Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas Read Online Free PDF

heard the pounding boot steps of Ragar’s guards echoing closer down the marbled halls. “We can’t help them right now, Mo. We’ve got to keep moving.”
    Ragar’s men spilled into the atrium, barking commands in Russian.
    Addison yanked Molly to her feet and pointed to three different archways. “Africa, Europe, or Asia?”
    â€œAfrica—it has more hiding places!” Molly tore through the central archway, vaulting up steps two at a time, racing to Sub-Saharan Africa.
    The Russian
vory
chased them, shouting gruffly into their walkie-talkies. Splitting up, the men circled in on the two young Cookes, cutting off their escape paths.
    Dashing through the ancient Zulu gallery, Addison waved Molly behind some rawhide shields and a pile of war drums. He realized they were cornered.
    Dark-suited thugs quickly blocked every exit, their alert eyes scanning the gloom. Slowly, they closed in.
    Addison summoned all his brainpower, trying to conjure a way out of this delicate situation. “Don’t worry, Mo. I’ve got everything under control.” He searched the room in a feral panic. “Environment. Use your environment,” he reminded himself.
    Addison snatched up a Zulu bow and arrow from a display case and surprised one of the men. “Halt!” Addison notched the arrow and drew the gnarled bow back to his cheek.
    The ancient bow creaked, groaned, and snapped in two.
    Addison stared in horror at the two pieces of broken bow in his hands. Now just a useless stick tied to a piece of string.
    â€œYou just broke a museum artifact!” said Molly, astonished. “Addison, you’re gonna get in big trouble.”
    â€œWe’re already in big trouble!” Addison pointed frantically at the advancing bodyguards.
    The biggest gangster cracked his knuckles. He pitchedhis body forward like a linebacker, took a running start at Addison, and leapt. Addison was no star athlete, but he knew that given the choice, it was prudent to slink out of the way of leaping Russian convicts. Addison dove to one side at the last possible moment.
    Airborne, the thug spotted the clear glass display case a little too late. To his immense regret, he found he was unable to change directions in midair. The man crashed through the display, knocking over a platoon of British Redcoats in the Battle of Ulundi. The mannequins scattered like bowling pins while the shattering glass triggered a deafening alarm. Emergency bells blared throughout the Zulu gallery.
    Addison and Molly bolted into the Hall of Native Americans, the remaining bodyguards sprinting behind. Addison hefted up a metal trash can and began cracking the window displays protecting Algonquin masks and Apache tomahawks. More alarms wailed throughout the museum.
    â€œAddison, what are you doing?” Molly shouted over the blasting alarms.
    â€œThe security alarms, Molly! They must be wired straight to the police station. This will call the police!”
    More of Professor Ragar’s bodyguards poured into the gallery. With no other escape, Molly and Addison darted upstairs.
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    Addison and Molly hid in the medieval armor exhibit, behind a model of a destrier warhorse covered in plated steel. Addison panted for air, his heart thumping against his rib cage like a trapped woodpecker. He struggled to quiet his breathing. At this precise moment, he had the mental clarity of two ferrets fighting in a sack.
    â€œThis is a sticky wicket,” admitted Addison.
    â€œWhat’s a sticky wicket?”
    â€œAn English expression about cricket.”
    â€œ
Cricket?
”
    â€œA British game, like baseball, but slower and more complicated.”
    â€œAddison, why are you telling me about cricket right now? Men are coming, and we should be going.”
    â€œI was just making a helpful analogy.”
    â€œI would like to remind you,” said Molly, “that we are being hunted by