Free The Genius Files #4 by Dan Gutman

“It still looks pretty high to me. Mom and I will wait down here with the other old fogies.”
    Coke and Pep looked at each other. The same memory flashed through both of their minds—the Singing Sand Dunes in Nevada, where they had been just a few weeks earlier. Their parents had waited in the parking lot while they hiked up the mountain of sand. When they reached the top, they were confronted by a nut in a bowler hat who threw them into a pit and left them there to die. If Coke hadn’t hit the guy in the back of the head with a jar full of sand, they would probably still be up there today.
    Or their skeletons would be, anyway.
    Of course, that seemed like ages ago. Nobody waschasing them anymore. Mrs. Higgins was working at the Bauxite Museum. Dr. Warsaw had had some sort of a mental meltdown back in Hot Springs. The last time they saw the bowler dudes, it was at Coca-Cola World in Atlanta. There was probably nothing to worry about. Mya and Bones had told them as much. They said the coast was clear.
    Coke and Pep started climbing the mountain—I mean, the hill . It was a challenging hike, but hardly qualified as a killer . It was a cloudless day, and when they reached the top, they were treated to a spectacular panoramic view of the Poteau River valley. Mount Magazine, in Arkansas, was visible in the distance. No other people were around.
    â€œIt’s so calm and peaceful up here,” Coke said, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath of fresh air.
    â€œI don’t know,” Pep replied. “I have the feeling that somebody’s following us.”
    â€œYou and your feelings.”

    Coke strolled over to read the concrete sign at the top of Cavanal Hill. Pep followed him but suddenly stopped in her tracks.
    â€œWhat’s that noise?” she asked.
    â€œWhat noise? I don’t hear any noise.”
    They looked up, and sure enough, high overhead, they could see a dot in the sky.
    â€œI’ll bet it’s a drone!” Pep said. “They use them to track down terrorists! And kill them!”
    â€œIt’s not a drone,” Coke said with a snort. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
    He was right. It wasn’t a drone. It was a plane—one of those small, two-seater propeller planes. It appeared to be circling.
    â€œThey probably give aerial tours,” Coke added, craning his neck to follow the path of the plane.
    â€œWhat if it’s spying on us?” Pep asked.
    â€œYou’re paranoid,” her brother replied.
    Coke was about to look away when two objects appeared to tumble out of the plane. From such a distance, it was impossible to tell what they were.
    But then, seconds later, two brightly colored parachutes opened.
    Whatever the falling objects were, they were falling directly over Coke and Pep. The twins hesitated for a moment, transfixed by the sight of the parachutesfloating down so gracefully.

    Soon it was clear that the objects hanging from the parachutes were people. And it didn’t take much longer for the twins to figure out who the people were.
    â€œBowler dudes at twelve o’clock!” Coke shouted, pointing at them. “Run for it, Pep!”
    The twins took off, running east on a concrete path that led away from the Cavanal Hill sign.
    â€œI told you somebody was following us!” Pep shouted breathlessly.
    Coke turned around for an instant to see the parachuting bowler dudes right behind them and descending rapidly. They were only about thirty feet overhead now. Their chutes were the kind that can be steered, and the dudes were steering them directly toward the twins.
    â€œJust run !” Coke shouted at his sister. “Head for the trees!”
    The parachuting bowler dudes were closing fast, and the twins could hear them as they ran for their lives.
    â€œHa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” one of the bowler dudes cackled. “We’ve got you now!”
    Coke felt like his heart was about to burst