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police officers drew closer through the woods.
    â€œC’mon,” Molly said. She and Addison tore along the jogging path, heading for the Central Park livery stables.
    The two raced past a tourist carriage and ducked into the stables. They crawled under a wooden fence to join a mare in her enclosure. The horse chomped hay and nickered at them cheerfully.
    â€œShhh!” said Addison.
    Policemen surrounded the stable, their voices crackling through walkie-talkies. “They must be inside!”
    â€œSet up a perimeter.”
    â€œCover the exits.”
    Addison quietly opened the horse’s paddock. Seizing the horse’s withers, he climbed up onto the mare’s back.
    â€œAddison . . . are we going to steal a
horse
?”
    â€œThese are—how do you say?—urgent circumstances,” explained Addison, imitating Ragar’s accent.
    â€œCan you even ride a horse?”
    â€œHow hard can it be? I’ve read about it in books.” Addison helped Molly clamber up behind him.
    â€œGo!” said Addison to the horse. “Please,” he added.
    The mare simply stood there, pleasantly chewing hay.
    â€œSome things you can’t learn from books, Addison.”
    â€œI will be sure to remember that.”
    Outside in the corral, dozens of policemen could be heard marching into position, surrounding the stable. A policeman switched on a megaphone, which sparked with static. “Come on out. You’re surrounded!”
    Addison leaned close to the horse’s ear. “Step on it!”
    The horse smacked its teeth with its great tongue and did nothing else.
    â€œI think you’re supposed to kick it,” Molly offered.
    â€œThat’s your answer for everything!”
    Molly decided to take matters into her own hands. Or feet, in this case. She knocked her cleats into the horse’s sides.
    It did the trick. The mare sprung into gear. With a thunder of hooves, the horse burst from the stable.
    Molly and Addison held on for dear life.
    Surprised policemen dove from the path of the galloping steed as it vaulted the paddock fence. Addison and Molly clung to the horse like a wet bathing suit. The mare bolted across the baseball diamond and onto the football field, picking up speed. Behind them, a squadron of uniformed officers gave chase.
    Overhead, a police helicopter caught them in its searchlight, tracking them across the open field.
    Molly bounced along on the horse, hanging on to Addison. “Why am I always in back?”
    â€œBecause you’re younger!”
    â€œDo you even know how to steer this thing?”
    â€œYou ask too many questions!”
    The horse plunged directly into the dense foliage surrounding the football field. Soon they were enveloped in the dark forest, tree limbs whipping past their faces. Addison ducked low over the horse’s mane, Molly’s face catching all the branches that missed Addison.
    The helicopter blades grew quieter as Addison and Molly fled deeper into the woods.
    Molly’s voice shook with each powerful stride of the galloping horse. “Why kidnap Uncle Nigel?”
    â€œProfessor Ragar needs his help to track down the treasure. Uncle Nigel is famous among archaeologists. He is the number two Incan expert in the world.”
    â€œWho’s the number one Incan expert?”
    Addison’s face slowly turned white. “Aunt Delia!”
    Addison reined the horse. “She must be in danger, too. We need to get back home.” He tugged on the mare’s reins, aiming the horse north for West 86th Street.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Addison and Molly cantered north on Amsterdam and hooked a right onto 86th Street. Police helicopters circled in the distance, combing the neighborhood with searchlights.
    Addison dismounted, parallel-parking the horse in an empty spot in front of the local deli.
    â€œYou can’t park there—it’s a handicapped spot,” said