“Here is your proof, Mr. Zolin,” said our ex–tour guide who was really an undercover cop. “Plus, we have your verbal confession here.” She pulled a digital recorder out of her bulletproof vest. “You are going to prison for a long, long time. But let us look on the bright side. By the time you are released, you will be old enough to drive. Actually, come to think of it, when you finally leave jail, you will be old enough to live in a home for senior citizens. Take him away!”

“N-n-no,” the billionaire blubbered. “How much do I have to pay to make all of you forget about this?”

“There are some things that can’t be bought, Viktor,” said Mom. “You’ll learn in jail that money doesn’t always talk.”

Zolin quickly turned off the waterworks and looked defiant. He stomped his foot on the floor. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes, Viktor,” said Major Bukova, “you did.”

“But what about my doggies?”

Inspector Gorky strolled into the room wearing his rumpled raincoat, even though it was sunny outside. “We’ll take good care of your wolfhounds,” he said. “But we will no longer allow them to poop on the floor in our art museum!”

Zolin wept. For real this time.

Now Gage Szymanowicz, the Russian civil defense minister, joined the crowd crammed into Zolin’s upstairs game room.

“We thank you, Kidd Family Treasure Hunters, for your assistance in returning our national treasures.” He marched over to Uncle Timothy. “Now we will return one of your national disasters.”

“Look, Gage,” said Uncle Timothy, “we can make a deal.”

“No, we cannot. Our SVR intelligence agency has already made a deal with your CIA. You are going back to your cell in the super-maximum-security prison, with even more security on top.”

“Thomas? Sue?” pleaded Uncle Timothy. “Do something! The beds at ADX Florence are made out of concrete!”

“Sure,” said Mom. “At Christmas, we’ll send you a concrete throw pillow.”

“You know, Sue, you’re no fun as a blonde.”

Four officers hustled Uncle Timothy out of the room. Inspector Gorky ordered the politsiya officers to handcuff and remove Zolin’s minions.

“Thank you, Kidds,” said Gorky. “I apologize for ever placing you on my suspect list.”

“In a fist, all fingers are equal,” said Storm. Don’t ask me what that means. I think it might’ve been another Russian proverb.

“You were just doing your job,” said Mom.

Gorky nodded and left with his troops. Minister Szymanowicz and the four cops in white gloves took the paintings back to the Hermitage Museum.

Finally it was just us Kidds and Major Larissa Bukova left in the room.

“So, you were like an undercover cop the whole time?” said Tommy.

“Da. I work for Minister Szymanowicz, as does Inspector Gorky. At first, we all thought you six Kidds were greedy American art thieves. That you journeyed to Russia only so you could pillage and plunder our priceless treasures. But as I came to know you, I realized that not all Americans are bad. In fact, you six are very, very good.”

“Major Bukova and I have been working together on this sting ever since Mom called yesterday,” said Dad.

“For the safe return of our treasured artworks,” said Major Bukova, “I and the people of Russia will be forever grateful.”

One by one, she gave us each a big bear hug.

Tommy was the last in line.

She gave him a kiss—on the cheek.