They’re leaving without me!
With his heart pounding nearly as fast as the propellers were turning, Andy rushed out the door and, waving his arms wildly, yelled for the plane to stop. He raced after the aircraft, hoping to get someone’s attention before it took off.
“Hey! Wait! I’m still here! Stop!” he shouted.
But Andy was not loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine. And although he ran as fast as he could, he could not catch up with the plane rolling resolutely down the wide swath of dirt.
The wind from the propellers nearly knocked Andy off his feet as, with a loud whine and a deafening roar, the airplane rose into the air, leaving him standing there with a shocked expression on his face.
“I can’t believe they l-left without me,” he stuttered. Andy gazed stupidly at the flashing running lights on the wings of Yaw’s plane as the aircraft receded farther and farther from sight.
With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, Andy wondered what he should do. But no sooner had he had the thought than a jovial and all-too-familiar voice spoke from somewhere behind him.
“Tough luck, son. Need a lift?”
Andy sighed. He supposed he really didn’t have any choice but to accept Bartlemore’s offer. Well, technically he did have a choice, but hanging out in the middle of nowhere and hoping his companions would notice he was gone and then come back seemed somewhat foolish when he could more easily board Bartlemore’s plane and catch up with them. As much as Andy didn’t like him, going with the actor certainly seemed like the best choice.
Andy walked up the stairs and boarded the striking steel-plated plane. Once he was through the doorway, he couldn’t help being impressed by the lavish surroundings.
“Welcome aboard the Phantom,” Bartlemore said. “Have a seat.”
The actor indicated a regal leather seat at a table with a linen tablecloth.
Andy sat down and Bartlemore took the seat opposite him. This plane makes Yaw’s look like a toy, Andy thought. The walls were covered with a rich, polished mahogany, and all the fixtures had gold fittings. The window next to him had cream-colored curtains, and in a small holder next to his armrest was a neat arrangement of newspapers.
Andy noticed that Charlie the cameraman had taken a seat toward the back of the plane. He was without his camera for the first time.
A man in a crisp uniform and dark glasses who Andy assumed was the pilot leaned down next to Bartlemore and said something low in his ear. Bartlemore nodded, and the man walked up to the cockpit.
Andy studied Bartlemore. His expression had changed from the one that he’d presented to the group before. Gone was the smug smile and jovial devil-may-care attitude. In its place was a graver, more focused expression.
Neither of them spoke as the plane’s engine started and the massive aircraft rolled down the runway in the same direction Yaw and the others had gone.
As they roared skyward, Bartlemore absorbed himself in reading something in a leatherbound folder. At first, Andy wondered if it might be a script—perhaps lines he was memorizing for a film. But try as he might, he couldn’t get a glimpse of whatever it was Bartlemore was reading.
When the plane had leveled off, a woman in a flight uniform appeared with a silver teapot and two china cups. Placing them in front of Andy and Bartlemore, she asked, “Will you be having luncheon?”
Bartlemore glanced at Andy and then said, “I expect the boy’s hungry. Do we have any sandwiches left in the galley?”
“I think so,” she replied.
“Let’s have those. Thanks, Virginia.”
The woman smiled and nodded, then turned and walked back down the aisle.
Bartlemore leveled his gaze at Andy. The actor seemed to be studying him, as if weighing something in his mind. It took only a few moments of that unbreakable gaze for Andy to grow uncomfortable. He was about to ask Bartlemore what was bothering him when the actor’s expression relaxed. Seeming to have made up his mind about something, Bartlemore broke the silence between them.
“I’m not exactly who you think I am, Andy Stanley. But I know all about you and can assure you that I mean you no harm.”
Andy was taken aback. “What are you saying? That you’re not John Bartlemore, the actor? Not to seem disrespectful, but I’ve seen you in plenty of films. Plus there’s the fact that you’ve been following us around with that camera.”
Bartlemore chuckled. “I am indeed John Bartlemore. But the whole I’m out here on a movie shoot and happened to find you all by accident thing is just an act. I’m a federal agent working for the US government.”
Now it was Andy’s turn to laugh. Bartlemore? A secret agent? It was too much to believe! “Sorry, but you must think I’m pretty naive if you expect me to believe that. No offense…”
Bartlemore waved the comment aside. “None taken. And I’m glad you’re skeptical. It only proves that up to this point, everything has been going perfectly according to plan. But let me help allay your skepticism.”
Bartlemore reached into his coat pocket and removed a small wallet. He flipped it open and handed it to Andy. At the sight of it, Andy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. It was a badge and an ID. And unless they were exceptionally good forgeries, everything about them seemed genuine.
“I…I didn’t…”
Bartlemore replaced the wallet in his pocket with a toothy grin. “Hard to believe, but there it is. Tea?”
Andy nodded weakly. Bartlemore poured tea into each of their cups, and Andy, his hands shaking a little, took a sip from the excellent brew to steady his nerves.
“The reason I’m following you is because I am not only a close friend of your grandfather’s, but I am also trying to prevent a major catastrophe.”
“You know my grandfather?” Andy asked.
“Ned Lostmore? Of course. Known him for years. I was very sorry to hear about his unfortunate…change. Truth is, we warned him about exploring that temple in the first place. We expected an ambush from the Collective.”
“You know about them, too?” Andy blurted.
“There’s very little we don’t know about the Jungle Explorers’ Society and its enemies. Your grandfather keeps us abreast of all the artifacts under his protection. Once he made you his new Keymaster, we knew it would only be a matter of time before we met you.”
Bartlemore looked troubled. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t be under such unfortunate circumstances, but I’ve been waiting for a chance to pull you aside. The fact that you missed the plane with the others provided the perfect opportunity for us to talk.”
The flight attendant returned with a silver tray piled high with delicious-looking sandwiches. Andy felt extremely hungry all of a sudden and was very happy for the distraction. He was having a hard time registering everything Bartlemore had told him. He bit into a sandwich of thickly sliced ham on fluffy white bread as he listened to the agent continue.
“You’re aware that your grandfather has been concerned that there’s a spy in your midst?”
Andy nodded as he chewed. Ned had told him as much at the end of his last adventure. Professor Phink had been a step ahead of them the entire time they’d been searching for the Pailina Pendant, and Ned was convinced that the Jungle Explorers’ Society’s whereabouts and intentions had been compromised by a traitor.
“We have a pretty good idea who it is,” Bartlemore said. “But the last thing we need is for them to think that we’re on to them. The camera Charlie is carrying isn’t a camera at all, by the way. It’s a weapon.”
Andy boggled at him. “A weapon?”
Bartlemore nodded. “Why do you think we have it pointed at Rusty Bucketts all the time?”
Andy gasped. “You mean that he…Rusty…is the traitor? But that’s impossible!”
Bartlemore sighed. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But at this point, he’s our most likely suspect. He’s close to your grandfather and knows most of what the Society has planned before anyone else.”
“But I can’t believe that. We’re friends! And besides, I’ve seen him fight. He battled Professor Phink’s men with the rest of us. He can’t be a spy!”
“We’re not absolutely certain, but the evidence is mounting against him. We think that he’s working as a double agent.”
Andy’s mind reeled with the implications. Rusty was the de facto leader of the group when his grandfather wasn’t around. The only person who held a higher rank was Abigail’s father, Albert.
Bartlemore’s gaze softened as he watched the conflicting emotions playing over Andy’s face. “Look, son, I know it’s difficult to accept. But if what we think is indeed true, then this particular mission could be one of the most hazardous the Society has ever undertaken. Your grandfather wanted you to be aware so that you could take extra precautions.”
The special agent opened the leatherbound folder he’d been studying earlier and pushed it across the table to Andy. The boy gazed down at a black-and-white photo of an old painting. Examining it, Andy could see that it depicted an Incan warrior in a feathered headdress, holding something aloft in his hand.
“What is it?” Andy asked.
“That is the Golden Paw. Or a painting of it, anyway. If our enemies get it before we do, the world as we know it could come to an end.”
Andy squinted at the painting, trying to make out the details. He could see that the man holding the golden ornament was standing on a pile of bones and that he wore an exultant expression.
“I thought that my grandfather was going to let us know what was going on when we got to Cuzco. How do you know about this?”
“Your grandfather and I have already been in contact. What I’m about to tell you is nothing that you won’t find out soon enough. But it’s important that you know now so that you’ll know what to do when we get there.”
Andy listened as Bartlemore detailed what the legend said that the Golden Paw was capable of. As the agent spoke, Andy couldn’t help wondering if he was off his rocker. Even though Andy had seen what magic could do on his last adventure, the Golden Paw’s abilities seemed too fantastic to believe.
“So what you’re saying is that not only can anyone who possesses it transform themselves to look like someone else, but that it also gives the wearer superhuman strength?”
“So the legends say.” Bartlemore looked thoughtful. “But, truth be told, nobody is quite sure how it works. In fact, as you know, until we received intelligence that the Collective was actively searching for it, we didn’t even think that it was real.”
“I can see why,” Andy said thoughtfully. He closed the folder and passed it back to Bartlemore. “So if the Collective gets their hands on it first, they’ll be able to impersonate anybody they want to. Then what? Steal money? Rob banks? Impersonate world leaders?” Andy asked.
Bartlemore nodded. “Probably. We don’t know all their plans, but just think of the implications. All the world’s secrets laid bare to a criminal mastermind. We just can’t afford to let that happen.”
“And you think Rusty is working for them? That he’ll steal the Golden Paw once we find it?”
“More than likely,” Bartlemore said. “That’s why we’re going to stick close. We know that the Collective is searching for the paw, but we suspect they are hedging their bets in case we find it before they do. When you reunite with the others, Bucketts will probably make following you difficult for Charlie and me. I need you to leave some kind of bread-crumb trail for us to follow if he gets too tricky. Besides, you’re going to want Charlie and me nearby should you get into trouble.”
Andy looked uncomfortable as Bartlemore continued. “Look, there’s a lot riding on this. If Bucketts gets his hands on the paw, what could be simpler than claiming that the Jungle Explorers’ Society has beaten the Collective, only to turn the paw over to them shortly thereafter?”
“But why would he do that?” Andy asked. “He just doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would betray his friends for personal gain.”
Bartlemore’s expression hardened. “People aren’t always what they appear to be. Look at me. Would you have expected a silly jungle serial actor to work for the government?”
Andy had to admit to himself that Bartlemore was right. It was certainly something he’d have never considered before.
Andy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, so you said that you and my grandfather want me to be prepared. What is it you need me to do?”
Bartlemore leaned forward in his chair. “You’re the Keymaster. If we actually do find the Golden Paw, we need you to lock it up in this….”
Bartlemore reached under his seat and produced a sturdy-looking box with a small brass key. Andy gazed at it skeptically.
“What’s to keep Rusty, or whoever the spy is, from just attacking me and grabbing the box? It doesn’t seem very safe.”
“Watch,” Bartlemore said. He inserted the key into the box and lifted the lid. “When you get the Golden Paw, you’ll put it in here and then press this button.”
Andy watched as Bartlemore pressed a small switch positioned underneath the lid. A loud humming noise filled the air, and Andy felt the little hairs on his arms stand on end. It was like some kind of powerful energy was emanating from the box.
The next thing Andy knew, the box began to shimmer and then, amazingly, it faded from view.
Andy couldn’t believe his eyes! The strange humming noise stopped, and the energy field that he’d been experiencing faded with it.
“Where’d it go?” he said, awestruck.
“It’s still here, only it’s invisible,” Bartlemore said with a grin. “Your grandfather lent us this. It’s an artifact from the Middle Ages called the Ghost Box. He thought it might come in handy for this mission.”
Bartlemore felt around what must have been the edge of the box and reinserted the tiny key. Once again, the strange noise filled the air, as did the tingling sensation. Then the box shimmered back into focus.
“Amazing,” Andy said.
Bartlemore handed Andy the key and the box. “You’re to keep both of these with you at all times. When we find the Golden Paw, I’ll distract Bucketts with the fake camera. It’ll be up to you to grab it and put it in the box without anyone seeing you do it. Then replace the paw with this….”
He held up a replica of the artifact in the painting. It was a beautiful sculpture of a monkey’s hand that appeared to Andy to have been created from real gold.
Andy took it from Bartlemore. Judging by its heavy weight, he could only assume that his suspicion had been correct.
“But how do you know if the painting is correct? What if the real Golden Paw looks different?”
Bartlemore waved off the question. “The main thing is to try to buy us time for you to hide the real one. Hopefully it looks close enough. If you can get your girlfriend to put it in a bag and hand it to Bucketts, he probably won’t even think that it’s been switched.”
Andy blushed at the inference. “Abigail’s not my girlfriend,” he said.
“Sure, kid,” Bartlemore said. And Andy noticed that just a bit of the smug expression he’d carried when playing the part of a pompous Hollywood actor had returned.
As Bartlemore settled back in his seat, Andy thought more about the plan. There were so many things that could go wrong. And he was still having a really hard time believing that his friend, whom he looked up to, could actually be a traitor.
Andy stared out the window at the darkness. He didn’t say it was for sure that Rusty is the traitor, Andy thought. Maybe he’s got it all wrong.
But if that were true, it raised an even more unsettling question. Could one of the others in the expedition be the traitor?
And if so, who?
When the plane landed, Andy was relieved to see his friends waiting for him. Evidently, the pilot on the Flying Phantom had not notified Yaw that they were coming, because he didn’t see her in the group. Had she flown back to find him?
The landing st
rip was much more rustic than the one that they’d been on earlier. To Andy’s eyes, it looked like little more than a grassy field. It was positioned next to a winding river, one that Andy assumed from his geography lessons was the Amazon.
A grass shack with no markings on it stood on stilts on the river’s bank. Andy’s friends gathered there, all eyes anxiously on Bartlemore’s plane as it taxied to a stop.
None of them know who he really is, Andy thought. They probably think I’ve spent the whole plane ride listening to him brag about his various accomplishments.
Andy noticed Rusty’s hardened expression as he gazed through the window. A light rain had started to fall, evidently adding to the bush pilot’s sour mood. It was obvious to Andy that his discomfort at seeing Bartlemore’s plane and having to interact with him once more was weighing on his mind.
Could he really be a traitor? Andy wondered. The thought made his stomach flip-flop. It would be so much easier to believe the best of one of his grandfather’s closest allies. How in the world would Andy be able to keep acting like nothing was wrong around Rusty, all the while watching him closely to see if he would betray the group?
I wonder if I should tell Abigail what’s going on, Andy thought. He knew that Bartlemore would be against it and that he might be compromising a government mission, but he didn’t think he could keep the knowledge to himself. He needed someone he could trust. And, ironically, it was a person who until recently had worked for the very same enemy Rusty was now accused of colluding with.
If he thought about it, it was surprising that Bartlemore didn’t suspect Abigail as the spy rather than Rusty. After all, wouldn’t she have been the obvious choice?
But for whatever reason, that wasn’t the case. And in Andy’s opinion, it would be foolish to think that Abigail could possibly be a traitor. He’d gotten to know her well over the last few months and knew with absolute certainty that she wouldn’t do it.
Now that she has a good relationship with her father again, she’d never want to jeopardize that.
The Golden Paw Page 4
