Read Online Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas by Jonathan W. Stokes - Free Book Online

attendant, making her way through the cabin.
    Addison stayed her with a hand. “If you have some orange juice in that trolley, you will win my undying affection.”
    â€œAt once, Mr. Cooke,” crooned the flight attendant.
    Addison spread orange marmalade on a muffin,realizing he had completely missed dinner the night before. He was ravenous. He scooped scrambled eggs onto a slice of toast as he’d once seen his father do. “Mo, why aren’t you eating? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day and all that.”
    Molly held her stomach and frowned. “I can’t eat. I’m worried about Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel.”
    Addison slowly lowered his fork. He looked down at his eggs. Hot and steaming with just the right amount of bacon. But somehow, Addison found he wasn’t as hungry as he’d thought. He turned to gaze out the window. New York faded into the distance as the plane soared over the open ocean, carrying him to a newworld.



Chapter Seven

Welcome to
    Olvidados

    A DDISON PACED IN FRONT of the Bogotá bus terminal, consulting his pocket copy of
Fiddleton’s Atlas
. The clouded sky was a gray porridge, the air as warm and wet as a dog’s tongue. Addison loosened his tie against the stifling Colombian heat and addressed his team. “Olvidados is just a hop, skip, and a jump away. We’ll be there before Molly can say something snippy.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what you said when we left New York,” said Molly snippily. "Six hours ago.”
    â€œWell,” observed Addison, “Rome wasn’t built in six hours.”
    â€œMaybe. But I bet you can at least
get
to Rome in six hours.”
    Addison decided to let Molly have this round. International travel was probably enough to make even the Dalai Lama get a bit snappish with his monks. Addison sat down on a bench next to a weather-beaten man sipping a bottle of foul-smelling liquid from a brown paper bag. The leather-skinned man smiled a toothless grin and offered Addison the bottle.
    â€œThanks,” said Addison, waving a hand, “but Arnold Palmers are as strong as I go.”
    Eddie returned from the ticket counter, beaming with pleasure. “Four bus tickets to Olvidados.” He fanned them in his hand and doled them out like a card dealer.
    â€œWhat took so long?” asked Molly.
    â€œOlvidados means ‘forgotten,’” Eddie said.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo,” Eddie explained, “I kept asking the cashier for a ticket. She’d say, ‘Where to?’ And I’d say, ‘Forgotten.’ And she’d say, ‘Where to?’ And I’d say, ‘Forgotten.’ It went on like that.”
    â€œWell,” said Addison, “how long until our bus gets here?”
    â€œI forget.”
    Addison clasped his hands behind his back and resumed his pacing.
    â€œAnother thing,” Eddie continued, interrupting Addison in midpace. “I changed your uncle’s cash into Colombianmoney.” He handed Addison his uncle’s wallet. “Instead of two hundred dollars, you now have
four hundred thousand
pesos.”
    Raj tried to let out a low whistle before remembering that he couldn’t whistle.
    â€œWell,” said Addison, admiring the cash, “Colombia is starting to grow on me. You see, Molly, everything is falling neatly into place.”
    Thunder exploded, and the clouds emptied their pockets. Torrents of rain hammered the street. The team anxiously eyed the flashing lightning.
    â€œChin up, everyone!” Addison shouted over the deafening deluge. “I’m sure when we get to Olvidados, it will be a glittering tropical paradise. The perfect vacation after a long week of school.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Four hours later, Addison stepped off the bus in Olvidados and directly into a puddle of mud. Squabbling chickens and bleating goats exited the bus after him, followed by a