Danger Guys on Ice by Tony Abbott Read Free Book Online Page B

cried Zeek. “Wuz sappen wiz da Bemberbuns!”
    â€œThose guys,” I whispered, “are the same ones from school last night. They heard the Emersons talking about the Golden Lizard. Now they want it for themselves!”
    Zeek nodded, rubbing his lips. “An da mabb.”
    â€œRight, the map. But they don’t know that we have it.”
    â€œIm my bogget,” Zeek mumbled, patting his jacket.
    Mrs. E. flashed a look back at us.
    â€œI think she wants us to follow,” I said. “But we’d better stay out of sight. We’re no good if they catch us!”
    â€œAwight. Less go!”
    We trotted down the main hall of the airport, dodging in and out of doorways. Hopping over luggage. Hiding behind tourists.
    The men made a sudden left down a corridor and took the Emersons with them.
    I glanced at a sign on the wall. “Our flight is this way, too. Once we see where they’re going, we can alert airport security.”
    â€œSecurikee. No problumm.”
    I looked at Zeek. “Hey, I actually understood you that time.”
    Zeek kept rubbing his lips. “Ish coming back.”
    We peeked down the hall and watched the men disappear through a door.
    We crept up and opened it.
    Warm air blasted us in the face. We were outside the terminal. And right there on the pavement was a sleek black minijet. Its engines were revving up.
    Two of the black-suit guys were pushing the Emersons up the stairs into the jet!
    â€œHoly cow, Zeek! They’re being kidnapped!”
    Fingers was shouting above the noise of the engines. I heard only a word, but it was enough.
    â€œMaribo,” he said.
    Then, before we could do a thing, Fingers jumped in, and the jet started to move. In seconds it was roaring down the runway and into the air.
    â€œThe Emersons are in big trouble, Zeekie. We’ve got to follow that minijet.”
    â€œAnd just how are we going to do that—flap our arms really fast?”
    I made a face. “Our plane is here somewhere. Maybe we can beat them to Maribo.”
    We ran over to a small hangar on the runway. A mechanic was just coming out.
    â€œWe’re looking for flight 119,” I said.
    He wiped his hands on a cloth and pointed over his shoulder. “Right over there.”
    I looked behind him. I couldn’t believe it. “Zeek. It’s—it’s—the space shuttle!”
    The jet was shiny and long, all white, with big fins and wings shooting off it.
    I was about to run up the stairs into it, when— WHOOM! —the engines blasted, and it slithered out of the hangar, shot down the runway, and vanished in a cloud of blue smoke.
    â€œBut—that’s our flight!” I cried.
    â€œNot that one!” the mechanic shouted. Then he pointed to an old rusty shape in the back of the hangar. “ That one!”
    Zeek’s face shriveled like an old apple. “Um, Noodle? Isn’t that, like, the first plane the Wright Brothers tried? The one that crashed?”
    Just then an old man stepped out from behind the rusty heap and shuffled over to us. Well, really he shuffled right past us.
    â€œWhere d’ya go?” he said. Then he turned around and saw us. “Oh!”
    He shifted an old foggy pair of goggles to his forehead and stared at Zeek and me for a long time. “You’re not the Emersons.”
    â€œUm, no, sir,” I said. “But we’re looking for their flight. Flight 119 to Maribo?”
    â€œHeh-heh,” cackled the old man. “Well, you’ve found it! And you’ve found me, Montana Smith. Best dad-burn stunt pilot east of the Mississippi!”
    â€œWe’re west of the Mississippi,” I said.
    He blinked and looked disappointed. “Oh.”
    â€œWe have to follow that jet, Mr. Smith,” I said, pointing at the black speck in the sky.
    â€œHeh-heh,” he laughed. “Follow that jet!” He thought that was pretty funny.
    He turned around,