CHAPTER 51

So out we went, around the block to the Hermitage art museum in Saint Petersburg, home of “mostly okay” Russian people, plus a few bad ones who make billions from oil sales and don’t care if they have to melt the North Pole to do it.

We entered the museum and started to scatter.

Beck wanted to take a quick side trip to see the Dutch paintings on permanent display. “There might be more Rembrandts!”

Tommy wanted to see the Armorer’s Art of the Middle East from the Fifteenth to Nineteenth Centuries.

“They have gnarly-looking swords,” he said. “The kind with curved blades!”

I was sort of interested in the gift shop because they sold fake Fabergé eggs. Chocolate ones too.

“Anybody else still hungry?” I asked. “I need a quick candy break.”

“Not me,” said Tommy. “I ate all those little finger sandwiches, which, when you think about it, is kind of a gross name for food. I mean, who wants to eat a sandwich with a finger in it?”

“You know, Tommy, the gift shop might sell fake swords—”

“You guys?” said Storm, sounding extremely frustrated. “We need to focus. We’re not here as tourists. We’re here because we’re treasure hunters!”

“Storm’s right,” said Tommy. “My bad.”

“Our bad too,” Beck and I said together.

Determined to find a clue we might’ve missed the first time, we marched past all sorts of incredible artworks and amazing ceiling decorations to get to the gallery where the four masterpieces used to hang.