The Deadly Curse of Toco-Rey

The Deadly Curse
of Toco-Rey

THE COOPER KIDS ADVENTURE SERIES
^®

Flying Blind
The Legend of Annie Murphy
The Deadly Curse of Toco-Rey
The Secret of the Desert Stone

(Available from Crossway Books)

Trapped at the Bottom of the Sea
The Tombs of Anak
Escape from the Island of Aquarius
The Door in the Dragon's Throat

The Cooper Kids
Adventure Series
^®

The Deadly Curse
of Toco-Rey

Frank E. Peretti

© 1996 by Frank E. Peretti

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Thomas Nelson, Inc. books may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

Scripture quotations are from the
International Children's Bible
^®
,
New Century Version
^®
, © 1986, 1988, 1999 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Peretti, Frank E.
    The deadly curse of Toco-Rey / Frank E. Peretti.
        p. cm. — (The Cooper Kids Adventure Series
^®
; 6)
    Summary: While on a quest to save a piece of history, Jay, Lila, and their father encounter hostile natives and ancient evil forces in the jungles of Central America.
    ISBN 978-1-4003-0575-9
    [1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Jungles—Fiction. 3. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Series: Peretti, Frank E. The Cooper Kids Adventure Series
^®
; 6.
    PZ7.P4254De 1996
    [Fic]—dc20

96–15641
CIP    
AC

Printed in the United States of America
09 10 11 QW 12 11 10 9 8

Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

ONE

C
hico Valles, machete in hand, hacked his way along the narrow trail, oblivious to the constant chatter of cicadas and the raucous screams of tropical birds. Sweat trickled down his stubbled face. The thick, encroaching jungle pressed in on him from every direction. It reached with limbs, slapped with leaves, grabbed with vine tendrils. He forced it back with his machete and pressed on as he did every day, running errands for Basehart the American.

Finally he reached the clearing where the Corys had set up their camp. He stopped.

The camp looked deserted. The large tent sagged a bit as if a pole had broken. Cookware, clothing, and food were strewn about under the blue tarpaulin lean-to. The wooden camp chairs and portable table were overturned by the fire pit. A portable camp stove lay on its side, bent and broken, and orchids now lay scattered on the ground, spilled from a vase. Except for the noises of the jungle, Chico heard no sound. Except for the slow crawl of an iguana on a limb overhead, he saw no movement.

Chico tightened his grip on the machete.

“Kachakas,” he muttered, his eyes darting about. Then he called, “Hello! Señor Cory!”

No answer.

Steeling his nerves, Chico took a few cautious steps forward, emerging from the jungle with the machete outstretched. He watched every direction for hidden dangers, lurking enemies. He could detect no sign of another human being—at least none still alive.

Then he heard a low, garbled hissing from the tent. A snake? He instinctively drew the machete back, ready to strike. Then he inched forward, trying to get a view through the tent's open flap.

The inside of the tent appeared to have been raided by wild animals. Blankets, sleeping bags, books, charts, and tools were scattered everywhere. The tent fabric had been torn, and one of the support poles was indeed broken.

“Señor Cory!”

Again, no answer. Chico walked closer and stuck his head into the tent.

He found the source of that strange hissing sound. A handheld two-way radio lay on the floor, the case broken and splintered, its dial still glowing. Had someone tried to call for help? Where were they now?

Chico ducked into the shadowy interior, his feet shuffling through scattered clothing and trodden papers.

“Señor—”

His eyes caught a sparkling, golden glow in one corner, and he stared, spellbound.
“El tesoro,”
he whispered. The treasure.

On a steel footlocker stood a tall, ornately engraved vase of gold, several golden cups, a gold jeweled necklace, and small, golden statues of ancient gods and warriors. They all glistened as if newly polished in the faint light that came through the doorway.

Chico took a furtive look outside, then reached down to grab the vase.

The glistening, golden surface felt slick and gooey.

And then it felt like fire. He yanked his hand away with a cry of pain and was horrified to find thin yellow slime on his palm and fingers. It began to penetrate his skin, bubbling and fizzing, burning like millions of red-hot needles.

He frantically wiped his hand on a blanket, then tried to find some water, anything to remove the slime. Searing pain flashed up his arm and he began to scream.

So great was his terror and agony that he didn't see the shadowy figure appear in the doorway, crouching like a lion. When it leaped upon him, the impact jarred him senseless.

The birds cried out, thundering from the treetops. The cicadas cut their song short. The iguana disappeared around the trunk of the big tree.

The tent came alive, lurching and bulging this way and that. Chico's screams mingled with the eerie, cougarlike snarls of his attacker.

At the Langley Memorial Art Museum in New York City, Dr. Jacob Cooper, hat in hand, strolled quietly through the Hall of Kings. Statues, busts, masks, and relief carvings of ancient kings glowered at him from their pedestals along both sides of the vast marble hall.

“Dr. Cooper?” A small man in a dark suit came close and looked up at him.

Jacob Cooper looked down with curiosity. “Mr. Stern?”

The little man smiled. “Mr. Wendell. I work for Mr. Stern. Please come with me.”

Dr. Cooper followed him to the end of the hall and through an unmarked door into a large workroom and archive. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, all loaded down with books, documents, and historical artifacts. In the center of the room stood a large worktable where artifacts were restored and prepared for display.

A gray-haired, well-dressed man sat at the table. He rose when Jacob Cooper entered the room. “Dr. Jacob Cooper?”

Dr. Cooper reached across the table and shook his hand. “Mr. Stern?”

“Thank you for coming.” Mr. Stern looked at his associate, who took his cue and left the room. Then Mr. Stern asked, “You
are
alone?”

“Yes, and no one knows of our meeting, just as you requested.”

Mr. Stern smiled. “I apologize for the secrecy, but your fame goes before you. And I have reason to believe certain interests would not be happy to see you involved in our little project. Please, have a seat.”

Dr. Cooper sat at the big table and Mr. Stern returned to his seat opposite. He rested his hand on an old leather carrying case. “Dr. Cooper, the matters we are about to discuss are of a delicate nature. Human lives are at stake . . . and I'm afraid some have already perished. Have you heard of the lost city of Toco-Rey?”

Jacob Cooper probed his memory. “A legendary city full of treasure somewhere in Central America?”

Mr. Stern brightened, nodding his head. “Toco-Rey is believed to have been built by the Oltecas, who thrived during the decline of the Mayan empire and vanished into history almost 600 years before Columbus.”

Dr. Cooper wrinkled his brow. “I've heard a little about it from a treasure hunter who seemed rather obsessed with the place.”

“Ben Cory?”

Dr. Cooper smiled. “So you've met him?”

Stern's face grew solemn as he announced, “I'm afraid
he
is one who has died, Dr. Cooper.”

Jacob Cooper was saddened by the news but not entirely surprised. “What happened?”

“He was working for us, searching out the lost city, and—” Mr. Stern's eyes grew wide with excitement, “we believe he found it! He and his crew brought artifacts out of the jungle: gold, jewelry, jade, sculpture. Cory was elated, and so were we. But soon after, he and his party were ambushed in their camp and killed. Every last artifact was stolen. We think the local natives, the Kachakas, are responsible. They claim to be descendants of the Oltecas, charged with guarding the city from outsiders.”

“Foreign treasure hunters, in other words.”

“Not in this case!” Mr. Stern countered. “Ben Cory was hired by the Langley Museum, and his quest was not just for treasure but also for knowledge, for history itself. Here. Let me show you.” Mr. Stern flipped the leather case open and carefully drew out some old parchments and a worn, cracked leatherbound logbook. “The museum acquired these recently: the journal and maps of José de Carlon, an early Spanish explorer who went to Mexico shortly after Hernán Cortés had finished his conquests. José de Carlon wasn't much of a soldier or conqueror; he was too preoccupied with treasure hunting. Rumors of a lost city, the final stronghold of Kachi-Tochetin, king of the Oltecas, lured him south.”

Mr. Stern carefully unrolled one of the brittle, aging maps as Dr. Cooper leaned over the table for a careful look.

“See here? The map shows his route through the jungles to the lost city, and he even marked out where the ruins are. According to his journal, he and his men found Toco-Rey in 1536, six centuries after the city was deserted. Ben Cory and his men used this map to find the treasure, but they were killed before we could find out how, or where.”

Dr. Cooper could see where this was going. He fidgeted a little and sighed. “Mr. Stern . . . I'm an archaeologist. Perhaps another treasure hunter . . .”

Mr. Stern leaned forward, intense. “Dr. Cooper, treasure hunting is exactly what we are trying to
prevent!
For years, the ruins of the Mayas have been ravaged and looted by souvenir seekers, and now that Toco-Rey has been found, the same thing could happen there. We could lose a priceless store of Oltecan history and culture to looters—unless we find the treasure first and rescue the artifacts. I know you are a man who cares about such things. I know you would want to preserve history.”

Jacob Cooper took a moment to consider. As founder of the Cooper Institute for Biblical Archaeology, he had devoted his life to preserving the past. It had vital lessons it could teach about the present and the future. Saving another piece of history from treasure hunters, black marketeers, and greedy collectors would certainly be in keeping with his and the Institute's goals. “So,” he said at length, “you want me to pick up the trail where Ben Cory left off?”

Mr. Stern nodded. “You can follow the maps and notes of José de Carlon, just like Ben Cory did. With your skill and expertise, it should be no problem at all to retrace Cory's route to the treasure.”

“No problem at all?” Dr. Cooper leaned back, his fingers lightly drumming his chin. “There's just one thing I'd like to understand. . . .”

“Yes?”

“If José de Carlon found this treasure, why is it still there? Why didn't he carry it off?”

Mr. Stern hesitated, as if unprepared for the question, then sighed. “You may as well know. In his journal, José de Carlon comes across as a very superstitious man. He was afraid of booby traps, magical curses, ancient evil forces. He and his men actually dug their own tunnel into the tomb of Kachi-Tochetin in the hope that they could sneak in secretly and evade any curses or traps.” Then he added, “Apparently they didn't succeed.”