Guess what? I'm not dead! Yay! Sorry for the lengthy update time…long story. Hopefully updates will be a little less spaced out like this one has been, even though they may still be a bit sporadic for a while. I'm not sure yet. But thanks for dealing with the wait.

Disclaimer: No, I did not out to conquer the rights to National Treasure instead of updating. So…I still don't own it. (Tear)

Chapter Fourteen

Before the last echoes of the doorbell had time to fade, Caroline, Abigail and I (with Riley hiding right behind us) now find ourselves face-to-face with a confused Dad. No doubt he's thinking of the last time this happened—I can see it in his eyes.

"Dad!" I say with a smile. "I'm, uh…in a little trouble…again."

Abigail, having already been through something like this before, is perfectly fine, but Caroline is squirming nervously. Frankly, it's not helping that Dad's eyeing both of them with his trademark skeptical look.

"Ben…" he says finally, lowering his voice. "Are…both of them pregnant?"

"Um…what?" Caroline mutters incredulously.

"It's his customary greeting for new members of the entourage. Don't take it personally," I say over my shoulder before turning back to Dad. "But seriously. We're all in a little trouble."

"About what?" Now he at least seems genuinely curious. "Did you find another old Masonic pipe that told you to steal the Articles of Confederation, or what?"

Before he can stop himself, Riley lets out a small snigger. "Um…" Dad says slowly. "Who was that?"

"Well…that's why we're in some trouble…" We step away and reveal Riley, who waves slightly.

"Ta…da…?"

Dad's gaze focuses on me intently for a moment, then falls to the walk as his eyebrows fly up in contemplation. "Yeah, I would say you were in a little trouble." As he looks back up to continue, another voice echoes from inside, getting louder.

"Is that Benjamin?" Soon Mom also appears in the doorway and stops cold upon seeing Riley. "My…come on in before the FBI sees you!" By the way she said that, I would have thought she was saying "come in or you'll catch cold." But colds are never the issue. It's always "come in or you'll catch FBI," or "catch bullet wounds," or "catch a ridiculously heavy history volume in the head." Never colds—they're too normal.

As soon as the door snaps shut behind us, I realize it would have been in our best interests to call and let them in on what we know beforehand. It's going to be rather difficult to convince them—their cold stares at Riley are proof enough.

"Ben," Dad sighs, plopping onto the couch. "What is it with you and doing really illegal things?" Ugh. I didn't come here to be lectured, thank you very much. "Albeit you had inklings of justification with the Declaration and the president, but what about this?" he says, pointing to Riley, who is standing off by himself.

"You know, I am right here," he mutters feebly.

"There is no reason that could possibly justify breaking him out of prison," Dad continues, ignoring Riley's comment completely.

"You know what's frustrating me?" I exclaim, suddenly very irked. "Dad, you seemed so calm about it all when I told you about the whole thing when you came over for dinner that night. You told me to 'search for clues' since I was so lost and confused—it didn't seem to phase you at all. What changed?"

"I wasn't actually considering you going this far, frankly!"

"You don't know anything about what we're dealing with—"

"Really? I researched this whole situation on the internet—I found over twenty informative and analytical articles, Ben!"

"Were any of them written by him, Dad? He's the only primary source we have. He's the only one with the whole story right now. You can't get much more informed than that."

In the background, it sounds like Riley mutters, "Still here" under his breath. God, I wish Dad would just stop talking.

"Boys…" Mom interjects forcefully. "Stop. Sit down. We'll discuss this calmly"—at this, she shoots daggers of implication in her glare towards Dad, who sighs—"all right?"

We all find a chair or couch to sit on, except Riley by the fireplace. It hits me suddenly—they're going to make him explain, relive everything. They're going to make him show his mutilated and scarred arm, tell about Ahmed, Talal, the still-unresolved issue with Caroline. The pain that would bring is not what we came here for.

"Mom, now's not the best time to get into all that," I say quickly. "We will explain, but please understand that in order to solve this problem…we need your help."

"With what?" she probes with a hint of curiosity, leaning back in her chair.

"The treasure…the one you found a clue for when you went to New Delhi?" Instead a response, I receive a pair of raised eyebrows. "Well…we need the clue."

"We've already solved it," Dad says from his seat. "Or…at least—"

"I did," Mom cuts him off. "So…what you're saying is…you need to find this treasure?" I nod, and reluctantly so. I can just feel her vibes of "not again" rolling off her. "You obviously want to know about it then?"

"That would be pretty helpful," Caroline says with a smile. "Oh, and uh…my name's Caroline, by the way." I wonder if she thinks this is an awkward situation…maybe she hasn't noticed yet, but my parents are (save for Dad at first) pretty relaxed. They're used to things like this; I'm pretty sure Dad didn't even know Abigail's name that first night when we showed up with the Declaration.

"Well then," Mom says, sitting up on the edge of her seat. Looks like we're in for a dissertation. "I would say 'let's start at the beginning,' but the clue we found is actually in the middle."

"Really? How does that work?" Riley wonders aloud.

"The stitching we deciphered referenced the location of the first clue, the library of Ivan the Terrible of Russia."

"Russia?" he interrupts again. "Why would a European country have anything to do with a treasure in Thailand?"

"Up until the reign of Peter the Great," Abigail says. "Russia was viewed by western Europe as Asian. It's not that far-fetched."

"Anyway," Mom continues. "It is extremely likely part of the treasure has its origin there, so that's maybe why the clue was in the library, whose location has remained a mystery. So Russia and what was then the Kingdom of Ayutthaya must have had some contact since the latter is the treasure's location. Ayutthaya most likely took over the smaller Khmer treasure and then made the European additions. But the most important thing you all are going to have to worry about is the entrance to the treasure chamber, somewhere in Wat Phra Keo—"

"The Temple of the Emerald Buddha in the Grand Palace?" Riley exclaims. "Holy Lord…that place is not only one of the busiest tourist spots—it's also the holiest areas in the entire country! They're not going to let us waltz in and start searching it for the entrance."

Much to my (and Riley's, it seems) amusement, Mom and Dad both stare at him in amazement, quite shocked, before being able to continue. "Right…and they're not going to be too excited that you know about the treasure, either."

"Why?"

"Well…this is just speculation, but…" she sighs. "In 1997, an old Russian man named Apalos Ivanov came out and said he had found Ivan the Terrible's library, and lots of people believed him since he was blind…the legend said you would be if you found it. That same year in Thailand, if you remember, there were a lot of military coups…it led to a new constitution. Perhaps these leaders of the coups didn't like the methods that the government were taking to keep the treasure secret, especially since the location of a key clue was now supposedly revealed."

Gah…my brain is throbbing. "That's a lot of information," I say.

"And I think that's enough, Emily," Dad says with a significant look towards her. It's just a hunch, but I'm thinking he's still suspicious of us. Wonderful.

We sit in silence for a moment before Riley sighs, saying, "I'll call Talal…see if he can help…" Moving towards the other room, he flips out his cell phone and begins dialing.

"Tell your little terrorist buddies we say 'hello,'" Dad mutters.

Riley freezes in midstep. "They were never my friends." And then he disappears beyond the door, an awkward pause ensuing. Maybe it was him acknowledging terrorism was a component of the situation, or even the way he said it so bitterly, but Dad seems taken back by the comment and even more so when rapid Arabic emanates from the adjoining room.

"My opinion may not make much of a difference since you don't know me," Caroline says. "But there really is more than meets the eye about this whole thing, about…him. Please don't make a judgment too quickly. Like Ben said, he's really the only 'primary source' that's available."

"And you trust him?" Dad asks. "And I'm not talking about you two," he says with a dismissive wave at Abigail and I. "I mean you, because I know they do. But…I don't even know your relation to the kid. Do you trust him?"

Most of the cheerful shine gone from her eyes, she replies, "With my life. But don't any of you guys tell him that," she adds hurriedly, eyeing Abigail and I especially with a look of warning.

Interesting—that's all I'm saying.

"Well…" Riley sighs, entering the living room. "Talal says he can't help with something illegal…like messing around in Wat Phra Keo. So we're on our own…again. Unless you two turn us in."

"I'm not letting Patrick do anything of the sort until we get the full story," Mom says simply; all Dad can do is sigh. He must be so conflicted—he's willing to do all the crazy adventure stuff, but skirting the law like I tend to? Nope. Doesn't go there. On the other hand, I know he's fond of Riley…so…I don't know. As long as Mom doesn't let him near a phone, we'll be fine.

After a few quick good-byes, we're on our way again and driving back to Washington. Conversation is nearly nonexistent, except for a couple murmurs about how Sadusky was supposed to be back in the US today. This may sound quite unlike me, but if it weren't for Riley's predicament, I wouldn't be going after this treasure. Risking our lives and well-being for something whose whereabouts were stitched into a random rug, and one that we haven't even seen? Well, on second thought, putting our lives on the line for a phrase on a yellowing piece of paper given to my ancestor by a dying old man and for smudges of an incomplete cipher from an assassin's diary didn't make much sense either. But at least then we didn't have to travel to Asia.

Finally we arrive back in the city and its familiar hustle and bustle, which gets us stuck in traffic nearby the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building. "How…ironic," Riley comments to himself.

I hate traffic…so, so much. Tapping the steering wheel, and muttering to myself, all I want to do is slam on the gas and ram these stupid cars out of my way. Unfortunately, that might draw a bit of unwanted attention, so I must refrain. Congratulations drivers ahead of me: your vehicles will live to see tomorrow.

After a while, they must sense my animosity since the line of cars finally begins to budge. "Thank God," I mutter.

"Don't start rejoicing too soon," Abigail says with a hint of fear. "Look."

Seeing as we are only going about seven miles per hour, I deem it safe to glance over at the sidewalk to our right. Fast approaching at a brisk walk is—just our luck—Agent Sadusky.

"Oomph!"

"Don't 'oomph' me, Riley," Caroline says from the back. I notice via rearview mirror that she has shoved his head underneath the window, out of view. "Do you want this Sadusky guy to see you?"

"Could've warned me."

I kept my gaze on Sadusky, fingers strumming the wheel; I have a strange urge to grin. Well…it's been bothering me: why has he been so secretive about giving the public crucial information that would help catch Riley? He must know I'm behind breaking him out. But I haven't seen him since then…time to test something, and if it goes wrong, well…we have a car, and he doesn't. At last the corners of my mouth twitch to a smile.

"Benjamin Franklin Gates," Abigail says slowly. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare wave at him." Whoa—did she learn some mind-reading tricks from Caroline?

"What harm will it do?"

"Um, I might get arrested," Riley calls from the back. True, but…based on Sadusky's past behavior…

And a-waving I go, much to Abigail's chagrin and suppressed horror. And, much to her surprise, he waves back with a smile and continues on his way.

"What…in…the world…?" she says with clear disbelief, watching him as he calmly walks past the again-stalled car.

"What?" Riley says. "What did he do?" He sits up enough so only his head is visible through the window.

And at that moment, Sadusky decides to look back.

It seems Riley and the agent's gazes lock for half a second before Caroline hastily shoves him back down. This is bad. Very bad. Very bad as in I can't think of any other adjectives.

"What's he doing, Abigail?" I say, the traffic thankfully picking up to normal speed.

"He's…he's…" She can't finish her thought.

"He's shaking his head," Caroline supplies. "And it looks like he's laughing. And now…" She pauses. "Now he's going to Starbucks!"

"That man makes no sense!" Riley's muffled voice exclaims. "Hm! I just saw the man I've been trying to capture. Let's go get a latté. No correlation. None."

As Riley continues to rant about the peculiarity of it all, Abigail turns to me, concerned. "Ben," she whispers. "Something's not right…"

XXX

Hm…what IS up with Sadusky? Answers later…like maybe five chapters later? And also…the speculation of how Apalos Ivanov's claim and the Thai coups relate is all made up for the story. The stuff about each of them is true, but not so much how they relate. Just clarifying.

You know the drill: please review.