by Paul Aertker
“You see,” said the other boy, “if we get this chart with the numbers and codes before the other Curukians, then Ms. Günerro will reward us.”
“And if you give it to us with no trouble,” said Muscle Shirt, “then we’ll split the reward with you. One third. One third. One third.”
“How much is the bounty?”
Tall Boy glared. “What do you mean?”
“How much am I worth to Ms. Günerro and the Good Company?”
Muscle Shirt shrugged. “Three million bucks. US.”
It was time to end the discussion.
“A million apiece?” Lucas asked. “That’s all? I like to think that I’m worth a lot more than that.”
Both boys seemed dumbfounded by Lucas’s logic. But it pushed the conversation to its conclusion. In Lucas’s experience when people wanted something and hadn’t gotten what they wanted they would often resort to one of three things.
One, they would give you the silent treatment and walk away in a huff. Two, they would step up the monologue and pound you with insults or pleas—“Come on, come on.” Or three, they would use force and try to scare it out of you.
Brainwashed Curukians have never been known as great thinkers or philosophers or boys of higher learning. Fighting was a perfectly good option to them.
Lucas didn’t want this, but he prepared to defend himself. He calmed his nerves and tightened his core. A human being, locked and loaded.
Tall Boy snatched the bowling ball from the mud and strutted to the other side of the two-by-fours. Cocky. Then, like he was playing basketball, he shot the heavy ball into the mouth of the rock crusher. The bowling ball rolled and clanked around the metal drum like a giant uncooked popcorn kernel.
“This is what’s going to happen to you,” Tall Boy said, “if you don’t give us your birth chart.”
A second later the cylinder’s grinding teeth grabbed hold of the bowling ball, and the blades pulverized it. Bits of rock and dust spewed from the back of the machine.
Impressive, Lucas thought. And wasteful, too.
“Fellas,” Lucas said, “I’m going to be late for school.”
The boys grabbed Lucas by the arms and lifted him in the air.
Stupid move, Lucas thought.
His feet were now inches from their thighs. In one swift motion Lucas jabbed them in the legs, his rubber-bottomed climbing shoes scraping down their quads. Lucas pumped his feet and then stabbed his shoes into their kneecaps. The boys let go of Lucas, and the three of them spilled onto the ground.
Within seconds they were back on their feet. Lucas watched their dark eyes. He was looking for a sign, a cue from one to the other to signal the next attack. They would favor the injured knees and protect them. The boys kicked their loafers off and switched places. Tall Boy put his right foot forward, which meant he was probably left-footed and therefore left-handed.
Lucas adjusted his stance.
The boys leaned forward, then tilted backward. Tall Boy’s left foot and Muscle Shirt’s right foot moved upward. Lucas squatted to the ground like a catcher so that the boys’ feet were above his head. The Curukians were now standing on only one foot each.
Two egrets—unbalanced and ready to fall.
Lucas grabbed the Achilles tendons on the boys’ rising feet. Using their momentum, he stood up, raising the two boys’ feet high in the air. In one swift and dull thud both Curukians crashed onto the pavement, smacking their skulls on the asphalt. Lucas scurried around the dumpster and stripped one of the plastic straps from the pile of two-by-fours.
In a matter of seconds he bound the boys’ hands and tied them—through their crotches—to each other.
Lucas stepped back. He knew that he had to read his birth chart again and figure out what these guys were looking for, and why.
AN UNWELCOME GUEST
A shrill sound of an electric engine hummed in the distance and sent a chill up Lucas’s spine.
The flatbed golf cart buzzed across the parking lot, its fat tires crunching through the construction sand. Lucas turned and saw Coach Creed with an unshaven face, driving like a crazy Texan. In the passenger seat was John Benes, Lucas’s dad and CEO of the Globe Hotels.
Mr. Benes, dressed in a blue sport coat, hopped off the golf cart while it was still rolling. Coach Creed mashed a boot on the brake pedal and skidded the cart to a stop.
“What in the hay is going on here?” The Texan asked.
“They jumped me,” Lucas said.
Behind a pair of rectangular glasses, John Benes’s blue eyes scanned the scene.
Coach Creed moved straight to the two boys lying on the ground. He paused for a second, then knelt between them and touched their necks. Lucas figured he was checking their pulses to see if they were still alive. For a second Coach didn’t say anything. Then he put his ear to the boys’ chests. When he leaned forward, Coach’s khaki pants sagged and exposed his Texas-sized butt crack, which was now pointing up to the sky.
“You boys are going to be fine,” he declared. “You can stay in the infirmary with our new nurse for the next couple of days.”
With a Swiss Army knife, Coach cut the straps that Lucas had used to tie the boys up. Then, without any difficulty, he scooped up Muscle Shirt and put him in the back of the golf cart.
“How did you know I was down here?” Lucas asked.
“Astrid watched you from the roof,” Mr. Benes said. “She called us.”
Coach glanced at Lucas. “What did they want?” he asked.
“My birth chart.”
“That can’t be,” Coach said as he stood over Tall Boy.
“Why not?”
“Lucas,” Mr. Benes said, “we’ve all been over your birth file a hundred times in the last six weeks and we can’t find anything that makes sense. You’ve seen it for yourself.”
Lucas knew in his heart that there was a message there in his birth file. “When I was on the bus with Ms. Günerro in Paris, all she wanted was some stupid account number. She wanted to know what they put with me in the ice chest that saved my life. And all I had was a bell and my birth chart. It has to be important. It has to be.”
“I’m sure it’s very important,” Coach said as he put Tall Boy in the cart with Muscle Shirt. “But your mother used codes that don’t seem to make sense to anyone.”
“Coach is right, Lucas,” Mr. Benes said. “Your birth file is littered with cryptic doctor scribble and meaningless numbers and letters. Maybe the codes meant something to your mother, but to us, it’s nonsense.”
“I want to look at the file again.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Mr. Benes said. “If there is information in your file, then I don’t want it to get into Günerro’s hands. I had the locks on the file room changed this morning. No one is getting in there. No one.”
Coach Creed plopped into the driver’s seat of the golf cart. He clicked the pedal and waved his hand in the air. The cart whined around the side of the hotel and out of sight.
“Let’s go,” Mr. Benes said. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Lucas and his dad headed back to the hotel. Halfway across the back parking lot Mr. Benes stopped for a second.
“What’s up?”
“Your buddy Travis put together some interesting video clips for us this morning.”
“Yeah?”
“We have a New Resistance waiter who works at the lobby cafe in the Good Hotel in Buenos Aires,” Mr. Benes said. “He has a GoPro mounted on his tray and films everything for us.”
“Cool.”
“Two days ago,” Mr. Benes continued, “Charles Magnus had coffee with Interpol’s top diamond expert and he sent the Curukians you just met.”
“See!” Lucas said. “There is something in the file.”
“That’s why it’s locked up.”
Lucas hung his head.
“The other thing I wanted to tell you,” Mr. Benes said, “was that after Magnus’s meeting with the Interpol agent,
he was filmed escorting a woman who looked a lot like your mother, your birth mother, into a van. Some New Resistance kids in Buenos Aires tailed the vehicle to the airport, where Magnus and the lady presumably boarded a plane.”
Lucas’s eyebrows rose. “That’s exactly where Ms. Günerro told me my mother was. In Buenos Aires.”
“It’s got to be a trap, Lucas,” Mr. Benes said. “I sent the pictures to Madame Beach, but apparently she has been in ‘an accident.'”
“What?”
“Someone pushed her down the stairs at the Shakespeare and Company bookshop,” Mr. Benes said. “She’s in intensive care at the hospital in Paris.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“We don’t know.”
“Hey, Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think maybe there’s a chance that my mother’s alive?”
“Do you want an honest answer?”
Normally when someone asked that question they were going to give you an answer you didn’t want to hear.
Lucas swallowed. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, Lucas, but no, I don’t think there’s any chance,” he said. “She would have made contact already if she was alive.”
“Unless she thinks I died on the ferryboat that exploded.”
“Enough!”
Lucas dropped his head. “So Ms. Günerro lied.”
Mr. Benes stopped in the shade of a palm tree. “Lucas,” he said. “You were the one to teach us that everything is backward with the Good Company. What makes you think Ms. Siba Günerro is going to all of a sudden start being nice and help you find your mother?”
Lucas had been told that his mother wasn’t alive so many times that he believed it. But telling someone something is different from having proof.
Lucas and his father continued walking between thick green bushes and pink bougainvillea. They rounded the corner and came to the main entrance to the Globe Hotel Las Vegas.
Lining the huge circular drive in front of the hotel were rows of the finest cars. There were several Aston Martins, a couple of Bugatti Veyrons, and Ferraris and Lamborghinis, too.
“Pretty nice,” Mr. Benes said.
“Those are cool,” Lucas said, “but they’re old-school.”
“What do you like?”
“I like that Tesla Model S P85D better.”
“Why is that?”
“It doesn’t follow everyone else’s rules.”
Mr. Benes nodded.
Lucas asked, “Why are there so many nice cars here today?”
“It’s a car show of some kind,” he said. “It’s silly, if you ask me, but it’s good for business, so we’re happy they’re staying in our hotel.”
“Whose car is this?”
“Why? You want to drive it?”
“Are you kidding?”
There was a rush of wind as the hotel’s high-speed roller coaster raced overhead. Lucas and his father watched. The cars hugged the track and banked a hard left, then disappeared into the side of the hotel.
The valet came trotting over with a tablet at his side. “Yes, sir, Mr. Benes?”
“Who’s putting this new-car show on?”
“I think it’s for a new racing video game that’s coming out.”
Mr. Benes asked, “Who does the Model S belong to?”
“The insane car?” said the valet, scrolling through his tablet. “It’s registered to . . . to a Mr. Charles Magnus.”
THE BIRTH FILE
Mr. Benes’s eyes widened. The fact that Charles Magnus had infiltrated the Globe Hotel and the New Resistance unnoticed clearly worried him.
Then he grinned. “Keep your enemies close,” he said. “Now get to school while I find out what Magnus is up to.”
Lucas pushed through the front revolving doors and into the Globe Hotel Las Vegas.
The main entrance room was a massive atrium with a glass ceiling that sparkled like diamonds. Directly at the back of this room was a ramp leading down into a giant indoor and outdoor swimming pool shaded by palm trees. Guests filled a dining area furnished with plush cobalt-blue booths. Workers in the French bakery were pulling fresh croissants out of the oven, and the smell was driving Lucas crazy.
He walked farther down a mall and passed the Crime Travelers game, where kids try to crack unsolved crimes from all over the world.
At the next corner he caught a glimpse of himself in one of the mirrored columns. His olive skin reminded him of his Argentinean heritage.
Dead or alive—he had to know the truth about his mother.
One place held the answers—the birth chart in the file room. There Lucas could figure out everything. His mother. His father. The Good Company bank accounts. Everything. But he couldn’t do it alone.
Fortunately for Lucas, he spotted help coming out of the roller coaster’s exit. Paulo Cabral, AKA Jackknife, came sprinting around the corner. The Brazilian’s dark hair was now pushed straight up in the front, presumably from the wind on the ride. He was wearing khaki shorts, a T-shirt with an image of Pelé, and a pair of flip-flops.
Just behind him, wearing a long red gown, their friend and fashion queen Nalini Prasad pushed Gini in a stroller. Gini sat quietly doodling with markers on a paper pad.
Jackknife bounded up to Lucas. “I think I know what I want to be when I grow up?”
“What’s that?''
“A professional roller coaster rider.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“Jackknife,” Nalini said, catching up with them. “I don’t think there is such a job.”
“I’m so not ready for school to start back,” Jackknife said.
“Nobody is,” Lucas said.
“Schools have been cutting summertime for years,” Jackknife said. “The only reason the break exists in the first place was for the agrarian calendar—so kids could work on the farm.”
Lucas said, “It’s one of the great wrongs of the world. It’s time to turn the schedule upside down. Summer should last nine months, and school should take up only three months of the year.”
“Now you’re talking,” said Jackknife.
“Great,” Nalini said sarcastically. “We’d be a third less educated!”
Gini stuck out her tongue and sputtered, “Ppppp.”
Before Lucas, Jackknife, Nalini, and Gini could get into any real trouble, they heard Coach Creed’s boots clomping across the tile floors.
“I’m madder than a wet rooster,” he barked. He gestured toward a back hallway. “Let’s get to school now, people.”
Pushing the stroller, Nalini led the way.
Jackknife, Lucas, and Coach Creed trailed Nalini to the New Resistance section of the hotel.
At the double doors, Coach typed in a code.
“Lucas, I know what you’re thinking,” Coach said, hiking up his pants. “You and Jackknife here are planning to break into the file room and get another look at your birth chart.”
Lucas gulped. How is it that grown-ups always know what you’re thinking about doing?
Coach Creed opened the door and held it for the kids. “We can’t have any funny business today,” he said. “There are probably a lot of kids who have hidden messages in their birth files and baby books. But Charles Magnus is somewhere on the property. And, if one of those charts gets into Good Company hands, it could put us all in danger. That’s why no one is getting in there. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” they said at the same time.
“Now get to class.”
Jackknife and Lucas followed Nalini and the stroller to the end of the hallway, where they got on the elevator.
A moment later the elevator doors opened at the basement level. Nalini pushed Gini into the grand hall. Jackknife and Lucas followed. They had timed it perfectly. The all-school meeting was about to take place. Mr. Siloti was playing Beethoven on the piano, and the smell of doughnuts foretold of an awesome midmorning break in the Grotto cafe.
With its high-speed movin
g sidewalks cutting straight down the middle, the cavern looked like a giant version of an ultramodern airport. Sunlight coming from metal tubes in the ceiling lit the cave, making the place look like midday. Opposite the bank of elevators there was the terminal for the train that could take them to the airplane hangar, twenty miles out in the desert.
Students began flooding the hallway. They spilled out of the classrooms and clumped in front of the bank of elevators.
Whoops and hollers greeted Lucas as soon as he stepped into the hall. He heard his name called out at least ten times. Jackknife and Nalini and Gini moved to the sides, and a semicircle of students formed around Lucas.
“Lucas!”
“All right, Lucas!”
“He’s here.”
There were new students everywhere, people Lucas didn’t recognize, and they seemed to want to get a look at him. Like a monkey in a zoo. Someone stopped the moving sidewalks, and several kids climbed on the handrails trying to get a better view.
“Hey, look over there!”
“The guy in the middle with the messed-up hair right in front of the elevator.”
A group of new students knotted together in front of the sidewalk, staring directly at Lucas. Others walked around the group and rubbernecked to catch a glimpse.
Lucas scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces. He spotted Ms. Dodge the science teacher and Dr. Sherman the English teacher, wearing his signature bowler hat.
Travis was longboarding down the side hallway with a goofy grin on his face.
Kerala was coming out of the girls’ bathroom. It looked like she had just caked on even more black Goth makeup. Lucas wondered why she was so weird.
Lily Hill, the girl with red pigtails, was skipping down the right side. Sora Kowa was sitting on a bench reading a book in Japanese.
With a newspaper under her arm, Astrid stood across from Lucas. If looks could speak, then Lucas knew Astrid was saying to him, “You do not deserve the attention you’re getting.”
Terry Hines, the short kid with sandy hair who always seemed to get in trouble, emerged from the middle of this crowd.
“Yeah, I was on that bus,” Terry said. “It’s not true what the French papers are saying about Lucas. He was fighting Günerro for the steering wheel. He didn’t wreck her bus on purpose. She did. Lucas saved us all.”
