Kizmet and the Case of the Pirate Treasure Read online

  About the Book

  When IMPACT headquarters are attacked and a fellow agent is kidnapped Kizmet, Gretchen and Detective Spencer are sent to investigate the daring crime. They’re plunged into the age-old world of looting pirates and secret treasure. Can the gang solve the ancient riddle before the deadly deadline?

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  For Yy and Coco

  Thank you to Kevin Whyte, Helen Townshend and the staff at Token Artists. Also Laura Harris, Jess Owen, Tony Palmer and the staff at Penguin Random House. And a special thanks to Jode Satya for all her feedback and support.

  From the outside the IMPACT headquarters looked like any boring office building.

  But inside was a hive of activity. Detectives rushed from room to room, carrying documents. A scientist peered into a glass cabinet full of large hairy spiders, while in the background her colleague tested the strength of a cable made from synthetic spider silk. All this was going on around us as we sat in the meeting area of the Central Command Hub.

  When I say ‘we’, I mean me and Kizmet, and her dad, Spencer Papanicillo. We work together solving mysteries. Well, when I say ‘we’ work together . . . How can I put this? If it was only Spencer and me on the team, our stories would be a series of unsolved cases. It’s ’cause of Kizmet that the crooks get got. But we help out where we can. We’ve been working as a trio for so long now that nobody at IMPACT even looked twice at the red-haired girl with the big black bird sitting on her shoulder.

  And the bird’s me, by the way. I’m a currawong.

  Spencer had been called in to get his newest case from Chief Inspector Wodjet, but we arrived a little early, so we’re catching up with a few friends.

  Kizmet held a Rubik’s cube. She messed it up until the colours were everywhere then gave it back to Gita Bandhari, a calm young woman who also happened to be the world’s greatest code-breaker. Gita held the puzzle behind her back. There was a series of clacks and clicks before she presented the cube to Kizmet . . . completely solved.

  Kizmet’s face lit up with delight, and my neck feathers puffed out, which happens when I’m amazified.

  ‘I could do that,’ piped in Spencer.

  ‘Really?’ asked Kizmet. ‘You can solve a Rubik’s cube behind your back?’

  ‘Solve it?’ sputtered Spencer. ‘No, I meant I could do your bit. Where you messed it up.’

  ‘Spencer! Watch out!’ cried a squeaky voice.

  Spencer jumped back as a bizarre metallic creature galloped past. It was like a robot motorbike but with legs instead of wheels, and riding it was a tiny geek with big glasses.

  ‘I call it the Cyber-steed,’ squeaked Professor Limpet.

  ‘Limpet, you’re a genius!’ laughed Spencer.

  ‘And check this out.’ Limpet reached into his knapsack, pulled out a device and frisbeed it down to Spencer. ‘Put it around your neck.’

  Spencer looked at the peculiar C-shaped tube. It was flexible so he could easily bend it open and place it snuggly around his neck.

  ‘What does it do?’ asked Spencer. But instead of his own voice, he spoke in a perfect impression of Chief Inspector Wodjet. She had a voice a bit like the Queen of England, so Spencer was shocked to hear it coming out of his mouth.

  ‘It’s a voice modulator. I set it to Wodjet’s voice,’ said Limpet, ‘but it can do anyone.’

  Spencer snuck up behind a detective who was sitting at his computer playing Minecraft. Next to the detective’s ear, Spencer said in Chief Inspector Wodjet’s voice, ‘Computer games at work? That’s it. You’re fired!’

  The detective spun around in shock. His rolling office chair slid out from under him and he tumbled to the floor. A coffee cup went flying from his hand and we heard a pane of glass smash in the distance. We all burst out laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ snorted Chief Inspector Wodjet, appearing from nowhere.

  ‘Oh . . . um,’ Spencer shrugged, not wanting to speak. He touched the voice modulator.

  ‘Don’t fiddle with that,’ commanded Wodjet, staring into Spencer’s eyes. ‘Speak up, Papanicillo. What’s the joke?’

  Spencer gulped nervously. He had no choice but to answer.

  ‘You had to be there . . . Chief Inspector,’ he said in Wodjet’s voice.

  We all looked on in horror and my claws squeezed Kizmet’s shoulder a little more firmly.

  Wodjet was taken aback. ‘Are you mocking me, Papanicillo?’

  ‘No, Chief Inspector. I have nothing but respect for you,’ he said in Wodjet’s voice.

  Wodjet’s face blushed red. ‘In twenty years as the boss of IMPACT, this is the worst example of insolence I’ve ever experienced.’

  ‘My spiders!’

  We all looked up as a scientist ran out onto the landing above. ‘Someone smashed the glass cabinet and all my spiders have escaped!’

  ‘For goodness sake!’ bellowed Wodjet. ‘Is this an international police department or a kindergarten?’

  Spencer looked relieved that the focus was off him. He removed the voice modulator, turning to his friend . . . and froze.

  ‘Limpet, you have a passenger.’

  A large spider walked down Professor Limpet’s forehead.

  ‘Auurgh!!!! Spiders! I hate spiders!’ he screamed.

  In his panic, he clutched erratically at the controls of the Cyber-steed, making it buck and kick violently. It upturned desks and smashed a glass wall.

  ‘Get it off! Off! Off! Off!’ squealed Professor Limpet.

  I leapt from Kizmet’s shoulder and flew into the fray. I had to wheel and spin to avoid being bashed by the wild machine but I managed to scoop the spider off Professor Limpet’s face and gulp it down. It was delicious. Tasted like a mixture of peanut butter and blood.

  Limpet calmed himself and the Cyber-steed became still.

  ‘Well, I can’t imagine how this morning could get any worse,’ said Chief Inspector Wodjet.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t have to imagine it. ’Cause that’s when the explosion happened.

  There was a deafening boom and the large panels of glass of the domed roof of the Central Command Hub crashed to the ground around us.

  I could hear a helicopter whirring above, and through the smoke and dust I saw figures in black clothing descend into the room on ropes. IMPACT staff ran in all directions from the intruders.

  ‘Quick, everyone!’ shouted Kizmet. ‘Behind these desks.’

  I heard someone yelling for help. A masked intruder wrestled with Gita, binding her wrists and ankles with zip ties. She was fighting bravely, but there were too many of them.

  Kizmet rushed to her assistance as two large villains blocked the way. Spencer crash-tackled one of them and Kizmet tried to sidestep the other. Unfortunately, the enemy was fast and the black-clothed villain scooped Kizmet up under one arm. I pecked him on the skull, but he waved me away frantically.

  Professor Limpet conducted a scientific experiment to test the effect of a shoe being thrust at extreme velocity into the area between a person’s legs. Thud. The masked villain let go of Kizmet and dropped to his knees.

  Kizmet jumped onto the baddie who was tying up Gita. He pushed Kizmet away, but she gripped the dark figure’s jacket, ripping it as she fell to the ground. The torn material revealed a strange tattoo on the man’s
bare shoulder.

  Spencer was punched and sent reeling across the room.

  The leader of the terrible gang passed a strap under Gita’s arms and shouted into his walkie-talkie, ‘Capture achieved. Go!’

  Suddenly, all of the invaders and Gita were lifted into the air by the long ropes they’d descended on. They were pulled quickly through the dust and out the gaping hole in the roof. As soon as they were in the helicopter, the extraordinary aircraft converted to a jet and rocketed away.

  We stood in shock.

  Our friend Gita had been kidnapped. But why?

  ‘Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, Kizmet.’

  ‘One of the villains had a tattoo like this on his shoulder. We may be able to identify him.’ Kizmet offered Wodjet a piece of paper with a small drawing on it.

  Wodjet gasped.

  ‘The mark of . . . the Illuminasties.’

  ‘We don’t know much about them at all, actually.’ Chief Inspector Wodjet was strolling along as she tapped a keyboard in front of her. She’d installed an exercise treadmill behind her desk so she could keep fit while working.

  On a large screen mounted on the wall an image, like the one Kizmet had drawn, appeared – a skull with horns inside a pentagon. Kizmet read the motto written across the bottom of the creepy emblem.

  ‘Be bold but tread lightly. That was written under the kidnapper’s tattoo as well,’ she said.

  ‘Papanicillo, download this image for your reference,’ commanded Wodjet, puffing slightly.

  Spencer rummaged in his trouser pocket. He removed a snotty tissue with a lolly stuck to it, his keys, a pencil sharpener, a small bag of rubber bands, a tangled knot of earphones, a Swiss Army knife and a shopping list, placing them all on Wodjet’s desk. Eventually, he pulled out what he was looking for – his smartphone. After a few taps he had logged into his IMPACT account and transferred the image.

  Wodjet looked at the mess Spencer had made and rolled her eyes. ‘There are wild rumours about the Illuminasties,’ she said, as she walked on the treadmill, ‘ranging from claims that they’re a secret society planning world domination, to stories that they’re a mysterious guild of wizards who have discovered eternal youth. Clearly, this is all nonsense –’

  Wodjet’s phone rang. ‘Wodjet. Yes . . .’

  As Wodjet spoke on the phone, Spencer started poking around. He fiddled with a control panel on the wall. As he did so, the treadmill speed increased and Wodjet went from a walk to a jog.

  ‘Dad!’ hissed Kizmet.

  Spencer nervously pulled his hand away from the control panel and the little dial fell to the floor. He picked it up and tried to fit it back on, but it wouldn’t attach. He took off his shoe and used the heel to hammer the knob back on. He tapped a few times with no result. In frustration, he gave it a hefty whack. The dial stuck. Job done.

  ‘Papanicillo!’ called Wodjet, hanging up the phone.

  Spencer spun around and gave Wodjet his full attention. Behind him a few sparks jumped from the damaged control panel.

  ‘We have a lead,’ she continued, still jogging on the treadmill. ‘Only yesterday there was another criminal incident involving the Illuminasties. A small museum in Kingston, Jamaica called the Pirate Archive was ransacked and at least one of the burglars bore the mark of the Illuminasties. I want you on a plane to Kingston tonight.’

  As we walked through the underground car park of the IMPACT building we bumped into Professor Limpet.

  ‘I hope they don’t do anything to harm Gita,’ he squeaked.

  Spencer rubbed his friend’s arm. ‘We’ll find her, Limpet.’ Spencer rummaged in his pockets. ‘Ah, where did I leave my keys?’

  Kizmet had been through this so many times she already had her phone open to the tracking app she had designed to find all of her father’s lost stuff. She’d attached small radio transmitters to all of Spencer’s high-risk items.

  ‘They’re up in Wodjet’s office,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be back soon.’

  Kizmet and I rushed back up to the chief inspector’s office, but it was empty. As Kizmet grabbed the keys, I heard a muffled call for help. I flew above the desk and saw Chief Inspector Wodjet trapped on her treadmill and rolling around doing uncomfortable somersaults under her desk.

  ‘Karkle!’ I said to Kizmet.

  She ran to the controls and hit stop.

  A dazed Wodjet emerged from under her desk.‘The stupid machine went into reverse,’ she moaned. ‘I’ve been rolling around under there for about ten minutes. Wait till I get my hands on the morons who installed this thing. I’ll kill ’em!’

  Kizmet didn’t say anything. And if I could’ve, I wouldn’t’ve.

  After we flew into Kingston, we caught a taxi straight to the Pirate Archive. The curator, Gaspar Grell, was expecting us. His thin, bony hands were in constant, nervous motion, scratching his face or fiddling with his jacket sleeves. The ransacking of his beloved museum had clearly left him a psychological wreck.

  ‘Mrs Crawford, please bring our guests some tea and refreshments,’ he said as he showed us to his office.

  His assistant, a very plain and unassuming woman of about fifty, nodded politely. ‘Yes, Mr Grell.’

  ‘We appreciate you talking to us, Mr Grell,’ said Kizmet. ‘You see, our friend Gita’s life may depend on your help.’

  ‘I will tell you what I know,’ he said. ‘Recently, a secret basement was discovered in an old mansion that was once owned by a notorious pirate called Captain Bloodhunter. Our museum came into the possession of all sorts of objects including clothing, navigational tools, musical instruments, clocks, wooden chests and furniture and then, the night before last, a gang of masked intruders broke in. They smashed many of these valuable artefacts, searching for hidden compartments. Eventually, they found what they were looking for.’

  Kizmet leant forward. ‘What was that?’

  ‘The Bloodhunter Bellows,’ Gaspar whispered.

  ‘Ah, of course . . . the Bloodhunter Bellows,’ repeated Spencer. ‘What are the Bloodhunter Bellows?’

  ‘Come with me,’ said Gaspar. ‘I want to show you something.’

  Gaspar led us into a charming library with beautiful wooden shelves and ladders. He took an old book from the shelf and opened it, revealing that the pages had been cut out to create a secret hiding spot. Hidden inside the book were several sheets of folded paper.

  ‘This is a letter that a man called Robert Stone wrote to his brother in 1724.’

  ‘The fellow who wrote the letter is called Robert Stone?’ asked Spencer, making a note in his notebook. Gaspar nodded, and Spencer continued. ‘And he wrote this letter to his brother?’

  Gaspar nodded again. ‘Yes, yes. It tells one of the most incredible stories in–’

  ‘Hold on, Grell. He wrote it in 1724, you say?’ asked Spencer, scribbling.

  ‘That’s right,’ mumbled Gaspar.

  ‘1724,’ said Spencer. ‘That’s . . . That’s ages ago. Isn’t it?’

  ‘Nearly three hundred years,’ said Gaspar.

  ‘That’s when he wrote this letter?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gaspar, becoming annoyed. ‘May I read the letter, Detective?’

  ‘1724?’ Spencer scratched his chin. ‘I just want to get a clear picture of when that was.’

  Gaspar sighed.

  ‘Did they have cars then?’ asked Spencer.

  ‘Of course they didn’t have cars!’ blurted Gaspar.

  ‘Or planes?’

  ‘What? I just said no cars. Do you think there was a time when there were no cars but there were planes? You think they invented planes before cars?!’

  Spencer pouted, his feelings hurt. He scribbled in his pad. ‘No cars. No planes. No boats.’

  ‘What did you say?’ cried Gaspar. ‘No boats? I didn’t say “No boats”.’

  ‘I know, but if there weren’t cars or planes, I would’ve thought . . . boats are just as tricky to make, aren’t they?’

&n
bsp; ‘Boats don’t have engines,’ said Gaspar.

  ‘Some boats have engines,’ said Spencer, sensibly.

  ‘Mmm . . . Mmm,’ muttered Gaspar, his skinny hands working overtime in the fidget department. ‘They didn’t have cars or planes or boats with engines.’

  ‘Right.’ Spencer nodded. ‘So only boats and planes and cars with no engines. Are you sure that’s right, Grell? What’s the point of a plane with no engine? A car, I can imagine. You could attach some horses to it and pull it along. But a plane without an engine – how would that even get off the ground?’

  Kizmet touched Spencer’s arm and said gently, ‘Dad, you need to be quiet now.’

  ‘Do I?’ said Spencer.

  Gaspar shook his head and sighed. ‘Okay! This letter from 1724 tells one of the most incredible stories in human history. Prepare to be amazed by the tale of the three pirates.’

  Dear Edward

  I do not have time for pleasantries so I will cut to the crux of my purpose for writing to you. I have come into the possession of an object that I believe, my dear brother, will transform our fortunes in the most astronomical fashion. For the past year I have been working as a guard at Newgate Prison. Recently three pirates were tried and executed here. Well, these were not your average buccaneers.

  They had realised that if they pooled their plunder, they could build an army of pirate ships. Over time they could gain complete control of the ocean trade routes and bring the European nations to their knees. Their secret plan was to become the true kings of the sea. The most powerful people in the world.

  But things unravelled when the three rogues were arrested by the British Navy.

  While they were awaiting trial, I noted that each of the pirates had this: inked to their shoulder with the words BE BOLD BUT TREAD LIGHTLY written underneath.

  Gaspar looked up from the incredible letter. ‘When one of the burglars tied me to a chair, I saw this tattoo on his arm,’ he said.