Treasure Hunters--Quest for the City of Gold Page 12

  “Don’t call me—”

  Collier cut her off with a pistol point.

  “Thank you once again, Kidd Family Treasure Hunters! You have shown me the way. Good-bye, Stephanie and other assorted Kidd children. You are all free to go. We won’t be needing any of you anymore! The gold is mine! All mine!”

  He roared off on his ATV. Chet and the hired heavies followed after him. So did the high priest and Supay, the sacred-knife guy. They both hitched rides on the backs of the security goons’ bikes.

  Far off, I heard a rifle shot. Then another.

  A few seconds later, Dad came charging back to the altar, smelling like gunpowder.

  He was the one who had fired the shots.

  “I missed,” he said. “I was aiming for their tires. They got away. All of them.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We have Storm!”

  Dad shook his head. “But they have Tommy.”

  CHAPTER 65

  “We should go after them!” I said, tapping the top of the stone table. “We know exactly where they’re headed.”

  “We can’t leave,” said Storm. “Not yet.”

  “Wha-hut?” said Beck. “The bad guys just kidnapped Tommy.”

  “They also know how to find Paititi!” I added. “Collier saw the map etched right here in the stone!” This time I pounded my fist on the altar table. Bad idea. Like I said, it was made out of stone.

  “We need to move expeditiously, Storm,” said Dad. “They have motorized vehicles. We do not.”

  “We also don’t have the one thing the secret map sent us here for,” insisted Storm.

  “Yes, we do,” I said. “You can take a mental picture of the map carving. Compare it to the one you saw on the cave wall.”

  “You mean when I looked through the Sacred Stone?” said Storm. She was sort of smirking, like she knew something I didn’t, which, by the way, happens on a regular basis. Storm always knows something other people don’t. Constantly.

  “What are you hinting at, Stephanie?” said Dad, sounding semi-peeved. “Collier has Tommy, and, most likely, they intend to use him instead of you as the heart donor in the sacrificial rite of capacocha.”

  Storm nodded. “He’s a way better choice. Brave. Strong—”

  “Storm?” said Dad.

  She took a deep breath. “You might recall that when I looked through the Sacred Stone at the cave wall, in addition to the map, I saw a verse of poetry written in the ancient alphabet of the Incas.”

  “What did it say?” I asked. As the writer in the family, I guess I’m the one most interested in poetry. Except Tommy. He likes those “Roses are red” poems. Recites them to his girlfriends all the time. They usually groan when he does.

  Storm gave us her translation of the ancient verse: “‘At the temple near the river, within a table where hearts do quiver, you will find the final key, the secret to raising Paititi.’”

  “The ‘table where hearts do quiver’ has to be the altar!” I said, using everything Mom taught us in our Interpretation of Poetry class.

  “And ‘within’ has to mean ‘inside’!” added Beck, because her talents are way more visual than verbal.

  (Fine. Beck says my breath is extremely visual, too, especially when I’m being verbal. Look for stink lines and gas clouds in the next illustration.)

  Beck and I ran our hands along the stone table, feeling for a loose stone or large seam.

  “Here it is!” I called out.

  “Does anybody have a screwdriver or something?” said Beck. “We need to pry it out.”

  “How about a bayonet?” asked Dad.

  “Perfect!” said Beck.

  “It’ll help us scare off some of these fuzzy spiders, too!” I added.

  Dad removed the bayonet from the rifle he was carrying and handed it to Beck. She used it to shoo away the spiders and wedge out the slightly tarnished golden rectangle we had discovered inside the bottom of the altar.

  Speaking of bottoms, that’s what seemed to be carved into the piece we’d just found.

  I gave it to Storm.

  “You earned it, sis,” I said.

  “Thanks,” she said with a smile, putting the golden belly in a pocket of her cargo shorts.

  “Now we all have gold medals,” joked Beck. “You, me, Bick, and Tommy.”

  When she said that, we all dropped our heads.

  “Poor Tommy.” We almost whimpered it.

  “Chins up, Kidds!” said Dad. “If we’re lucky, they won’t hurt your big brother until sunrise, when they perform their sacred rites.”

  “But they probably need the golden piece we just yanked out of the stone,” I said.

  “Well, we’re not giving it to them!” said Beck.

  Dad was focused on the carved map. “If I’m reading this correctly, Paititi is less than five kilometers away. An easy walk. Are you guys up for a family hike?”

  “Yes, sir!” we all replied. Because this was the hike we needed to take to put our family back together.

  And so we took off.

  Into the jungle.

  In the dark.

  CHAPTER 66

  We hiked the five kilometers and found another excellent hiding place on a craggy cliff high above a secluded lake. We would have stopped to admire how beautiful it was if we hadn’t been so worried about Tommy.

  Shadowed by gray jagged mountains on all sides, the lake was like a volcano crater filled with moon-rippled water instead of lava. On the near shore of the lake, there was another stone table, illuminated by torches and portable camp lights.

  Tommy’s altar.

  But he wasn’t on it.

  He was chained to an ancient stone pillar on the lakeshore.

  “I’ve got the keys, Tommy boy!” sneered Chet Collier, who had a clinking key ring clipped to his belt.

  “You’re just trying to take me out of the game,” said Tommy with a laugh, “because you crashed and burned with Q’orianka back in that village, after the flood. You can’t stand the competition. I’m way hotter than you.”

  “You won’t be hot tomorrow, Thomas,” said Chet, sneering. “You’ll be cold because you’ll be dead.”

  The keys at his belt jingling like a wind chime, he stomped over to his father, crossing his arms and pouting like an angry toddler.

  Collier’s army of goons, all six of them, were patrolling the perimeter of their campsite. But none of them had weapons. They’d all left their rifles back at the temple.

  The stone walls ringing the lake acted like an echo chamber, carrying Nathan Collier’s taunts up to our hiding place.

  “By rescuing your sister, you have helped us a great deal, Thomas!” said Collier.

  “A captured warrior!” said his son Chet. “That’s a way better sacrifice than your annoying sister.”

  Chains rattled. Tommy was fighting against his shackles.

  “Back off, Chester,” shouted Tommy. “Don’t you dare disrespect my little sister.”

  “Little? She’s huge!”

  “I said back off!”

  “Or what?” Chet laughed. “What are you going to do about it, Tailspin Tommy? I’ll tell you what: Nothing! Especially after the high priest rips out your heart first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Doesn’t matter, dude. Heart or no heart, I will hunt you down. I will make you pay for what you just said.”

  “You won’t be able to!” said Chet with a laugh. “You’ll be dead!”

  “Says who besides you?”

  “The American Heart Association. They don’t recommend operating heavy machinery, walking, seeking revenge, or doing anything if you don’t have a pulse.”

  “Oh. Guess I missed that brochure.”

  Tommy slumped down. The wannabe high priest guy, who probably slept in his feathered headgear, marched over to the Colliers. Supay was right behind him. He still had his knife.

  “Is all as it should be?” he asked. “Have you made the necessary preparations for capacocha?�
��

  “Yes, mighty Willaq Umu!” said Nathan Collier, using the ancient name for the high priest. “Tomorrow morning, when beams from the rising sun hit the Sacred Stone in the tip of your staff, which you must place here, precisely four cubits away from the altar—”

  “What’s a cubit?” asked the priest.

  “Let’s see,” mumbled Chet, “I used to know what a cubit was. I think you have to take a number and cube it, so four cubits would be—”

  “Six feet!” shouted his father.

  “Exactly,” said Chet. “Four cubed is six—”

  “Never mind, mighty Willaq Umu,” said Nathan Collier. “Simply place your rod here, in this hole I dug with the toe of my boot. At dawn, the sun rising in the east will shine through the Sacred Stone and pinpoint the precise location of the portal into the Lost City of Paititi!”

  “Whoa,” said Tommy. “You got that bit from Raiders of the Lost Ark. When Indiana Jones is down in the snake pit with, like, the model of the city and he has the staff of Ra and all of a sudden, the sun—”

  “Silence!” screamed Collier, because Tommy (who sometimes watches the Raiders movies with me) had totally busted him.

  “Gag him!” ordered Chet.

  The goon squad did as they were told. Tommy was muffled.

  But he’d just helped us learn something extremely valuable.

  Nathan Collier had absolutely no idea how to make the Lost City of Gold rise up in the valley of the lake.

  Then again, neither did we.

  CHAPTER 67

  “We’ll worry about Paititi later,” whispered Dad. “Now we have to focus on rescuing your brother. Before dawn.”

  “We should strike tonight,” said Storm.

  Dad nodded. “We will.”

  He scratched out our new battle plan in the dust with a stick. Fortunately, the moon was bright enough that we could see his doodles without turning on our flashlights and giving away our location.

  “As we just heard, they don’t have any weapons,” said Dad.

  “Except the knife that guy Supay is always carrying around,” I countered.

  “It’s for the sacrificial rite,” said Dad. “They won’t want to sully it with blood in combat.”

  “Good,” I said. “Because I don’t want to sully it with my blood either.”

  “We’re going to have to work as a team and strictly follow our individual assignments,” Dad continued. “Something you guys haven’t always been great at.”

  Beck and I looked at each other.

  Remember when we were supposed to stay on the Lost and guard the Room while Mom, Dad, and Tommy went looking for treasure on Cocos Island?

  You may have forgotten about that. Dad hadn’t.

  Then there was that time when Chaupi’s village flooded and Beck and I went swimming after his son Yacu even though Dad specifically ordered us not to do anything so foolish.

  (That one ended up being totally heroic, too.)

  “We’ll do better this time,” said Beck.

  “Way better,” I added.

  “Good,” said Storm. “Because Tommy’s life depends on it.”

  “Here’s your first assignment, twins,” said Dad. “Steal the horses. During the distraction, Storm and I will go for Chet and the keys to Tommy’s shackles.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad!” I said. “We’ll stick to the plan this time. We’ll steal their horses!” Then, after a beat, I asked, “What horses are we talking about here?”

  “I didn’t see any horses either,” said Beck. “Do they have horses now?”

  “He means the motorcycles,” said Storm. “It’s a metaphor.”

  “Ohhhhh,” we said. “Got it.”

  Hours later, Collier and his crew extinguished their torches and lanterns and crawled into their sleeping bags and blankets.

  We waited another hour to make sure they were sound asleep.

  Then, on Dad’s signal, the four of us slunk down the steep stone steps that led into the valley. The chirps and croaks of tree frogs covered whatever sounds we might’ve made.

  When we reached the foot of the steps, Beck and I slipped off to the right. Storm and Dad went left.

  They were going for Chet Collier’s key ring.

  We were going for the ATVs!

  CHAPTER 68

  Beck and I raced across the Collier camp, heading for the motorbikes.

  Dad and Storm went to Chet, who was fast asleep on a rolled-out blanket. Dad deftly removed the key ring from his belt. I think he learned pickpocketing when he went to CIA Spy School. He’s scary-good at it. Especially for a parent.

  Then they went over to the post where Tommy was chained—and wide awake, by the way.

  Beck and I hopped on a pair of ATVs and kick-started them.

  The instant they roared to life, we jumped on a different pair and got them revving, too.

  The other two were for Dad and Tommy. Storm doesn’t ATV. She’d hang on to Dad or Tommy.

  “Who’s stealing the ATVs this time?” screamed Nathan Collier, climbing out of his high-tech sleeping bag and patting his hair to make certain all his curls were locked in place.

  “We are!” I shouted. “Catch us if you can, Collier!”

  Oh, yeah. I really spat out that K sound.

  Beck zoomed left. I zoomed right.

  Not to brag, but both of us are awesome on ATVs!

  I did a little of what’s called drifting around the campsite. I spun my ride in circles with my rear tires slipping out to the side, which kicked up a ton of gritty dirt that sprayed all over the bad guys; they had to wipe their eyes even more than usual as they woke up.

  Beck was up in a squat, keeping most of her weight toward the back of her ATV. I could tell she was about to execute a jump right over the high-priest dude. She gunned the throttle and bought some major-league air, sailing inches above the startled old guy.

  The high priest was so stunned, I was able to swoop into a fishtail skid, buzz past, lean down, and snag his headpiece. On my second pass, I got the rod with the Sacred Stone locked into the golden corncob.

  “Finders keepers,” I shouted. “Losers weepers. Yee-haw!”

  Beck and I whooped and hollered and put on an incredible display of ATV freestyle moves. It was more fun than a video game because it was real!

  Meanwhile, Dad, Tommy, and Storm had charged across the clearing to the two quads we’d started for them. Dad and Storm hopped on one ATV, Tommy on the other. Beck and I circled back to the starting line and joined the Kidd family parade.

  “Follow my lead!” shouted Dad.

  “Yes, sir!” we all shouted back.

  No way were we disobeying Dad again.

  Although maybe we should’ve. He was kind of new to ATV riding.

  He led us back to the steps we’d climbed down earlier.

  ATVs aren’t great on steps or staircases. You have to pop a wheelie for every single step you’re trying to climb.

  Dad made it up just one before his engine died.

  Something we were all about to do.

  Because Collier’s goons were maybe ten yards behind us.

  Supay, too.

  And he had that knife.

  CHAPTER 69

  “New plan!” Dad shouted.

  “Chya,” said Tommy. “We totally need one.”

  Dad, with Storm’s arms still wrapped around his waist, leaped up and came down hard on his starter. His ATV’s engine sprang back to life.

  “Reverse course,” said Dad. “Skirt the edge of the lake. Bick, Beck, take the lead. There has to be another way out of this valley!”

  “On it!” I shouted, since I was on the bike in the rear, which would now be the lead.

  I did a 180 doughnut, spewing pebbles as I went.

  “Thanks a lot, Bick,” said Beck, who was behind me, eating my dust and pebbles.

  She swung sideways, too, and pelted Tommy with gravel. Tommy’s backwash hit Dad and Storm. Like they always say: The family that sprays tog
ether stays together.

  When we were relined up, I saw that Supay had sheathed his knife and was taking care of the high priest. I guess Beck’s jump had nearly given him a heart attack, which was kind of ironic since he wanted to attack Tommy’s heart. Meanwhile, Collier’s goons raced forward. They didn’t have rifles, just rocks, which they flung at me.

  A stone the size of a softball dinged me on the shoulder.

  “Ouch!” I hollered as I popped a wheelie and went flying forward on my rear wheels, turning the ATV undercarriage into a shield and a wedge. It protected me from being beaned by any more stones. It also split the bad guys apart because none of them wanted to be run over by a seriously enraged Kidd kid they’d just whacked on the shoulder with a jumbo-size rock!

  “Ride along the edge of the lake, Bick,” shouted Beck from behind me once I’d cleared the field. “I see an opening on the far side.”

  “I see it, too!” I said.

  (Note to self: In the future, try to schedule all getaway chase scenes during daylight hours.)

  We were whipping around the shoreline of the moonlit lake. I was kind of marveling at how this rocky crater seemed to appear out of nowhere in the middle of the Peruvian rain forest. It was almost as if it were man-made, like a lagoon at Disney World.

  I didn’t get to marvel for long.

  I heard a bong, like a rubber band snapping.

  The bong was followed by a thwick. Then another bong. More thwicks. A few boing-bongs and then a shower of thwickety-thwick-thwick-thwicks!

  Tiny darts shot out of all the crevices in the craggy rock walls lining the lake. I dodged a bunch of them but at least four of them punctured my tires.

  I stood up and whirled around.

  Beck was getting nailed by flying darts, too. The barrage was so thick, it looked like a swarm of angry wasps. Tommy and Dad were bobbing and weaving on their dirt bikes, trying to avoid the pointy projectiles, but they weren’t winning the darts game either. Before long, all of us were bumping along on nothing but rims, our tires totally deflated.