Secret of the Forbidden City

by James Patterson

  The other Jet Ski swerved into an incredibly tight U-turn, sliced across the river, turned about, and was heading straight for our little dinghy when, with a burst of superhuman strength, Tommy and Petra pumped their pedals extra hard and steered their paddleboat so it was on course to collide with the Jet Ski. Then they both leaped out of their seats and abandoned ship.

  The Jet Ski dude tried to pop a water wheelie and jump the empty paddleboat. But he should’ve practiced the stunt a few times before he attempted it.

  His sputtering water scooter ended up in a barrel roll—spinning out of control. He and his AK-47 assault rifle belly flopped into the river.

  Two down.

  Only Uncle Timothy left.

  “This is for Cairo!” I heard a woman shriek. I looked up and there was Aunt Bela. She and her jet pack had blasted off the deck of The Lost and were streaking like a bottle rocket straight at Uncle Timothy.

  Uncle Timothy initiated a countermove. He yanked his handlebars hard to the left.

  Bela missed her target and slammed into the water like a misguided missile.

  Uncle Timothy laughed.

  Well, he laughed until he realized he had circled directly into the powerful current dragging everything it could grab toward the dam’s very narrow overflow. We’re talking white-water-rapids-through-the-Grand-Canyon-style current.

  Uncle Timothy tried to reverse engines.

  But his souped-up Jet Ski wasn’t as strong as the river when all its power and might were being squeezed down into one ten-foot-wide roaring rapid. There was nothing Uncle Timothy could do. The waterfall wanted him and wouldn’t let him go.

  “Noooo!” I heard him scream.

  And then he disappeared over the edge in a thundering torrent of churning white water.

  “Woo-hoo!” shouted Beck. “We did it.”

  I was about to “woo-hoo” with her.

  Until I heard the helicopter.

  CHAPTER 83

  We looked up and saw him.

  Dionysus Streckting.

  “You stole the stolen art I should have stolen!” he shouted like a madman from the cramped control pod of his teeny-tiny whirlybird. “For that, you must pay!”

  “Buzz off, Streckting,” I heard Dad holler up to the hornet-shaped helicopter.

  “H-he is a h-horrible person!” said Aunt Bela as she skittered across the water on her belly, propelled by her sputtering jet pack like some kind of berserk skipping stone.

  “Dad?” shouted Beck.

  “No, Streckting!” cried Bela right before she bonked into the side of our rowboat with her crash helmet. She grabbed hold of the side of our dinky dinghy with her left hand and pressed a red button on the jet pack’s handgrip controller with her right. The twin rockets finally cut out.

  “Prepare to die!” hollered Dionysus Streckting from maybe fifty feet up above.

  Speaking of rockets…

  Streckting was standing up in his wobbly little helicopter with some kind of rocket-propelled grenade launcher propped on his shoulder.

  He was aiming it down at the deck of The Lost.

  “If I can’t have all that art, then you can’t, either! I am the most interesting and physically repellent man in the world. Who are you two? Nothing but a pair of insignificant garbage collectors, scouring the world for trash you dare call treasure!”

  I’d heard enough.

  “They’re our parents!” I shouted.

  “And they’re way better than you, stinkface!” added Beck.

  We looked at each other.

  Then we looked down at Aunt Bela, who was treading water and unstrapping her jet pack.

  Beck and I locked eyeballs again.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” I said.

  “Of course I am.”

  “I thought so.”

  Together, we reached down, grabbed hold of Aunt Bela’s floating jet pack, and hauled it out of the water.

  Then we aimed it up at Streckting’s helicopter.

  “On your mark,” we said in perfect sync. “Get set. Go!”

  I slammed the red button.

  The two rockets whooshed to life.

  The pilotless jet pack streaked skyward.

  Bang!

  “Direct hit!” shouted Tommy when our overgrown bottle rocket rammed into the side of Streckting’s minichopper and sent him and his rocket-propelled grenade launcher tumbling out the door.

  The most interesting and physically repellent man in the world splashed down in the river and started thrashing. I felt sorry for any fish in the vicinity, even though, come to think of it, Streckting sort of smelled like a fish. One that’s been sitting in the sun. For a week.

  Soon, the same rapids that had tugged Uncle Timothy over the lip of the dam dragged Dionysus Streckting over the waterfall, too. Still shouting and yelling, he disappeared in a bubbling rush of white water and went cascading over the edge!

  CHAPTER 84

  Beck and I swam like crazy toward The Lost.

  So did Tommy and Petra.

  I saw Storm cannonball off that riverbank and start swimming so fast she sliced through the water like a dolphin.

  I couldn’t believe it. We were just seconds away from the greatest treasure in the world: our family being a family again!

  Beck and I reached the side of The Lost and clambered up the waiting rope ladder to the deck.

  “Mom! Dad!”

  There were tears in our eyes. Theirs, too.

  We squealed and screeched and hugged one another like crazy.

  “I knew you were alive!” I said to Dad.

  He squeezed me a little tighter. “Thanks for never giving up on me, Bick.”

  Beck and Mom finally broke out of their hug. “We missed you guys so much,” they both said at the same time.

  Tommy, Storm, and Petra climbed on board next. More hugs. More laughs. More amazing joy.

  “I knew I could count on you all to take care of Streckting,” said Dad, “while your mom and I dealt with those vase-loving thugs in Cyprus.”

  We had crossed all the major oceans and traipsed across four different continents in our quest to put our whole family back together. And it was all worth it for this one golden moment!

  “Little help,” we heard a voice peep off our starboard side.

  Aunt Bela was dog-paddling alongside The Lost. Tommy hauled her onboard.

  “Bela was working for us all along,” said Mom. “She knew Uncle Timothy was up to no good.”

  Aunt Bela nodded proudly. “I was a double-double agent.”

  “I’m so sorry I had to abandon ship during that storm off the Caymans,” said Dad. “But it was the only way we could stop Uncle Timothy.”

  “And you four?” said Mom. “You made us so proud. You handled everything the most despicable villains in the world threw at you.”

  “They’re amazing!” added Petra. “Especially Thomas.”

  She went up on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

  “Wow!” said Tommy. “Petra Pichelsteiner, you are definitely all grown up!”

  As for Uncle Timothy, the man who tried to ruin our family? Well, let’s just say he didn’t make it very far downstream and now he’s going up the river.

  (Yes, Beck, I think everybody knows up the river means he’s going to a maximum-security federal penitentiary for a very, very long time.)

  Dionysus Streckting, on the other hand, will continue being the world’s most physically repellent man. But he’ll be doing it in jail. Probably in solitary confinement.

  Franz Hans was still at large. Not being the brightest bulb in the chandelier, he had a pretty good chance of eventually being caught.

  Eventually, after all the hugging and kissing and laughing and crying, I started peppering Mom and Dad with questions.

  “Where have you two been? How’d you get The Lost back? How’d you know Uncle Timothy was working with Dionysus Streckting? Did we miss any clues? You have to tell us everything!”


  “Of course we do,” said Dad, rubbing my hair just the way he used to.

  “We have so, so much to tell you,” said Mom with her heart-melting smile. “Our brave, wonderful children.”

  “But,” said Dad, with a twinkle in his eye, “that’s another story, for another day. Today? We need to shove off for Russia.”

  “What?” I said. “How come?”

  “The Amber Room!” exclaimed Storm. “You guys know where it is?”

  “Maybe,” said Mom, with a small smile. “My kidnappers in Cyprus were very talkative.”

  “And since those louts will all be spending the next several decades behind bars,” said Dad, “they really had no use for this.”

  He pulled a folded sheet of aged parchment paper out of his pocket.

  Yep. You guessed it.

  It was a treasure map.

  The Kidd Family Treasure Hunters were officially back in business!

  JAMES PATTERSON has had more #1 bestsellers for children than any living writer. He is the author of the Middle School, I Funny, Treasure Hunters, and Daniel X novels, as well as House of Robots and Public School Superhero. His blockbusters for adults, featuring enduring characters like Alex Cross—in addition to his many books for teens, such as the Maximum Ride series—have sold more than 300 million copies worldwide. He lives in Florida.

  CHRIS GRABENSTEIN is a New York Times bestselling author who has collaborated with James Patterson on the I Funny and Treasure Hunters series, and House of Robots. He lives in New York City.

  JULIANA NEUFELD is an award-winning illustrator whose drawings can be found in books, on album covers, and in nooks and crannies throughout the Internet. She lives in Toronto.

  BOOKS BY JAMES PATTERSON FOR YOUNG READERS

  THE TREASURE HUNTERS NOVELS

  Treasure Hunters (with Chris Grabenstein and Mark Shulman, illustrated by Juliana Neufeld)

  Treasure Hunters: Danger Down the Nile (with Chris Grabenstein, illustrated by Juliana Neufeld)

  Treasure Hunters: Secret of the Forbidden City (with Chris Grabenstein, illustrated by Juliana Neufeld)

  THE MIDDLE SCHOOL NOVELS

  Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life

  (with Chris Tebbetts, illustrated by Laura Park)

  Middle School: Get Me out of Here!

  (with Chris Tebbetts, illustrated by Laura Park)

  Middle School: Big, Fat Liar

  (with Lisa Papademetriou, illustrated by Neil Swaab)

  Middle School: How I Survived Bullies, Broccoli, and Snake Hill

  (with Chris Tebbetts, illustrated by Laura Park)

  Middle School: Ultimate Showdown

  (with Julia Bergen, illustrated by Alec Longstreth)

  Middle School: Save Rafe!

  (with Chris Tebbetts, illustrated by Laura Park)

  Middle School: Just My Rotten Luck

  (with Chris Tebbetts, illustrated by Laura Park)

  THE I FUNNY NOVELS

  I Funny (with Chris Grabenstein, illustrated by Laura Park)

  I Even Funnier (with Chris Grabenstein, illustrated by Laura Park)

  I Totally Funniest (with Chris Grabenstein, illustrated by Laura Park)

  THE DANIEL X NOVELS

  The Dangerous Days of Daniel X (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Watch the Skies (with Ned Rust)

  Demons and Druids (with Adam Sadler)

  Game Over (with Ned Rust)

  Armageddon (with Chris Grabenstein)

  Lights Out (with Chris Grabenstein)

  OTHER ILLUSTRATED NOVELS

  House of Robots (with Chris Grabenstein, illustrated by Juliana Neufeld)

  Public School Superhero (with Chris Tebbetts, illustrated by Cory Thomas)

  Daniel X: Alien Hunter (graphic novel; with Leopoldo Gout)

  Daniel X: The Manga, Vols. 1–3 (with SeungHui Kye)

  For previews of upcoming books in these series and other information, visit middleschoolbooks.com, ifunnybooks.com, and treasurehuntersbooks.com.

  For more information about the author, visit jamespatterson.com.

  JIMMY PATTERSON MISSION STATEMENT

  We believe a kid who reads is a kid who can succeed.

  We believe it’s every adult’s responsibility to get books into kids’ hands and into kids’ lives.

  We want to make reading fun for kids—through stories and voices that speak to them and expand their world.

  We want to make books available to kids—through teacher scholarships, bookstore funding, school library support, and book donations.

  We want every kid who finishes a Jimmy Book to say:

  “PLEASE GIVE ME ANOTHER BOOK.”

  Learn more about our initiatives at JimmyPatterson.org

  IT’S ROBOT BRAIN VS. ROBOT BRAWN IN A BATTLE FOR

  THE HOUSE OF ROBOTS!

  TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK! AVAILABLE FALL 2015

  This is E.

  When Mom first created him and said I had to take a robot to school with me every day, I thought E stood for Error—as in the biggest, hugest, most colossal mistake ever made. And, at first, he did make my life at school pretty nutso.

  But then I found out why E had such enormous blue eves.

  Oh, right. Duh. The drawing is in black and white. But trust me, E’s eyes are Blizzard Blue. The exact same color as my sister Maddie’s.

  See, Mom created E (she says the E stands for Egghead) to be Maddie’s eyes, ears, and voice in Ms. Tracey’s third-grade classroom at Creekside Elementary.

  Why doesn’t Maddie just go to school herself?

  She can’t. Not without getting really sick.

  Now, I know a lot kids say going to school makes them sick. Especially on days when the cafeteria special is the beefy-cheesy nacho surprise.

  But just going to school and breathing the air and being near other kids and all their germs could make my little sister seriously ill, because Maddie suffers from SCID, which is short for severe combined immunodeficiency. Basically, it means Maddie’s body has a really hard time fighting off any kind of infection. If somebody coughs and forgets to cover their mouth, she could wind up in the hospital.

  So what does it all mean? Well, Maddie hardly ever leaves home. In fact, she hardly ever leaves her room. That’s why our family pet is a germ-free robot dog. Why Mr. Moppenshine, the multiarmed multitasker, is constantly cleaning and disinfecting everything.

  It’s also why the only way for Maddie to actually go to school is for E to go there for her.

  “You’d better hurry up, you guys! You don’t want to be late.”

  That’s my dad. Noah Rodriguez, the world-famous graphic novelist. He works from home, so he’s never late.

  “Your father is correct,” says E. “We must not tarry.”

  Yep. E still sounds a little robot-ish. But he can’t help it. Mom made him that way. Guess what she’s making next? I’m not 100 percent sure, but I think it’ll help Mr. Moppenshine scrub the toilets.

  “Let’s go, Sammy.”

  That’s Maddie, speaking through E, just like she’ll do at school. When the first bell rings, Maddie will run E from the nifty control pod set up in her room.

  I just hope she doesn’t make E do something super girly, like scream about boy bands or spin like a ballerina.

  At least, not while I’m around.

  Oops.

  I think E and I are going to be a little tardy for school today.

  When we step out the back door and hurry down the steps—something, by the way, that E does incredibly well for a robot—there’s a whole mob of people waiting for us in the driveway.

  I guess word has spread about what E’s been doing for Maddie at the elementary school.

  A few faces in the crowd are familiar. I recognize the ones who teach or work at Notre Dame, the university where Mom is a professor of computer science in the College of Engineering. I also see star reporters from the South Bend, Indiana, TV news shows. The people I’ve never seen before are mostly wearin
g suits and ties.

  Mom, of course, is there, in her lab coat, beaming proudly.

  “Eggy, why don’t you show these folks some of your moves?” she suggests.

  “My pleasure,” says E.

  He moonwalks across the driveway to the garage, where my dad hung a basketball hoop.

  “Feed me the b-ball, Sammy,” says E. “Bounce me the rock. Distribute the basketball.”

  Yup. I taught E every bit of basketball slang I know.

  I toss him the ball. He twirls around and makes a high-arcing shot.

  E snags the ball as it bounces off the back-board, and he lands with a hydraulic, knee-bending FLOOSH, FLISH, FWUMP. Then he springs back up, like he has rockets in his heels, and—WHOOSH… THUNK!—tomahawk-dunks the ball.

  The crowd goes wild.

  “But wait, there’s more!” says E, sounding like a late-night TV infomercial. “With Maddie’s help, I can also spell all of this week’s vocabulary words. For instance, flutter. F-L-U-T-T-E-R. Now I will use it in a sentence. ‘My butter will flutter over my toast.’ Speaking of toast, I can also make toaster tarts for a tasty after-school treat.”

  You guessed it. Warm pastry topped with swirly icing shoots out of his ears.

  “Dr. Hayes,” says a roly-poly man with a belly that’s about to pop a button on his shirt, “your creation is magnificent.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Riley.”

  Oooh. I’ve heard Mom and Dad talk about Mr. Max Riley at the dinner table before. From what I picked up between bites of mac and cheese, Mr. Riley is a very important, very wealthy graduate of Notre Dame who gives a lot of money to his old school.