“Way to think on your feet,” he said.
“Shut up,” she snapped. “I’ll think of something.”
“Whatever it is, it’s going to have to get you up to that counter in the next room.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Take a look, Sherlock.”
Sarah turned around, peering past the guard, who was watching them intently.
“I’m looking,” she said. “So?”
“The archway. See it?”
“Yeah,” said Sarah, looking at the stone archway above the counter.
“Look at the top of the arch.”
Sarah looked. Then she gasped.
At the top of the arch, carved in stone, was the image of an eagle.
“‘In the Place,’” said Sarah softly. “‘In the Landing.’”
“‘Beneath the eagle,’” said Aidan.
“We have to get in there,” said Sarah. She stood for a moment, frowning in thought. Then she marched determinedly back to the guard.
“I’m studying Spanish in school,” she said.
“¿Sí? ¿Usted habla Español?”
“What?”
Aidan snorted.
“Do you speak Spanish?”
“No…I mean, not yet. I just started.”
“I see,” said the guard, smiling slightly.
“And…I…I thought maybe I might get extra credit if I talked to a real Spanish person who works for the government. Of Spain.”
“An interview,” said the guard. He seemed quite amused.
“An interview! Exactly!” said Sarah.
“And do you have an appointment for this interview?”
“Ah, no.”
“Unfortunately, you must have an appointment.”
“But how do I make the appointment if I can’t get inside?”
“You go there,” he said, pointing to the line of people at the counter.
“Okay!” said Sarah. She glanced up toward the eagle. “We’ll just get in line, then.”
The guard held out a hand. “Your passports, please.”
“What?”
“You must have passports to go inside.”
Sarah, batting her eyes, smiled brightly at the guard and said, “Maybe you could let us in just to book the interview? And then we’ll come back with our passports next time to actually do the interview.”
“I am sorry,” said the guard.
Sarah’s shoulders slumped. “All right,” she sighed. “We’ll come back with the passports.”
“I look forward to it, señorita,” said the guard, with a slight bow.
In a moment they were back out on the sidewalk.
“Well, that went well,” said Aidan. Mimicking Sarah’s voice, he said: “Oh please let us in, Mister Handsome Spaniard!”
“Shut up,” said Sarah. “We need to get our passports.”
“How? Dad always has them in that stupid thing around his neck.”
“I know,” Sarah said. “But we only need them for, what, an hour or two? Technically, they’re ours anyway, right?”
“Technically, I don’t know.”
Sarah turned to Aidan and put her hands on his shoulders. “Listen,” she said. “We’ve come all this way, and now we’re standing ten yards from the eagle. I am not going to leave without seeing what’s beneath it.”
“Also the guard is cute.”
“That too.”
“But how are we going to get the passports?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Sarah. She dropped her arms and started walking back toward the hotel. “But I’ll think of something.”
“That,” said Aidan, mostly to himself, “is what I’m afraid of.”
CHAPTER 3
BENEATH THE EAGLE
INSPIRATION STRUCK SARAH that night in the middle of a bite of hummus.
The Coopers were eating dinner at Dah Magreb, a Middle Eastern restaurant near their hotel with a sign outside advertising “Nightly Entertainment.” There were no utensils; they ate with their hands, sitting on pillows on the floor. Halfway through their meal, to their dismay, the “entertainment” arrived: a somewhat overweight belly dancer emerged from behind a beaded curtain. She began gyrating, wiggling, and bouncing to unpleasant music blasting from a tinny sound system.
“Why is it so loud?” complained Sarah.
“What?” shouted both her mother and father.
“Never mind,” said Sarah.
“Oh, no,” said Aidan. “Don’t look now, but jelly belly is heading our way.” The belly dancer was indeed writhing toward their table. She was smiling at Tom Cooper in what she apparently thought was an inviting manner, but she looked more like a horse approaching the trough. Reaching their low table, she plucked at his sleeve, beckoning for him to stand up. He regarded her with a puzzled expression.
“What does she want?” he asked.
“I think,” said Natalie, smiling, “she wants you to dance with her.”
“Noooo,” said Aidan, burying his face in his hands.
Sarah also frowned for a moment. Suddenly, her expression changed. “I think it’s a great idea!” she said.
“You what?” said Aidan, jerking his head up. “Are you insane?” He looked around the restaurant; the other diners were watching all this with amusement.
“Shut up, Aidan,” said Sarah, giving her brother a significant look. “C’mon, Dad! It’ll make a great picture!” She pulled her father to his feet. “Mom, get the camera,” she said. She shoved her father next to the belly dancer, who shook her hips violently at him. He stared at them with an expression of alarm. He was still holding his shish kebab.
“I’m going to kill myself,” said Aidan.
Natalie, laughing, rummaged through her purse and pulled out the camera. She was aiming it at her husband when Sarah said, “Hold it! Let’s take this off for the picture.”
She grabbed the pouch that her father always wore suspended from a cord around his neck, much to the embarrassment of his children, who called it the Dork Sack. This was where he kept money and travel documents—including passports.
“Here, Aidan,” she said, tossing it into her brother’s lap. “Hold this for a sec, okay?” She gave him the look again.
“Uh…ah!” said Aidan, suddenly understanding. “Okay!”
Sarah moved in front of her brother, blocking sight of him from her parents, whose attention was fully focused on the belly dancer anyway. She took the shish kebab out of her father’s hands, pinching its stick between her fingers.
“Say cheese, Tom,” said Natalie.
“Feta cheese!” said Sarah, managing to win a grin from her mother.
But not from Tom. Nervously eyeing the writhing dancer, he attempted a smile, which came across as a wince.
The camera flashed, blinding Tom. “Got it,” said Natalie.
“One more!” insisted Sarah. “For safety.”
“Okay,” said her mom. She raised the camera, held it steady, and it flashed again.