Treasure Hunters: Danger Down the Nile Page 13

  Of course, what happened after we survived yet another wild-animal attack, changed that flat tire, and cruised a little farther down Mombasa Road was even more terrifying.

  The number one predator on the entire continent of Africa was lying in wait, blocking our way forward.

  That’s right.

  Nathan Collier had finally found us.

  CHAPTER 77

  Collier stood in the middle of the two-lane highway with his hands on his hips.

  He was flanked by two goons with Uzi submachine guns. Behind them was a NATHAN COLLIER TREASURE EXTRACTORS–emblazoned safari vehicle the size of an eighteen-wheel truck. The tractor-trailer rig was parked sideways across both lanes of the narrow highway.

  “Thomas, Thomas, Thomas,” said Collier from the road, grinning his toothy smile and shaking his head.

  His waxy hair didn’t even budge.

  “Will you never learn? I warned you once, I’ll warn you again: Turn off the GPS chip in your iPhone unless, of course, you want everyone in the world to know exactly where you are at all times.”

  One of the many side doors on the NCTE truck swung open, and out stepped Gina, the sneaky redhead, wearing yet another bikini.

  “Hi, Tommy,” she said with a giggle. “How you doin’?”

  Tommy gripped the steering wheel. Hard.

  “I’ve had better days,” I heard him growl as his now ex-girlfriend laughed at him.

  Collier stood about twenty feet in front of our bumper. He started marching forward. His two bodyguards racked their weapons and marched with him.

  “I’ll take the treasure map,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “We don’t have a treasure map!” Beck hollered out a window.

  “Except one that’ll take you to King Solomon’s Mines!” I shouted out my window. “But you better hurry. Guy Dubonnet Merck might beat you to all the diamonds.”

  “I’m not interested in King Solomon’s mythical mines,” sneered Collier. “I want the map that you Kidds are currently following. The one that will, somehow, lead you to a priceless Ming vase. As you may recall, children, I have certain friends in Cyprus who tell me everything they’d like to add to their rapidly growing art collection.”

  Yeah, I thought, the scumbags who kidnapped Mom.

  “And, just a few weeks ago, my Cypriot friends told me that they wanted an antique Chinese vase to go with that Grecian urn you sniveling little brats stole from me!”

  “Only after you stole it from us!” shouted Beck.

  “Ah-ha! So you admit you stole the urn! You four children are nothing but sneaky little thieves. Why, you’re no better than the filthy street kids of Cairo who prey upon innocent, unsuspecting tourists.”

  Tommy had heard enough.

  “I liked those kids in Cairo,” he muttered. “They told me what cake tasted best at that café.”

  He jammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

  Our hulking truck lurched forward like a hippopotamus.

  Tommy was gunning straight for Nathan Collier, who wasn’t smiling so much anymore.

  His two mercenaries opened fire with their machine guns.

  The bullets hit our windshield and bounced off.

  “And that,” said Tommy through gritted teeth as he swung the steering wheel hard to the right, “is why you should always go with the bulletproof glass option when purchasing an off-road expedition vehicle.”

  We were tilting up on our tires, burning rubber, heading for the ditch at the edge of the highway.

  Tommy jammed forward on the stick, shifting us into all-wheel drive. Our truck righted with a thud as we came out of the screeching turn, and we plowed across the drainage trench and up into the rutted dirt like a rhinoceros that needed to find a bathroom, fast.

  After bounding over a few bumpy knolls and scaring a herd of innocent gazelles into a stampede, Tommy swung the wheel hard to the left to put our heaving vehicle back on the paved roadway.

  Behind us, I could see Collier and his troops scrambling to board their eighteen-wheeler safari truck, back it up, and turn it around so they could chase after us.

  “And this is why Dumaka put in that supercharged engine.”

  We shot up the road like a cheetah with a rocket strapped on its back. Hey, spend a little time in Africa, and you’ll come up with all kinds of animal similes, too.

  In a matter of minutes, we had a six-, maybe seven-, mile lead on Collier and his crew.

  Unfortunately, that was when something else appeared in our rearview mirror.

  Another pickup truck loaded with pirates.

  CHAPTER 78

  Okay. I’m not an expert on all things piratical, but these pirates looked a whole lot fiercer than the Twinkie lovers who had chased us down a very similar road way back in Zambia.

  For one thing, they all seemed to be wearing hooded masks, like the kind medieval executioners used to wear when they chopped off your head with an ax. None of them seemed like they would be interested in prepackaged snack cakes. Plus, to round out the crew, they had two guys with rocket-propelled grenade launchers.

  “We’re pretty close to the coast,” said Storm. “Those guys could be Somali pirates. The ruthless kind who hijack oil tankers and cruise ships and kill people.”

  “You think they’d like to hijack a new truck?” I said.

  “What?” said Tommy.

  “I have an idea. Slam on the brakes!”

  Believe it or not, my big brother did what I told him to do. He hit the brakes and eased our vehicle over to the side of the road.

  “Thomas?” said Storm, sounding slightly panicked. “What are you doing?”

  “What Bick told me to do.” He turned to me. “What am I doing, Bick?”

  “We’re going to play ‘Let’s Make a Deal.’ ”

  “With a bunch of Somali pirates?” sputtered Beck.

  “Yep. Pack up your most essential gear, guys. We’re dumping this truck. Like, now!”

  I jammed Dad’s rain slicker and my journal into a small duffel. Tommy stuffed his high-tech satellite phone into one cargo pants pocket and his favorite comb into another. Beck did the same with her art junk. Storm grabbed the book she’d been reading: How to Win Friends and Influence Pirates.

  Tommy brought the safari truck to a full and complete stop.

  The pirates stopped right behind us and, weapons jangling, leaped out of their pickup.

  “Don’t worry, guys,” I said as the pirates swarmed both sides of our vehicle. “If my plan works, we’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

  “And if your plan doesn’t work?” demanded Beck.

  “I guess there will be four dead birds instead of two: us.”

  CHAPTER 79

  I yanked up on my door handle and, raising both hands high over my head, jumped down to the ground.

  “Okay. We surrender! You guys win. Yes, this truck is worth two million dollars, but you can have it.”

  The one pirate not wearing a mask sauntered forward. His head was wrapped with a more traditional pirate bandana. He wore camouflage fatigues and had an arm draped across a rifle resting casually over his shoulder. He appeared to be the pirate leader.

  “Who says we want your truck?” the pirate leader said with a crooked sneer. “Maybe we want you. You four children would fetch a very handsome ransom, yes?”

  “Not really,” I said, because it was time to spin another lie. “I mean, yes, we would if we weren’t orphans with absolutely zero family left in the world to worry about us or pay to get us back.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “Dead,” I said. “Drowned. You see, sir, our father was a seafaring man, much like you. One dark and dreary night, off the coast of the Cayman Islands, the biggest storm many a sailor had e’er seen blew in from the Bermuda Triangle. Why, the waves were as tall as mountains that night, the winds as fierce as a lion after somebody steps on its tail.…”

  As I babbled on, one of the hooded pirates went up on ti
ptoe to peer into the cab of our vehicle.

  “Yo,” he said. “Is that the new iPhone?”

  “Chyah,” said Tommy. “Brand-new.”

  “We’ll take it,” said the pirate in the bandana. “And the truck.”

  “Cool,” said Tommy. “Oh, if the name Gina pops up on the caller ID, don’t answer it, dudes. She’ll talk your ear off.” Tommy turned his fingers into yapping puppets. “Blah, blah, blah.”

  “This Gina, she is your girlfriend?”

  Tommy actually winked at the pirate. “One of ’em.”

  Knowing laughter erupted all around us.

  Tommy tossed the pirates the keys. “Enjoy, guys. En-joy.”

  The pirate leader gave me a two-finger salute off his eyebrow. “A pleasure doing business with you, Mister…?”

  “Collier,” I said. “Nathan Collier.”

  “Let us not meet again, Mr. Nathan Collier. If we do…” He sliced his finger across his throat.

  “Right. Gotcha.”

  The pirate leader turned to his comrades. “Board up! We need to be gone from this place! Maa salama, Nathan Collier!”

  Half the hooting pirates piled into our tweaked-out ride. The others jumped back into their Toyota pickup.

  “Imshy ala tool, thumma ‘arrij shimalan,” the leader shouted in Arabic. “We ride for Mombasa!”

  CHAPTER 80

  The trucks’ spinning tires kicked up a cloud of fried rubber and choking dust as the pirates sped off and disappeared over the horizon.

  “Brilliant plan, Bickford,” said Beck. “We’re not dead. We’re stranded in the middle of a deserted highway without food, water, or a vehicle, but at least we’re not dead. Not yet, anyway. I imagine the vultures won’t pick apart our rotting carcasses for, oh, another hour or two.”

  I was basically ignoring Beck because I was too busy checking out the short, scrubby trees lining both sides of the road.

  “This highway won’t be deserted for long,” I said. “Come on. We need to hide behind that bushy clump over there.”

  “Why?” said Beck.

  “Because Nathan Collier, swimsuit model Gina, and their big rig should come thundering up this road any second now.”

  “And,” said Storm, “with any luck, they’ll still be tracking the GPS chip in Tommy’s iPhone.”

  “Which means,” said Beck, finally catching on, “they’re going to chase those gnarly Somali pirates all the way to Mombasa.”

  “Unless, of course,” I said with a smile, “the pirates see Collier tearing up their butt and pull over to the side of the road like Tommy did.”

  “Maybe,” said Tommy. “But I don’t think the Somalis will be in the mood to cut a deal with Mr. Collier. They prefer cutting throats.” He made the pirate’s slicing gesture across his neck.

  “Better if the pirates keep on driving,” said Storm. “They’re heading for Mombasa. Collier will chase after them. Meanwhile, our treasure map takes us in a completely different direction—north to the Lamu Archipelago.”

  “Great,” said Beck. “And how exactly do you propose we travel to this Lamu Archipelago place without our SUV? Go on another nature hike?”

  “Um, I hadn’t thought about that part,” I admitted.

  “I have,” said Tommy, pulling out the satellite phone. “As soon as Collier rolls by, we’ll give Dumaka a call. See if he still has that second helicopter.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Beck. “If Dumaka gives us a lift, we’ll have to show him the treasure map so he knows where to take us.”

  “True,” said Tommy.

  “So, all of a sudden, we’re going to take a nonfamily member with us to a treasure site?”

  “I think we can trust him,” said Tommy. “Dad did.”

  “I don’t know.… What happened to everything you and Storm were saying in the RV?”

  “I’m with Beck,” I said. (Yes, twins always stick together. Sometimes.)

  “Would you two prefer walking all the way to Lamu?” said Storm. “Did I mention that the archipelago of islands is, like, two hundred miles away? And out in the ocean? It’s not perfect, but what else are we going to do?”

  Beck and I thought about that for a second.

  I also thought about my recent bout with trench foot.

  And all the horrible creatures Storm could undoubtedly tell us about that lived between where we were and where we needed to be.

  I looked at Beck. She looked at me.

  We both sighed and said, “Make the call, Tommy.”

  At the time, we didn’t realize what a huge mistake we were making.

  CHAPTER 81

  The Collier Express rolled by our hiding place and continued heading southeast to Mombasa.

  Tommy called Dumaka on the satellite phone.

  Less than an hour later, we were choppering north to the Lamu Archipelago, a cluster of islands in the Indian Ocean just off the northern coast of Kenya.

  “Your map makes sense,” said Dumaka as he worked the helicopter’s joystick. “The island of Lamu is said to be one of the westernmost ports of call for the great Chinese fleet of Zheng He.”

  Tommy had shared everything with Dumaka.

  “We also know Zheng He made it to Mombasa in the 1400s,” our father’s friend continued. “But the legends all say that one of his fleet’s gigantic nine-masted ships sank out here, not far from the shores of Lamu island.”

  “The legends are correct,” said Storm, calling up another file in her photographic memory. “In fact, archaeologists have recently proved through DNA testing that survivors of that shipwreck swam to the shores of Lamu island, where they married locals. That’s why some of the people living on the island today have Chinese ancestry.”

  Dumaka put the chopper down at the airport on a small speck of an island opposite the main village. A ferryboat took us across the water to Lamu town.

  Luckily, there were several bank branches in Lamu, so we were able to access the Kidd Family Treasure Hunters Inc. bank account. It was full of cash, so we knew Uncle Timothy had kept his promise. We used some of the funds to rent a fishing boat and reliable scuba gear from a tour operator in Watamu.

  We booked three cottages at the Peponi Hotel (our rented fishing boat smelled too fishy to sleep on), where we had dinner on a terrace overlooking the beach and all the dhows—which are those sailing vessels with triangular sails angling off their masts that are so popular in the Red Sea and Indian Ocean. Dinner at the Peponi Hotel was amazing, especially after spending so much time in the jungle eating freeze-dried camping food out of aluminum pouches. I must have gobbled down two dozen giant prawns.

  “Breakfast, I am told, is also quite spectacular at this restaurant,” said Dumaka.

  “Great,” said Tommy. “But we better ask for it ‘to go.’ First thing in the morning, we’re heading out there.” He pointed to the ocean. “Tomorrow, we’re going to find Zheng He’s sunken treasure ship so we can grab a Ming vase. Then we’re heading up to Cyprus to rescue Mom!”

  CHAPTER 82

  At first light the five of us (Dumaka was tagging along) stowed our gear and set sail on our rickety fishing boat.

  Tommy was in the stern, manning the tiller.

  As we followed the chart markings on Dad’s treasure map, Storm schooled us on Zheng He and his treasure ships. It’s what our mom used to do whenever we were sailing to a new treasure site. The ocean has always been the Kidd family classroom. And treasure hunts? I guess those are our field trips.

  “Between 1405 and 1433,” Storm said as our boat bounded across the choppy water, “the Ming Dynasty rulers in China sent out enormous armadas of mammoth treasure ships. Each of these gigantic boats had nine masts and four decks, and could carry five hundred passengers plus tons of cargo.

  “Zheng He’s fleet included three hundred ships, including sixty-two jumbo treasure vessels—each one was four hundred and fifty feet long and nearly two hundred feet wide. They were the biggest wooden boats ever built, and they explored
the Indian Ocean fifty years before the Portuguese ‘discovered’ it in their dinky three-masted caravels.”

  “Were they mighty warriors?” asked Dumaka as we reached a cluster of lights and buoys and Tommy made a sharp turn to the east.

  “No,” Storm said to Dumaka. “Zheng He was out here projecting Chinese pride and power. His voyages were strictly trade missions, even though each treasure ship was equipped with two dozen bronze cannons. They wanted to bring home spices, ivory, rare woods, and pearls from Africa. Plus unicorns.”

  “Wait, what?” said Beck.

  Storm grinned. “Giraffes. When Zheng He presented a couple of giraffes to the Ming royal court in Nanjing,” Storm continued, “the emperor’s philosophers ID’d the exotic creatures as the fabled qilin, or unicorns—even though the giraffes had two horns on their heads instead of just one like a unicorn is supposed to.”

  When we were maybe a dozen miles out of port, a small, jagged landmass appeared on the horizon. Whitecaps and breakers smacked against its rocky sides.

  “That’s Nubende Rock,” said Storm. “That’s what the ship we’re looking for hit during the pirate attack.”

  Dumaka shook his head. “This is our destination? I am afraid you, Storm, or perhaps your father, have been given faulty information.”

  “Excuse me?” said Beck.

  “We are too far from the port of Lamu. Many, many miles. There is no way the shipwrecked Chinese sailors could swim all the way from here to safety on the shores of the island.”

  “Why not?” said Tommy. “We could.”

  “Definitely,” added Beck.

  Dumaka chuckled. “I apologize for laughing, children. But what you suggest is impossible. There are sharks in these waters. No grown man, let alone children such as you, could safely swim such a distance.”