CHAPTER 53

“Yikes!”

They yelped first.

I think they were as startled to run into us as we were to run into them. Especially when we barreled into them at top speed.

Then a third party entered the picture.

The nasty security guard.

“There is no running in this museum!” she scolded us. “No rubber Halloween masks either. Behave yourselves or leave!”

Ashamed, the six Putins hung their heads. We did too.

“Do not make me come running after you again!”

“Since you’re here,” said Storm, “can I ask you an art-related question?”

“Nyet,” said the guard. Then she stomped away.

As it turned out, that was probably for the best.

Three of the six Putins tugged off their rubber masks. Three did not. The man in the middle stepped forward.

“Uncle Timothy sent us,” he whispered with what sure sounded like a Russian accent. “We work for the same…company?”

He gave us a big, knowing wink.

“The CIA, da?” said one of his comrades, also sounding extremely Russian.

Now you see why it was a good thing Storm didn’t get her question answered by the art matron lady—if she had, the bad guys might’ve heard the answer too. We had no idea what “company” Uncle Timothy worked for these days. If it was the CIA, how come so many of their operatives had thick Russian accents? We could trust the men in the rubber masks about as much as we could trust Uncle Timothy—not at all.

“We don’t want for you little ones to get hurt,” said a third unmasked Russian.

“So is that why you chased us down a slippery marble staircase?” asked Beck.

“And almost caused us to smack into a statue?” I added. “Those things are made out of rock.”

“I don’t like running,” said Storm. “Ever.”

“Me neither,” said Tommy. “It messes up my hair.”

“Look, small children,” said the head goon, “your uncle Teemothy is most worried. When he could not find you—”

“Hey,” I said, “we’ve been lost in the jungles of Africa, feared missing in China, and stranded in the middle of the ocean.”

“I got lost in a mall once too,” added Tommy.

“But we always end up fine,” I said. “So tell Uncle Timothy, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’”

“And then,” said Beck, “tell him good-bye.”

“Do as the Kidd Family Treasure Hunters suggest,” said a familiar voice.

It was Inspector Gorky, descending the grand staircase.

“You three?” he said to the men still wearing masks. “Have you come here to rob a bank?”

The men didn’t speak but they shook their rubbery heads.

But they still didn’t take off their masks.

“Good,” said Inspector Gorky. “Then leave. And take your friends.”

Surprisingly, Uncle Timothy’s “coworkers” did exactly what the police detective told them to do.

Inspector Gorky turned to us. “So, Kidds, have you found our missing masterpieces?”

We all shook our heads.

“Well, then—have you found any clues?”

“Maybe,” said Storm.

“But then those bad guys interrupted us,” I added.

“It was like a totally major clue too!” said Tommy. “Serious bummer that the masked marauders busted in on us like that.”

“So go,” said Gorky. “Continue on your quest. Although you may not see me, I will have your back. But be careful—not everyone who wears a hood is a monk.”

We all just nodded.

Then we dashed up the steps and headed down the art-filled corridors toward the gallery with the black-velvet portrait of Elvis and the sad clown.

Where we ran straight into Uncle Timothy.

And Mom!