The Genius Files #4 (9 page)

“Is that so?” said his father.

After all these years, he never ceased to be impressed by the amount of seemingly worthless information his son could hold in his head. It was as though Coke's brain was a hard drive with unlimited gigabyte storage, and nothing ever got deleted.

Outside, one of the prettiest parts of Oklahoma was passing by. They don't call it the Talimena Scenic Drive for nothing. The road winds fifty-four spectacular miles along the mountaintops, with lush green forests, meadows full of wildflowers, and a smoky blue haze in the distance. The McDonalds were craning their necks in all directions to take in the scenery.

“Look! A bear!” Pep shouted suddenly.

“Where?”

“Over there!”

And so it was. A black bear on the right side of the road gamboled off into the woods.

It was past three o'clock now, which meant it was time to start thinking about a place to stop for the night. When they had the RV, they were able to just pull over into any parking lot, if necessary, to sleep. Ferraris are fine cars, but you'll never hear people say they want to sleep in one. Certainly not a family of four. And not with bears around.

Mrs. McDonald dropped her Arkansas guidebook into the trash bag and pulled out
Oklahoma Off the Beaten Path
. She discovered that Poteau, an old coal-mining town, was only a half hour away. The guidebook said there were three hotels there, so Mrs. McDonald called on her cell phone and made a reservation at the Holiday Inn Express. She punched the address into the GPS and leafed through her guidebook to find out if there was anything in the area worth seeing.

“Hey, you won't believe this!” she blurted out. “The world's highest hill is in Poteau. It's called Cavanal Hill.”

“No kidding?” said Dr. McDonald.

“Never heard of it,” said Coke.

“I thought Mount Everest was the highest,” said Pep.

Intrigued, the family agreed to stop by Cavanal Hill before checking into the hotel for the night. A few miles west and slightly north of town, it wasn't hard to find.

“Wait a minute,” Coke said as he got out of the car. “This mountain doesn't look all that high. How can they say it's the highest one in the world?”

“It's not a mountain,” a tall guy with a fancy bike in the parking lot told him. “It's a
hill
.”

“What's the difference?” Pep asked.

“A mountain has to be at least two thousand feet high,” the guy explained. “Anything less than that is a hill.”

“And how high is this hill?” asked Dr. McDonald.

“One thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine feet,” the guy replied.

“You mean to say that if Cavanal Hill was just one foot higher it would be the world's shortest mountain?” asked Mrs. McDonald. “But because of some dumb rule it's the world's highest hill?”

“You got it,” said the guy with the bike.

“That's bogus!” shouted Coke. “This place is a rip-off!”

“It can't be a rip-off,” Pep told him. “It doesn't cost anything.”

“I don't care,” Coke said. “It's still a rip-off. It's false advertising.”

“There's no ad either!” Pep said.

“I'll tell you what it is,” Mrs. McDonald said, reaching for her notepad. “It's perfect for
Amazing but True.
My readers will love this.”

While Cavanal is no Everest, the tree-covered hill draws hikers, bikers, and runners from all over who want to climb it. In fact, the hike to the top is called “the Cavanal Killer.” The nickname alone made Coke and Pep want to reach the summit.

“You kids go on ahead,” said Dr. McDonald. “It still looks pretty high to me. Mom and I will wait down here with the other
old
fogies.”

Coke and Pep looked at each other. The same memory flashed through both of their minds—the Singing Sand Dunes in Nevada, where they had been just a few weeks earlier. Their parents had waited in the parking lot while they hiked up the mountain of sand. When they reached the top, they were confronted by a nut in a bowler hat who threw them into a pit and left them there to die. If Coke hadn't hit the guy in the back of the head with a jar full of sand, they would probably still be up there today.

Or their skeletons would be, anyway.

Of course, that seemed like ages ago. Nobody was
chasing them anymore. Mrs. Higgins was working at the Bauxite Museum. Dr. Warsaw had had some sort of a mental meltdown back in Hot Springs. The last time they saw the bowler dudes, it was at Coca-Cola World in Atlanta. There was probably nothing to worry about. Mya and Bones had told them as much. They said the coast was clear.

Coke and Pep started climbing the mountain—I mean, the
hill
. It was a challenging hike, but hardly qualified as a
killer
. It was a cloudless day, and when they reached the top, they were treated to a spectacular panoramic view of the Poteau River valley. Mount Magazine, in Arkansas, was visible in the distance. No other people were around.

“It's so calm and peaceful up here,” Coke said, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath of fresh air.

“I don't know,” Pep replied. “I have the feeling that somebody's following us.”

“You and your feelings.”

Coke strolled over to read the concrete sign at the top of Cavanal Hill. Pep followed him but suddenly stopped in her tracks.

“What's that noise?” she asked.

“What noise? I don't hear any noise.”

They looked up, and sure enough, high overhead, they could see a dot in the sky.

“I'll bet it's a drone!” Pep said. “They use them to track down terrorists! And kill them!”

“It's not a drone,” Coke said with a snort. “Now you're being ridiculous.”

He was right. It wasn't a drone. It was a plane—one of those small, two-seater propeller planes. It appeared to be circling.

“They probably give aerial tours,” Coke added, craning his neck to follow the path of the plane.

“What if it's spying on us?” Pep asked.

“You're paranoid,” her brother replied.

Coke was about to look away when two objects appeared to tumble out of the plane. From such a distance, it was impossible to tell what they were.

But then, seconds later, two brightly colored parachutes opened.

Whatever the falling objects were, they were falling directly over Coke and Pep. The twins hesitated for a moment, transfixed by the sight of the parachutes
floating down so gracefully.

Soon it was clear that the objects hanging from the parachutes were people. And it didn't take much longer for the twins to figure out who the people were.

“Bowler dudes at twelve o'clock!” Coke shouted, pointing at them. “Run for it, Pep!”

The twins took off, running east on a concrete path that led away from the Cavanal Hill sign.

“I
told
you somebody was following us!” Pep shouted breathlessly.

Coke turned around for an instant to see the parachuting bowler dudes right behind them and descending rapidly. They were only about thirty feet overhead now. Their chutes were the kind that can be steered, and the dudes were steering them directly toward the twins.

“Just
run
!” Coke shouted at his sister. “Head for the trees!”

The parachuting bowler dudes were closing fast, and the twins could hear them as they ran for their lives.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” one of the bowler dudes cackled. “We've got you now!”

Coke felt like his heart was about to burst in his chest as he ran for the trees. Just a few more yards. He knew that if he and Pep could just make it into the woods, the parachutes would—

Craaaaaaackkkkk.

It was the sound of a tree branch breaking.

“Oooooooof!”

“Owwwww!”

It was the sound of two bowler dudes moaning.

The twins, exhausted, couldn't help but stop and turn around. Looking up into the tree behind them, they could see the mustachioed bowler dude with his arms and legs wrapped around a tree trunk, and hanging on for dear life. The clean-shaven bowler dude was dangling helplessly from his parachute cord, which was tangled in the branches above.

“You
idiot
!” said the mustachioed bowler dude, hanging from the tree. “I told you to go left!”

“I
went
left!” complained his clean-shaven brother. “You don't even know your left from your right, you moron!”

“
You're
a moron!”

“No,
you're
a moron!”

“You're
both
morons!” Coke said, pointing at them and laughing. “Have fun getting down from there. Come on, Pep.”

The twins were about to run away when the mustachioed bowler dude called out to them.

“Wait!” he shouted. “Help us down, will ya?”

“Yeah, we could die up here,” his brother said.

“Are you
kidding
me?” Pep shouted up at them. You expect us to help you after all you've done to us? You're crazy!”

“Look, we don't have any weapons,” said the clean-shaven bowler dude. “We're completely defenseless.”

“Then why do you keep following us?” Pep asked. “What did we ever do to
you
?”

“We didn't come here to hurt you,” said the mustachioed bowler dude. “We came here to deliver a message.”

“What message?” Coke said skeptically.

“The message is that it's all over,” said the clean-shaven bowler dude. “You don't need to fear us, or anybody, anymore. You can enjoy the rest of your vacation. We're sorry for what we did to you, and it won't happen again. Now will you help us down, please?”

The twins looked at the bowler dudes. The sincerity on their faces appeared to be so genuine, they just
had
to be faking it.

“We don't believe a word of that,” Pep said. “You lied to us before.”

“That's right,” Coke said, pointing an accusing finger. “Back in Maryland, you told us you had given up hurting kids to devote yourselves to jousting. And then, a few days later, you tried to hurt us when we got to Atlanta.”

“We were employed by Dr. Warsaw at that time,” said the mustachioed bowler dude. “It was our
job
to hurt you. But we no longer work for him.”

“Oh, I get it. You were only following orders,” Coke said disdainfully. “That's what the Nazis said.”

“You've got to believe us,” said the mustachioed bowler dude. “
Please
help us down. I'm afraid I'm going to fall and crack my head on the ground.”

“Why should we believe you
now
?” Pep asked.

“Look,” the clean-shaven bowler dude told her, “it doesn't matter if you believe us or not. But consider the facts. Dr. Warsaw has suffered some sort of a mental breakdown. He's no longer paying us, and as you know, we work for the people who pay us. If nobody pays us to hurt you, we won't hurt you. It's simple economics.”

The bowler dude with his arms and legs wrapped around the tree had a look of panic on his face. His grip was starting to slip.

Coke would have been willing to let the guy fall, and have a good laugh when he hit the ground. Pep, however, was unable to watch another human being in such distress and do nothing. Something about feelings.

“Come on,” she said to her brother. “If they die out here, it will be our fault. As it is, I feel terrible about what happened to Archie Clone and Evil Elvis.”

The twins grabbed onto a low branch and pulled themselves up the tree. Carefully, they helped the mustachioed bowler dude down. Meanwhile, his brother managed to climb up his parachute cord, unfasten his harness, and shimmy down the tree.

“The Genius Files program is dead,” he said when he reached the ground. “You're free. You can live your lives, or be paranoid for the rest of your lives if you want to. It's your choice. That's all we came here to say.”

The twins looked them up and down. Neither of the bowler dudes appeared to have a blowgun or any other weapon on him.