CHAPTER 5

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The musclemen driving the fake olive-oil truck must’ve realized Mom was on their tail.

All of a sudden, we were making incredibly sharp twists and turns, winding all over Florence. I pulled up the side tarp and saw the terra-cotta brick dome of the cathedral. I also saw a bunch of other orange-brown clay roofs whoosh past. The skyline of Florence made me remember how ancient this city is—more than two thousand years old!

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But no matter how many side streets and alleys the bad guys darted down, they couldn’t shake Mom, the cops, or the Carabinieri a Firenze—the military police of Florence.

With our iPhones stuffed in our back pockets, Beck and I had become human tracking devices!

“Attenzione!” shouted the guy in the passenger seat. “Pazzo americano!”

Suddenly, the metal floor of the truck bed started to sizzle and spark with zizzing jolts of vibrating voltage. Beck and I shuddered some.

The driver shrieked like he’d just stuck his finger into an electric outlet. Our fake olive-oil truck skidded sideways and came to an abrupt stop.

Beck and I both shook our heads. Our fizzy brains felt frazzled but we were fine. Beck flipped up the canvas at the rear of the truck and hopped out.

“Cool,” she said.

I hopped out behind her. Somehow, our olive-oil truck had ended up parked in the middle of an outdoor art gallery.

“It’s the courtyard of the Uffizi,” said Beck. “One of the oldest and most famous art museums in the world.”

“An appropriate resting spot for the pharaoh’s sarcophagus,” said Dad, climbing off his motor scooter while the police hauled the two no-neck goons out of the front seat of the truck.

“Tomorrow,” said Mom as she and Storm emerged from their chase van, “this priceless relic will complete its journey home to its rightful owners in Cairo.”

“And we’ll start our well-earned family vacation,” added Dad. “After I have a few words with those two.” He nodded toward the art thieves.

“Hope we didn’t fry you guys too bad,” said Tommy, tucking his Taser back into its holster.

Yep. Tommy and Dad had basically stun-gunned the truck. That’s why the metal had sizzled like that. It was also why my hair was sticking straight up.

I’m not vain or anything, but even I knew this wasn’t a good look for me.

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