Jake Atlas and the Hunt for the Feathered God Page 7

  “Yes, ma’am!” Dad said.

  “Not many families come to Honduras on holiday.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Dad said.

  The lady looked at Dad like he was an idiot and stamped our passports.

  We went straight to the car rental stall in the airport basement, where it was cooler, thank God. Pan and I slumped against a pillar as Mum and Dad sorted a car. I’d rarely seen my sister look so tired: she was like a zombie, with red eyes and a pasty white face. It wasn’t just exhaustion from the flight; she had looked unwell ever since we’d left the Snake Lady’s house. I wondered if she was haunted by the same memory of Sami writhing in that bed, and the same gut-wrenching guilt. I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault; it was mine. Like Sami, she had tried to hold me back. But, and I’m ashamed to say this, it made me feel a little bit better to think Pan felt guilty too – as if the burden and blame wasn’t just on me.

  The rental car was a big disappointment. I was expecting a jeep or jungle buggy.

  “A people carrier?” I said.

  “It’s safe,” Mum replied.

  “We’re going to hunt for a lost tomb,” Pan said, “in the most dangerous place in the world. We’re a bit beyond ‘safe’ aren’t we?”

  Mum touched her amulet. “No, we are not. We’ll be on a road all the way to Trujillo, on the edge of the Mosquito Coast. That’s where we’re supposed to meet the Snake Lady’s contact.”

  The car wasn’t exciting, but it was comfortable, I had to admit. Pan and I had a double seat each to stretch out across, as Mum and Dad took turns driving. I wanted to peer out of the windows and take it all in, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. I remember glimpses of traffic, honking horns, road works and drills. Mum and Dad arguing, maps unfolding and maps screwed up. At one point I looked up and saw a black motorbike riding close behind us.

  I woke when we stopped for petrol, and ran to use the toilet at the side of the station. It was a hole in the ground, brimming with poo and buzzing with flies, but I was too tired to be grossed out. I shuffled back towards the car to get more sleep.

  I stopped.

  The motorbike was there again.

  Even half-asleep I was sure it was the same one. There was no driver, just the bike parked on the grass verge. Had it stopped at the station? Or was it following us?

  The truth is I was too tired to care. So what if the Snake Lady was having us followed? We were here to find the emerald tablet. We were doing exactly what she wanted, and whoever was following us could tell her that.

  I wish now that I’d mentioned that bike to Mum and Dad. Maybe they would have checked it out, or at least been more alert to possible dangers. Maybe we’d have discovered what was really going on – right under our noses – before it was way too late…

  11

  I woke with sweat stinging my eyes and someone drilling at my skull. I glanced around, disorientated. Pan was curled up in the van’s rear seats, and Dad was asleep too, snoring so loudly that I first thought the noise was causing the pain in my head.

  I slid open the side door and stumbled outside, rubbing sleep from my eyes. It wasn’t sunny. In fact, I couldn’t even see the sun through the thick grey clouds. So how could it be so hot? It was an uncomfortable, sticky sort of heat, and the damp-laundry air tasted mouldy on my tongue.

  Mum stood at the front of the car, staring down a hill. She looked back at me and tossed me a bottle of water.

  “Drink it all,” she said. “Dehydration is the number one killer in the jungle.”

  “Jungle?” I muttered.

  I shuffled to join her, and in an instant I was wide awake.

  Jungle.

  I gazed at a small, ramshackle town sandwiched between green and blue. To one side was crystal-clear sea. To the other were hills that rose into mountains that were entirely covered in trees. It really looked like a jungle, even though I’d never seen one before – a thick tangle of drooping vines, spiky palms and broccoli-top trees. A thin layer of mist shrouded some of the hillsides, but I could see monkeys swinging between branches, exotic brightly coloured birds, and gigantic snakes twisting around towering trunks.

  OK, I couldn’t actually see them, but they were there, I was sure.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Trujillo,” Mum told me. “End of the road.”

  The town really was the end of the road. The jungle spilled down the hills and into the sandy streets, green fingers reaching between rows of box-like houses with corrugated iron roofs. Later I saw on a map that it’s spelled Trujillo but Mum said it with an X – Truxillo – which sounded even cooler.

  “Where we meeting the Snake Lady’s contact?” I asked.

  “Where are we meeting the Snake Lady’s contact,” Mum corrected. “In the café on the beach.”

  Neither of us looked towards the beach; our eyes remained on the jungle. The small area of the forest I could see looked so dense, as if there was no way in. Could we really find a lost tomb in there? Alpha Squad had searched for six weeks and vanished. And they were supposed to be the best.

  “Do you really think we can do it?”

  I needed reassurance. I wanted Mum to bring out a map and study it and then tell me everything was fine. But she didn’t look at a map. She looked at me, and I knew what she was thinking – could I really do it?

  She sighed. “I don’t know, Jake. But we’ll try.”

  I’d never seen Mum so tense. I decided not to tell her about the motorcycle I’d thought was following us here. One hint of danger and I feared she’d bundle us all back in the van and speed back to the airport. And, anyway, I couldn’t see the bike now. Maybe it was nothing.

  We waited for Dad and Pan to wake up, and walked down to the town together. Trujillo was an amazing place, all scruffy and sandy, with sagging power lines overhead and rubbish scattered around narrow streets. The buildings looked the same – breezeblock huts with corrugated roofs. They were laid out in neat rows, like a maze, so we had to wind between them to get to the beach. Locals sat outside their homes, selling stuff. An old woman had spread DVDs on the pavement, and an even older man sold watermelons from the back of a pick-up truck. I have no idea who they expected to buy them; we were the only tourists, as far as I could see.

  “Stay alert,” Mum warned. “Jake, stay calm.”

  “Why me?”

  “Check out that beach!” Pan cried.

  We rushed from the tarmac and onto sand that was so white it looked more like snow. Hammocks hung between palm trees, and mangy dogs slept in their shade. The sea was so clear it could have been glass. I wanted to dive in to escape the sticky heat, but remembered we were on a mission, not a holiday. I’d swim once Sami was safe.

  The café where we were meeting the contact was a shed with a grass roof. A neon sign said PEDRO’s PLACE, except half the letters had broken. A dented Coca-Cola fridge hummed loudly, and an extremely old man watched us from the bar. He wore a turtleneck jumper despite the mad heat, and was drinking a fruit shake with several straws and a paper umbrella sticking out from the top.

  “Are you the contact?” Dad asked.

  The old man nodded, slurping his shake.

  “We’re the Atlas family.”

  The old man nodded and slurped again.

  “I don’t think he’s the contact,” Pan muttered.

  The man reached a shaky hand under the bar. In a flash, Mum moved in front of me and Pan to protect us from whatever weapon she expected him to bring out. But instead he handed us menus.

  “Have whatever you want,” Dad said. “The Snake Lady is paying.”

  “No fizzy drinks,” Mum added.

  Dad ordered, speaking in fluent Spanish. I never knew he could speak Spanish, but I’d got used to discovering new things about my parents’ lives, so I didn’t mention it.

  Mum ordered some fish thing, Dad asked for a whole crab, Pan wanted a vegetarian omelette, and I ordered a triple cheeseburger. In the end the old man brought us all chees
e sandwiches, which was a big disappointment, but Mum said we should just be quiet and eat.

  “Are we sure we’re in the right place?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe there’s another beach café?”

  “This is the right place, Jake.”

  I didn’t know then how they could be so certain, so it felt like they were just ignoring me again, and I went into a bit of a sulk, picking lettuce from my sandwich.

  “So when do you think the contact will be here?” Pan said.

  “From my experience, contacts are never late,” Dad replied.

  I looked up. “You mean, we’re being watched?”

  “Just behave normally,” Mum said.

  “Should we fight?” Pan suggested.

  “No, Pandora. Just be normal.”

  “That is normal, though. If this person knows about us, he’ll know how much we fight. He might get suspicious if we don’t.”

  “Pandora’s right, Jane,” Dad agreed. “Perhaps we should argue.”

  “About what?”

  “Make something up. Let’s debate whether the Aztecs were a predominantly agrarian or warring society.”

  “That’s not a debate, John,” Mum said. “That issue is settled.”

  “That’s not fair either,” I complained. “You three know about that. Let’s fight about the best Indiana Jones film.”

  “We are not fighting about anything,” Mum snapped.

  “But we are now,” Pan replied.

  “Good job, guys,” I said.

  We returned to silence, which was fine too. When we weren’t fighting, we were usually not talking.

  Under the table, my knee began to twitch. We were just sitting here doing nothing while Sami suffered. I pictured him again, lying in that bed, twisted and pained…

  The old man came to collect our plates, still grinning away. Then, as he turned, I spotted something strange. Grease stains, on the back of his jeans. Stains like those you might get from riding a motorbike. The man’s hands weren’t shaking anymore, either. And why would someone wear a turtleneck top in this heat? Something weird was going on.

  “Anyone for dessert?” Dad asked. “I quite fancy a—”

  We never got to find out what Dad fancied because right then I jumped up onto the table and leaped at the old man.

  I crashed into his back, causing the plates to fly from his hands, and pinned him to the sand with my knees.

  “Jake!” Mum screamed.

  “You were right, Mum,” I announced. “We were being watched, but closer than you thought. This is our contact! He’s not really an old man. He’s wearing a mask!”

  I reached under the guy’s turtleneck, feeling for the edge of the mask. Then I started to panic. There was no mask.

  “I, um… So, this was just an idea…”

  Mum was about to yell again, when another voice bellowed from across the beach. In all the excitement, we’d not noticed a pick-up truck arrive. The guy that sprinted from it was dressed like a cowboy, in a Stetson hat and long leather boots.

  “What are you doing to my grandpa?” he shouted.

  He charged up to me, fists clenched. I think he would have punched me, but Mum caught his hand and flipped him to the sand. She pinned him there beside his granddad.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “I’m Pedro. I’m your contact. Why are you still kneeling on my grandpa?”

  I slid off the old man and helped him to his feet. He took it all pretty well, grinning and nodding like it was all part of the job.

  Mum lifted Pedro up and Dad gave him back his hat.

  “You’re late,” she said.

  “I was getting medicine for my grandpa. I didn’t think you would attack him.”

  “Wouldn’t have had to if you were here on time,” Pan insisted.

  “You didn’t have to, anyway,” Pedro replied.

  “Can we get on with this?” Mum said. “You’re supposed to supply us for our mission.”

  The man – Pedro – helped his granddad to a seat and gave him a fresh fruit shake. He kept glancing at my parents, as if he was troubled by their presence. When he came back over to us, I thought he might yell again – but his face broke out in a wide smile, showing off teeth that were as freakishly white as the sand.

  “So, you are really Jane and John Atlas? It’s … amazing.”

  “Amazing?” Mum asked.

  “You’re legends! I’ve worked with maybe a hundred hunters in the last ten years, and they all told stories about you two. Is it true that you found Blackbeard’s treasure?”

  “I wouldn’t believe stories,” Mum said.

  “But is it true?” he asked.

  “We’re not interested in pirates. We’re here to find—”

  “But it’s true?” I asked.

  “That’s not our current mission or—”

  “Is it true?” Pan asked.

  “Yes, it’s true!” Mum said.

  Pedro snatched off his hat and slapped it on his thigh. “I knew it!”

  He broke out laughing, and went for a high five – which I totally went in for. I liked this guy already, although my parents didn’t look so impressed.

  “Alpha Squad,” Dad said. “You were their contact too?”

  That wiped the smile off Pedro’s face. “I supplied them with equipment and flew them into the jungle. They were meant to contact me to arrange a pick up, but I never heard from them again.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “Take a guess. Bandits, traps, snakes, exhaustion. Some people just get lost out there. Those guys, they were the best I’ve ever seen. Yet still…” He scooped up some sand and blew it from his palm. “They vanished.”

  Mum and Dad exchanged another look. It was hard to read – and I’d spent months trying to decipher their “looks” – but Mum seemed worried. Not stressed or angry, but scared.

  “You have supplies for us?” Pan asked.

  We followed Pedro to the drinks fridge behind the bar. When he turned back to us, he was clearly trying to fight a smile.

  “You want to know a secret?” he asked.

  “The fridge isn’t a fridge,” Mum said. “It’s the entrance to a secret chamber where you store equipment for treasure hunters.”

  “We’ve seen the sort of thing before,” Dad said.

  So that was how they knew this was the right place.

  Pedro muttered something in Spanish, then opened the fridge and grasped a Coke bottle. The whole fridge slid to the side, revealing the chamber beyond.

  “Standard,” I said, as if I’d seen it before too.

  We followed him into a room with metal walls, like the inside of a shipping container. It reminded me of Kit and Sami’s headquarters in Cairo: cabinets with mounted gadgets, weapons in racks and a holosphere table screen. There must have been some sort of cooling system, because it really did feel as if we’d walked into a fridge.

  “So what do you need?” Pedro asked.

  Mum and Dad took over, barking at Pedro as they gathered things we needed for the expedition. Actually, they were a bit rude. Pedro was helping us, after all.

  “Grappling gun and a bungee cord,” Dad said.

  “Climbing clips and ropes,” Mum added.

  “Water purifiers and food rations.”

  “What about GPS trackers?”

  Pedro rushed over like an over-eager car salesman and raised a device that looked like a smartphone. “Quadliteration satellite tracker,” he boasted. “Far more accurate than standard GPS. It could guide you to a single ant in the jungle.”

  Mum snatched it. “We’re not looking for an ant. Will it guide us to Alpha Squad’s tracking signal?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then we’ll take it.”

  “A drone would be useful for seeing over the jungle,” Dad said.

  “Alpha Squad took the only drone,” Pedro replied, apologetically. “Perhaps you will find it at their camp.�
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  I rummaged among outfits hanging on a rail – khaki shirts and trousers. They felt incredibly light, like the desert suits Sami had kitted us out with in Egypt.

  “Are these special jungle suits?” I asked.

  Pedro was over in a flash. “Not just any old special jungle suits,” he explained. “They have polymer crystals in the lining to keep you cool, and BioSteel fabric with graphene thread for extra protection. A crocodile could bite you and you’d survive.”

  “Not if it bit your head,” Dad muttered. “I’ve seen a croc’s jaws split a man’s skull like a watermelon.”

  “John!” Mum snapped. She took one of the suits from its rail, felt the cloth. “You invented these?” she asked.

  “Me?” Pedro said. “No. I just hand them out. These were invented by your friend, Dr Sami.”

  We all turned.

  “What?” Pan asked.

  Pedro took off his cowboy hat and held it to his chest, like a mourner at a funeral. “I … I think your employers stole the technology from him. I think they stole a lot from him.”

  “They’re not our employers,” Pan said. “We’re here to save Sami.”

  “I hope you can,” Pedro replied.

  “You have smart-goggles?” Mum asked, changing the subject.

  “Of course,” Pedro said.

  “And utility belts?”

  Pedro brought a utility belt out from one of the cabinets. It looked a lot like those Sami had made for us – ultra-light titanium, with slots for gadgets.

  “It has the standard tools,” he explained. “Smart-goggles, flare gun, ultrasonic explosive devices and a laser cutter for rock. But it’s custom built for the jungle. See this button on the clip? If you need protection, press it three times. The belt will fire ultrasonic waves in every direction. A lot of ultrasonic waves.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It creates a force field,” Dad said.

  “Strong enough to protect the wearer from almost anything,” Mum added. She sounded impressed, a rare compliment.

  “But it only works once,” Pedro noted, “and only for a second. It will short-circuit every other gadget on the belt, including your smart-goggles, and most likely leave you unconscious too. So don’t just use it against mosquitoes. Pretty cool, huh?”