I laid it on even thicker.
“You are so right. Thank you, thank you, Guy Dubonnet Merck. You have turned our pathetic and hopeless lives around. You have saved the Kidd family from certain destruction. Plus, you have told us the truth about reading and how worthless it is.”
Merck smiled smugly and gave us four hundred dollars in soggy, crinkled bills.
“Present yourselves to Captain Jacques of the livestock vessel known as La Vache de la Mer in the port of Cairo first thing tomorrow morning. Tell him you are to be his manure-mucking crew for the voyage back to America.”
“We will, sir,” I said, gushing with gratitude.
Merck tipped his Foreign Legion cap at us. “And now, les misérables Kidds, I must bid you adieu. I, unlike you, have treasure to hunt!”
CHAPTER 35
The instant Merck was out the door, Beck basically went ballistic.
“Okay, Storm—why’d you tell Merck the Jerk that we were heading off to find King Solomon’s Mines?!”
“I have my reasons.”
“Mind sharing them?”
Storm stared. “Yes.”
“You guys?” said Tommy, sounding a lot less like Dad than he had earlier. “Um, I’m starting to wonder, maybe we should cut our losses and call it quits.”
“You mean give up on finding Mom and Dad?” I said.
“No. Not, you know, totally. But, dudes.” He gestured toward the broken window and the bullet-riddled hotel room door. “This just went beyond dangerous. It’s all the way to, you know—whatever’s worse.”
“Lethal, deadly, or mortiferous,” said Storm, who memorized the dictionary when she was three. “Excuse me. I need to examine our new clue.”
She pulled Mom’s dive watch out of her cargo shorts pocket.
“How is that a clue?” demanded Beck, who was still pretty upset with Storm for blurting out that bit about King Solomon’s Mines to Merck, and doubly mad that Storm wouldn’t tell her anything about her mysterious “reasons.” I could tell. It’s a twin thing.
Storm ignored Beck and pushed two buttons on either side of the dive watch’s time-setting knob.
The crystal popped open.
So did the face!
“It’s a secret compartment,” said Storm. “Mom showed me how it works last year. She used to keep her breath strips in here, in case she needed to talk to some high-level government official about a rare artifact. She liked having fresh, minty breath when she did that.”
“What’s in there now?” I asked.
“Hang on.” Storm used the tweezers from her Swiss Army knife to extract a minuscule slip of paper. She tucked the tweezers back into the knife body and flipped open its magnifying glass. “It’s some kind of coded message.”
Storm squinted and read whatever was written on the paper scrap, which was about the size of a quarter.
“I knew it!” she said with a smile.
“Knew what?” asked Tommy.
“This.”
She handed the magnifying glass and secret note to Tommy, who stared at it for a while, then looked even more confused than usual.
Beck and I were up next.
Here’s what we saw in extremely tiny type:
Zl fzneg naq jbaqreshy puvyqera! Zl pncgbef urer va Plcehf ner jvyyvat gb frg zr serr vs lbh oevat gurz n Zvat Qlanfgl infr gb tb jvgu gur Terpvna hea gurl npdhverq sebz lbhe svefg nqiragher. Tb gb jurer lbhe qnq gbyq lbh gb ybbx va Nsevpn! Ohg or pnershy. Bguref jvyy gel gb fgbc lbh sebz frggvat zr serr.
“What is it?” said Beck. “German? Bulgarian?”
I tried, too: “Martian?”
“None of the above,” said Storm. She plucked the paper scrap from between my fingers, popped it into her mouth, munched twice, and swallowed.
“Um, I thought that was, like, a superimportant clue?” said Beck.
“It was and still is. But I already memorized it.”
“You guys?” said Tommy. “We need to take a family vote. Like, right now.”
“Um, what are our choices?” I asked.
“Keep dodging Mr. Merck’s bullets here in Africa. Or, maybe, I don’t know—we could head up to Cyprus. Try to negotiate some sort of deal with Mom’s kidnappers.”
“I guess we could also go back to Chumley Prep,” mumbled Storm.
“No!” said Beck. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
“Fine,” I said. “We can vote. But before we do, let me remind you guys—we are The Kidds. We live for action, adventure, and boldly risking everything for half a chance at some incredible, unknown reward! And one day, I promise—one of these wild and daring adventures is gonna lead us straight to Mom and Dad!”
And so we voted.
As usual, it was unanimous.
We would continue our African adventure, no matter how dangerous or mortiferous it became.
(I don’t know what the heck it means, Beck. Ask Storm.)
CHAPTER 36
As soon as the vote was over, Beck and I erupted into Twin Tirade No. 465 about which of the other African treasures we should go searching for now that Merck had a head start to King Solomon’s Mines.
“We need to head to Johannesburg,” said Beck. “Kruger’s gold is just sitting there, waiting for us.”
“No,” I shouted. “The Buzzard’s Abandoned Pirate Treasure is better!”
“What about the Ming Dynasty Artifacts from Zheng He’s Treasure Fleet?” asked Tailspin Tommy, butting into our Twin Tirade.
“Excuse me?” said Beck. “Are you a twin?”
“Um, no…”
“Then stay out of this!” we shouted together.
“Actually,” said Storm, “we should continue our quest to find King Solomon’s Mines.”
That snapped Beck and me out of our tirade instantly.
“What?” said Beck. “Are you nuts? Merck has the treasure map and a head start.”
“I’m not worried about Merck,” said Storm. “I’m more concerned about whomever he’s working for. Whoever hired him to terminate Bela Kilgore in an attempt to stop us from finding the secret clue hidden inside Mom’s dive watch.”
“Yeah!” said Tommy. “Yeah, I don’t like that guy, either.” He paused for a beat. “Who is he again? The bad guy who hired Merck?”
“I don’t know,” said Storm. “Not yet. But don’t forget—Dad stashed the paperback version of King Solomon’s Mines in the safe-deposit box, too.”
“Um, you guys?” I said, peering out through the shattered window. “Not to be a nag, but can we discuss this someplace else?”
Down below, I could hear the ee-oo, ee-oo of approaching police vehicles. I also noticed several people pointing up at the twenty-second floor.
We needed to flee the Four Seasons hotel—like, five minutes ago!
CHAPTER 37
We took the stairs.
But when we hit the lobby, we told Housekeeping Room 2222 needed “a little work.”
Like right away.
We hurried to a nearby café to plot our next moves.
As crazy as it sounds, Storm kept insisting that we continue on our mission to find King Solomon’s Mines.
“Um, Storm?” said Tommy. “Guy Dubonnet Merck has that treasure map. We don’t.”
“Yes, we do.” She tapped her head. Then she plucked a paper napkin from the table dispenser, pulled out a pen, and sketched the whole thing from memory.
“Well, where exactly is this Kalukawe River?” said Tommy, tapping the napkin. “I’ve never seen it on any real map.”
“It’s in a raised valley, lush and green, in what was once known as Kukuanaland.”
“Well,” asked Beck, rolling her eyes, “what’s it known as now?”
“I’m not sure. But it lies forty leagues north of the Lukanga River in modern Zambia, which would place it in the extreme southeast corner of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”
“And how far away is that?” asked Tommy.
“Two thousand three hundred and twenty-seven miles. W
e’ll need to travel south from Cairo, cross the Nubian Desert, and head to Khartoum. Then come Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi, and Zambia.”
“Why don’t we just fly to Zambia?” asked Beck.
Storm shook her head. “Bad idea.”
“Really? And driving over two thousand miles across the desert and through the jungle is a good one?”
“It’s the smartest move we can make. Trust me, you guys.”
Storm had a pleading look in her eyes.
Something in Mom’s coded message was making Storm insist that we go to King Solomon’s Mines before seeking out any other African treasure—I could just tell. I could also tell that Storm felt like she had to keep whatever it was a secret from the rest of us—even though it clearly hurt her to do it.
Hey, we’re the Kidds. We don’t hide things from one another.
Unless we have a very, very, very good reason.
Tommy rocked back in his chair and made a pained face. “Fine, but we’re going to need a vehicle. Something major. A four-by-four that can handle sand and mud and elephant stampedes.”
“We should contact Dumaka,” said Storm.
“Who’s he?” asked Beck.
“He was listed in Dad’s phone book as his Cairo ‘technology consultant.’ ”
“You actually memorized Dad’s phone book?”
“Last December. I had some time to kill after Christmas.”
“Wait a second,” said Tommy. “If Dad had this Dumaka guy written down as his ‘technology consultant,’ Dumaka might do work for the CIA.”
“So?”
“Well,” said Beck, “if Dumaka knows we’re in Africa, it won’t be too long before Uncle Timothy knows, too.”
“Uncle Timothy already knows,” said Storm. “Don’t forget, he’s one of Guy Dubonnet Merck’s ‘acquaintances.’ Maybe it’s time we gave Uncle T. a hint as to why we dropped out of school and where we’re heading.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I raised my hand. “This is all about that secret message you found hidden inside Mom’s watch, right?”
“Maybe.”
From the way Storm said it, I could tell her “maybe” was secret code for “definitely.”
CHAPTER 38
And then the weirdest thing happened: Storm asked Beck and me to wait outside in the street while she and Tommy had a “senior family management” meeting inside the café.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Beck.
“Tommy and I need to discuss something that I don’t want you two to hear.”
“Why not?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re a family. All for one and one for all. We don’t keep secrets from one another.”
Then Storm did something I swear I have never seen her do before. She reached across the table with both hands to take one of Beck’s, one of mine. “It’s for your own protection, guys. I promise.”
Wow. Now she was sounding and acting like Mom!
“We don’t need protection,” Beck fumed.
“Um, we might,” I said.
“What?”
“Merck has a pistol, Beck.” I pointed my finger and cocked back my thumb. “Thwick, thwick. Remember?”
“So?”
“He made Aunt Bela jump out a window.”
“She had a jet pack!”
“Well, we don’t.”
Now Tommy raised his hand. “Um, could you guys take this one outside? Storm and I need to talk, I guess. In private.”
None too happy about it, Beck and I did as we were told and went out to the street like a good little brother and sister.
We were pretty mad until a guy with a funny little monkey came along and did a few tricks for a crowd of tourists. There’s nothing like watching a dancing monkey juggling pistachio nuts and kicking strangers in the shins to help you forget how ticked off you are.
In fact, Beck and I were doubled over with laughter (the monkey had just crawled down a snooty, old English lady’s blouse) when Tommy and Storm came out of the café.
“No more discussion, you guys,” said Tommy. “We’re going to King Solomon’s Mines.”
Now Tommy had that same pleading look in his eyes, too. They both clearly needed us to go along with whatever plan they just hatched.
So Beck and I decided to cut them a break.
“Fine,” said Beck.
“Whatever,” I added.
“We’re treasure hunters,” said Beck. “Let’s go hunt some treasure.”
“Awesome!” said Tommy, sounding totally relieved. “But first we need to find Dad’s friend Dumaka. If we’re going to drive thousands of miles across the burning desert and into the steaming jungle, we’re going to need a serious set of wheels.”
CHAPTER 39
Dad’s friend Dumaka ran his clandestine operation in what was supposed to be a horizontal grain silo in an industrial zone of Cairo known as El Obour City.
He and his associates had about forty thousand square meters of open space to store all sorts of high-tech gear, including a couple of helicopters, several crates with EXPLOSIVES stenciled on them, and a specially equipped, totally tweaked-out Safari Extreme Global Expedition Vehicle.
It looked like the RV Darth Vader and his family would take on vacation.
“This expedition vehicle has been built in accordance with your father’s exacting specifications,” said Dumaka, a slight African man with a clipped British accent. He was wearing royal-blue coveralls and sported a neatly trimmed goatee. His eyes told me he was suspicious of everyone and everything in the cavernous warehouse, except maybe us.
“When did Dad give you these specs?” I asked, hoping his answer would prove that Dad was alive.
It didn’t.
“Two, maybe three, years ago,” said Dumaka. “There were several treasures he wished to recover in Africa. He requested that I customize a safari truck to rival your oceangoing vessel, The Lost. This off-road vehicle has several beds and a bathroom and shower, not to mention a fully equipped and stocked galley. It also has an in-motion satellite antenna system and a very sophisticated computer navigation system.” Dumaka whispered what he said next: “There are also several secret compartments for you to hide valuables and items you do not wish falling into the wrong hands.”
“What about power?” asked Tommy.
“Solar panels and diesel generator for electricity. Also, I built this four-by-four with a MaxxForce 15 engine instead of the standard 10.”
“Is 15 good?” I asked. “Is there, like, a MaxxForce 20?”
Dumaka smiled. “Trust me, young Bick. This engine will give you the power of five hundred and fifty horses. While I do not recommend high speeds when off-roading, you can, if need be, fly faster than a herd of stampeding gazelles.”
Dumaka stepped away for a moment and called out something to his work crew. “Kila mtu, kuchukua dakika tano kazi mapumziko.”
Storm translated. “That’s Swahili. He told everybody to take five.”
As his workers shuffled off to a far corner of the stifling hot warehouse to drink cold beverages, Dumaka led us into the extreme Winnebago’s main (and air-conditioned) cabin.
“The walls are thick and soundproof to protect us from prying eyes and curious ears. Now, children of my friend Dr. Thomas Kidd, we may speak freely.”
CHAPTER 40
“There are other features on this off-road vehicle I do not want my workers to know of,” said Dumaka, his voice hushed.
“Are some of those guys out there spies?” I asked.
“Perhaps.”
“Who are they working for?” asked Beck.
“That I cannot say. However, there is much chatter on back channels regarding several ‘interested parties’ who have recently arrived in Africa, all of them seeking treasure.”
“Guy Dubonnet Merck?” I asked.
“So far, I have heard no names. However, if there is treasure to be plundered, Monsieur Merck will no do
ubt swoop in like a vulture to snatch it.”
Just like he snatched the treasure map out of our hotel room near the pyramids.
Dumaka peeled back a corner of the dining room carpet to reveal the latch to one of the secret compartments.
“Under this hatch, you will find weapons and ammunition, should such armaments prove necessary. Up front, inside the driver’s seat, you will find a secure satellite phone. The extraction package your father designed will go on full alert the moment you drive away. If and when you need us, simply call.”
“Do you need access to our Swiss bank account?” asked Beck. “To pay for all this stuff?”
“Not to worry. Your father has already paid in full.”
“Recently?” I asked, still eager for any confirmation that Dad was alive.
Dumaka shook his head. “Many years ago.”
“How well did you know our father?” asked Tommy.
“Very well, indeed. Ten years ago, in Kinshasa, Dr. Thomas Kidd saved my life as well as that of my brother, Nanji. Your father is a great man, and I would do a great many things for him. Now then, I trust one of you is old enough to drive?”
Tommy raised his hand. “I’ve got my international license, and I’m totally stoked to hit the road.”
“Unfortunately, young Thomas Kidd,” said Dumaka, “you will run out of roads before you reach your final destination. I have programmed the most direct route into the vehicle’s secure and encrypted GPS. I have also input a few ‘optional routes,’ should you encounter any difficulties along the way.”
“Excellent,” said Tommy as he made his way up to the front to sit in the air-suspended command chair and fiddle with all of the vehicle’s high-tech controls.
“Dumaka,” said Storm, “if you don’t mind, we need to do one more thing before we shove off.”
“What is that?”
“Go back outside and drop a few bread crumbs.”
Treasure Hunters: Danger Down the Nile Page 7
