“What do you mean?” Jake asked.
“I only meant to steal your bike.”
“Steal my bike? What are you talking about?”
“I was trying to protect you, to delay your return home and keep you out of harm’s way.” Morgan’s expression turned sheepish and pained. “But when I got downtown, I found someone spying on you. I recognized one of the burglary team. I tried to grab him. But he released the parking brake on his sedan and darted out the far door. I went after him, only realizing too late where the sedan was heading. I gave up pursuit and chased after the car, but it had gained too much speed. I couldn’t catch up.”
Jake pictured the car smashing through the window. “You almost got me killed.”
Morgan held up a hand. “A miscalculation. The corporation will cover any damages.”
A miscalculation?
Jake stood there, stunned, unable to speak.
He was saved from responding by the sound of a heavy engine. They all turned toward the front door. Gravel crunched, and a small yellow school bus lumbered into view.
Morgan stepped to the door, his hand resting on his holstered pistol.
The bus swung around the circular drive and stopped. The door cranked open, and a tall, lithe figure in a cheerleading outfit stepped out. It was Jake’s older sister, Kady. She swung her length of blond hair like a mane and cast a baleful glance back at the bus as she climbed the stone steps.
Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the welcome party on the front stoop. Her gaze stuck on Morgan, then flashed to Jake.
What’s he doing here? she asked silently.
Aunt Matilda pushed forward. “Thank goodness you’re okay.”
Kady scrunched up her face. “As if riding in a school bus is ever okay. I’ve never been so humiliated.”
“What happened?” Aunt Matilda asked. “I thought Randy was driving you home after cheer practice.”
“He couldn’t get his car started. The shop teacher thinks someone poured sugar in his gas tank.”
All eyes turned to Morgan.
He shrugged. “Kept her away, didn’t it?”
Jake shook his head and headed back inside. He glared at Morgan. “Great. So you put a little sugar in Randy’s gas tank but almost ran me over.”
Morgan leaned to Jake’s ear. “Yet somehow you still got here, boy. Next time I’ll try unloading a dump truck on top of you.”
Jake stared up at the man. Was that just sarcasm, or was there a slight threat hidden behind his words? It was hard to tell. With that British accent, Morgan sounded like James Bond.
Before Jake could figure it out, a squeal of shock erupted from behind them. Kady stood in the doorway and gaped at the destruction down the hall, seeing it for the first time. “What happened?”
It was a good question.
Jake stared at the broken cabinets, the scatter of treasures.
What exactly had happened here?
3
KEY TO TIME
The knock on the door came at midnight.
Jake had been expecting it. He climbed off his bed, careful not to disturb the piles of paper and books spread across the floor like a minefield. It was all of his research for the past three months, everything from Howard Carter’s personal account of the discovery of King Tut’s tomb to Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time (inside, Jake had scribbled a couple of notes where the author got things wrong). He also had books on hieroglyphics, journals covering prehistoric fauna and flora, even scientific articles about the possibility of time travel.
Jake had spent most of the evening rereading the reams of reports and articles he’d collected about Bledsworth Sundries and Industries. Morgan’s sudden appearance had renewed his interest in the corporation. It was amazing the number of rumors—most of them nasty—surrounding the company and its history.
Then again, it wasn’t unusual considering how much of a recluse its head had become. Sigismund Oliphant Bledsworth IX, well into his nineties, had all but disappeared from the world. Only a few photographs still existed of the man. Jake had found only one, taken when Bledsworth was much younger: a stick figure in a British military uniform. The corporation was an old one, its operations stretching back to medieval times. It was said the Bledsworth family had made their first fortune by selling false potions to protect people against the Black Plague. Since then they continued to prosper in pursuits both legal and less so, growing until their corporation was the richest company in England and the fourth largest in the world.
Jake wasn’t comfortable with such a corporation “keeping tabs” on his family.
Like Magellan circumnavigating the world, Jake finally crossed the book-strewn floor and reached the door. He pulled it open to discover Kady standing there in her pajama bottoms and an oversized T-shirt emblazoned with her current favorite punk-pop group, Atomic Vampire Puppies.
She pushed inside his room without waiting for an invitation. “Do you have it?”
“Of course I do. I wasn’t about to leave Dad’s pocket watch downstairs with Morgan Drummond in the house.”
Uncle Edward had invited Morgan to spend the night in one of the guest rooms. It was the only polite thing to do, at least according to Aunt Matilda. Jake knew his aunt and uncle had taken a shine to the big man, but Jake remained suspicious.
Still, it had been a long day of police sirens and ambulances. Wounds had been tended to and reports filled out. A squad car was still parked outside with two police officers on duty.
In case those brigands return, Edward had said.
With the house secure, Kady plopped on Jake’s bed, knocking over a teetering pile of research books.
“Careful!” Jake warned, and set about restacking the texts.
This particular pile contained information about Atlantis. Most of the texts were rubbish, pure fantasy; but Jake had a personal interest in the subject matter. He only had to look at his arm to know that Atlantis was real.
A seamless band of silvery magnetite circled his wrist. He couldn’t take it off. Etched into its surface were faint lines of Atlantean text. Jake had struggled to decipher the writing, copying it and comparing it to other lost languages.
So far he’d been unsuccessful.
The band had been a gift and a reward from the Elder of the Ur tribe, a group of displaced Neanderthals who also shared the prehistoric valley of Calypsos, a land protected by ancient Atlantean technology.
Kady had a wristband, too—though she’d gotten to calling it a bracelet and decorating it with charms of all sorts, using its magnetic properties to hold the trinkets in place. While Jake had frowned at such abuse, Kady’s exploration into jewelry making did reveal an oddity. It was not just iron that clung to the bands—any metal did: silver, gold, even platinum.