The Treasure of the Bermuda Triangle Page 2
On the way to the airport, the girl thought aloud. “If my memory serves me correctly, we have a relative in Bermuda—an uncle,” she muttered, flipping through the pages of her notebook. “But how can I reach him?”
It wasn’t until they were in the check-in line that she discovered a tiny note penciled in one of the margins.
“Here it is!” she exclaimed, beaming. “Uncle Conrad, and here is his phone number! I’ll call him before we take off.”
“There are just a few minutes until our departure,” objected the butler. “Master Dash will be beside himself . . .”
Agatha quickly ducked out of the line, dialing the number. A moment later, she was chatting with Conrad Mistery on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
“I was about to give up hope!” Dash exclaimed with a grin as he saw Agatha, Chandler, and Watson approaching the gate. Then he turned to the flight attendant who was helping the boarding passengers. “What did I tell you? We Misterys always keep our word!”
The attendant nodded. “Next time, Mr. Mistery, I’d lose the Halloween costume,” he replied.
Agatha and Chandler could barely hold back their laughter. In his fitted disco outfit with a tuft of hair moussed over one eye, Dash looked like he had stepped out of a retro music video.
The boy grunted at the flight attendant, and Agatha put a hand on his arm. “Let’s go find our seats, Dash,” she said amiably. “We’re dying to hear more about this mission.”
The young detective followed her, still grumbling. Whenever he started a new investigation, his fear of failure made him anxious and cranky. He slumped into his seat, staring out the window. “Darn it, she was the cutest girl in the world . . .” He sighed. “How am I going to see her again?”
The Boeing 777 roared upward into the night sky. Agatha waited for Dash to finish muttering, then asked in a teasing voice, “What’s her name, this new flame of yours?”
“Umm . . . I think it was Linda,” he mumbled.
“And what did Linda think of your swollen eye?”
Dash jolted in his seat, reaching to see if his hair had moved. “How did you know?” he asked, surprised. Then he hunched his shoulders, grumbling, “You never miss a trick!”
“You need some eyedrops,” she advised, rummaging in her purse. “If your eye gets infected, it’ll really hurt!”
With Chandler’s help, Agatha doctored Dash’s eye. Watson waved his tail every time the boy squealed—it was well-known that the cat wasn’t a fan of Agatha’s cousin. When she had finished, the young detective found himself with a fancy gauze patch over one eye.
“You look like a fierce buccaneer, Cap’n Dash.” Agatha chuckled. “Ready to fearlessly take on the perils of the Bermuda Triangle!”
Dash gave her a one-eyed glare, but before he could speak, Chandler asked politely, “Can you give us a few details about this investigation, Master Dash?”
“Um, I don’t really have much of a clue,” he confessed. “I was waiting until we were all together to listen to the briefing . . .”
“Go ahead, dear cousin,” said Agatha.
Dash pulled out his EyeNet and handed wireless earbuds to his colleagues. He pushed a sequence of buttons, and his professor of Espionage and Counterespionage appeared on the screen. He was a young-looking man with a voice like a duck.
“Good evening, DM14,” the professor quacked. “You have been chosen to work on a delicate investigation for a Mr. Ronald McBain. Do you know that name?” the professor asked with significant emphasis. Dash put the recording on PAUSE.
“Do we know whom he’s referring to?” he asked the others uncertainly.
“Who doesn’t?” Agatha said with a smile. “He’s the McBain of McBain’s Fresh Fish, the fish-and-chips chain. Chandler and I eat there sometimes.”
“They have an excellent batter,” the butler confirmed. “Very crispy.”
Dash’s mouth started to water.
“If my memory serves me correctly,” Agatha continued, “Mr. McBain is Australian and has a fleet of fishing boats in every corner of the ocean.”
“Okay, so he’s a big fish,” Dash commented, wrinkling his forehead. “But what’s a fast-food billionaire doing in the Bermuda Triangle?”
“Let’s continue with the briefing and find out!”
Dash pressed PLAY on the recording, and the professor continued speaking on the small screen. But the information he provided did little to clear up their questions.
Ronald McBain wanted to maintain utmost secrecy and would only reveal the mission details to the Eye International agent in person, at his luxury villa.
“Your appointment with Mr. McBain is at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” concluded the professor. “Best of luck, Agent DM14!” And with a flash on the screen, he disappeared.
Dash gripped the armrest in desperation. “Is that all?” he exclaimed, scrolling frantically through the file menu. “No other files?”
Agatha was pensive. “Hmm, this is a very strange case,” she commented.
Chandler limited his opinion to a slight cough.
They passed the next few minutes in silence, lulled by the hum of the plane’s engines. It was the first time they’d ever begun an investigation with so little to go on.
“Try not to worry,” Agatha soothed Dash. “We’ll find out everything we need to know tomorrow! In the meantime, let’s pool our knowledge about our destination.”
Dash perked up instantly. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “This time I can open one of my memory drawers!”
“What do you mean, young sir?” asked Chandler.
“I’ve done tons of research on the Bermuda Triangle,” Dash said. He took out a piece of paper and drew a small map. “The points of the triangle are the coast of Florida, the island of Puerto Rico, and the Bermuda archipelago, which is made up of more than one hundred islands. Over the past several centuries, a huge number of boats and airplanes have disappeared there without a trace . . .”
His companions let him rant for a while about conspiracy theories, alien abductions, and paranormal phenomena, until Agatha interrupted him with a quick question. “Do you know the first person to report strange occurrences in the triangle?”
“Umm . . . no,” Dash admitted.
“Believe it or not, Christopher Columbus noted mysterious lights in the sky during his voyage to America,” she replied.
Dash looked crushed. “You’re just too smart,” he muttered.
They continued to chat for a few more minutes until, overcome with exhaustion, they all drifted off to sleep.
The captain’s amplified voice awoke them. “Fasten your seat belts, we’re about to land in Bermuda!”
Peering out the window, they saw a lone, hook-shaped island emerge from the dark ocean waters.
Dash’s retro outfit gave the customs officials a good laugh as he left the plane. He ignored them, trailing behind his companions until he was stopped in his tracks by a hearty slap on the back.
“Hey, kids!” their uncle Conrad greeted them enthusiastically. “You’re right on time!” Bulging with muscles, he had deeply tanned skin and a very white smile. “Hey, are you in the fashion business?” he joked. “I’ve never seen such style!”
“Uncle Conrad, it’s great to see you!” cried Agatha. “You’re the very picture of good health!”
“Fresh air, warm sun, and plenty of exercise.” Conrad Mistery grinned. “So what brings you three to Bermuda?”
“Well . . . Dash is doing research for a school project,” Agatha said. It was almost the truth.
“Cool! You can tell me the details whenever you’re ready,” their uncle replied. “Now let’s get home for some rest. You must be exhausted after the trip.”
“I could sleep for a month,” yawned the young detective.
“Dash has sloth genes,” said Agatha.
The night air was balmy and sweet after a wintry London. They boarded a pink-and-blue bus that had very few passengers, and ten minutes later, Conrad led them off the bus in front of a brightly lit sign that read MISTERY WATER PARK.
“Wh-where are we?” asked Dash, staring in wonder at the neon shape of a dolphin.
Uncle Conrad opened the gate. “This is my place, dear nephew! I own and operate this water park!”
“It’s fantastic!” breathed Agatha, in seventh heaven. She had already researched her uncle’s profession, but she never could have imagined all the pools, waterslides, Jet Skis, and sailboats moored alongside the beach.
“Glad you like it.” He beamed. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to my star attractions!” They followed him out to a vast, softly lit pool. “Look, kids, and tell me they aren’t true beauties!”
Five dolphins swam through the calm water.
Agatha crouched down at the edge of the pool, and one of the dolphins immediately ventured closer. The girl reached out to touch its head, and the dolphin gave a whistle of happiness.
“That means he likes you,” explained Uncle Conrad. “But no time to make friends now. It’s time for bed! You’ve got a beautiful island to see in the morning!”
He escorted the three Londoners into the main building, where they fell asleep in their beds within minutes.
The Bermuda sun was already high in the sky when the aspiring detectives awoke. Agatha bounced out of bed, ready to devour a delicious breakfast of tropical fruits, while Dash sluggishly trailed behind, grumbling about wanting more sleep. Their uncle had raided the water park’s souvenir shop to find more appropriate clothes for the warm island climate. Dash and Agatha proudly wore their new Mistery Water Park T-shirts, while Chandler sported a flamboyant floral shirt and a pair of sandals.
“Now, what do you say to a tour on my yacht?” asked Conrad, who seemed to have energy bursting from every pore. “I’ll take you to the most magical place in the world: the coral reef!”
“That’s very kind of you,” Agatha said with a smile. “But there’s something we’ve got to do first.”
Uncle Conrad looked confused. “Wouldn’t you rather swim with the dolphins? Or take a water safari on Jet Skis?” he asked. “There’s a world of fun here. The choice is yours!”
“I need to interview someone for my assignment,” sighed Dash, who had pulled up his eye patch at the mention of a safari to stare greedily at the Jet Skis.
“Who is it? I know everyone on the island!”
“His name’s Ronald McBain,” Chandler replied.
Uncle Conrad was stunned. “What?” he cried. “McBain the Shark?”
“What a graphic nickname,” Chandler said, raising his eyebrows.
“McBain is kind of a local celebrity,” Conrad explained, joining them at the table. He didn’t look happy. “He moved to Bermuda some years ago. This island is an international tax haven, you know, so McBain bought a spectacular villa where he can enjoy his billions in peace.”
“Why do you call him the Shark?” Agatha started stroking her nose, intrigued.
“Everyone knows McBain has a passion for salvaging ancient shipwrecks. But what interests him even more is their cargo: gold, coins, precious jewels. They say he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
Dash elbowed his cousin. “Maybe that’s why he contacted Eye International,” he whispered in her ear. “A stolen treasure!”
She nodded, then turned back to Conrad. “Could you please tell us the quickest way to get to his villa?” she asked.
Conrad marked the route on a postcard of the island and escorted them to the water park’s exit. “Be careful around that man,” he called out as they walked away. “You can’t trust a shark.”
Chandler nodded, flexing his knuckles.
They took a bus along wide streets lined with palm trees and emerald-green grass. Even though it was past the holiday tourist season, there was a steady stream of cars, bikes, and brightly colored motor scooters. It took just a few minutes to reach the capital city of Hamilton, its streets lined with pastel-painted colonial buildings.
Ronald McBain’s estate was not far from the city center. A high fence encircled a sumptuous two-story villa surrounded by palm trees and flowers. The entry gate framed a view of broad steps leading onto a wraparound deck and infinity pool.
On one side of the building, there was a small pier overlooking the ocean, and on the other, a private heliport.
Agatha introduced herself and the rest of their group to the two bodyguards stationed in front of the gate. One of the men spoke into his phone before giving them a nod to enter. McBain was waiting impatiently for them on the veranda.
He was a heavyset older man with a thick white beard. His eyes were as hard as steel. He was dressed in a white suit and stylish panama hat. He welcomed his guests cordially, but seemed very surprised by the group that faced him. “You certainly make an unlikely team!” he said, looking them over. “Are all of you agents?”
Agatha smiled in response. “Aside from Watson, you can count on any of us!”
Still skeptical, McBain barked out a sharp laugh and invited them into his study. The window looked out over a swimming pool carved directly into the rocky ground.
“Mr. McBain?” Agatha asked, professionally. “Could you please explain why we’re here?”
“Good. I like to cut to the chase,” he replied, leaning his elbows on the desk. He continued, “As you may have heard, I’m an aficionado of shipwrecks . . .”
“Yes, we already knew that,” Dash interrupted. “It’s our job to do background checks.”
McBain paused for a moment, staring at the patch covering Dash’s eye, then continued. “For several years now, I’ve been searching for the Alcazar, a Spanish galleon that transported gold bullion from Mexico in the days of the conquistadores. But this ship wasn’t like all the rest. It had a one-of-a-kind cargo . . .”
“Could you be more precise, Mr. McBain?” asked Agatha, opening her notebook and resting it on her knee.
“According to the ship’s log, the Alcazar had a precious Mayan calendar on board,” the elderly billionaire said. “A golden disk, nearly a yard in diameter . . .”
“A priceless relic,” interjected Chandler, petting Watson to keep him calm.
“Priceless doesn’t begin to describe it!” McBain snorted, fixing him with a challenging glare. “Once I discovered that the galleon had sunk off the coast of Bermuda, I immediately hired Captain Larsson and his crew. Olaf Larsson is an old Norwegian sea dog who’s spent his whole life recovering shipwrecks. I invested a fortune outfitting his ship, the Loki, with state-of-the-art deep-sea research equipment. After months scanning the depths of the ocean, the captain finally located the remains of the Alcazar . . .”
McBain paused to evaluate his guests’ reactions. Then he got right to the point. “The crew finally managed to haul up the Mayan calendar, but they lost it again a few nights ago. Don’t you find that strange, detectives? That is why I contacted Eye International.”
They exchanged knowing looks, leaving Agatha to reply.
“Could you tell us exactly what happened?” she asked, lightly tapping her nose with her pen.
“That night, the Loki was caught in a terrible storm. There was a lot of damage.” McBain sighed. “Captain Larsson called me on the satellite phone to say that the Mayan calendar had fallen overboard during the storm. But I think that Norwegian crook is trying to rob me!”
“Why? What makes you think so?” asked Dash.
McBain gave a toothy smile, resting his hands on his prominent belly. “When I hired Captain Larsson, I promised him half of the money from the sale of whatever we could recover.
With all his years of experience, it’s inconceivable that he’d lose the most valuable find of his whole treasure-hunting career in a mere storm at sea!”
“Excuse me,” Agatha interrupted him. “But if I recall correctly, there are international laws prohibiting private sales of this sort of cultural relic.”
“Sure, there are,” replied McBain with a fiendish grin. “But no one would have known who discovered it. I could have told the auction houses in London and New York any story that came into my head.”
This admission left the three investigators at a loss for words. It was clear why McBain was known as the Shark.
“So you believe Larsson orchestrated a scam to keep the relic himself?” Chandler asked.
The elderly billionaire’s expression darkened. “Exactly, detectives. Your task is to find out where Larsson is hiding the treasure, and catch him red-handed!”
“I don’t understand,” replied Agatha, chewing her lip. “Was the captain the only person who knew about the Mayan calendar? Couldn’t there be other suspects?”
“Naturally the crew knew everything, but I don’t think any of them would be able to pull off putting such an important artifact on the market,” McBain replied coldly. “It’s not a fool’s game.”
Agatha wasn’t convinced. “Other than your suspicions, I don’t see anything that would indicate that the captain’s a thief,” she observed.
“I’m pleased to see you’re such a clever one, Miss,” said the unscrupulous billionaire. “I will confess that I took . . . certain other precautions. I have a man on board the Loki. His name is Richie Stark, and he oversees all the electronic equipment. He is also convinced that the captain has hidden the calendar somewhere.”
“A spy!” Dash exclaimed.
“I’d call him more of an insurance policy,” McBain said with a crafty grin.
Once again, the three detectives were stunned by McBain’s icy attitude. After a few awkward moments, Agatha got to her feet. “We have a good grasp of the situation,” she said, pacing back and forth. “But with your permission, I’d like to ask you a few more simple questions.”