Treasure Hunters--The Plunder Down Under

by James Patterson

  Terry and Tabitha both nodded.

  “If your drawing is correct,” said Tabitha, “it will lead us straight to a very long reef of solid gold!”

  Beck and I looked at each other.

  “Lasseter’s Gold!” we shouted.

  CHAPTER 43

  “Wait a second,” I said. “Why would anybody carve a treasure map onto a long wooden tube that makes funny noises?”

  Terry and Tabitha shook their heads and smiled at me.

  “What? You don’t think our ancestors, the original people of this land, knew where to find gold?” said Terry.

  “Especially once they learned how much gold meant to the white settlers?” added Tabitha.

  “Our ancestors were very proficient prospectors, helping settlers find flickering specks of gold in the middle of nowhere,” said Terry. “But the only reward they might receive for their efforts was a new pair of boots—if their boss was one of the nicer ones.”

  “So,” said Tabitha, “some of our most clever ancestors started hiding what they knew and translating that knowledge into secret treasure maps carved into stones, boomerangs, or didgeridoos.”

  “Who says all the gold and jewels of Australia should belong to European settlers?” asked Terry.

  “Um, the European settlers?” said Tommy.

  “Exactly,” said Tabitha. “But, this is our land. Its gold and opals belong to us!”

  “But,” I said, “we need one of your opals.”

  “Otherwise,” added Beck, “our mother and father might spend the rest of their lives in an Australian jail.”

  “If I may?” said Uncle Richie. “I suggest we use this newfound ‘map’ to forge ahead. Remember, we are not really searching for Lasseter’s Gold. We have no desire to remove it from the land or to steal it from its true owners, the native people who have lived here for eons. We are only trying to track it down as a means of finding Charlotte Badger and securing the last of the three stolen opals.”

  “I still have the second one,” said Tabitha, patting a buttoned-down pocket on her safari shorts. “Until tonight. Then Terry gets to have it.”

  “We’re taking turns,” said Terry.

  “Otherwise,” said Tabitha, “we’d just be up all night screaming at each other. ‘Give me the opal, give me the opal!’”

  “That’s the spirit!” boomed Uncle Richie. “Complaining about a problem without proposing a solution is called whining.”

  “Or whinging,” said Storm. “That’s what Australians call it.”

  “Righto,” said Terry and Tabitha.

  “So, let us proceed,” said Uncle Richie. “Storm? Have you memorized the map you scratched into the dirt?”

  She nodded.

  “Bully! Because we can’t really roll up a dirt map, now, can we?”

  CHAPTER 44

  At sunset, we pitched our tents (they were in that trailer, too), and checked in with Mom and Dad back in Sydney.

  Uncle Richie put his satellite phone on speaker mode so we could all listen.

  “We completely concur with your plan,” said Dad.

  “One hundred percent!” added Mom.

  “Use your newfound treasure map to pinpoint the location of Lasseter’s Gold. Then offer to share that intel with Ms. Badger in exchange for the opal,” said Dad.

  “While simultaneously sharing your finds with local Aboriginals,” said Mom.

  They both sounded upbeat, just like they always did. There was no hint in their voices that they were wasting away in a dark and dreary jail cell.

  “And Tabitha? Terry?” said Dad.

  “Yes, sir?” they both replied.

  “Thank you. For this and for everything you have done to keep our family safe.”

  “No worries.”

  After the phone call, we whipped up some of the Meals Ready to Eat. Beck and I had minced meat spaghetti. The Tasmanian twins went with the chicken curry. Tommy had beef BBQ, Storm grabbed the Moroccan lamb, and Uncle Richie chowed down on hearty beef stew.

  We all gave our concentrated yeast extract packets (Vegemite) to Terry and Tabitha.

  “We’ll push on at first light,” said Uncle Richie, as we all huddled around a small campfire. The sky was full of stars and the moon was shining bright. Only it was upside down.

  “Because we’re in the Southern Hemisphere,” Storm explained. “And Earth is a spherical planet. If you stood on the North Pole and I stood on the South Pole…”

  “We’d both be freezing,” said Tommy.

  “And our heads would be pointed in the opposite directions. Down would be up, and up would be down.”

  “Anybody want to slam some more Tim Tams?” I asked, because the night was too awesome to waste on an astronomy lecture.

  “Sounds like fun!” said Beck.

  “Totally,” said Tabitha and Terry, who’d already picked up some American slang.

  “We’d best ration our provisions,” said Uncle Richie. “We’ll set out tomorrow at the crack of dawn.”

  “When we’ll only have three more days left to retrieve the third opal,” said Beck.

  “But first we have to find Lasseter’s gold reef,” said Tommy.

  “Then we have to find Charlotte Badger,” said Beck.

  “And we have to find those local Aboriginal tribes, too,” said Uncle Richie.

  “Phew,” I said. “We’re going to be busy, busy, busy.”

  “We also have to battle the Outback,” Storm reminded everyone, because she’s big on the gruesome and gory stuff. “The sun could kill us if the flies don’t do it first. Dust storms can blow up out of nowhere. Then, there are the snakes. And the giant speedy lizards. Not to mention the giant scorpions. And the angry red kangaroos. And the stampeding herds of wild camels…

  “There are also huge, ginormous feral pigs with curled tusks the size of—”

  “Thank you for that, Stephanie,” said Uncle Richie, finally cutting her off. “On the bright side, we have plenty of water and enough gasoline to carry us wherever we need to be and then back to Alice Springs. And, most important, we have each other.”

  I nodded.

  Although, at that exact moment, I wasn’t sure if having Storm on our side was such a major plus.

  CHAPTER 45

  We ate a quick breakfast and broke camp.

  We had a lot of ground to cover. Dry, treacherous, sun-scorched ground.

  “There aren’t many roads where we need to go,” said Storm, handing Tommy a paper version of the map she’d etched in the sand. “Fortunately, we don’t have that far to travel. Only about thirty miles.”

  “Thirty miles?” said Beck. “That’s far, Storm.”

  “Well, not as far as we’ve come,” I said.

  “Right you are, Bick,” said Uncle Richie, clapping me on the back. “And, fortunately for us, our vehicle has something Mr. Lasseter never had: air-conditioning.”

  Until it didn’t.

  At approximately mile two as we traversed the rugged terrain, several sharp little red rocks were kicked up from their resting spots by our front tires. Seeking revenge, the rocks leaped up under our hood and cracked our air conditioner’s fan.

  Tommy stopped the vehicle. Beck and I crawled under the front of the Land Rover to survey the damage.

  “It’s busted,” we reported.

  “Can we, like, fix it?” asked Tommy from his perch in the driver’s seat.

  Our answer was a quick, “Nooooooo!”

  Because one of those monster-size snakes Storm had told us about the night before was slithering across the dirt, angling to join us in the shady spot under the engine.

  We scrambled left, because the extremely poisonous snake was sliding in from the right.

  We yanked open the rear door.

  “Forget the AC!” shouted Beck.

  “Drive!” We shouted that together.

  Tommy jammed the pedal to the metal and blasted off. There was no telltale thump beneath our tires. The snake had lived to terror
ize another pair of twins dumb enough to crawl around underneath a car in the middle of the Outback.

  Storm had also been right about the heat. With no air-conditioning and the sun blazing away mercilessly it was like we were driving across the desert in an E-Z Bake oven—even with the windows down. And with the windows wide open, all sorts of flies the size of gummy bears hitched a ride and tried to drive us bonkers.

  We all started doing what Terry and Tabitha called the “Aussie salute.” Brushing away flies with our hands.

  And then, of course, the engine overheated.

  “The coolant’s low,” said Tommy, repeatedly flicking the dashboard indicator light with his finger, as if that might somehow reset it.

  “I saw some spare coolant in the cargo carrier,” said Uncle Richie. “You pop the hood, I’ll retrieve the coolant jug.”

  So, Tommy pulled over (again). Steam hissed up along the edges of the SUV’s hood. Tommy stepped outside and did a dozen more Aussie salutes. Uncle Richie was flipping at flies with his satellite phone.

  He was so busy shooing flies, he didn’t see the wild dingo dog stalking him until he heard it start snarling.

  “That’s a good boy,” said Uncle Richie, backing up toward the vehicle. “Don’t make any sudden moves, Thomas. Wild dingo attacks on humans are rare, but they are known to happen. They can also be lethal.”

  “What’re you gonna do?” asked Tommy.

  “Simple,” said Uncle Richie. “Teach this dog to play fetch.”

  He hurled his satellite phone as far as he could.

  The dog went running, chasing after it. He leaped into the air, caught the phone, and came down with it clamped in his jaws.

  Then it started trotting away with its trophy.

  “No!” shouted Storm. “We need that phone! How else are we going to call Mom and Dad?”

  She triumphantly strode out of the Land Rover, unclipped one of the boomerangs attached to her belt, and sent it sailing.

  It bonked the dingo in the butt.

  The dog yelped.

  It also dropped our satellite phone.

  And then it took off running over a scrubby knoll.

  CHAPTER 46

  “Woo-hoo!” Beck and I shouted.

  “Well done, Storm!” added Terry and Tabitha. “You’re a bobby-dazzler boomeranger, for sure.”

  “Thanks,” said Storm, rubbing her shoulder like an ace pitcher who’d just won the World Series. “You guys want to go fetch the phone and my boomerang? I’m sort of winded.”

  “No worries,” said Beck.

  She and I climbed out of the SUV. “We’ll be right back.”

  The two of us trotted across the arid red dirt. After about fifty feet, I scooped up Storm’s boomerang.

  “There’s Uncle Richie’s phone,” said Beck, scampering off to retrieve it.

  As soon as I had the boomerang tucked under my belt, I jogged over to where Beck had found the phone.

  “Excellent work,” I said.

  “We Kidds are like a well-oiled machine,” said Beck. “Each one of us doing what we do best.”

  I nodded. “True, so true. For instance…”

  We didn’t get a chance to continue our Kidd Family Admiration Society meeting.

  Because that dingo Storm had bopped in the butt was back.

  And he’d brought friends.

  Several of them.

  Beck looked at me while I looked at her.

  “Run!” we both shouted.

  We turned tail and headed back to the hissing SUV.

  “Forget adding coolant!” I shouted to Tommy and Uncle Richie. “We need to get out of here. Fast!”

  Tommy and Uncle Richie scrambled back into the front seats.

  Storm threw open the rear passenger door on her side.

  “Here,” I said, tossing her back her boomerang. “Do something.”

  Terry and Tabitha kicked open the rear doors on the other side. Beck and I ducked, so we wouldn’t block Storm’s shot and scurried around the tail end of the SUV so we could leap through the door Terry and Tabitha had swung open for us.

  Storm had already sent her boomerang flying. This time, it swooped through the air like a hovering bird. The dog pack paused, then went chasing after it.

  Tommy gunned the whining engine, which really sounded angry—complaining about working so hard without any coolant.

  In a flash, we were far away from the dingo pack (which was probably still chasing after Storm’s “birdy” boomerang). We were, basically, safe.

  “Well done, children,” said Uncle Richie and we lurched and bumped our way across the rugged terrain. “Henceforth, we must take extra precautions before leaving the vehicle.”

  That’s when I heard the front axle snap.

  “Boulder,” said Tommy, gripping the wheel hard. “Didn’t see it. Buried under sand.”

  Then the hood flew open and started spraying steam like a geyser in a national park.

  “Hang on, everybody!” cried Uncle Richie. “Brace for impact!”

  We did. Just before the front end of our trashed Land Rover nosedived into a sand dune.

  Which was hiding more rocks.

  The vehicle’s front end crunched and buckled. We stuttered to a stop. Tommy flicked off every switch he could. We didn’t want fuel mingling with the sparks under the hood.

  “Bully,” said Uncle Richie, not quite as bullishly as he usually does. He adjusted his hat. “Everyone safe? Any injuries? Broken bones?”

  “We’re good,” I mumbled.

  “Fine,” said Storm.

  “Awesome ride, dude,” said Terry, patting Tommy on his shoulder.

  “Better than Disneyland,” added Tabitha.

  “Thanks, dudes.”

  “Rebecca?” said Uncle Richie. “Might I have that phone? Time to call Mrs. Walker back in Alice Springs. I believe we are in need of a replacement vehicle.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Yep. We were basically stranded in the desert.

  “But we’re only like five miles away from where the map says we’ll find Lasseter’s Gold,” said Storm.

  “We should hike it!” I said.

  “Bick’s right,” said Beck, actually agreeing with me. In public. “We’ve hiked five miles before. It’s easy peasy. No big deal.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Storm, “if those five miles are not in the middle of the sweltering desert. That’s how Lasseter died out here. Hiking. He couldn’t carry all the water he needed so he became delirious. Before long, he didn’t even know where he was or which way was north, east, south, or west. He dropped to the ground. Died. The sun baked away his body and then it bleached his bones.”

  “Well,” I said, “when you put it that way…”

  “Fear not, children,” said Uncle Richie. “Mrs. Walker runs a reputable and highly regarded operation back there in Alice Springs. I’m sure that, once she learns of our plight, she will dispatch a replacement vehicle, posthaste.”

  “We’re only five miles away from all that gold?” asked Terry.

  Storm nodded.

  “That stinks worse than a bucket of prawns in the sun,” said Tabitha.

  “Too right,” said Tommy.

  “Come on, now,” boomed Uncle Richie. “Stiff upper lips, everybody. We have food. We have water. Neither a slithering snake nor a deranged dingo has harmed us this day. And we still have three days to complete our mission.”

  “Two and a half,” I said, squinting up at the sun, which, dead overhead, was sizzling us like bacon in a pan. “It’s noon.”

  Uncle Richie ignored me, consulted our rental agreement, and jabbed some buttons on his satellite phone.

  “Ah, yes. Mrs. Walker? Richie Luccio here. We rented that Land Rover from you yesterday? Right. We’re the other ones searching for Lasseter’s Gold. We’ve run into a bit of a sticky wicket out here in the Outback. I wonder if you can spot our location via your vehicle’s GPS indicator. Yes. That’s us. Smack dab in the middle of nowhere.”
r />   I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “But we’re only like five miles from all that gold.”

  Everybody, including Uncle Richie, looked at me and shook their heads.

  “Sorry,” I said. “My bad.”

  We went back to eavesdropping on Uncle Richie’s phone call.

  “Three days?” he sputtered. “But that’s unacceptable. We have to complete our mission in three days or there will be dire consequences.”

  Uncle Richie stopped talking. Mrs. Walker was clearly jabbering in his ear.

  “Very well. We will stay put. Yes, Mrs. Walker. We certainly understand the dangers and hardships associated with trekking across the Outback on foot. We await your speedy delivery of our new vehicle.”

  Uncle Richie disconnected the call.

  “Three days?” said Tommy.

  Uncle Richie nodded grimly. “Maybe two if someone returns their car early. She says that’s the best she can offer. All of her off-road vehicles have been rented. The other expedition outfitters in Alice Springs are similarly sold out. Apparently, there is a big festival at Ayers Rock this weekend. And there’s nothing near our current location except a few Aboriginal communities. None of which feature gas stations, auto mechanics, or rental car agencies.”

  “It took us a day and a half to get this far,” mumbled Storm. “We may not be rescued for four or five days.”

  “We’ll never beat that opal delivery deadline,” said Beck.

  “Detective Superintendent Ruggiere is going to retire and go to Disneyland,” I added. “His replacement will probably be a tough guy.”

  Terry nodded. “A nasty scut.”

  “A bantam, bathurst burr of a blitherer,” said Tabitha.

  “Does that mean they’ll be, like, mean and stuff?” asked Tommy.

  “Too right,” said Terry and Tabitha.

  Tommy sighed. “So, Mom and Dad will be stuck in that jail forever.”