“Yes,” said Gus, sounding super-mysterious. “We do.”
I heard a high-pitched squeal.
“Sorry,” said Gus, adjusting a small hearing aid in his right ear. “Darn thing’s new. Have to keep fiddling with the volume or I get feedback. Can’t complain, though. The ear doctor gave it to me for free. Now, where were we?”
“In a secret room hidden deep inside Union Station,” said Uncle Richie.
“Right,” said Gus. “I knew that.”
“We also know that you four Kidds have been on quite an adventure since last we met,” said Rachel. She slipped a slim tablet computer out of her park ranger rucksack. She tapped the glass and an animated map filled the illuminated screen. It showed a red dot traveling from Washington to California to Virginia to Boston to Philadelphia and back to Washington.
“You’ve been tracking us?” said Storm.
“Sorry,” said Rachel. “But we had to make certain you were the intrepid treasure hunters we were seeking.”
“How’d you do it?” asked Storm.
Rachel held out her hand to Tommy. “Do you still have that business card I gave you when we first met?”
“Chya,” said Tommy, pulling out the card with the embossed silver eagle on the front. “I kept it close to my heart at all times. Because falling for you was an extremely short trip.”
Yep. His eyebrows were wiggling again.
“That silver eagle is a miniature GPS tracking chip,” said Rachel, totally ignoring Tommy’s romantic overtures.
“Just like the one Bob gave us in Boston!” said Beck. She turned to the rest of us. “That’s it, you guys. From now on, we don’t accept any more business cards from anybody if they have shiny silver things stamped on ’em!”
“Deal!” said Tommy.
“Um, you guys don’t work for the Enlightened Ones, do you?” I asked. “Because they were sort of testing us, too.”
“No,” said Gus. “We represent another secret society with a longer and more honorable reputation. The Guardians of Liberty!”
“We’re like the Knights Templar who guarded the Holy Grail during the Middle Ages,” said Rachel. “I’m the youngest member.”
“The prettiest, too,” said Tommy. Yep, he was still trying. And his eyebrows were still wiggling up and down like happy caterpillars.
“For centuries,” said Gus, “the Guardians of Liberty have protected a secret and extremely secure subterranean chamber filled with our most cherished national treasures. Original copies of all our founding documents. The Declaration of Independence, The Federalist Papers, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights…”
“All of them vacuum sealed and protected in thick bulletproof plastic against the elements,” added Rachel.
“The original technology was somewhat cruder, of course, since it was designed by Benjamin Franklin,” said Gus. “Through the years, we’ve made many changes to keep our document-protection facilities the best in the world.”
“That must be expensive work,” said Uncle Richie.
“It is,” said Rachel. “But we get by on donations from generous benefactors.”
“Here you go,” said Tommy, grabbing the duffel bag stuffed with cash. “From us to you. It’s like seven million dollars.”
Rachel smiled. “Thank you, Tommy.”
“Wait a second,” I said. “Why do the Guardians of Liberty need us?”
Rachel looked to Gus.
He nodded.
They were going to tell us everything we needed to know.
CHAPTER 57
“We need you children to help us thwart this diabolical scheme by Professor Hingleburt to rewrite the Bill of Rights!” said Gus, pounding his fist into his palm when he said “Hingle” and “burt.”
“Can’t you guys just do it?” asked Beck. “Go down to your secret subterranean vault, grab the real deal document, and show the world what a phony Hingleburt is.”
Gus shook his head. “No. We can’t be publicly involved. We must keep our secret society just that. Secret. Who knows when the next Hingleburtian threat will come? Maybe when young Rachel here is as old as me. No. We need an outside source to discover the documents. Treasure hunters with a world-renowned reputation.”
Tommy puffed up his chest a little. “Guess that would be us.”
“My reputation isn’t all that stellar,” said Uncle Richie. “There was an incident in Australia.”
Gus nodded. “Where you raised the ransom money for your niece’s children.”
“You know about that?”
“I have friends at the FBI, too, Poppie. However, you are correct. In the public eye, your reputation is somewhat tainted. That’s why we need Tommy, Storm, Beck, and Bick. You four young treasure hunters are quite famous. You must be the ones to ‘find’ the original copy of the Bill of Rights and bring it out into the daylight to debunk Professor Hingleburt’s trumped-up claims.”
“And,” said Rachel, “we’ll show you exactly where it’s located!”
“Are you willing to do this for America?” asked Gus. “Because the price of freedom is never free.”
“Chya!” said Tommy. “Let’s do this thing. USA! USA!”
We piled into a park service van with Rachel behind the wheel.
The sun was starting to set. We were driving toward downtown DC and all the marble buildings and monuments.
“I bet I know where we’re going!” I said. “That super-secret bomb shelter vault built in the 1940s underneath the Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. Memorial. The one we tried to find but everybody, including Rachel here, kept saying it didn’t exist.”
“It doesn’t,” said Rachel. “The Guardians of Liberty’s current subterranean vault was built in 1848. It replaced the original one Benjamin Franklin dug behind Liberty Hall in Philadelphia, way back in 1777.”
“1848?” said Storm. “Isn’t that when the Washington Monument was constructed?”
“Exactly,” said Gus. “You remember that miniature Washington Monument you children discovered?”
“Sure,” I said. “Underneath the manhole cover in the grass.”
“It is actually the lock to the vault,” said Rachel. “That’s why Gus didn’t want you touching it.”
“But you gave us the riddle that told us how to find it,” said Beck.
“We’re a team!” snapped Gus. “Rachel gives you the pop quiz. I stop you if you go too far.”
“We went too far?” said Storm.
“Almost,” said Gus. “You’d have to figure out one more code.”
“We can do it!” said Tommy. “Well, Storm probably can.”
“She won’t need to,” said Rachel. She handed Tommy a fresh business card.
“Anything silver stamped on it?” asked Beck.
“Negative,” said Tommy. “Just a locker combination. Left to six, right to five, left to two.”
“That’s how you open the vault,” said Gus. “Rotate the pyramid top on the miniature monument, the way you would a dial on a combination lock.”
“Then what happens?” asked Uncle Richie.
“The portal will open and you will be able to descend into the vault. Provided, of course, you can fit through the hole.” Now the old man smiled at Beck and me. His hearing aid squealed again. “Sorry about that. Where was I?”
“Telling us about the tiny entrance to your tunnel,” said Tommy.
“Yes,” said Gus. “The entrance is quite narrow. Folks were smaller back in 1848.”
“This is another reason we need your help,” said Rachel, looking up into the rearview mirror, smiling at Beck and me. “Gus and I are confident that you two will be able to do the job that needs doing.”
Yep.
It looked like Beck and I were going to have to squeeze through another secret passageway that nobody else could squeeze through.
CHAPTER 58
We parked as close as we could to the Washington Monument.
“We’ll wait here for you,” said Gus.
“Guess I should stay here, too,” said Uncle Richie. “You four are on your own. Again.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tommy. “We know how to handle ourselves.”
“I know,” said Uncle Richie. “Your mother has told me all about your amazing solo adventures—freeing her and finding your father. You four have made me the proudest uncle on the planet. Now, then—off you go. Dare to be great!”
I climbed out of the van with Tommy, Beck, and Storm. We slid the side door shut.
“This way,” said Storm, because she, of course, remembered exactly where we had found the miniature monument hidden under the manhole cover.
We scampered across the grass. Fortunately, Gus wasn’t there to yell at us to get off George Washington’s lawn.
We quickly found the manhole cover and pried off the lid.
Tommy studied the pyramid-shaped top of the miniature monument down in the hole. “I don’t see any numbers! How am I supposed to work the combination when I don’t know where six, five, and two are?”
“Pretend there’s an invisible clock hovering over the tip there,” said Beck.
“Okay. Good idea, Beck. But, since the clock is invisible, I still don’t see any numbers.”
“Pretend the real monument is straight up twelve,” coached Beck. “Six would be directly below it, on the opposite side of the hole.”
“And five would be close to six,” I said. “One tick up.”
“And two would be halfway between one and three, which is halfway down to six!” said Tommy, finally catching on.
“Do it!” I said.
“Hurry,” suggested Storm, checking the grounds for security guards. “I suspect that not all of the park rangers are also members of the Guardians of Liberty like Rachel and Gus. They may not be thrilled to see us trespassing on their lawn or fiddling with their secret Washington Monument.”
Tommy worked the combination.
Suddenly, the miniature obelisk rose up like a thick, five-foot-tall marble tent pole.
Tommy wrapped his arms around it and yanked it out of its hole.
“It’s like a sewer entrance,” I said looking down into the open hole. “With ladder rungs running down the side.”
“Tommy?” said Storm. “Take that thing to the van! Hurry!”
“Okay.” Grunting a little, Tommy jogged off with the heavy stone slab that had to weigh at least two hundred pounds. He’s strong that way.
“You guys drop down the hole,” said Storm. “I’ll slip the cover back on and go wait in the van with Tommy and Uncle Richie.”
“Can’t you just wait for us to climb back up?” I said.
Storm shook her head. “The park rangers would see me and call the police. You remember how quickly they showed up when Gus caught us that first time.”
“How do we get out if you’re gone?” asked Beck.
“Just pop the lid open from down below,” said Storm. “If you can’t, if it’s too heavy, just radio us.” She tossed me a miniature walkie-talkie because Storm isn’t just smart, she’s always thinking ahead. “Tommy will come back and pry it open.”
Beck and I nodded.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
“Good luck, you guys,” said Storm. “The fate of America as we know it is now in your hands!”
CHAPTER 59
I clipped the miniature walkie-talkie to my web belt and slipped on my headlamp.
Beck slipped hers on, too.
My feet found the rusty iron rungs on the side of the brick-lined well and I started descending into the darkness. Beck’s shoes were two rungs above my hands when I heard the wobbly clunk of the manhole cover being dropped back into place.
“You okay?” I asked Beck.
“Yeah. How about you?”
“Never better. It’s kind of wild to think about all the other patriots who have climbed down here to protect these cherished documents.”
“Yeah,” said Beck. “And how short they all were.”
We kept working our way down the ladder. Twenty. Thirty. Forty feet.
“This is worse than that spiral staircase at the art gallery,” said Beck.
Finally, our feet touched the ground.
“There’s some kind of light switch over here,” said Beck.
She flicked it up and the lights came on with a thump and thunk so loud it sounded like someone had just dropped a wobbly steel platter.
“Guess the electrical system is ancient,” I said.
“So are those documents!” said Beck, pointing behind me.
I turned around. And there they were, vacuum sealed in a series of thick plastic cases. The documents that created America.
The Declaration of Independence.
The Constitution.
The Bill of Rights.
Beck and I felt compelled to place our hands over our hearts and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. (It was either that or sing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and nobody wants to hear us try to hit that one high note. We might’ve shattered the hermetically sealed document holders.)
“Bick?”
“Yeah, Beck?”
“Slight problem.”
“What’s that?”
“How are we ever going to haul a big, horizontal case like that up that tunnel we just climbed down?”
It was the old square peg in a round hole conundrum.
“Use the freight elevator!” crackled a tinny voice on my belt.
The walkie-talkie.
“Gus?” I said. “Is that you?”
“Yep.”
“Have you been listening to everything we said?”
“We certainly have,” said Uncle Richie. “Your recitation of the Pledge was heartfelt and stirring. Bully for you.”
“I set the radio up like a baby monitor,” said Storm. “Not that you two are babies.”
“Gee, thanks, sis,” said Beck.
“So, where’s this freight elevator?” I asked.
“To the right of the document holders,” said Gus. “Can you see it?”
“Yeah. I think so. It looks like two vertical train tracks?”
“Correct,” said Gus. “All the document cases were designed to fit securely between those rails. There are clamps to lock them into place. Then just bop the Launch button.”
“Launch?” said Beck.
“Steam-powered hydraulics will propel the document holder upward where it will break through the sod six feet north of the manhole cover.”
“I’ll be there to snag it!” said Tommy. “I’m good at carrying heavy stuff.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Come on, Beck. Let’s load this rocket launcher.”
She and I grabbed hold of the protective plastic case shielding the original copy of the Bill of Rights. We both paused for just a few seconds to admire it and all that it stood for. Then, using every muscle we had, we carried the heavy thing over to the freight elevator, loaded it between the rails, and secured the clamps.
We were all set to bop the Launch button when we were rudely interrupted.
“Not so fast, you two.”
We whipped around.
It was Milton T. Mosby. The short guy from Minnesota who’d stolen Mosby’s treasure from us in Virginia. That thunk we’d heard? It wasn’t the electricity coming on. It was Mosby opening the manhole cover!
He had an ornate Civil War pistol.
And it was aimed straight at Beck and me.
CHAPTER 60
“You kids aren’t taking that document anywhere,” snarled Mosby.
He was wearing a black cat-burglar outfit, complete with black knit watch cap.
“How’d you know we were down here?” I asked.
“Easy. That old fool Gus who works for the park service? One of our minions posing as an ear doctor fitted him with what he thinks is a free hearing aid. It’s actually a highly sophisticated listening device. He and that Rachel girl may think their Guardians of Liberty group
is a secret society, but we found out about them a long time ago.”
“And who is this ‘we’?” asked Beck.
“Never you mind, little girl. Our secret society is super-secret. All you need to know is that we have the money and power to turn America into what it was always meant to be: a place where a select few can live like kings and rule over the rest, turning them into serfs and servants! If we wipe out that First Amendment, we’re halfway home to building a new America without all the messy freedoms!”
“Is that why you hired La Brosse to forge those phony Bill of Rights knockoffs?” I asked.
“That’s right, little boy. The Brush is the best. She did an excellent job, right down to the properly aged parchment she scribbled on. She forged those Bill of Rights and made them say exactly what we told her to make them say!”
“How much did you pay Professor Hingleburt to champion your cause?” asked Beck.
“Enough,” said Mosby. “But that treasure you dug up for me down in Virginia sure did help us cover some of our expenses! Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to send that very nicely sealed copy of the original Bill of Rights upstairs where Professor Hingleburt is waiting to receive it. We plan on taking it out of circulation so it doesn’t compete with our version of the truth.”
“You’ll never get away with this!” shouted Beck.
“Oh, really?” sneered Mosby. “Why not?”
“You just totally confessed to us!” I said.
“So? You’re just a pair of pesky children. It’d be your word against mine. Nobody listens to children!”
“We’ll call the police,” shouted Beck.
“Oh, I don’t think your cell phones will work this far below ground, little girl.”
“We’ll call them when we’re back outside!”
All-American Adventure Page 13
