Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  Addison’s team ducked as another thousand bats rocketed past Eddie’s head.

  • • •

  The group entered a final chamber with a high, arched ceiling. Raj found an ancient torch that he managed to light after snapping a few matches. He held the flickering torch aloft.

  The hall was flanked by thirteen suits of armor, covered in the dust of centuries. Each medieval gauntlet clutched a rusted ax or broadsword. Their jagged shadows lurched and danced in the torchlight.

  Eddie stared transfixed at the plumed Spanish helmets. He rose on his tiptoes to peer through the slats of a visor . . . then yelped as he spotted a skull inside, leering back at him.

  “There are skeletons in this room, too!”

  Addison blew dust from a knight’s shield and examined the coat of arms. “Francisco Pizarro’s Famous Thirteen,” he said reverently. “The Spanish knights who stuck by him at Isla de Gallo. These were the conquistadors who overthrew Atahualpa and conquered all of Peru.”

  “Why are they in an Incan burial ground?” asked Molly. “I thought Diego hated Pizarro.”

  “It’s a mystery,” Addison admitted. “There are wheels within wheels.” He led his team down the center aisle, where the tattered remains of a red carpet crumpled to dust beneath their feet.

  At the end of the chamber stood a raised platform. And on the platform was a single pedestal, guarded by the silent shadows of the knights.

  Addison slowly lifted his gaze . . .

  On the pedestal, glittering in torchlight, lay Atahualpa’s second key.

  Eddie gasped. “It’s pure silver. Just that key alone will make us rich!”

  Addison, keeping his distance, carefully studied the key, the pedestal, and the raised platform. “Raj, what do you think?”

  “I think we didn’t come all this way to waltz into a booby trap.”

  “Agreed,” said Addison. He swung his flashlight beam up to the ceiling but could not spot any hidden wires or guy-ropes. “Raj, can you borrow a sword from one of those knights?”

  “With pleasure.” Raj had already been eyeing the heavy bronze broadswords with admiration. He wrestled one from the rusted gauntlet of the shortest knight and passed it hilt-first to Addison.

  Addison hefted the sword, his arms shaking from the weight. He gingerly poked the stone platform. Eddie ducked and covered his head, expecting bats.

  Nothing happened.

  Addison prodded the marble pedestal with a few cautious taps.

  Again, nothing happened.

  “If a booby trap doesn’t kill me, the tension will,” said Eddie.

  Addison shushed him; he needed to concentrate. Arm muscles trembling, Addison raised the sword to the top of the pedestal and gently, ever so gently, nudged the key.

  A massive explosion rocked the room with a blinding flash.

  Addison’s team hit the deck, clutching their ringing ears.

  “I think I just had a heart attack,” Eddie gasped.

  “What was that?” asked Molly, waving acrid smoke from her nose and sneezing.

  Addison picked up his Ivy cap from the floor and stared at it in astonishment. He poked his finger through a seared hole in the peak. “A bullet hole,” he whispered.

  He aimed his flashlight at a small loophole concealed in the far wall. “That blast was a musket shot.” Addison panned his flashlight around the room, revealing a dozen gun bores burrowed into the wall. “Spring guns,” said Addison, his voice shaky with fear and wonder. “Move the key and a musket fires.”

  Raj took Addison’s cap and turned it over in his hands, staring at the bullet hole in amazement. “Addison, if you were as tall as a grown-up, you’d be dead.”

  “We’ve found an advantage.” Addison tucked his cap back on his head. “These traps aren’t designed for us. The Incas counted on conquistadors, not middle schoolers.”

  Addison handed the sword to Molly. “Mo, you’re the shortest. Would you do the honors?”

  Molly blew the hair from her eyes. She grunted as she hoisted the long sword.

  Everyone else ducked and covered their ears.

  Molly swung the sword like a baseball bat. She knocked the key clear off the pedestal. The muskets fired in a deafening blast that echoed around the stone room. By the time Molly’s ears stopped ringing, Addison held the key safely in his hand.

  It was heavy in his grip. Addison hardly dared to believe it was real. He wiped away the dust with the heel of his palm.

  “Solid silver,” Eddie said, his eyes glowing.

  “Do you think anyone upstairs heard that blast?” asked Molly.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Addison. “We have the key now. We’re through the worst of it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Things Get Worse

  ADDISON FLIPPED OPEN A fresh page in his notebook and took a rubbing of the key with the side of his pencil.

  “Voices!” whispered Molly.

  The group strained their ears. Sure enough, shouting voices echoed through the cavern.

  “It could just be the priests,” said Eddie hopefully.

  “We have to assume it’s Professor Ragar,” said Molly.

  “Either way, we have worn out our welcome.” Addison slipped the Incan key into his pocket. “If we stay in this chamber, we’re trapped. C’mon!” He strode across the cavern and waved the team back into the ossuary.

  “Not the skeletons again!” Eddie whimpered.

  “Eddie, hurry!” said Molly, yanking him along by the collar.

  Addison and his team ducked through the chamber door and picked their way down the booby-trapped steps, carefully skipping the skulls. They reached the chamber floor only to discover they were too late.

  The bespectacled priest stepped into the ossuary, flanked by six of Professor Ragar’s bodyguards. There was no escape.

  “There they are!” thundered the priest in his accented English, his voice rebounding off the stone walls. “The Vienna Boys Choir!”

  Ragar’s men swung their industrial flashlights on Addison’s team. Addison recognized Zubov, the tall man with the black ponytail and the unblinking, lifeless eyes of a predator.

  Addison squinted at the priest through the blinding beams. “How did you find your way down here?”

  “You left every door open behind you,” said the priest.

  Addison shot an accusatory look at Eddie. “Eddie, you were the last through every door.”

  “What?” Eddie shrugged. “I didn’t want us to get locked in.”

  “Who are you really?” demanded the priest. “How did you find these secret chambers?”

  “That,” said Addison dramatically, “is a secret.”

  Zubov shouted to his men. They lurched forward, moving in on Addison’s team.

  “Addison, what do we do?” asked Molly.

  “I am open to suggestions.”

  “We need a miracle,” said Molly.

  “I don’t believe in those.” A plan simmered in Addison’s mind and slowly came to a boil. “They don’t know the bones are booby-trapped, but we do. We split up and lure them onto the bone piles.”

  The four members of Addison’s team scattered. Ragar’s men chased them onto the stacks of bones, struggling to find their footing.

  One guard, webbed with Mafia tattoos, made the considerable mistake of chasing Molly. In her cleats, her fast feet found purchase on the skittering bones. The burly guard tried to race up a mound of mandibles, but the harder he ran, the farther he slid.

  Molly crested the pile, her eyes darting back and forth for a hidden trip wire. The man climbed closer, reaching out a calloused hand to grab Molly’s ankle. She spotted a trip wire, yanked it hard, and dove aside as a steel scythe rocketed toward the surprised guard. Terrified, he leapt from the path of the shrieking blade and tumbled down the bo
ne mountain, striking his head on the rocky ground. The man lay crumpled in a heap of clattering foot bones.

  Raj, clinging to the cave wall, visualized a plan. He would get a running start, leap off the nearest bone pile, grab the closest guy-rope, shimmy up, swing to the opposite pillar, and jump down on the tallest guard. The plan was flawless.

  He took a running start, slipped on a femur, and crashed down the mountain of bones. The avalanche of shattering bones triggered several booby traps. Boulders tumbled from the ceiling, pelting a guard on the head. The man sank to his knees, stunned senseless.

  “Great work, Raj,” said Addison, impressed.

  “Don’t mention it,” said Raj from underneath a pile of patellas.

  Addison’s team, faster and lighter than Ragar’s men, formed up at the far end of the chamber. Zubov shouted at his guards to stop chasing the kids and to block the only exit. With a sinking feeling, Addison realized his predicament. His group was hemmed in, with no hope of escape.

  Zubov fixed Addison with the cold stare of a hunting shark and circled in.

  “We’re boned!” said Eddie. “There’s no other way out of here!”

  “Of course there is,” said Addison, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “We’re 86ers.” Simply saying the words inspired him, and to his immense relief, Addison discovered that he had an idea. He rapped his knuckles against the rock wall at his back. “This is a limestone cave—formed by water.”

  “That’s great, Addison.” Molly pointed an impatient finger at the guards rapidly picking their way through the bone piles, edging ever closer. “Can we focus on the issue at hand?”

  “Water flows through the limestone for millions of years—it forms a cave.” Addison could see his team was still not following. “The water needs both an entrance and an exit. There must be another way out!”

  Raj was readying himself in a fighting stance, preparing for the onslaught of guards.

  “If we all run in different directions, they can’t catch all of us!” shouted Molly.

  “That’s not fair—they’ll catch whoever’s slowest,” cried Eddie. “Me!”

  “Everybody be quiet and listen.” Addison lifted a hand in the air and cocked his ears. And then he heard what he wanted—a faint trickle of water. “This way!”

  Addison shimmied along the cave wall until the sound of water grew louder. He knelt down and scooped away bones as fast as he could. A thin channel of water gurgled beneath the heaps of bones, escaping through a hole in the rocks. Addison helped Raj squeeze into the narrow chute.

  Eddie backed up a step. “Are we really going in there?”

  “You can stay here, Eddie. It’s your choice!”

  Ragar’s men tightened their cordon, closing in on Addison’s team. They moved carefully to avoid trip wires, until they were almost within arm’s reach.

  “Hurry!” Addison called, pushing Eddie in after Raj. Molly crawled in next, headfirst.

  Zubov reached the edge of the bone pile, leapt clear of any remaining trip wires, and dashed for Addison.

  Addison ducked into the narrow cave and discovered his team had formed a traffic jam. “Keep moving!” he shouted. He turned in time to see Zubov lunge a knife into the opening of the cave.

  Zubov was too large to crawl into the passage, so he simply reached a tattooed arm inside and slashed with his knife. Addison crab-walked backward on his hands, the knife barely missing his throat.

  Addison turned in the narrow tunnel and crawled forward as fast as he could, the rock pressing in on him from all sides.

  Raj’s voice carried through the darkness. “I hear the river up ahead!”

  The limestone chute grew wet and slippery. One by one, Raj, Eddie, Molly, and Addison lost their grip and began sliding down the slick tunnel. They screamed as they slipped out of control, the water flushing them down the channel, twisting and turning. Their voices grew hoarse until the wet tunnel finally spit them out, sending them splashing into the muddy Olvidado River.

  Addison’s team gasped for breath, treading water in the marshy stream. Addison gazed up at the starry night sky, thrilled to be aboveground again. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The group sloshed to the shore. They scrambled up the slimy mud embankment, picked their way through brambles and briars, and burst onto the cobbled square in front of the cathedral.

  “We got the key!” Eddie exclaimed, jumping up and down.

  “We escaped!” Raj offered Eddie a high five that Eddie connected with on his third try.

  “We really did it!” Molly cheered.

  “That was pretty close,” said Addison, beaming.

  He turned and ran smack into Professor Ragar.

  • • •

  The first thing Addison did was yelp in alarm.

  The second thing Addison did was try to run.

  The third thing Addison did was yelp in alarm.

  Professor Ragar’s extra bodyguards surrounded the group, blocking off any escape. Addison swiveled his head, searched for a direction to run, and came up empty. Switching tactics, he attempted diplomacy.

  “Well, here we are,” said Addison, struggling to regain his composure. “A fine evening, don’t you think?”

  “You made it all the way to Colombia, just to save me the trouble of finding the second key,” Ragar said in his deep, accented voice. He wore a stylish gray derby hat pulled low over his scarred face. Addison could not help but admire the sterling silver tie bar pinned to a flawless silk tie. “The Cooke family never ceases to—how do you say?—astonish me.” Ragar extended his open palm to Addison and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

  Addison, not missing a beat, gave Professor Ragar a high five. “Thanks. Your praise means a lot. And I love your tie bar.”

  Ragar wound up his open palm and slapped Addison across the face.

  Addison’s cheek stung, and his head rang for a few seconds. He bit his lip and kept his voice steady. “I can usually get along with most people, but I am having trouble finding your good side.”

  The professor motioned to his bodyguards, who grabbed Addison by the arms. Addison squirmed, but the men were four times his size.

  Ragar fished in Addison’s blazer pocket and removed the Incan key. He admired its glittering silver skin in the moonlight. “Thank you.”

  Addison could think of nothing polite to say, so he settled for a dignified silence. He studied the burn scar etched into Ragar’s face. The professor’s gray derby hat partially concealed where the patchy hair had been seared from the scalp, leaving only red and mottled flesh.

  The rest of Ragar’s bodyguards burst from the front door of the cathedral, covered in bone dust and gasping for breath.

  Ragar smiled at Addison. “I would like to introduce you to someone.” He gestured to Zubov, who sauntered forward.

  Addison already felt fairly well acquainted with the tall, pockmarked man. His slick black ponytail looked like a tenacious ferret clinging to the back of his head. Zubov glared at Addison. Try as he might, Addison could detect no hint of goodwill in that gaze.

  “His name is Boris Rachivnek,” Ragar continued, “but in the Siberian prison, his nickname was Zubov. ‘Zubov’ means—how do you say?—‘teeth.’”

  Addison assumed this was meant to sound sinister. He raised his eyebrows appreciatively and nodded to Zubov. “Nice to meet you, Teeth.”

  Professor Ragar frowned at Addison and continued. “Zubov graduated from the highest level of the Russian special forces. He won medals in every form of combat. He is a world-class tracker, and deadly with a knife.”

  Addison nodded his head, duly impressed, though he wasn’t sure he liked where any of this was going.

  “Zubov wasn’t seeing enough action in the military, so he turned mercenary, fighting in armed conflicts around the globe until he was imprisoned for arms tr
afficking. He has no hobbies, the poor creature. Violence is the only thing he finds interesting.”

  “Well, Teeth,” said Addison. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Zubov only stared at Addison, a single vein bulging angrily in his temple.

  “I am going to leave you alone with Zubov,” said Ragar. “But first, I am curious. Why did you come for the key? You could not possibly hope to find the Incan treasure.”

  “We just want to get our aunt and uncle back,” said Molly.

  “You came to Colombia to free your relatives and now you yourselves are captured. In Russia, we call that ‘irony.’”

  “We call that ‘irony’ in English, too,” said Addison.

  Ragar frowned. “You are saying the word ‘irony’ is the same in English as it is in Russian?”

  “Where are my aunt and uncle?” Molly demanded, getting things back on track.

  Ragar gestured to his black stretch limousine, parked in the shadows. Addison strained his eyes, but couldn’t see in through the tinted windows.

  “Your aunt and uncle have not been very helpful so far, but I possess the gift of persuasion.” Professor Ragar nodded to his guards, who stood at attention. “They are all deadly men like Zubov, who have survived the Siberian prisons.” Ragar leaned close to Addison, his scarred face ghostly white in the dark of the night. “I will keep your aunt and uncle alive as long as they help me solve the clues. But the second I don’t need them anymore, they will join your parents on the other side.”

  Addison stiffened, straining against the men who gripped his arms. “What do you know about my parents?”

  Ragar's laugh was a raspy, joyless wheeze like a car engine that won’t quite start. “Zubov, do what you like with these kids. I never want to see them again.” He gestured to his men, who released Addison.

  The professor stepped into his stretch limousine. For a brief moment, Addison caught a glimpse of his aunt and uncle, blindfolded and gagged, before Ragar slammed the limousine door shut. The bodyguards climbed into a caravan of black Jeeps that trailed the limo. The motorcade rumbled across the muddy square. The Jeeps turned the corner and disappeared into the labyrinth of Olvidados.