CHAPTER 32

“What do you mean, you are worried about the environment?” said Nikita, puffing out his already puffy chest.

“This fragile ecosystem could easily be destroyed,” said Mom. “By people like Viktor Zolin.”

Yep. She went there. (I think Mom’s the one Beck got her tough stuff from.)

“The Russian oil industry spills more than thirty million barrels on land each year,” added Storm, who’d been spending time in her cabin memorizing Greenpeace web postings. “That’s seven times the amount that leaked into the Gulf of Mexico during BP’s Deepwater Horizon disaster.”

“This is ice,” said Nikita with a sinister smile. “This is not land.”

“True,” said Mom. “But over eighteen months, you guys spew four million barrels of oil into the Arctic Ocean.”

Nikita narrowed his eyes. “Accidents happen this far north, Mrs. Kidd. To oil. To pipes. To people. Noses can freeze and snap off. Especially when these noses are being poked into matters they have no business investigating. We would not want to see this happen to you. Or your children.”

“Whoa,” said Tommy, bristling. “Is that a threat, dudes?”

“No. Just a friendly word of advice. As you cook the porridge, so you must eat it.”

“Huh?” said Beck. “Who’s cooking porridge?”

“I didn’t see it on the breakfast buffet,” I added.

“It is a Russian proverb!” shouted Nikita, looking like a big, angry bear.

The exasperated Russians shook their heads. “Do not say we did not warn you, Kidd Family Treasure Hunters! Many accidents happen on the ice every year. You do not wish to be one of them!”

Then they stomped away.

“Keep shooting footage, you guys,” said Mom when she was sure they were gone. “We need to document all of this, the beauty of it all and what’s at risk if we don’t change some bad habits soon! Just don’t let Zolin’s goons catch you with your cameras up.”

“There’s only three of them,” said Beck. “There are five of us shooting pictures.”

“Four,” said Mom. “They took my camera.”

“No problem,” said Tommy. “I have a couple spares in my cabin. I have to take a lot of selfies and text a lot to keep up with my many, you know, friends.”

He wiggled his eyebrows.

We all kept taking pictures and recording footage for our Kidd family Arctic documentary—but never in a group. And never if we saw one of the Zolin heavies lurking nearby.

And then, finally, we reached the North Pole.

The icebreaker creaked and crunched to a stop. The grown-ups all popped open bottles of bubbly stuff and celebrated with a toast. Beck and I split a root beer.

We rushed off the boat with everybody else.

After posing for a few quick pics and Beck’s family sketch, we heard a strange announcement: “Everyone, please join hands. It is time to dance around the world!”