THE jeep jounced off the road onto a dirt path. About a quarter mile ahead was a fenced-in compound of trailers and stucco buildings. Rosalena drove in, waving to some of the other workers. She headed toward a set of stucco buildings in the rear and stopped in front of the largest one. “Come. We will talk to Dieter Auerbach. He is our botanist.”
They ran inside and down a hallway, to a steamy greenhouse in back of the building. There, a small owlish man with black glasses and curly red hair glanced up. He looked startled and horrified. After Rosalena quickly explained their problem, he still looked startled and horrified, so Max figured that was just his resting face.
“Hooo . . .” he said, exhaling. “Hoo hoo hoo . . . Your friends are heading up there? For reconnaissance, you say?”
“That’s what they said,” Alex replied.
“Well, they are in for a surprise, I’m afraid. Hooo . . .” With a startled, horrified glance, he pointed to the mountain outside the expanse of glass. “Do you see the tiny, ancient chapel on the side of the Peña de Bernal?”
“No.”
“Take my word. Very famous. Very sacred. Also, very popular this week. Someone reported a patch of the precious little golf balls behind the building.”
“That’s awesome!” Max said.
“Awesome indeed!” Auerbach exclaimed. “Exciting news in ecological circles. So, to protect it, the authorities constructed a fence. An alarm with the sound of fake dogs—arf! arf!—and many signs explaining the importance. But the tourists yesterday, what did they do?”
“Uh . . . I’m guessing they ripped the fence down?” Max said.
“Ripped the fence down!” Auerbach pushed the glasses up his nose. “We are working with an environmental group to protect these cacti. Just a few left, you know. But if we can reach a crucial number, then we will regrow some of them in a more controlled setting. For now, the group has set up a trap for poachers with the help of a local news station. Anyone who tries to steal will be exposed on video. National TV—ta-da! Shamed! Caught red-handed! Seen by millions!”
“Is this guy serious?” Max asked softly.
Rosalena nodded. “He is always serious.”
Alex plopped her face in her palms. “Hello, Interpol, my old friend . . .”
“We need a sample of that cactus,” Max said. “Is there any way to get some? I mean, in a nice way, without destroying the ecosystem?”
Auerbach stroked his startled and horrified face. “Well . . . we are trying to establish a relationship with universities in the southwestern United States,” he said. “In New Mexico and Arizona, for example, these cacti could grow with proper care. I suppose we could make an arrangement in that case.”
“I could do that!” Max said. “My mom teaches everywhere. My dad’s a lawyer who represents universities.”
“Promising. Well then, put me in touch,” Auerbach said. “If it seems feasible, I can write a grant to the proper government funders. And if they approved it, we could carefully remove a sample for transportation.”
“How long would that take?” Max asked.
“Maybe two weeks, maybe six months.” Auerbach shrugged.
“That’s too long,” Max said. “We have a friend who’s got about three months to live!”
“Can’t you just grant us one or two cacti from the mountain?” Alex asked.
“Ohhhh, that would be improper indeed!” Auerbach said.
“Meaning no?” Max asked.
“No.” Auerbach shrugged. “Welcome to academia. Well then, lunch? I’m starving.”
As he turned to Rosalena, Alex leaned in to Max. “I am hoping you have a Plan B, because I’m empty.”
But Max was staring out the greenhouse window, to a distant, basketlike contraption in a scrubby field out back. He was pretty sure he recognized the shape.
We are the only team that conducts studies from the air. That’s what Rosalena had said.
Taking Alex’s arm, he blurted to Auerbach, “We have to pee!”
“First and second doors on the left,” the botanist said with an impatient sneer.
Max pulled Alex down the corridor. They veered out a side door. The field was to their left, behind the building. “That way,” he said.
“Where are we going?” Alex asked.
“Hurry,” Max said. “Let’s get out of their line of vision.”
They raced across the scrubby desert soil, to the basketlike object Max had seen. It was shoulder high. On all sides, it was attached to a steel frame that rose over the top to a small platform, which housed a contraption that looked a little like a gun and a little like a barbecue grill. Attached to that housing was a huge piece of tough fabric, like a giant’s blanket. The fabric drooped from the metal housing to the ground, where someone had neatly folded it.
The whole thing was moored to stakes in the ground by four thick ropes. Max began untying the closest one. “Help me,” he said. “And then climb in. We’re going to help Nigel and Bitsy.”
“What?” Alex said. “Is this your idea of a joke, Max Tilt? Or did someone tell you Plan B stands for ‘Bonehead’?”
“These guys are not going to let us up that mountain. Nigel and Bitsy are probably on their way. If I know them, they’re going to head straight up to the chapel and look for those cacti, right? OK, if they get caught in that trap with the cameras, our whole mission dies. So we come in at a different angle. We distract the authorities. This gives Bitsy and Nigel a chance to sneak in and take a couple, then sneak away.” Max quickly untied the knots by himself, then pulled open a little door in the side of the basket and stepped in. He reached for the handle of the contraption and squeezed it hard. A flame shot up into a hole formed where the fabric was attached to the frame.
“That is the most crackpot plan I’ve ever heard,” Alex said. “And this is a hot-air balloon!”
“I know,” Max said. “I’ve worked one.”
Alex cocked her head. “Seriously?”
“Yup. Back home.” The fabric was moving now. Expanding. This would take some time. Max glanced over his shoulder. They were pretty far from the greenhouse. Even farther from the rest of the compound. No one was expecting any activity out here. They’d be OK.
For a while.
“Tell me something,” Alex said. “That morning, a few weeks ago, when you broke into the state fair? They said you fell off a trampoline. That wasn’t true, was it?”
“No.”
“The fair had a balloon . . .”
“Yup. They lied. They didn’t want to be embarrassed that I got in under their noses. It was our little secret.”
Alex shook her head. “That was a bad move, in so many ways.”
“But . . .” Max said.
“Yeah.” Alex climbed in and latched the little door behind her. “Hurry before I change my mind.”
“You’re not scared anymore?”
Alex arched an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m me.”
The fabric was unfolding. Rising. This balloon seemed smaller than the one at the state fair. Newer. It was inflating way faster. Alex let out a squeal. “It’s just like the movie. David Niven. Around the World in 80 Days!”
“Cool, I haven’t read that part yet,” Max said.
“It’s not in the book. The movie people put it in. They took the idea from Five Weeks in a Balloon. Another awesome JV story.” Alex was bending down now, opening a canvas sack at the bottom of the basket. “Hey, there’s some equipment. Sunglasses, sunscreen, binoculars.”
Now the basket was starting to shake. The fabric was expanding like a microwave popcorn bag. It crackled and rose upward, shaking off dirt as it separated from the ground.
“Eeeeeee!” shouted Alex.
“Awesome!” shouted Max.
“Heeeeeyyyyy!” shouted a voice from the direction of the greenhouse.
Max glanced over his shoulder. Auerbach was running across the field, his white lab coat flapping behind him. Rosalena followed at his heels.
“Come on, balloon . . .” Max shouted. “Up . . . up . . .”
The basket juddered. Max felt a sharp movement to the left that forced him to grab the railing. They were rising. Swinging from side to side and rising.
“And . . . awaaaaay!” Alex shouted.
Max was scared. Petrified. His knees felt brittle.
For about thirty-nine seconds.
That was about the time it took to pull in the last of the four anchor ropes. The one that Auerbach’s fingertips just barely grazed.
They were floating now. Auerbach was shaking his fist and yelling, “You ca-a-a-n’t!” Rosalena stared up at them in total shock.
Alex held onto the railing. With a big smile, she closed her eyes and raised her head. Her hair blew back, the sun dappling her brown skin to a hundred beautiful shades. Below them, the desert was a gray-green board that seemed to roll out to the edges of the world. “Oh yes we ca-a-a-n!”
“This,” Max said, “is everything.”
“That morning you first did this, I don’t know how you could have returned!” Alex shouted. “I don’t ever want to come down!”
Max shrugged. “I had no choice. Someone tried to pull me back.”
“After we get Nigel and Bitsy, can we just keep flying . . . all the way to our next stop?”
“To Antarctica?”
“It was a joke. I think.”
Max manipulated the swing bar on the overhead mechanism to the right. The balloon moved toward the mountain, picking up speed. From a distance, the peak looked almost sheer. But now Max could see a steep footpath winding up the side.
“Max—there they are!” Alex shouted.
She handed him a pair of binoculars. He glanced through, following the footpath up to a building tucked into the side of the mountain. It didn’t look like much, a squat, square stone cube on a ledge.
A flash of white caught his attention. Nigel’s shirt.
He adjusted his focus. Bitsy was ahead of Nigel. They were almost to the chapel.
“He’s complaining,” Alex said.
“How can you tell?” Max asked.
“Body language,” Alex said. “And besides, it’s Nigel.”
“There are two people sitting by the chapel door.”
“Guards?”
“Or those authorities, waiting to catch them.” Max put down the binoculars and held tight to the steering mechanism. “Hang on. We’re going in.”