Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  “I love a good wedding,” Addison agreed.

  “The point is,” said Guadalupe, “you’re looking at the two most violent gangs in South America. Everyone at this wedding is armed and dangerous.”

  Addison looked across the bridge. A massive tent filled the courtyard. Guests arrived in tuxedos and evening gowns. A twelve-piece band played a sizzling samba.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Guadalupe,” said Addison. “I really do. But just think of the hors d’oeuvres . . .”

  “What kind of hors d’oeuvres?” asked Eddie.

  “Oh no,” said Molly. “I know that look on Addison’s face. He’s forming a plan.”

  “Hush, young Cooke. The wheels are turning.”

  “Addison, you expect us to just mambo into a castle filled with rival gangsters, find the third key, and cha-cha right out?”

  Addison studied the guards spread out across the grounds. He considered the odds. He gave it six to four against. “I give it six to four in favor,” he said confidently.

  “These are dangerous criminals,” said Guadalupe. “You’ll find more killers at that wedding than at a state penitentiary. You couldn’t throw a brick in that wedding without braining a criminal.”

  “I’m not suggesting we throw bricks at criminals in weddings,” said Addison. “Besides, you don’t have to come along. You helped us across the jungle—if ‘help’ is the word I’m looking for—and that was our deal.”

  Guadalupe stiffened. “I’m not chicken. Besides, I bet they have a lot of excellent merchandise in that house.” She squinted at Addison. “How do you plan on getting inside?”

  “Through the front door.” Addison turned to inspect his comrades, brushing the dirt from their school uniforms. “Eddie, be a gentleman and straighten your shirt cuffs.” Addison tightened his half-Windsor knot, sculpting the perfect tie dimple. “In my nearly thirteen years on this earth, there are two things I’ve learned beyond a shadow of a doubt. The first is that you can get in anywhere if you dress sharply enough.”

  “And the second?” asked Eddie.

  “There is no sweeter food than free food.” Addison buttoned his blazer. “Besides,” he added, “I love a good wedding.”

  • • •

  Addison confidently led his team up the driveway to the gatehouse. Raj tried frantically to spit-shine the mud stains from his shirtfront. Eddie picked brambles and thorns from his socks, hopping from one foot to the other, trying to keep up. Together, they approached the head security guard.

  “I don’t know about this one,” muttered Molly.

  “Mo, try and keep an open mind.”

  “Addison, you’re so open-minded your brain’s fallen out.”

  “Molly, I am going to make that guard beg to let us into the wedding.” Addison strolled up and offered a cheerful grin. “Fine weather.”

  The guard barked a sentence in Spanish.

  “He wants to know if we are guests of the wedding,” Eddie translated.

  “Of course we are,” said Addison immediately.

  The gate guard eyed them suspiciously and spoke to Eddie.

  “He needs to see our invitations,” Eddie said nervously.

  Addison made a show of patting down his blazer pockets. “Eddie, do you have the invitations?”

  “Nope.” Eddie shook his head.

  “Are you kidding me? What did you do with them?”

  “I never had them!” Eddie insisted.

  “I cannot let you into the wedding without invitations,” said the guard in thickly accented English.

  “That’s excellent,” said Addison with sincerity. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Why?” asked the guard, squinting at Addison.

  “We don’t want to go to this boring wedding. We’re just stuck here because of my uncle. Can you tell us the best way to get to Casa Azar? We want to sneak out and do something fun.”

  The guard sized up Addison uncertainly. “Why are a bunch of American kids coming to this wedding, anyway? You don’t even speak Spanish.”

  “My uncle Héctor flew us in from America for the wedding. It’s all a big waste of time, but at least we got out of boarding school for a week.” Addison smiled ingratiatingly. “Can you order us a cab to Casa Azar, so we can ditch out of here?”

  The guard frowned.

  Inwardly, Addison held his breath.

  Finally, the guard took the bait. “What did you say your uncle’s name was?”

  Addison stifled a yawn, as if bored. He casually played his ace. “Héctor Guzmán.”

  The guard’s face turned instantly white, like he’d been slapped with a cream pie. His lower lip trembled in fear. Sweat sprouted from his forehead like morning dew.

  “Anyway,” Addison continued, “we can always just hitchhike to Casa Azar.” He turned to leave, waving his friends to follow.

  “Wait!” called the guard. “You must go to the wedding!”

  “No thank you,” said Addison firmly. “We’re going to go have some fun.”

  “Please, you must!”

  “Absolutely not. Out of the question.”

  “If Don Guzmán discovers I let you sneak out of the wedding,” the guard pleaded, “I won’t just lose my job . . . I will lose my life!”

  Addison sighed and crossed his arms. He pretended to weigh the issue over in his mind.

  “I am begging you,” said the guard. “What if something happened to you in Casa Azar? My life is in your hands. Please, you must go to this wedding! I don’t want to end up in a restaurant freezer!”

  Addison spread his arms and let them collapse at his sides. “Well, it was worth a shot. But you owe us one.”

  “Thank you,” said the guard, clasping Addison’s hand and shaking it gratefully.

  Addison smiled warmly and returned the shake. He nodded to his team, and together they strode past the guardhouse and over the stone bridge to the castle.

  Guadalupe cast a sidelong glance at Addison, a look of wonder in her eyes. “Bacán.”

  Addison smiled.

  “Please!” the guard called after them. “Put in a good word for me with Don Guzmán!”

  • • •

  Addison, Molly, Guadalupe, Eddie, and Raj strode toward the castle’s entrance. A security guard waved them past a velvet rope.

  “Not too shabby,” said Eddie.

  “We’re not through the woods yet,” Addison whispered.

  Security guards waved them through a metal detector. Addison and Molly made it past without issue, but Raj lit up the metal detector like a Christmas tree. Perplexed guards began frisking Raj’s pockets, removing fishhooks, sewing needles, iron pills, snare wire, bear spray . . .

  One sharp-eyed bodyguard put a hand on Addison’s shoulder. “¡Deténgase! ¿Quién es usted?”

  Addison unleashed his warmest smile on the guard. “Addison Cooke. ¿Cómo está?” He held out his hand for a shake. The guard only stared at the hand, and then went back to staring at Addison.

  “I have never seen you before,” said the guard, peering closely at Addison’s group. “You are not with Don Guzmán’s party and I have never seen you with Don Miguel.”

  “We’re the band,” said Addison.

  The guard cocked an ear to listen to the Latin big-band music blaring from inside the wedding tent. “The band is already inside,” growled the guard. “Plus, you don’t have no instruments.”

  Addison tilted his chin so he could look down his nose at the guard. “We’re the a cappella group,” he said imperiously. Addison was still a bit stung that the choir ploy hadn’t worked at the Cathedral of Lost Souls, and he was determined to give the scheme a second shot. He patted the guard on the cheek. “I assume dinner is included with our fee.” Without waiting for a response, Addison snapped his fingers at his friends wh
o trailed him inside.

  The guard eyed them suspiciously. He spoke rapid Spanish into his walkie-talkie. A team of guards circled in, handguns bulging under their blazers. They followed Addison’s group into the party.

  • • •

  Addison strolled into the most magnificent party he’d ever seen. A massive tent, as big as a circus big top, covered the entire courtyard of the castle. The tent arched over a stage where the band hammered out a rhythmic rumba. Guests in black-tie formalwear glided around the dance floor. Waiters passed glittering platters of pricey beluga caviar, fried calamari, and oysters on the half shell. Addison had to hand it to Don Miguel—he must be pretty good at his job to foot the bill for a wedding this posh.

  The nine-foot wedding cake stood on a gilded pedestal. Addison spotted the bride shaking her fists and shouting at the wedding photographer. The poor photographer was having trouble fitting both the cake and the bride into his photo.

  Don Hernando Miguel greeted guests with a double kiss, greasing their cheeks with his oiled mustache. Puffed up in a tight tuxedo, his black hair slicked tight against his scalp, Don Miguel looked every bit like an overfed penguin.

  Addison carved a path through the crowd, smiling, waving, shaking hands, and aiming finger guns at guests as if they were old friends. “I love a good wedding,” he said again, to no one in particular. Eddie’s eyes swam as they reached a buffet table piled high with French cheeses, Italian meats, and Swiss chocolate strawberries.

  “Harika,” Eddie gushed. “They even have Turkish kebabs!”

  Addison helped himself to a shrimp cocktail. “Finally, a civilized environment where one can relax.”

  Molly pointed a finger across the crowd. “There’s Professor Ragar!”

  Addison nearly choked on a shrimp. His eyes followed the line of Molly’s finger.

  Sure enough, Professor Ragar swaggered into the party, surrounded by his men. Ragar leaned heavily on his silver-tipped walking stick and adjusted his cocked derby hat. In the midday light, his mottled burn scar had the crimson hue of barbecued ribs.

  “This is bad news.” Addison grimaced. “Ragar must have cracked the last clue. He knows the key is in this castle.”

  “It’s also good news,” whispered Molly. “It means Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel are close.”

  Addison spotted Ragar’s black limousine, all bulletproof glass and armor plating, idling in the driveway. The chauffeur circled the massive car around to the parking lot. Addison squinted hard at the dark-tinted windows but couldn’t catch a glimpse to see if his aunt and uncle were trapped inside.

  “Well, Don Miguel won’t be happy when he discovers Professor Ragar crashing his party.” Addison watched in dismay as the professor kissed Don Miguel on both cheeks, murmured a few words in Spanish, and then embraced him like a long-lost brother. “Guy Fawkes! Ragar is smooth as silk!”

  Guadalupe sized up Professor Ragar’s group, noting their tattoos. “Russian Mafia, right?”

  Addison looked at her, impressed. “You really know your gangsters.”

  Guadalupe only shook her head. “Those guys don’t mess around.”

  Addison noted, with growing alarm, the wedding security guards whispering to Don Miguel and pointing toward Addison’s group. Professor Ragar’s piercing gray eyes lit up and scanned the crowd. By the time he glanced over at the buffet table, Addison’s team had vanished. With a flick of Ragar’s hand, bodyguards fanned out and began searching the party.

  Addison’s team squatted uncomfortably underneath the buffet table, Raj peering out from the folds of the tablecloth. “I don’t think he saw us.”

  “Good,” said Addison. “Keep a lookout.”

  It was dusty under the table and Molly found herself gearing up for a sneeze.

  “What’s our move?” asked Guadalupe.

  Addison reached out a finger and thumb and pinched Molly’s nose, stifling her sneeze at the last second. “We find the Incan key before Ragar.”

  “Thank you,” said Molly, recovering. “What about Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel? They could be right outside.”

  “Follow me like a ninja. Which sounds easier: finding the key, or rescuing Aunt D and Uncle N from two dozen armed men?”

  “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

  “Look,” whispered Addison, “Ragar said he’ll keep them alive until he finds the treasure. So if we find the treasure first, Ragar has no reason to hurt them.”

  Molly weighed the sense of this.

  “Meanwhile, it buys us time to think up a plan for rescuing them.”

  “All right,” said Molly. “So how do we find the key?”

  “There’s nothing to it, Mo. It’s like falling off a log. We just nip about the old castle, nibble a few shrimp cocktails, steal an ancient Incan key, snag a few more shrimp cocktails, and tap-dance out of here.”

  “You couldn’t steal an ape from a chicken,” said Molly.

  “It’s true I don’t have experience with nicking things,” Addison allowed. “There isn’t a book on it. I’ve checked.”

  “A book on stealing?” Guadalupe had been silent for a while. But now her face brightened with interest. “You don’t need the book when you’ve got the author.”

  Guadalupe crawled from the buffet table and snuck into an open door of the castle. The team hurried after her.

  • • •

  Addison’s crew padded silently through French doors and into an ornate dining room. A thirty-foot-long oak table was laid with bronze candelabras and hand-painted porcelain.

  “There must be good money in crime,” said Addison. “Don Miguel is doing okay for himself.”

  “It’s a growth industry,” said Guadalupe. “Smuggling, extortion, kidnapping . . . How else can anyone pay for a wedding these days?” She cased the joint like a professional. “Wow,” she said in awe, “I’ve never seen silverware that was actually silver.”

  “C’mon, Guadalupe,” said Addison, “we’re on the clock.”

  Guadalupe stared longingly at the flatware before following the group into the library.

  Now it was Addison’s turn to stare in wonder. The library’s wall-to-wall bookshelves were crammed with books. They were stacked two stories high, with a rolling ladder to reach them. The wood-paneled room was dominated by a giant oil painting of a young Spanish nobleman.

  “There he is,” said Addison. “Diego de Almagro II. Otherwise known as El Mozo.”

  “‘The lad?’” Eddie translated.

  “That’s right. Diego had the same name as his father, like me. So they called him El Mozo.”

  The group gathered under the painting. El Mozo’s hand rested on the pommel of his sword, a red plume blossoming from the steel helm he cradled in the crook of his arm. His skin was dark and his expression darker. He looked ready to draw his sword and skewer the portrait artist.

  “He killed Pizarro?” asked Molly.

  Addison nodded. “El Mozo’s father and Pizarro were like brothers until they started fighting over the Incan treasure. Pizarro imprisoned El Mozo’s father and cut off his head.”

  Raj let out a low whistle. He smiled; he was getting better at it.

  “El Mozo raised an army of rebels to avenge his father. They assassinated Pizarro. It makes sense to hide a key here. El Mozo wanted to ensure Pizarro’s knights never found Atahualpa’s treasure.”

  “Seems like this castle would be the first place Pizarro’s knights would look for clues,” said Molly.

  “True. But a lot of them were killed or vanished during the civil war.”

  Molly nodded solemnly. “Maybe it was El Mozo who hunted down Pizarro’s thirteen famous knights and hid them in that cavern under the Cathedral of Lost Souls.”

  “I can believe it.” Addison gazed up at El Mozo’s fierce eyes glaring down from the portrait. “Let’s keep moving.�
�

  “Wait,” said Molly. She pointed to a grisly ram’s skull with black horns painted on El Mozo’s shield. “That symbol was carved on the shield door in the basement of the Cathedral.”

  “Good eye, Mo.” Addison examined it closely. “It’s the symbol for Supay. The Incan god of the dead.”

  “Why would El Mozo paint the god of the dead on his shield?”

  Addison was pretty sure he knew the answer. “Revenge.”

  • • •

  The team waited for an armed patrol guard to march past before sneaking out of the library and into the massive center hall of the castle. One grand staircase led to the higher floors. The other descended to the basement.

  “So where do we find the key?” asked Eddie.

  Addison recited the clue from memory. “‘In a castle at the end of the world, the key is hidden closest to the gods.’”

  “‘Closest to the gods.’ Which way’s that?”

  Addison pointed a finger at the first staircase. “Up.”

  The team prowled up several flights of stone steps, past the second, third, and fourth floors, until they reached the attic. There, they found a landing with three wooden doors.

  “One of these must lead to the top of the tower. The highest point in the castle . . . That’s where I bet we’ll find the key,” said Addison.

  Guadalupe tried all three doors and pointed to the first one. “It’s not that door.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it’s unlocked. Any door that’s unlocked doesn’t have anything good behind it.” To demonstrate, Guadalupe opened the door, revealing a bathroom. It was a tiny room, with hardly enough space to swing a cat.

  “Okay, that leaves two doors,” said Molly. “But even if you’re right, Addison, how do we even know the key will still be here after so many years?”

  “My guess is Don Miguel doesn’t know there’s an ancient Incan key hidden in his castle. I mean, if the third key is half as well hidden as the first two were, we have a pretty good shot.”