CHAPTER 74

“While I was in Lima,” Mom explained, “the president granted Chaupi and me access to two treasures from the archives of their National Museum of Archaeology, Anthropology, and History.”

“What are they?” I asked.

“The first,” said Mom, “is a very short sermon from our old friend Father Toledo. It was meant to be sent to His Holiness the Pope in Rome, but, for whatever reason, it never was.”

“What does it say?” asked Dad.

Mom handed the piece of weathered parchment, which was hermetically sealed in a plastic sleeve, to Storm, because she can speed-translate from Spanish to English.

“Looks like a riddle,” said Storm.

“That’s what I thought, too,” said Mom.

Storm read it out loud: “‘To find the treasure, follow Romans twelve-five, for it is how Inkarri will one day be put back together. When he is, the City of Gold will not rise, but it shall be found. Romans twelve-five is the key and it must be turned where the pagan idol still smiles like an innocent child.’”

“I did some homework on the chopper flight up,” said Mom. “Romans twelve-five, of course, refers to a verse in the Bible: ‘So we, though many, form one body.’”

“Cool,” I said. “But what does it mean?”

“Well, I’m not a biblical scholar—”

“You just have to finish writing that one paper, Sue, and you will be,” said Dad.

“True. But I think the verse means that the early Church, being described by Saint Paul in that verse, is sort of like our family. Everybody brings different talents to the table but we all need each other to be whole and complete.”

“Well, if I may,” said Storm, “how does that help us find the Lost City of Paititi?”

Mom held up a finger. “Aha. Item number two from the museum.”

She pulled a bundle of purple velvet out of her knapsack, unwrapped the cloth, and revealed the rounded blade of a tumi knife attached to a flat plate with several bumps and grooves arrayed across its body with geometric precision. It kind of reminded me of a circuit board where you pop computer components into place.

Something was etched into the metal plate in ancient Incan script—the same kind of writing we’d seen on the cave wall where we found the Sacred Stone.

“What’s it say?” asked Beck.

“‘I am Inkarri,’” translated Storm.

“Tom,” Mom said to Dad, “remember that tumi piece you found on Cocos Island?”

“The head,” said Dad, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the carved piece of gold. He handed it to Mom. She put it down at the top of the flat plate.

It snapped into place!

Chaupi stepped forward. “Only one with great intelligence could find Inkarri’s head, his seat of wisdom, which long ago had been entrusted to the good priest Father Toledo.”

“Of course!” blurted out Storm. “The legend of Inkarri! It all makes sense.”

Okay. Maybe to her.

But I was still kind of in the dark.