1939

“'Help! Help, somebody please! Help! Oh, help me, Mr. North, help me!'

"The hysterical shrieks of the damsel reach a shattering pitch even as the nefarious evil doer gags her and throws her into the biplane. The roar of the engines barely drowns her out. The villain only laughs and starts to drive the plane down the dock while twirling his perfectly curled handlebar mustache. Nothing can stop him now...or so he thinks!

"Who is that running out of the jungle? A superhero? A ninja? An Olympic sprinter? No, even better! It’s Montana North, Adventuring Extraordinaire! With his superior skills of perception and eagle-accurate eyesight that is even more accurate than that of an eagle, he analyses the situation in a millisecond. Faster than a speeding bullet which is going even faster than it usually is, he begins to run after the plane. He leaps for it just as it takes off and lodges his fingers into the metal with his spectacular grip. He crawls along the side towards the front seat, not a single drop of sweat appearing on his brow. The villain sneers and tries to punch him, but the jaw of Montana North is harder than steel! It leaves no mark, not even a dent, and the villain breaks his hand to boot!

"With a single jostle of the plane, Montana North sends the villain hurtling to his well deserved and inevitable demise in the shark infested waters below. 'Oh, thank you!' says the damsel.

"Montana North flashes his blindingly white smile and laughs. 'It’s what I do!'

"But wait. Something is wrong! The plane begins to rattle, and smoke emits from the engine! Montana North hops into the pilot’s seat and pulls up on the controls, but even his amazingly muscular arms cannot stop what is happening! The plane dips forward and begins to plummet. Down, down, down. One hundred feet, fifty feet, ten feet. How will he ever get out of this one?"

“Monty? Monty, snap out of it."

Monty stopped yelling, blinked and gradually drifted back to reality. His fingers were stiff and aching. Both his typewriter and the table it sat on were buried beneath a mountain of papers. He dug through them for the alarm clock, but it was gone. “What happened to the clock, Carter?”

His brother looked down at the floor. “You threw it out the window,” he answered timidly, gesturing out on to the fire escape. “It got some distance, too.”

“We’ll find it later.” Pulling himself up, Monty fumbled his way to the tiny stove, grabbed the coffee pot, poured some coffee into a mug while sloshing it all over the floor, took a piece of bread from the bread box and started dunking it in the coffee.

Carter watched him warily, opening his mouth and closing it again. “Why do you do that?” he finally asked.

“Two in one. More efficient.” He bit into the bread and immediately winced at the heat of the absorbed coffee.

“Mom said not to drink too fast, remember?” Carter said as Monty took another bite of his breakfast, grimaced and lifted up the mug of coffee.

“Yeah, well, Mom’s about two thousand miles away.” Monty brought the cup to his lips. At that moment, his large round glasses slipped down to the bridge of his nose. Fumbling to push them back up, he forgot about the mug and splashed the coffee all over his face. “Yeouch! Well...I’m back now.”

“Don’t get it on your shirt!” said Carter, grabbing a rag and trying to wipe him off. “You’ve got to see Mr. Kuttner today.”

“That’s today? Geez, Carter, why didn’t you say anything?” Pushing the glasses back up and ignoring how they moved down once more, Monty went to his bed. He knelt down, reached underneath it and pulled out a stack of papers tied up in string. His satchel was hung around the bedpost, and he hurriedly dumped the papers inside as he put it on. “You get along. We’ll meet up at lunch.”

He took his brown coat and fedora off his other bedpost, put them on and was heading for the window when Carter stopped him. “Tape.”

“Right, right.” Monty let his brother slip the round, thick pair of lenses back up his nose. He tried to suppress a sigh as the handles were attached to the side of his head with the two strips of duct tape that Carter tore off from their roll.

His brother smiled at him. “Good luck.”

“Whatever. Make sure you take the cap off. See ya.” Crawling through the window, Monty hurried down the apartment fire escape. Back and forth, back and forth...he’d lost count of the number of flights the building had. Somewhere in the twenties? Didn’t matter. Before long, he was on the ground and hurrying down the sidewalk towards the Brooklyn Bridge. His eyes were constantly fixed on the road beside him, looking for a streetcar to commandeer. He leapt onto the end of one as it came rolling around the corner and slotted himself into the hubbub as it trundled across the bridge into Manhattan.

He pulled his papers out of the satchel and leafed through the stack as the streetcar crossed Wall Street. They passed the Statue of Liberty, the movie theater, the closed-up bank, the people outside the soup kitchen. He suppressed a smug laugh as he saw the dreary crowds standing outside the building in their unmoving line. I won’t be going back to you anytime soon, he thought.

The streetcar stopped on Eighth Avenue, and Monty was the first one out. “Excuse me! Out of the way! Urgent business! If yours is urgent too, then mine is more urgent than yours!” Pushing everyone else aside, he immediately headed towards a tall building of gray brick with a revolving door and went through it. The lobby was all marble and mahogany and he took his time crossing it. My house is going to look exactly like you someday.

At the other side of the room, he stepped into the elevator. “Top floor,” he said, not even looking at the assistant. His pulse began to quicken as the contraption jerked to life and rose further and further up. Today would be the day. He was sure of it! He’d had the dream again. That was a good sign...wasn’t it?

He laughed the thought off. Of course it was.

When the doors opened, he stepped off and went straight for the first door on the left side of the hallway. SENSATIONAL TALES MAGAZINE, the lettering on the glass read. EDITORS’ OFFICES. Below this hung a neatly printed note on a white card; Silence shall be observed at all times.

“Morning!” Monty chirped loudly as he stuck his head through. “Montgomery North here to see Mr. Kuttner.” Hardly anyone looked up from the sea of desks, and the ones who did rolled their eyes. The rest flinched at the sound of his voice.

Mr. Kuttner’s secretary was at her desk on the far end of the room, a platinum blonde with fat lips reading a style magazine. Monty smiled when he saw her and sat himself down on the edge of her desk. “You know,” he said, “I was thinking about celebrating tonight. A nice little dinner, maybe a movie. When you do get off work?”

The secretary looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Start washin’ your head an’ then we’ll talk.”

Monty ran a hand through his muddy brown hair. “I do…”

“You gotta wash harder if you got lice. They say you Okies all got lice.”

“I would have some facts to back that up if I were you.”

She swung her head in the direction of the door next to her. “Just go on in. He’s been ready for ya.”

Monty approached and knocked on the door confidently. When he didn’t get an answer, he opened it anyway. “Morning, Mr. Kuttner.”

At the desk sat a fat old man in a black and gray pinstripe suit. His chair was pushed back, and his shiny shoe clad feet were propped up on the desk. The smoke from his cigar wafted around his head. His face was buried by a newspaper, which he lowered and folded up when he heard the door open. “Sit down, North.”

“I’ve got a real good one for you, boss!”

“I’m sure you do.” He took the satchel before pushing the paper across the desk to Monty. “Say, why don’t you have a look at the front page while I’m going over this?”

Monty picked it up and stared in blank confusion at the sharp, frightened letters of the headline. “‘Hitler Takes Czechoslovakia’?”

“Just marched right in and said it was his,” Mr. Kutter said. “People are calling it grounds for war. You’re just about the age to get sent over, aren’t you?”

“...Who’s Hitler?”

Mr. Kuttner rolled his eyes and sighed. “Look. The point is, no one saw it coming. More than I can say for the stuff you churn out.” He held up the stack of papers and let it fall back on to the desk.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t I write a lot of things? You didn’t even look at any of that one!”

“I don’t need to, North. It’s always the same each time. Faceless villain in a weird place kidnaps the girl, your stand-in comes in and fixes it all up. Wouldn’t be too bad if it was good.”

“Come on! Didn’t I change it last time?”

“That made even less sense than usual.”

“But no one saw it coming!”

“Monty, the ninjas jumped out of thin air and killed all the mooks for you, then you killed them. No reason why.”

“Exactly! That’s why it was so unpredictable! They would have..."

Mr. Kuttner took his cigar from his mouth and blew it into Monty’s face. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, is there? Fine. I’m not gonna take your stuff anymore.”

“...Why?”

“Why? Answer’s right in front of ya!” Mr. Kuttner snapped as he smacked the stack of papers. “People are losing jobs again. They aren’t gonna pay to read crap.”

“We’re a pulp, sir. That’s all we make.”

“I mean crap crap. I run a business, and I’m not gonna let you scare off my customers.” Picking up the stack of papers, he shoved them back into Monty’s arms. “Now get outta here.”

“So I guess the date offer ain’t standin’ no more?” the secretary asked with a smirk as Monty trudged back out.

“Aren’t you perceptive.”

----

If I go to Hell, Monty thought, all they’re gonna have for me is soup. The clatter of the soup kitchen rang against his ears, making him even more disagreeable. “I just wanted to punch his face in, Carter,” he said as he stirred the moldy potatoes around in the bowl of brown liquid. “I could have! You’ve seen him, right? He’s the one with the doughy face. Are you even listening?”

Carter looked up from cleaning his camera lens. “Sorry. You could always show it to the FWP, you know.”

“They’ll take anything,” Monty said, scowling and looking away from him. “I can do better than that, you know. What I kept trying to feed the magazine. Yeah, I know what you’re gonna say. ‘Why didn’t you write something better, then?’ Because I’m too good for them! I’m going to be too good for them someday, at least. You believe that, don’t you?”

Carter kept his eyes focused on his photos. “Mom sent me a letter.”

“Just you?”

He nodded. “She says she wants us to come back to Tulsa.”

Monty shuddered at the thought. Endless fields of nothing as far as the eye could see flashed through his mind.

“I said I’d think about it,” Carter continued quietly, finally looking up. “If I went, would you come back too? It’d be nice…”

“Of course not!”

Carter shrank back, his eyes glued to the ground. “I...I just thought I would ask.”

Monty sighed. “Tell her I’ll think about it too.” Sitting back, he took in the sight of his brother. The patched newsboy, the chunky limbs, the farmer’s tan...he’s made of sore thumbs. The longer he stayed, the sooner this place would chew them both up.

Carter gathered up his photographs, placed them in his satchel and slung his camera over his neck. “You want me to walk you back to the apartment? I bet the mail’s probably here.”

When they stepped outside, Carter immediately grinned and knelt down. “Look! A penny!” Snatching the grimy disc of copper off the ground, he shined it on his shirt sleeve and carefully slipped it into his pocket. “Maybe they’ll call you back now.”

Monty grabbed his arm and pulling him along the street, looking around for questioning glances. “Yeah, yeah…”

Carter still believing in luck. That was the last thing he needed.

----

The lobby was empty when they got back. “Hey!” Monty called to the apartment desk clerk. “Any mail for us?”

At first glance, it didn’t look like he was there. When they peered over the desk, he was curled up beneath it sleeping with a flask in his hand. Monty took a gulp from it as he rang the bell until his hand stung. “Hey! Get up!” The man didn’t budge. “Great, just great…”

“We don’t need to ask him, anyway,” Carter remarked. Behind the desk, they could see the lines of PO boxes. Sticking out of theirs was a large, rectangular orange envelope. Monty walked behind the desk and got it out.

“Does it say who it’s from?”

“Nope,” Monty answered, examining it. “Nothing."

They both jumped as a door slammed suddenly from somewhere. “You go on ahead,” Monty said to Carter. “I’ll see you up there.”

Carter nodded and went back outside. Monty leisurely followed him to the alley on the side of the building, keeping his eyes peeled the whole time. A black car was parked on the other side of the street, and a man in a black suit was watching him with a glare. Monty glared back and walked on. He weaved his way up the fire escape and crawled back into the apartment through the window. “Okay,” he said, shaking the contents of the envelope onto the table in the corner. “Let’s see what you’ve got for us.”

“You don’t know if that’s ours,” Carter said. “Maybe someone left it there.”

“Finders keepers.”

The insides of the envelope fell onto the desk with a rustle and a clang. Out came rectangles of yellowed paper covered in faint, indiscernible markings and and a small bronze key. The handle ended in a solid disc, and engraved on it was the letter W.

“Huh. Strange…”

A knock at the door jerked the brothers out of their trance. “Just a minute!” Monty said as he stashed the papers and key back into the envelope. He pulled the end of his bed out of the door’s way before pulling it open. “Sorry about that, we just had to...oh, hello.”

2: Chapter 2

She was the prettiest girl to ever stand in the doorway of their apartment. Not that a lot of girls did that, but she’d still be the prettiest if they did.

“Are you Mr. North?” she asked him, slightly fluttering her gray eyes as she did so. She was wearing a lacy black dress, a black coat, black gloves and even a black hat. Her hair was in a curly, platinum blonde bob from which faint streaks of red slipped out; she had dyed it. Her lips, coated in a deep shade of red, turned ever so faintly downwards in a subtle frown. She clasped a purse in her hands, and around her long, pale neck was a gold pendant inlaid with rubies and in a very strange shape. It was like a cross, but it had a loop at the top.

“Absolutely, I would wish I was if I wasn’t!” Monty answered, adding a laugh. The girl’s frown became a little more pronounced, so he stopped. “Pleased to meet you, Miss…?”

“Woodward. May I come in?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, I forgot. Carter, get off your bed!” he said, shoving his brother onto the floor as he tried to tune the radio. “Miss Woodward needs a place to sit.”

As he picked himself up, Carter caught sight of the girl’s necklace. “Is that an ankh?”

For a moment, she lit up. “You noticed?”

Monty pushed Carter out of the way before he could respond. “He’s got a thing for that kind of stuff. Just a phase, really.”

“No, it isn’t…”

The girl turned around, looking at their barren, square little room. “So this is where you write?”

“Always have and hopefully not always will,” said Monty, trying to catch a glimpse of her rear. Carter smacked him on the shoulder and shot him a look of disapproval which he rolled his eyes at.

“I hope I’m not intruding too much,” the girl continued, walking towards the table in the corner. “I’m such such a fan of your work, that’s all. Is this your typewriter?”

“Do you see any others?”

Carter, however, noticed that her eyes were fixed on the envelope. She ran a finger along the outside of it, her body tensing up and her face becoming stone cold. Her eyes strayed to the door as a hand reached inside her purse, all without Monty taking notice. She wetted her lips, seemingly in anticipation of something. But what?

They found out soon enough.

“Get to the window!” she shouted as gunshots began to ring down the hall without warning. “Now!”

Monty screamed and tried to crawl under his bed, but she grabbed him by his foot, dragged him out and hauled him back up. “Listen,” she said to the boys. “You’re both in danger. You need to take that envelope and get out of here. Wait for me when you get to the street. I’ll hold them off for a while.”

“But you’re a girl!” they sputtered simultaneously.

She pulled a tiny revolver out of her purse and cocked it. “Don’t question me.”

“...Yes, ma’am.” In half a second, they were both out on the fire escape, fighting over who was going to get to the ground first.

The stairs had never seemed so long and definitely never as rusty and rickety as they had just then. The more they struggled to reach the bottom, the further away the ground seemed to get.  Above them, they heard more gunshots and the sound of their door breaking down, followed by two pained screams. The girl swung out through the window and came down after them, nearly throwing them over the railing as she pushed through them. “Do you still have the envelope?”

“Y-Yes…?”

“Good. Follow me.”

They were too stunned to do anything else.

By the time they reached the street, Monty was beginning to return to his old self. “Help!” he screamed, running towards the black car. “We’re being kidnapped by a crazy girl! She’s shot up our apartment and..."

The girl dragged him back into an alleyway and covered his mouth. “You want them to kill you?”

“Who?”

She looked at him as though he were an idiot. “The Nazis!”

Carter’s jaw dropped. “The what? But...but how would they…?”

"Wait, they're real?"

She waved a hand to silence them. Her eyes were fixed on the car, which was beginning to move down the road. “They’ve spotted us. Great job,” she snapped at Monty before pushing them both down the alley. “Be quiet from now on. And keep your heads down when we get inside.”

“Inside what?”

She pointed to the end of the street, where a short black car with tinted windows awaited them. “You boys get carsick easy?”

Monty gulped. “Once or twice…”

“Then let’s not make it three.” She opened one of the doors and shoved them inside before hopping in the front and starting the engine. The boys barely had time to sit down before the car roared to life and shot out into the traffic.

“I thought you were trying to keep us from getting killed!” Carter shouted as they swerved back and forth through the lanes, going ever faster.

The girl was looking through the rearview mirror. The first black car had been joined by several others, and they were all catching up. “Have either of you used a gun?” she asked, looking back at them. Carter was shell shocked, and Monty was kneeling on the floor and throwing up. “Just you, then,” she said to the former. “Get my revolver out.”

“I’m a pacifist!”

“Then get up here and drive.”

Carter tried to protest, but a withering look from the girl shut him up. He awkwardly scrambled over the back of the driver’s seat and into it as she pulled into another alley, braked and slid aside. “What are you waiting for?” she shouted as the black cars began to crowd in after them.

Monty slowly sat back up. “Are we done yet...no, please! Stop! Stop…!” He was flung backwards as Carter frantically stepped on the gas and careened back into the fray.

The wheel was heavier than he had expected, and it kept slipping out of his grasp. “Where do I go?” he shouted.

The girl was loading her revolver and shot it at the pursuing cars, denting their fronts. “Head for the bridge! We’ll lose them there!”

Jerking on the wheel, Carter managed to swing the vehicle around a corner. The bridge was still in the distance, seemingly hundreds of miles away. “I don’t know how!”

Monty sat up again and looked through the window. “Take a left at the next light, then left again, then right, then straight and don’t stop at the lights too quickly...ow!"

The smell of burnt rubber quickly began to fill the air as the car twisted through the  lanes , its wheels screeching and leaving skid marks. Other drivers swerved to avoid them, only to crash into one another. The pursuers braked as a wall of battered cars loomed up before them and blocked their way, while their target went speeding along. “Keep going north,” the girl said.

Monty peeked through the back window as another car slid in behind them from another street. “Isn’t that the first one again...aaahhh!” He ducked as the driver leaned out and fired a bullet, shattering the glass.

The girl merely looked annoyed with them both. “Don’t get up.” Cocking her revolver, she raised it and fired at the other car’s front tire. It burst apart instantly, and sent the whole vehicle spinning out of control down another road. Smiling with pleasure at herself, the girl sat down. “Are you good for a few more minutes?” she asked Carter.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course. You can drive us up to Port Washington, or you can get out and wait for them to catch you.”

Monty shot back up this time, staring at her intently. “Port Washington? Isn’t that what Fitzgerald used for West Egg or something?”

“East Egg. And yes, it is.”

----

The buildings gave way to calm green hills and a winding road lined with trees. Prim, stately houses ranging in size from small to huge peeked out from the forest. The girl pointed to the right side of the road, at a long white driveway. “That one.”

With shaking hands, Carter turned the corner. The trees gave way to neat rows of bushes covered in strange flowers. At the end of the drive was the most magnificent house the boys had ever seen. It sat next to the bay and seemed to sprawl across the peninsula it was on. The walls were a shade of light blue, and the roof was gray. With its wings and gables, it looked more like a castle than a house. As they continued up the driveway, they passed a large, colorful garden with a hedge maze that ended in a marble fountain. They drove the car through an archway into the courtyard, a walled-off rectangle covered in neat gray tiles. Over the ledge, the property moved off through a grove of apple trees and down to the bay. It stretched out into a wooden dock and finally ended at a small plane sitting patiently on the water.

The girl had to stop the car for Carter and pushed him out. “Follow me inside.”

Monty and Carter lingered, still in a daze at the sight of the house. “You think we’re dead, Monty?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me…”

“I said follow me!”

They snapped out of it and scrambled to catch up with her, only to end up standing slack-jawed in the foyer. The floor was made of marble, and a silk rug sat at the foot of the grand staircase. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Swords, shields, helmets, wooden masks and elaborate tapestries adorned the walls. It was as though they had stepped into a museum.

Monty noticed the beginnings of some cobwebs in one corner and a few cracks in the marble. “Don’t you want to keep this place looking nice? Get some servants down here or something.”

Miss Woodward kept her eyes trained on the floor. “Grandfather has dismissed the servants. He found them unnecessary.”

“Who the heck thinks that’s not necessary…?”

She pretended not to hear him. “Come.” She pointed up the stairs to the set of mahogany double doors at the top. The three of them ascended the steps, and the boys stayed back as she pushed the doors open. “Grandfather, I’m back!”

They were in a library now, its walls completely covered with bookshelves that stretched up to the ceiling. Each was piled with thick, dusty tomes in old bindings and a plethora of languages. Another silk rug lay on the polished wood floor, and on it sat a deep purple sofa and chair, both embroidered with fleur-de-lis of gold thread. A bright, warm blaze crackled in the marble fireplace, its glow illuminating the outline of a tall, thin figure in a dark blue suit. He turned, showing the worn face of an older gentleman. His slicked-back hair was black with hints of gray, and his narrow mustache was the same. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the boys, his icy blue eyes boring into them like lasers. “Mae,” he said in a smooth voice tinged with restrained irritation, “what have you done?”

“It isn’t my fault,” she said. “They came out of nowhere and I had to hide the envelope, but they found it, so I went up to their apartment and…”

“Do you have the envelope now?”

She took it from Monty and held it out to him. “Yes, sir.”

He sighed with relief as he took it from her and placed it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “Well done.”

Carter widened his eyes. “Wait a minute...Mae Woodward. The Mae Woodward? Henry Woodward’s daughter?”

The older man scowled at him, but Mae smiled faintly and nodded. “I take it you’ve heard of him.”

“Heard of him? You should see my copies of his books on Rome and Polynesia. They’re covered in notes, and the bindings are falling off!” He stopped and abruptly covered his mouth. “That...that was supposed to be good. It means I like them. He worked with Howard Carter, didn’t he? Does he know him? Can he tell him I said hi?”

Monty grabbed his brother by the collar of his shirt and began to drag him towards the door. “I’m sorry about him, I really am. Just let us use your phone to call a taxi, and we’ll be on our way…”

“I’m afraid that will be impossible,” Mae’s grandfather said, coming after them and blocking their way. “The agents of the Ahnenerbe are looking for you now. They’ve seen you with her.”

“The men of the what?” they both asked.

“Sit down,” he answered, gesturing to the sofa. “I believe we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

Monty flopped onto it and started to absentmindedly look through the contents of the envelope, while Carter sat down more hesitantly. “Are we in danger, sir?” he asked.

“Very much so. If you are found by those men, your death will be slow and terribly unpleasant. They are quite reliable in that regard,” he said, briefly looking down.

“Don’t keep scaring them, Grandfather,” Mae said.

“Of course,” he continued, “we will see to it that such a thing is avoided.” He extended his hand. “Christopher Woodward. Henry’s father.”

Carter took his hand and winced as the man’s surprisingly tight grip clamped down on him. “Er...it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I see that you are well-knowledged in my son’s hobby,” Mr. Woodward said as he let go of Carter’s hand and sat in the chair. His face was a blank as he spoke; not even a smile of pride.

“I’ve read all his books. The one about Egypt’s my favorite,” Carter added, trying to elicit a response from his host and getting nothing. “It’s really quite the body of work, sir. Did he find all the stuff that was in the foyer?”

“That and more. Tell me, Mr…?”

“North, sir. Joseph Carter North. This is my brother Monty.”

“Are we getting out soon?” Monty said, not bothering to look up.

Mr. Woodward ignored him. “Tell me, Mr. North...when you read these books, did my son ever mention an artifact which he called the Topaz Eye?”

Carter thought for a second. “I don’t think so.”

“He never told anyone where he got it, just came back from a trip with it one day. From the Pacific, perhaps. A block of bronze in the shape of an oval, with a blue topaz for the iris and a piece of obsidian for the pupil. It was once part of a temple, he said. Thought to have been sent to the people by their gods to watch over them and protect them with its powers.” Mae rolled her eyes at this.

Monty raised an eyebrow. “Sure it did.”

Carter ignored him. “So where is it now?”

“I wish I knew the answer. You asked about the Ahnenerbe. It is the Nazi archeological division. They search the world seeking to procure proof of Germany’s claim on humanity. When no one is watching, Hitler sends them after otherworldly treasures that he thinks will aid him. It seemed they were closing in on Henry’s little trinket when he happened upon it.”

His gaze shifted to a place and time far off in the distance. “They came to him in secret, offered generous pay for the object and whatever else he would sell them. But Henry loved his collection, and he knew what they wanted the Eye for. He turned them down and shut himself in his study all night. When he came back out the next morning, he had created a grand plan. He would hide the Eye and the rest of his wonders in a place where the prying eyes of Hitler’s men would never think to look. He left with his wife, and the artifacts were shipped away soon afterwards.”

“You still haven’t said what all this has to do with us not getting out,” Monty remarked.

“Patience, boy, and some decorum. My son left behind a map in pieces; that is what my granddaughter left in your care. When constructed, it will point the way to his treasure. However, we have yet to make sense of it.”

Monty finally looked up. “What, are you talking about these old things?” he asked, pointing down at the papers. “They make plenty of sense to me. Weird, though.”

They all looked down. Monty had arranged the papers in a stack so that the meaningless lines on them touched one another. The picture they formed was crude and jagged, but it was unmistakably that of South America with an X etched in the center.

Mae gasped and properly smiled for the first time since the boys had met her. “I don’t believe it…”

“You should,” Monty said with a self-satisfied smirk. “You’re a fan. At least, I hope you really are a fan.”

Mr. Woodward gently picked up the stack to examine the image further. “He marked the source of the Amazon. Is the plane ready, Mae?”

“Always is.”

Carter’s curiosity had turned into nervous confusion. “If you two are going to leave, we ought to leave too,” he said, trying to get the now-interested Monty’s attention. “You don’t have to worry about us. I’ve got a friend we can stay with for a few days. Just until it’s safe to go back to the apartment…”

He jumped as a loud, violent pounding on the front door reverberated through the room. On its heels came the cracking and crashing of wood as it was rammed against several times and knocked inwards.

Mr. Woodward stuffed the papers into the inside of his suit jacket. “You can do nothing of the sort.” Gripping the boys’ shoulders, he hauled them to their feet and steered them towards one of the bookshelves, while Mae went to the mantle above the fireplace. A bust of Julius Caesar sat on the ledge. She twisted its neck so that its head faced the other way. The boys watched as the bookshelf trembled a bit before sliding back and aside to reveal a dusty stone staircase.

“Go on,” said Mr. Woodward, pushing them into the passageway. “Unless you would prefer death.”

Mae hurried past them with a flashlight in hand as the secret door slid shut. She turned it on and led the way as the stairs wound down into the earth and flattened into a long corridor. This stretched on for what seemed like miles to the boys before jutting upwards in another set of stairs and ending in a tall, black, door-shaped panel. When she touched it, it swung open and showed them out into the late afternoon. They were at the back of the mansion, facing the bay with its dock, and the rays of the sun bounced off the glittering white paint of the plane.

“Run,” Mae said to the boys, pointing at it before she and her grandfather darted off themselves. Monty and Carter frantically followed, tripping over rocks and screaming at the sound of each twig they snapped. Monty’s glasses broke free of their tape and slipped off his face, causing him to fall. Carter ran back and picked them both up in one swift motion as the men in the suits came out of the passageway and started towards them. “Wait!”

Carter guided his brother by the arm as they made their way down the dock and into the plane. They didn’t even bother making it to one of the seats before they collapsed.

Monty put his glasses back on, holding them up with a finger. “She didn’t see any of that, did she?”

“You’re welcome…”

They both flinched as Mae slammed the door shut and locked it. Through the door to the cockpit, they could see Mr. Woodward sitting at the controls, pushing buttons and flipping switches. The engine rattled to life, the two propellers began to spin and the whole craft started to glide across the water. It increased in volume and speed until its front abruptly lurched up. The boys tumbled back to the floor just as they were getting up while their new prison rose into the sky.

New York got smaller and smaller. The boys strained to keep their eyes on it, but the clouds they were disappearing into swallowed it up. Defeated, they turned away from the window and slumped against the wall. “...Do you think we’ll make it back?” Carter asked.

Monty seemed to be shellshocked. “There’s odds.”

“Good or bad?”

“Yes.”