Lost City of Paititi, which we had discovered deep in the rain forests of Peru, where it was even sweatier than inside that hot and humid Butterfly Pavilion.

  “Can’t wait for your exhibit to open,” said George.

  “Me, neither,” said Jayden. “Will you be displaying any of the real gold?”

  Dad shook his head. “No. That belongs to the people of Peru.”

  “But,” said Mom, “we’re putting together quite an exciting diorama.”

  “Chya,” said Tommy. “Visitors can bust a dam and watch Paititi emerge from its lake, just like we saw.”

  “Cool,” said Jayden.

  “Totally,” agreed Tommy.

  Then they knocked knuckles.

  “What goes on in here?” asked a grouchy man in a tweed jacket as he stepped into the Hope Diamond exhibit hall.

  “Me and Jayden were fist bumping,” replied Tommy. “It’s a bro thing.”

  “Dr. Kidd?” The grumpy man arched an eyebrow. It was bushier than most mustaches. It kind of reminded me of a caterpillar from that Insect Zoo.

  “Good evening, Professor Hingleburt,” said Dad. “What brings you to the museum at this late hour?”

  “My radio!” replied the angry professor, unclipping a walkie-talkie from his belt so he could wiggle-waggle it at everybody. “I was next door, at the American History Museum. Heard we had intruders over here. I raced across the Victory Garden as quickly as I could.”

  In case you’ve never been to Washington, DC, the Smithsonian is a collection of several different museums mostly lined up between the Washington Monument and the United States Capitol Building.

  In addition to being crabby and cranky, Professor Hingleburt was also bald. His eyebrows were the hairiest thing on his head.

  “I’m sorry we interrupted you, Professor,” said Dad with an easy smile. “Were you doing research next door?”

  “Indeed I was!” said Professor Hingleburt. “I am on the verge of announcing a major discovery of monumental historical significance.”

  “Is that so?” said Dad. “Congratulations.”

  “Therefore,” said Professor Hingleburt, “as a serious scholar, I would appreciate it if you could keep your children on a tighter leash. We can’t have them running amok wreaking havoc!”

  “We apologize,” said Mom.

  “It was all in good fun,” added Dad.

  “And highly educational,” I added. “Who knew there were butterflies that looked like owls?”

  “The kids didn’t break anything or, you know, let any tarantulas out of their cages,” said George the guard.

  “Gave us a real run for our money, though,” added the other guard, Jayden, patting his belly. “Almost made me burp. Had a double cheeseburger for dinner…”

  “Well, Dr. and Mrs. Kidd,” huffed Professor Hingleburt, “just because you’re working here doesn’t mean your children should be allowed to run around these hallowed halls at all hours.”

  “Mom’s a doctor, too,” said Storm.

  “Then you both should know better!” said the pouting professor. “Too much freedom is a dangerous thing. It leads to anarchy and lawlessness!”

  “But, Dr. Hingleburt,” said Dad, “freedom is what America is all about. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

  “Is that so?” protested Dr. Hingleburt. “Well, maybe that’s why this country’s in such sad shape. With
packs of wild children pursuing their happiness by charging willy-nilly through our cherished national treasures.”

  “The children won’t do it again, Professor,” said Dad. “I promise.”

  “There will be no more after-hours explorations in any more national landmarks,” added Mom.

  Beck and I looked at each other and sighed.

  “There goes this weekend’s race up the steps of the Washington Monument,” she mumbled.

  I nodded. “And that thing at the Lincoln Memorial.”

  It sounded like however long we were stuck in DC, we’d have to behave like ordinary kids instead of the wild things on a wild rumpus we were born to be.

  We’d have to be bored out of our gourds, instead.

  CHAPTER 4

  The next day, we joined Mom and Dad in the sealed-off corner of the Smithsonian where they were setting up their exhibit about our time in Peru.

  “Visitors will walk through this corridor and feel as if they’ve just entered the Amazon rain forest,” Mom explained as the six of us traipsed through a maze of fake plants, all of them dripping with water.

  “Whoa. How’d you get it to be so muggy in here?” asked Tommy, checking both his armpits for sweat rings.

  “Dozens of humidifiers hidden behind the scenery,” explained Dad.

  “You might consider selling sweat bands at the gift shop,” suggested Beck, wiping her brow. “Especially for when Bick visits.”

  We rounded a bend and came to a display of wax dummies depicting the nasty loggers we’d met on our last adventure. They looked like scurvy pirates with chain saws cutting down all the trees in the area illegally.

  “Deforestation is, as you guys know, a major concern in tropical rain forests,” said Mom.

  “Indeed,” spouted Storm. “In the Amazon, nearly seventeen percent of the trees have been chopped down in the last fifty years.”

  “Check it out!” I said, pointing to a pile of fake logs that seemed to be smoldering. “The smoke looks so real!”