CHAPTER 3

Beck and I followed Tommy and Dad out of the van and crouched behind a row of Vespa motor scooters.

We couldn’t really see what was going on inside the garage.

So we crept closer and found a hiding spot beside a pair of rusty trash barrels.

Uh-oh.

Things didn’t look so good. In fact, things looked molto, molto male, which is Italian for “very, very bad”!

Tommy and Dad had their hands up over their heads.

“You two idioti don’t know who you are dealing with,” growled a muscular goon who looked like he might be a former member of the Italian weight-lifting team. “The ones we work for are appassionati d’arte. Very serious art lovers. You do not wish to make them your enemies.”

“Of course we don’t,” said Dad. “Our only wish is that you—and those you work for—return that stolen mummy to its rightful owners: the government and people of Egypt.”

“Chya,” added Tommy.

“We do not have time for your noble speeches,” said the guy who was apparently the head goon, waggling a pistol. “Turn around. Massimo? Handcuff them both. Sbrigati!”

“Sì, sì, sì,” said the muscleman named Massimo. He quickly chained Tommy and Dad to a pole in the center of the garage.

Why do bad guys always have chains lying around?

I tapped the chest switch to my mic. “Mom?” I whispered. “The bad guys are handcuffing Dad and Tommy!”

“What should we do?” asked Beck.

“Stay put,” said Mom. “I’m calling for backup.”

“But—”

“Stay put! The polizia and the carabinieri military force will block the front door with vehicles. They’ll apprehend the suspects when they try to roll out of the garage.”

We watched two of the bad guys take the mummy case out of the first van and load it into the back of an antique cargo truck with Vesuvio Olio di Oliva painted on the sides of its canvas flaps.

“Careful!” cried Dad. “That sarcophagus is nearly three thousand years old!”

The bad guys ignored him.

“Aprite l’uscita segreta,” the lead goon barked to two of his henchmen. Then he grinned at Dad and Tommy. “We have a secret rear exit.” He tapped a stubby finger on his caveman-like forehead. “Smart, no?”

Uh-oh. That meant they’d anticipated our plan.

One of the bodybuilders thumped a big green button on a box attached to a thick electrical cable. A section of what looked like a brick wall at the far end of the garage rolled up. It was a metal garage door painted to look exactly like bricks.

They have some very good mural artists in Florence.