The Museum of Natural History in New York was being renovated. The beloved exhibits—Teddy Roosevelt, Sacajawea, Rexy the T-Rex skeleton—were being boxed up and shipped to the vast, forgotten archives of the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C. Their magic, powered by the Egyptian Tablet of Ahkmenrah, would be lost forever.
—the legendary pilot, immortalized as a bronze statue in the Air and Space gallery—came to life with a confident wink. “You look like a man who needs a co-pilot,” she said. She was bold, quick-witted, and had a habit of punching first and asking questions later. She commandeered a model plane and flew Larry across the massive museum, dodging Capone’s tommy-gun fire.
The worst of them was . He was the long-lost older brother of Ahkmenrah, the young pharaoh. Kahmunrah was cruel, dramatic, and desperate. He wanted the tablet not to give life, but to open the Gate of the Underworld and unleash his army of loyal soldiers, the Horus army , to conquer the world.
But Kahmunrah wasn’t done. In his final rage, he activated the Gate of the Underworld. The floor cracked open, and a blinding light shot up. The Horus falcon came alive, spreading stone wings. And from the gate, the first of the Horus army—huge, jackal-headed warriors—began to climb out. Night at the Museum- Battle of the Smithsonian ...
Lincoln stared down at him. “ ” He carried the screaming Kahmunrah to a giant model of the Washington Monument and dropped him inside.
He looked at the giant bronze statue of Abraham Lincoln. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. President,” he whispered.
Larry rushed to the Smithsonian, a maze of 19 museums under one roof. By the time he arrived, the sun had set. And chaos had erupted. The Museum of Natural History in New York
Their mission: find the tablet, stop Kahmunrah, and get everyone home.
He ran to the tablet, ignoring the chaos, and placed both hands on it. He didn’t fight the magic. He simply whispered, “Time to go home.”
Larry had nothing. No weapons. No backup. Just his wits. —the legendary pilot, immortalized as a bronze statue
Kahmunrah screamed, “Release me! I am your pharaoh!”
Larry had done it. He negotiated a deal with the real Smithsonian directors: the New York exhibits would return home, but the tablet would remain on display—in a case with a silent alarm, of course.
Kahmunrah was left sealed inside the model monument, screaming silently.
He smiled. Some magic never fades.
The light vanished. The gate slammed shut. The Horus falcon crumbled to dust. And one by one, every exhibit froze in place—except the New York crew.