Free Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas by Jonathan W. Stokes

his arms dramatically. “The Forgotten River!”
    To his amazement, the river was just a trickle of muddy ooze.
    â€œNo wonder they forgot about it,” Molly said.
    Addison struggled to hide his disappointment. “To be fair, the clue was written five hundred years ago. I’m sure back in the day it was a fantastic river. The Frank’s Pizza of rivers.”
    Bells tolled from the cathedral. The team trudged up to the front steps of the church and flopped down in a tired heap.
    â€œWe found the Forgotten River,” said Eddie. “Now what?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” Addison admitted, rubbing his tired legs. “The Cooke brain runs more smoothly after a moment’s rest.”
    â€œI’m hungry,” said Eddie. “I miss Restaurant Anatolia. Best Turkish restaurant in the city.”
    â€œEddie, when we find that treasure, you can afford all the Turkish food you want. You can buy Restaurant Anatolia and sleep on a bed of kebabs.”
    â€œI could settle for that.”
    â€œWe shouldn’t be thinking about ourselves,” said Molly. “Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel have been kidnapped for nearly twenty-four hours.”
    â€œMolly, I haven’t even begun to think about
not
thinking about thinking about our aunt and uncle.” Addison took off his wingtips and felt the cool cobblestones through his dress socks.
    Eddie plopped down beside him. “I don’t mean to sound defeatist, Addison, but this is completely impossible. If this Incan treasure’s been around for centuries, how come no one’s found it yet?”
    â€œBecause no one had my uncle’s key. Any treasure hunters who came before us were just fumbling around in the dark. They didn’t know where to begin.”
    â€œWe
have
the key, and we don’t know where to begin.” Molly shrugged.
    Eddie bobbed his head in agreement. “What if Ragar beats us to the punch? He has a head start. Plus he has your aunt and uncle—and they’re Incan experts.”
    The sunset cast long shadows across the cobbled courtyard of the cathedral. Darkness was falling fast. Addison could tell his team felt just as frazzled as he did. He shook his head. “My aunt and uncle won’t help Ragar. They’ll provide clever clues that sound right, but are deliberately wrong.”
    Molly sighed. “They can’t fool him forever.”
    â€œProbably not. But they
can
slow him down. And that gives us a chance.”
    Raj could never sit still for long. He explored the looming walls of the ancient cathedral, peppered with Gothic spires, snarling gargoyles, and vaulted archways. “Eddie, can you read that plaque by the door?”
    Eddie glanced up. “Probably. It’s in English.”
    â€œOh,” said Raj, embarrassed. “For tourists, I guess.” Raj crossed to the sign and read it aloud. “This church is the Cathedral of Lost Souls. It was built in the time of Francisco Pizarro.”
    â€œWhat’s that about Frank’s Pizza?” Eddie asked.
    â€œBuilt just after Pizarro’s conquistadors defeated the Incas,” Raj continued, reading the chiseled calligraphy on the plaque.
    Addison turned to examine the cathedral with sudden interest. “So this old heap is five hundred years old.” Hiseye zeroed in on a carved stone crest that crowned the portico over the massive double doors. And the Addison Cooke brain finally flicked into gear. “Benedict Arnold!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “I’ve seen that crest before. Raj, you’re a genius!”
    â€œI am?”
    â€œWell, one of us is. Because we now have a clue.”
    Addison flipped through the sketches in his pocket notebook until he found the right page. He pointed a finger triumphantly at the coat of arms—a shield supported by two fire-breathing dragons. It matched the crest on the cathedral. “There. The crest of Diego de