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them forward through a crush of reporters on the sidewalk in front of the museum. The news crews and onlookers were held back behind two black velvet ropes that framed a red carpet. Ahead, the British Museum towered behind marble pillars, looking like a massive bank vault. A giant banner hung across the pillars and boldly announced the exhibit.
     
    Mayan Treasures of the New World
     
    Jake noticed many people wore special goggles to view the coming eclipse.
    He looked up to the sky. Of course, he should’ve known better. The moon was already beginning to cross the sun’s face. The blinding corona stung his eyes. He glanced away before it could damage his sight. To the south, a spate of lightning flashed, followed by a rumble of thunder. The storm was still blowing up along the Thames River and threatened to wipe out the rare sight.
    “Aren’t they darlings?” a matronly woman called out.
    “Spittin’ images of their mum and da.”
    “And look at those cute outfits.”
    “Regular little explorers, they are,” another chuckled.
    Jake became conscious of his clothes. Courtesy of theBledsworth corporation, the pair had been tailor-fitted at an expensive shop on Savile Row, famous for its custom clothiers. Jake wore safari pants and a long-sleeved shirt, both khaki in color, along with a vest (with pockets everywhere, some zippered, some buttoned, some pockets inside other pockets). He also had a pair of hiking boots made of waterproof GORE-TEX and a matching backpack. They’d wanted him to wear a safari hat, too, but he refused.
    Kady loved the hat. It sat jauntily on her head. More cameras flashed. She tilted on a hip and coyly twined a finger in one of her hat’s ties.
    Jake rolled his eyes and continued toward the museum.
    The shouts and calls became a wordless blur. He just wanted to get inside, away from all the commotion. Bledsworth Sundries and Industries, along with the museum, had organized a media blitz: newspapers, television, even posters on the sides of buses and subways. All to promote the exhibit. The story of the disappearance of Jake’s parents had been big news when it had first occurred, a story of gold and bandits and murdered archaeologists. The papers pumped it up again. Everyone had soon learned of the orphaned Ransoms. And now to have the kids here, for the opening of the exhibit, had brought out everyone with a camera.
    Morgan Drummond kept close to Jake’s shoulders andencouraged Kady to keep moving with the flat of his hand at her back. His voice boomed to the crowd. “We’re running late! There’ll be time for more photos after the event!”
    Murmurs of disappointment dogged their steps.
    But Jake noted how Drummond glanced to one member of the audience, fixing him with a stare. At the ropes stood a toad of a man, squat and dressed all in green, munching on a doughnut. His eyes were buried under bushy eyebrows. His lips were puffy and dusted with powdered sugar. He also had a camera around his neck, but it just hung loose. He didn’t bother raising it as they passed.
    He only gave the smallest nod toward Drummond, who hurried them faster.
    At long last, Jake and Kady crossed under the banner and into the museum’s interior. Apart from the guards in blue uniforms, the lobby was deliciously empty. Kady glanced outside with a longing look.
    “There’s a ribbon-cutting ceremony in the Queen Elizabeth Court,” Morgan Drummond said as he led them past a gift shop and across the polished marble floor.
    “Will there be more cameras?” Kady asked, flipping open her compact mirror with the skill of a knife thrower.
    “Just the television news and the London Times ,” Drummond said. “The museum is hosting an exclusive event,limited to the largest contributors. And even they had to pay a hefty fee to attend the ribbon cutting.”
    “Does your company get a cut from that extra fee?”
    Drummond frowned down at Jake as if he had asked a rudely stupid question. “Of course we do.