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

Russian convicts.”
    â€œYes, about that,” said Addison. “If you have any ideas, I’m open to suggestions.”
    â€œWell, I’ve been thinking,” said Molly, “Ragar’s men are bigger than we are. But we’re faster.”
    â€œWhat do you have in mind?” Addison hoped that perhaps Molly had conceived a brilliant plan.
    â€œRunning for it.”
    â€œAh,” said Addison. It was not the most ingenious plan he had ever heard, but it held a certain logic. “Well, at least the power is out. The darkness will give us an advantage.”
    Professor Ragar’s bodyguards stormed into the room and immediately turned on all the lights.
    â€œSeriously?” said Molly.
    Addison smacked his palm to his forehead. “Backup generators,” he sighed. He ducked lower behind the warhorse.
    The convicts fanned out across the gallery. The tallest of Ragar’s men took charge, spouting orders in a thick Russian accent. “Block all exits. Trap them in here.”
    â€œYes, Zubov,” grunted the bodyguards, executing their orders with military precision.
    The tall gangster named Zubov wore a long black ponytail. His pockmarked face was marred with the clints and grikes of acne scars. His upper lip was crowned by a supremely unfortunate mustache. It looked like a rodent had curled up under his nose and died.
    Zubov’s gaunt face wore the steely calm of a cobra uncoiling from a snake charmer’s basket. He peered carefully about the room, never seeming to blink. He spun a butterfly knife from his pocket, flicked out the blade, and slowly tapped its metal edge against a suit of armor. “Come out. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” Zubov held one hand over his heart to signify his deep sincerity.
    Safe in his hiding place, Addison held his breath. He listened to the tall man’s boot heels echoing across the marble floor, drawing steadily closer.
    Zubov scraped his butterfly knife along the suits of armor. The scratching sound jangled the nerves in Addison’s teeth.
    Molly grimaced and whispered to Addison, “I’m getting out of here.”
    â€œMolly, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the lights are on. They’ll see you.”
    â€œBetter than waiting here doing nothing.” Molly darted across the gallery, ducking behind mannequins outfitted in suits of heavy plate mail.
    â€œHello, little one,” said the tall man, his accented voice grating like crushed gravel.
    Molly poured on the speed. She threaded her way between suits of armor, ducking jeweled spears and jagged pikes. She visualized it like a soccer match. If she pushed herself, she thought she had a fighting chance of reaching her goal—the north exit. But Ragar’s bodyguards swarmed in, blocking every escape path. Molly quickly found she had nowhere to run. The men in dark suits circled in, grinning.
    Zubov reached out a knife-scarred hand to grip her neck . . .
    Addison, sneaking unnoticed across the gallery, silently thanked Molly for creating the perfect diversion.He seized this moment to shut off the lights again, plunging the room back into total darkness.
    Molly did not hesitate. She ducked the groping arms of the guards and sprinted directly through the throng, threading the needle.
    Guards hissed and shouted in the dark as they crashed into one another, toppling metal suits of armor with deafening clangs.
    Addison knew Molly could navigate the museum as well as he could, even in pitch darkness. “Molly, the north hallway!”
    Together, the young Cookes darted past the bodyguard blocking the north exit, slipping by him in the gloom. They raced up the north hallway at full tilt.
    â€œFine work with the diversion, young relative.”
    â€œYes, diversion, right,” said Molly, wiping sweat from her forehead. “That was totally my plan.”
    â€œWell, don’t gloat over it. This is where we make a discreet