Kingdom Keepers VI (9781423179214) (27 page)

I
NFORMED BY
U
NCLE
B
OB
of the boys' visit to his office, Clayton Freeman walked with Rafina, a fellow security member from Rwanda. The breakthrough had come only moments before Bob's call. A child had spilled lemonade at a table with a view of the mammoth Funnel Vision screen. Clayton had jumped up to help clean it, but had stopped in the midst of laying napkins across the spill, his memory jogged: a string of successive drops stained the decking in a straight line.

The pattern was eerily familiar. And then, like a jolt, he had it: he'd seen the jogging path stained in a similar pattern.

Armed with two Taser stun guns, he and Rafina approached the forward jogging path's starboard curve, the spot where twice before Freeman had lost the stowaway.

Freeman had taken a forensics course in college. Fluid splatter had received two weeks of intensive study. These stains on the jogging track, like the lemonade, formed perfect little suns. Meaning they'd dripped straight down from overhead.

Freeman looked up.

A group of large pipes ran overhead, interrupted by two large metal cubes suspended from the ceiling end to end, each nearly the size of a refrigerator. The cube nearest Freeman carried dark stains running down its side.

“What is that?” Rafina asked.

This wasn't the first time Freeman had studied the upper area of the deck's tunnel; not by any means. But it was the first time he'd noticed a gap above the refrigerator-
size boxes. He wasn't sure of the purpose the large steel boxes served—water tanks?––but they were clearly fixtures, permanent pieces of the ship.

The spills were not oil or pink hydraulic fluid. Not bird droppings or rust. It looked more like…

Soda
.

For Rafina's sake, Freeman mimed his drinking from a can. He then signaled for her to be quiet, and she nodded.

Freeman concentrated on every detail of his surroundings. A slight scuff mark—faint scratches on the varnished wooden handrail—said it all. He motioned for Rafina to climb the wall, using the handrail as a leg up. He indicated his own eyes, wanting her to look into the narrow space above the piece of steel overhead. She nodded. He made fists, indicating she should be prepared for confrontation, pointed to himself and then the deck: he would remain down here. She understood.

Lithe and catlike, Rafina ascended the wall. In order to reach a particular handhold she needed to adjust her left foot—it perfectly covered the scratched area on the handrail. At this moment, Freeman knew he was right.

His search for the stowaway was about to come to an end.

As Rafina's head came even with the top of the steel box, pages of newsprint took flight from the opposite side, falling toward Freeman like giant confetti. He batted them aside. Food wrappers followed, as well as paper cups for soda. A large boy crashed to the deck. Freeman tackled him.

Rafina shouted down to him, her voice echoing.

“There's another one, on drugs or something,” Rafina called down. “His eyes are open, but he's not moving.”

“It's not drugs!” the other kid said, appealing to Freeman. “They did this to him. Zoned him out like that because he warned the kids.”

“Who is ‘they'?” Freeman asked.

“If you don't know that,” the kid said, “I'd better talk to your boss.”

W
ILLA MISSED THE MEETING
, unable to get away from her mom's stateroom at such a late hour. Most of the parents had been off on their own for the cruise. Willa's kept a close eye on her late at night.

Philby kept looking around, as if expecting to see Willa.

Maybeck had been experiencing headaches and had gone to bed at eleven to get ready for the following day at Puerto Vallarta.

The
Dream
, “running behind schedule” due to delays in Costa Rica, was set to disembark guests three hours late, at ten thirty in the morning.

“Three steps,” Finn said, holding up the copies of the pages from the journal and repeating what he'd said only a few minutes before. “The witch—that would be Tia Dalma. Step one.” He raised one finger. “The key flower—Maybeck and Storey saw Tia Dalma doing a ceremony over before she picked it in the cave.” A second finger. “And now Dillard. Just as Luowski and Mattie warned. A sacrifice. ‘One of you will die.'”

Charlene wormed her hands between knees, tightly pressed together. She looked ready to crawl out of her skin.

“It's not your fault, Charlene,” Finn said.

“Easy for you to say.”

“If we combine what Jess drew,” the Professor said, coming to his feet in the small inboard stateroom, “with what Mattie felt up on the mountain, they pretty much match. Stone. Maybe a cave. Something dangerous.”

“Chernabog,” Finn said flatly.

“You'd think.” Philby picked at a fingernail. It was a nasty habit he had recently developed. “I suppose no one's going to tell us if they found him backstage and locked him up or something. But if they had, let's face it: Wayne would know. Wayne would have told us.”

“So, we know what they have planned,” Charlene said, her face pointed to the floor. “What are we going to do about it?” Charlene seemed very dejected. The reality of the situation had sunk in.

The sound of defeat in her voice was so foreign, Finn found himself concentrating on the fact that it was really her. She blamed herself for Dillard, which didn't make any sense.

“We're going to stop it,” Finn said.

“He's not a cat,” Philby countered. “He doesn't get nine lives.”

“He's a monster,” Charlene said. “So maybe he gets more.”

Philby snorted. “If they get us thinking we're beat before we really are, then they win.”

“Look who's the cheerleader now,” she said.

“They've got Dillard,” Finn reminded him.

Philby countered, “They think they've got
you
. Kenny said the disguise wasn't perfect, but given the clothes and the fact they've never actually held you captive before, they may still believe he's you.”

Finn thought:
Then he's dead.

Kenny nodded from the corner. He looked like the kid going to detention. “It could go either way.”

“So they have a hostage,” Finn said. “And we know what they're planning.”

“‘Someone will die,'” Charlene repeated. “I really don't think we should have left Mattie! That was a bad plan.”

“It was the only plan.” Philby sounded defensive.

“It
didn't
work!”

“It helped!” he shouted. “Mattie empathized with two of them. We know more than we did.”

“Yeah, right! She helped us, and now she's alone. Some friends we are. Some team!”

“The ones who are hurting,” Finn said, “are Amanda and Jess. They got Mattie to come here in the first place.”

“Do you
ever
stop thinking about her? Feeling sorry for her?” Charlene raised her head just long enough to make Finn feel her scorn.

“So, what now?” Philby asked Finn in a mocking tone.

Was Finn supposed to capitulate and let Philby direct the next step?

“They're going to get off the ship,” Finn said. “Either in Puerto Vallarta or Cabo. Unless these rocks and caves are in Disneyland, then it has to be one of the next stops.”

“Agreed.” Philby seemed to be taunting him:
Be as
smart as I am.

“They'll head to this place, whatever it is. They'll take Chernabog and Dillard. They brought me—or Dillard—back to the ship because there was more
to do.”

Philby nodded. He could be so annoying.

“The rise of Chernabog,” Charlene said.

“That's such a drama-queen way of saying it,” Philby sneered.

Charlene stuck her tongue out at him.

“The best move is for our DHIs to follow them. If we can even figure out when and how they're leaving the ship.”

“They're creatures of habit,” Philby said. “They will leave by the side of the ship away from the dock, the forward gangway. There will be a boat waiting. Just like in Aruba. Trust me. But it can't be our DHIs.”

“No projectors.”

“Gold star.”

“We're supposed to guide the kayak trip. All five of us,” Charlene reminded Philby, eyes moving to Finn. “If we're a no-show, the excursion crew will come looking for us.”

“Yes,” Philby said. “But once we disembark, we'll be logged off the ship by the computers. Security will be able to determine that we left the ship with the first passengers.”

“And if the Overtakers leave the ship before we're allowed off?” Charlene asked.

“That would be smart of them, and bad for us,” Philby conceded. “Good thinking, Charlie.”

Finn raised a finger. “We can assume there will be projection in the town, just not out in the jungle.” Philby did not contradict him. “We send Storey out as a DHI. She can jump through the hull, won't need to go through security at the gangway. Once out, she drops a rope—”

“A line.”

“—or finds a ladder on the pier. We leave through the aft gangway door. We swim for it. Storey has figured out a way for us to get out of the water. Those docks are so high, there's no way we can do it without help.”

“When the aft gangway door is opened, it will send a signal to Security. They'll check cameras. They'll see us.” Philby sounded so confident.

“But not if you can rig it so they don't.” Finn was testing his theory.

“Correct,” Philby said.

“You understand we have only a slight idea of what the OTs are up to? Sacrifice. Reboot Chernabog. Charlene? Dillard? We also know they may want 2.0 and one of us in order to figure it out. We can't give them that. Stopping them is not an option, it's a requirement. Our purpose,” Finn finished softly.

The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the ship's powerful engine, a slight, worrying vibration.

S
URPRISINGLY, THINGS WENT
according to plan.

It was almost as if Security served it up on a platter for Philby. He worked out an elaborate scheme to lure people out of the offices so he could get inside as his DHI and defeat the aft gangway alarm—only to watch an apparent emergency vacate the place like it was on fire. Philby overrode the cameras and the alarm easily. Finn and Philby hurried to the aft gangway door where they met up with Maybeck, Willa, and Charlene.

Having left all electronics behind, but keeping their IDs on them, they slipped into the water and swam to shore where Storey had left a line for them to climb, ingeniously located behind a large sign listing immigration policy for arriving passengers. The Keepers pulled themselves up to the dock, rolled, and hid behind the sign, undetected.

The pier work of unloading trash and loading mountains of food by forklift kept the crew and longshoremen occupied. Philby peered around the sign, gave a thumbs-up, and the five Keepers walked calmly through the warehouse to their freedom, avoiding
the immigration station, which hadn't even opened
yet.

Finn and Philby took up a location by an ATM that offered a clear view of Deck 11 and waited. Maybeck headed into the streets of Puerto Vallarta with Charlene, while Willa stayed near a taxi stand up the street with a clear view of the two boys.

Thirty minutes felt like several hours, but finally Storey appeared along the rail. She waved her arms. Philby waved back. She pointed forward.

“Here we go,” Philby said. “The OTs are on the move. Same as Aruba.”

Storey's final signal was cradling her arms and
rocking an invisible baby—the sign that the OTs were carrying something: Dillard.

“They've got him,” Finn said.

“Not for long, they don't,” Philby said.

The sound of approaching motors caught their ears. They looked up to see Maybeck and Charlene riding scooters. The two pulled to the curb and indicated the spare helmets clipped to the seats.

“No way!” Finn said. “How could you possibly—?”

“It's Mexico,” Maybeck said.

Charlene said proudly, “He told the guy renting them that he was twenty and I was eighteen.”

“Turned out it didn't matter,” Maybeck explained. “You can rent them at fifteen or over. We have them for the day.”

“What about Willa?” Philby asked.

“She'll take the taxi as planned,” Maybeck said. “You going to climb on, or what?”

“You look stupid in that helmet,” Philby said.

“Wait until you have yours on, Romeo.”

Finn teamed up with Charlene; Philby with Maybeck. They rode up to Willa and filled her in. While her eyes betrayed her desire to be with Philby, she neither complained nor objected. To work their mission smoothly, the teamwork required of each of them overcame the rest.

Willa pointed out a rusted white van parked away from the
Dream
on the next pier. “I'm guessing that's their ride.”

“Got to be,” Philby said. “So one bike in front, one behind; and the taxi keeps the van in sight but never too close.” He added, “Okay with you?”

A small boat pulled up to the pier near the van. None of them had noticed the crane until it lowered a sling toward the waiting boat.

“They're offloading something heavy,” Philby said. “Something big.”

“Him.” For Finn, the one word rang out like the sound of a starting gun.

* * *

An hour outside of Puerto Vallarta, Willa realized she'd run out of money. The taxi driver dropped her by the side of the road. On the scooter, Charlene had lost sight of Maybeck and Philby, the white van, and the taxi.

“Hey,” Finn said into her ear, holding on to her from behind. “Isn't that—”

“Willa's taxi!”

“Empty!”

Charlene sped up the bike, believing they'd reached their destination. When they found Willa on the side of the road, their spirits were crushed. Not only would they now slow down further due to having three on the bike, but any chance of closing the distance on Maybeck's bike and the white van were dashed.

“We've lost them,” Finn said.

“Maybe not,” Willa countered. “The driver spoke some English. And by ‘some,' I mean very little. He said the only thing out here is a stone quarry and some ancient ruins. There's a trailhead. He said maybe ten more kilometers.”

“The quarry?”

“End of the road. Another five kilometers past
the trailhead. The early natives used the quarry
for their temple rock. They built a limestone road
from the quarry to the site. It still exists.”

“I'd say his English was pretty good,” Charlene said.

“He had a guide book. In Spanish, but there were pictures.”

“A tourist trap?” Finn said.

“Not hardly. It was being excavated, but they ran out of money a long time ago. In the guidebook it's marked as the highest level of difficulty for hiking. There's no water, and it's not policed.”

“That has Overtakers written all over it,” Finn said.

When Willa failed to comment, Finn gave her a moment and then turned toward her. He'd given his helmet to her, so with the wind in his face he couldn't hear well.

“What?” he shouted. “Why do you look like that?”

“It wasn't just the money that stopped them from digging it up.” Willa shouted to be heard over the complaining motor. “The site was apparently used for sacrifices. Human sacrifices. People thought it was haunted.”

“Human sacrifice.” Finn made it a statement. He leaned forward to Charlene. “Please tell me you can make this thing go faster.”

* * *

Maybeck and Philby stayed well back of the white van, part by design, part by default.

Losing the van on the flats multiple times, they were able to regain it on the jungle hills where the van struggled under a heavy load. Nonetheless, it was somewhat by chance that Philby spotted the vehicle off-road, penetrating deeper into the jungle.

He tapped Maybeck on the shoulder and pointed. Maybeck slowed the scooter and pulled to the side of the empty dirt road.

“What now?” Maybeck asked.

Philby looked back: Charlene was nowhere in sight.

“We can't wait for them,” Maybeck said.

“No. And you and I have to stay together. So pull
up to where the van turned in and let me hop off a second.”

Maybeck did as requested. Philby clipped the chin strap of his helmet to a vine, leaving it hanging low where it might be spotted.

“Brilliant!”

Philby smiled. “That's why they pay me the big bucks.”

It had become a common joke among the Keepers—their parents and guardians were receiving direct-deposit
monthly performance fees in educational accounts to help fund a Keeper's college enrollment; the kids themselves never saw a dime.

A wooden sign sagged away from the road, its message faded and covered in vines.

“Not so sure about the bike,” Maybeck said. “It's too loud.”

“They could be miles down this road.”

“Agreed. But they could hear us coming.”

“That would make for an unpleasant welcoming party.”

“As long as the…path”—Philby could hardly call it a road—“goes straight, and we can see the van's tracks out ahead, we can stay on the bike. We'll go real slow, so it barely makes noise. If we lose the tire tracks, we'll shut it down and walk until we know what's going on.”

“Got it.”

They rode ahead, eyes trained on the tracks left by the heavy van.

“Whoa!” said Philby after five minutes. The dirt trail narrowed, the jungle encroaching. “Nasty.”

They climbed off and walked the scooter. The trail narrowed even further, barely wide enough for the two boys walking side by side. They formed a single file, Maybeck in the lead, pushing the bike. The crushed plants and vines indicated the passage of the van; tire tracks were no longer easy to see. It was darker here, the jungle blotting out the sun.

“I'm stashing this thing,” Maybeck said. “It's a pain in the butt to push.”

The boys leaned it behind a dead stump of a tree, fifteen feet tall, easy to spot among the rest of the overgrowth and well off the trail.

“This place is bizarre.”

“It is,” Philby agreed. “I think it's safe to assume they're heading to an ancient temple or archaeological site.”

“If you say so.”

“There were whole cities in these places a thousand years ago.”

“Spare me the history lesson.”

“I'm just saying.”

“Well, don't. We shouldn't talk. I'll take the lead,” Maybeck said. “Hand signals only until we know what's going on.”

“You going to take your helmet off?”

“Oh, shut up!” He unstrapped the helmet and left it with the bike. As he did, he whispered, “What if the others see your signal but don't shut off their bike? What if they mess this up?”

“I trust them,” Philby declared.

“Yeah? Well good for you. Me? I'll wait to make that call.”

“You can't wait on trust. You either have it or you don't.”

“Lose the professor thing, would you? We've got a monster to track down. And don't forget Dillard.”

“Believe me. I haven't forgotten.”

At that exact moment, the sky rumbled.

Philby looked up thinking:
What next?

* * *

“What next?” Finn said, his eyes trained on the dark sky.

“Rain?” Willa said.

Charlene had spotted the helmet; Willa, the sign. Finn pointed out the depth of the single track—the scooter—explaining that it would only make such a deep impression if both boys were on it. They headed down the dirt trail, noticing how the jungle closed in from either side, choking off the route. Finally, with three of them riding, the scooter was spinning out too much. They parked it in the vegetation, ditched the helmets, and walked. When the rain came it drenched them like a fire hose, but it only lasted all of five minutes. Then the jungle felt like a sauna that had been turned up. Hot, sticky.

Mosquitoes whined by their ears, the girls swatting at them.

“I don't like this,” Charlene said.

“Noted.” Finn didn't like it either, but withheld comment. Troubled by the claustrophobic undergrowth and the lack of light—it felt like midnight!—he kept his fears to himself.

“The sign said something about religion,” Willa said. “House of religion? I'm not sure.”

“We don't know if it's important,” Finn said, “until we get there.”

“It could be miles.”

“It could. So I suggest we save our energy with less chatter.”

But it wasn't long until Finn lost sight of the bike track. He stopped the girls and told them to wait. Back-tracking, he found where the track led into the undergrowth and, eventually, the other bike behind the tree.

“If this trail gets any smaller…” Charlene whispered.
She didn't complete her thought. She didn't have to: the Overtakers couldn't be far.

* * *

Among the jungle cries, the buzz of insects the size of bats, and the noises of humans extremely close by, Finn picked out a cooing he identified as coming from Philby. Philby had cared for a wounded pigeon in seventh grade and had taught himself to coo like one, a bizarre talent that only his closest friends knew about. And though a pigeon's coo in the middle of a Mexican jungle might have caught the ear of an ornithologist, when mixed into the ongoing cacophony, only such a bird specialist would realize it had no place here.

Finn tugged on Willa's sleeve, stopping her. They'd been using hand signals for the past hundred yards, having heard voices. Now Finn pointed to their left.

There it was again:
coo-coo…

Willa took hold of and stopped Charlene. The three carefully tiptoed into the undergrowth, following the call of a city bird a long way from home.

Maybeck and Philby had found a part of an old wall—a very old wall—made of refrigerator-size hand-carved stones stacked with exacting accuracy. Covered in creeping vines, flowering orchids, and giant ferns, the wall wasn't a wall at all, but the bottom flight of a tiered pyramid temple that had lost two-thirds of its upper structure to fifteen hundred years of hurricane winds and erosion.

With their backs pressed against the moss-covered third row of rock, and hidden by the vegetation, the boys held an elevated post looking down into a large flat area about the size of half a football field. Judging by the tall lumps of vegetation enclosing it, it looked as if it might have been a courtyard, surrounded by temples or meeting places. At its center was a massive stone, waist-high and five feet long, elevated on a platform of smaller stones. The platform and table had been cleared of vines and weeds. It stood in stark contrast to the wild, uncontrollable growth surrounding it.

Tia Dalma stood by the long flat rock, the journal open in front of her. Maleficent paced nearby. The Evil Queen leaned against the van, scowling, a large duffel bag at her feet. Four men—ship crewmen who Maybeck recognized as OT Zombies—struggled with a towering horned gorilla.