"Hey, coolio -- no retreat, no surrender]"
Dan whooped. "So. Any thoughts about how we're going to pay for it?" WAWWP! WAWWP! WAWWP! WAWWP!
An alarm rocked the terminal, stopping all conversation. As a terse announcement resounded, first in Italian, then French, then German, sections of the crowd began heading for the entrance -- until finally:
"Ladies and gentlemen, please proceed immediately to the nearest exit, as this terminal must be evacuated for safety reasons "
A scream ripped the air, and then people were rushing, falling over one another. Amy ran toward the door, pulling her brother behind her, listening to shouted fragments around them, some of them in English: "Bomb scare... " "Terrorists ... " "Anonymous phone call... "
They reached the door and pushed their way through. The day had turned gray, but the winding access roads were dotted with the headlights of approaching vehicles. Passengers crowded the sidewalk, shouting into cell phones, hurtling toward buses and cabs. Dan and Amy pushed against the crush of bodies toward the curb, where the last of a group had climbed onto a bus.
The door shut in their faces and the bus farted its way noisily into the clogged road. Dan ran after it, banging on the window. "Stop!
Pasta!"
"Pasta?"
Amy said in bewilderment.
"I have a limited vocabulary!" Dan shouted. "Linguini! Mangia! Buon giorno! Gucci!"
A black limo screeched to a halt inches away nearly hitting her. "Gucci. I knew that would do it," Dan said.
The tinted window on the driver's side rolled down, and a man wearing sunglasses and a thick mustache calmly gestured for them to get in.
Amy opened the passenger door and climbed inside, yanking her brother in after her.
"Hey!" shouted another frantic passenger, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket and waving it at the driver through the window.
"Soldi, soldi!"
Dan pulled his door shut, and three people fell on the car, banging and shouting. The driver turned forward and let his window roll up, nearly amputating the arm of the man with the money.
"Dude, thanks," Dan said to the driver. "Or gracias or whatever."
"Ve go to de udder airport?" the man replied in a deep accent that did not sound Italian.
"There's another airport?" Dan said.
"Small craft," the man replied.
"But -- " Amy stammered. "We don't have any mon -- "
Dan poked her in the ribs.
"I have to tell him the truth," Amy whispered.
Dan poked her again.
Amy glared at him. "Will you please stop ~?"
It was only then that she saw the other person sitting in the backseat. An Asian man with a placid smile, dressed in a silk suit with white gloves and a bowler hat. "Greetings, my elusive relatives," purred Alistair Oh.
CHAPTER 3
Alistair's father had always said that in every Oh there was an element of surprise.
Not that Alistair remembered him actually saying it, considering Alistair had been a child when he died. But it was an Oh family trait to mix truth with a touch of wit.
Alas, the Cahill children's hostile silence perplexed Alistair. He would have thought they'd have enjoyed this particular surprise.
Screeee
... screeeee ...
As Serge yanked the steering wheel left and right, forcing the car into spaces no normal human would dare to go, the children lurched from side to side. They seemed loathe to touch Alistair or even look at him, as if he were some distasteful substance, like boiled asparagus. As if he had not just snatched them from the jaws of chaos to deliver them back to their chosen path. He tried to smile reassuringly at them. He felt for them. They looked so small, so scared, so lonely.
He understood the feeling. More than they knew.
"Gyess what?" shouted Serge over the noise of furious honking, "I chave keeds, too --gerrl fourteen, boy elyeven! Yes! True. They leeve in Moscow!"
Alistair kept an eye on Dan, who was looking quite sick. The boy tried the door handle for what must have been the twentieth time in the last two minutes. Luckily, Alistair had made sure the safety locks had been activated. "Do not bother, please," he said. "You will only give yourself carpal tunnel problems later in life. And besides that, you are making me nervous for your safety."
"So you were behind all this, huh?" Dan said. "With the Kabras and Irina. And the bomb scare. You're working with them now."
Alistair's face twitched. He knew it would be difficult to earn their trust. Wild accusations were to be expected. He knew there would be resentment, and understandably so. Leaving them in a burning house on the day of the will reading had been an unfortunate necessity -- but a personal and strategic mistake. One he regretted deeply. "Believe me, my dear nephew, I don't have the slightest idea -- "
"Believe you?" Dan replied, spinning around to face him eye to eye. "Let's see. You abandoned us when Grace's house was collapsing around us. You planted a tracking device on Saladin -- "
"Tracking device?
This?"
Alistair reached into his pocket and pulled out an electronic device the size of a
lapel pin. "I believe you planted it on me. At the museum in Salzburg, while I was
dozing."
"You d-d-deserved that, Uncle Alistair," Amy said uneasily, "after having hidden it in Saladin's collar in the f-f-first place."
"No again, darling girl," Alistair replied with a warm smile, hoping to calm the girl's nerves. "Someone else was keeping tabs on you. Not I. Remember, many others in the family are competing for the clues. I am on your side. I, as you know, believe in cooperation."
"Oh, that's hilarious," Dan shot back. "Tell it to Comedy Central." Patience. Ever patience.
Alistair folded his white-gloved hands over his lap. "Consider exactly who rescued you today," he said. "And who, in a very short time, managed not only to find you but to devise a method of escape. Consider also that as an added bonus, I am about to take you wherever it is you need to go. By private plane. All of this, and I ask only one thing in return -- the location of where you are headed. Which, under the circumstances, is rather a necessity."
"You have your own p-plane?" Amy asked.
Alistair smiled modestly. "Well, not mine. But I still have business connections, favors I can call in during times of emergency. There are some financial advantages to being the inventor of microwavable burritos."
"Ve stock zem on ze plane!" Serge said. "Biff, cheecken, cheese ..."
Good old Serge. Experience had taught them both the value of the Oh company motto: The way to a young person's heart is through microwavable meals. Amy exhaled. "Okay, once we're on this plane -- if we agree -- what assurances do we have that -- " "Amy!"
Dan blurted. "Uh, no way, Goldfinger. If we're going to do this, we're doing it ourselves."
Amy glared at him. "So I guess we're swimming to Japan? Drop us off at a mall, Uncle Alistair. I need flippers. The really big kind? With mad shark repellent?"
Dan groaned. "You said the J word, Amy! You told him!"
"What are our choices, Dan?" Amy said. "They have Nellie and Saladin and our s -- " Amy stopped short, and Alistair glanced at her encouragingly. The poor thing had been making such great progress with her shyness. "Your ...?" he said. "S-s-suitcases," she replied.
Alistair nodded.
Japan, Excellent. So that was where the next Clue would be. A fruitful turn of events. He leaned forward to his driver. "Can we handle Japan, Serge?"
The driver shrugged. "Veil, eez long treep. Ve must stop for refueling halfvay. In Moscow. I call ahead. Vhen ve stop, you can meet my keeds -- Kolya and Tinatchka!" "Serge, please," Alistair said. "This is not a social trip."
Serge let out a deep belly laugh. "Kolya and Tinatchka not socialists!"
Dan glared at his sister.
Swords, she'd been about to say.
They have Nellie and Saladin and our swords.
At least she corked her
self on that one. Giving away their destination to the slippery dude was one thing. Giving away their Clue was another.
Some things had to stay secret. Even sisterus dorkus knew that.
He recognized the look in Amy's eyes right now. It was more than the usual disgust, more than her usual variations of You dweeb and...No, it's not time to eat. This one said,
If you screw this up, I will kill you. Which was exactly how he was feeling.
Uncle Alistair reached into his pocket and pulled out two small electronic devices, which he held out to Dan and Amy with fake cheeriness, like a demented butler pretending to be Santa Claus. "These are state-of-the-art GPS devices. Attach them to your phones, as I have done to mine. I have not yet figured out how to one-twenty-eight-bit-encrypt the signal, but the lower default encryption should suffice. The point is, once we are in Japan, we cannot lose one another."
Serge was flashing an ID pass to a guard at a gate now. The limo entered a narrow road leading to a tiny airport. It glided past several small propeller planes and stopped next to a long, open hangar.
Serge quickly got out and held the passenger door open. Beaming, he gestured grandly toward the hangar. "Say hello to my darling Ludmila." "Another keed?" Dan asked. "How many do you have?" He looked left and right. The place seemed empty except for a few small jets and some burly half-shaven crew members, none of whom looked like a Ludmila. "Um ... I don't see her," Amy said meekly.
But Dan was distracted by a flash of silver. A ridiculously sleek jet rolled into view. It had tinted windows, a profile like a knife, and an open cockpit that seemed to beckon, Enter for the coolest ride of your life.
"This," said Serge, as the jet rolled to a stop in front of them, "is Ludmila."
CHAPTER 4
The peculiar word COACH on Natalie's plane ticket had conjured up images of leather benches, uniformed coachmen, and fine horses. Not tiny, hard seats and a pig.
It wasn't so much the babysitter's attitude. Which was horrid. Or the tattoos and piercings. Which someday would cause the girl such embarrassment at her job -- that is, should she ever find a real one. It wasn't even the girl's rudeness upon seeing Natalie and her brother. Granted, a warm hello and hugs were not warranted under the circumstances, but the stream of barnyard epithets was a bit... well, unseemly. To say the least.
Yet all of the above was to be expected from a person of Nellie's station. And Natalie and Ian could withstand the crudeness. Some sacrifices were necessary in order to get the information they needed.
No, the worst part was the sloppiness.
The candy wrappers and potato chip shards on the seats to either side of her, the backpack plopped on the floor between her feet instead of tucked under the seat in front. The nervous habit of shoveling fistfuls of snack mix into her mouth and chewing while speaking. Dreadful. Sloppy habits make a sloppy mind, according to the old Kabra family saying. Or maybe that was from Bartlett's Familiar Quotations. Natalie wasn't quite sure.
She winced as the loathsome babysitter spoke with a mouthful of food.
"Soffy unca wassoosa, y'nah gongahwawee!" Nellie said, spitting bits of peanut and
Chex from the corners of her mouth.
Natalie's brother, Ian, picked a fleck of Rice Krispie from his otherwise flawless jet-black hair. "Swallow, please, and repeat?"
Nellie gulped. "Sorry, I don't care what you say, you're not going to get away with
this."
"Oh?" Ian looked over his shoulder, up and down the crowded jetliner. "Do I see anyone sympathizing with your plight? No? What do you say, Natalie -- did we get away
with it?"
"You can do this the easy way, you know, by answering one simple question ... " Natalie pressed. They had asked Nellie a dozen times, and each answer had been sassier than the last. She would learn, though. If she knew what was good for her. And if not, well, the Kabras had other ways. "So. One last time -- why are you going to Japan?"
Nellie yanked a magazine out of the seat pocket in front of her, sending a set of earphones and some used tissues flying toward Ian, who leaped with a barely concealed yeep
of disgust. "Because I love sudoku," Nellie said. "You can get the best sudoku puzzles on a flight to Japan, duh. Don't you know anything?"
"Coffee, tea, complimentary snack packet, or anything else I can assist you with to make this your best flight ever?" a flight attendant piped up, walking slowly up the aisle.
"A Diet Coke and a restraining order, please?" Nellie said. "Because these two are not
supposed to be in these seats, and they are harassing me."
Ian let out a hearty laugh. "Ha-ha! Oh, Cousin Nell, you always crack me up with your jokes and whatnot -- doesn't she, uh, Amy?"
"Yes, Daniel," Natalie replied. "Just like back home. In ... Homedale."
"Oh, that's convincing," Nellie said. "Is there a cop on board? Because if there's not, I want to make a citizen's arrest. Can you do that in Italy or wherever we are?"
Smiling uneasily, the flight attendant placed a Diet Coke on Nellie's tray. As she stood back up, Natalie turned to the baffled woman and circled her finger by her ear in a subtle cuckoo gesture.
Outside the window, lightning flashed. The plane suddenly began to lurch. "Heh-heh,
well, looks like we're experiencing just a bit of bumpiness here ... " the pilot said over the PA.
The flight attendant began pushing her cart back up the aisle, calling out, "Please return your seats to the upright position." Ian groaned. "I - I'm not feeling too well...."
As he keeled forward, face turning green, it was Nellie's turn to look alarmed.
Natalie smiled. She and Ian had planned this. Certain signals for certain contingencies. Kabras were masters of tight planning. Ian's act meant one thing only, and Natalie knew just what to do.
Still, she couldn't help but feel pity for the girl. Underneath the raffishness there was a bit of spunk and spirit. In another circumstance, another time, she would make a good Kabra employee.
"Uh, you're not going to be sick, are you?" Nellie said. "Because I hate the sight of puke." She leaned forward to sift through all the detritus on the floor, looking for an air-sickness bag.
There.
While Nellie was turned away, Natalie reached into her pocket and extracted a small vial of dark liquid. With a deft motion, she lifted the vial to Nellie's soda. Two drops was all that was needed.
The plane jumped again, causing Natalie to flinch, and the entire contents of the vial spilled inside the Coke. Oops.
The beeping of the phone woke Dan up from a deep sleep.
The first thing he noticed was Amy's hand, bone-white and clenching the armrest. "I don't know how you can sleep at a time like this ... " she said through gritted teeth.
The little jet banked to the left, causing Amy to let out a scream. "Sweet!" Dan said. "Do that again, Serge!"
Serge laughed. "You like?"
"No!" Amy blurted.
Alistair was straining to hear the phone. "This is who?" he said, gesturing for everyone to be quiet. "Irina?" Amy groaned.
"Yes, they did get away," Alistair said loudly. "They are with me, quite safe and sound ... what? Did you say Japan?" Alistair let out a big laugh. "Oh, dear. You thought ... you really believed that Dan and Amy didn't let the Kabra children take their tickets -- that they didn't purposefully direct their babysitter to board the plane as a decoy ... oh, my. Oh, that is rich ... no no no, Irina
What? You're breaking up. Perhaps you heard me wrong. Yes, OF COURSE THE CAHILLS ARE HEADED TO JAPAN. THAT IS EXACTLY RIGHT. Good-bye, dear."
"Urn ... what was that all about?" Dan said.
Alistair smiled. "I know Irina quite well. At this moment she is convinced you tricked the Kabras, not the other way around. And trust me, after what I just said, the last place in the world she suspects you to be going is Japan "
"Wait. You think you convinced her?" Dan said. "Uh, no offense, but that sounded pretty lame to me."
"I
may be a failure in some things in my life, but I am a very quick study of people," Alistair replied. "I know exactly what works with Irina Spasky."
Amy turned her head toward Alistair, the color nearly drained from her face. He was a smart guy in many ways but a little old-fashioned. And he had overlooked something incredibly obvious.
"Don't... be too sure ... " she said.
The pilot's voice, in Russian, called for clearance and quickly got it.
Banking to the right, the jet swooped low toward a small airport on the outskirts of Moscow. In the dry, parched landscape, the landing strip was a ghostly gray.
The lone passenger's fingers gripped the armrest as the wheels of the plane bumped against the ground. These landings were always rougher than she expected.
As the jet slowed, taxiing on the tarmac, she eyed the sleek silver Cessna being refueled. An impressive piece of machinery.
"Stop here," Irina said.
She could see the old man now, limping with his walking stick. He was dressed crisply and correctly, as always. The bowler and sunglasses gave that subtle touch of refinement. Irina liked a traditional man, not a slave to fashion. His clothes seemed a bit tight today, but during these stressful times, who hadn't put on weight?
A moment later, the little devils appeared, bundled in down coats and hats. Protected as always -- first by Grace Cahill, now by the uncle. Why he had sold his soul to those two, she could never figure out. Someday he would learn.
They will betray you, Alistair, she thought, unless you betray them first.
She smiled. Thoughts of human weakness always picked up her spirits after a long
trip. Back in her KGB days, betrayal came in so many colorful varieties -- blackmail, white lies, red tape, yellow journalism.
Teams-- paahh! she thought. Teams were of no use in discovering the 39 Clues. With a secret of this much power, jealousies were inevitable and no alliances would survive.
Irina would find the Clues by herself. Without lazy rich kids, over-the-hill taco tycoons, or dewy-eyed orphans. To them, the amateurs, this was a mysterious game. Not to Irina. The spoils, she knew, deserved to go to the one who had lost the most. To the lone wolf seeking justice. And vengeance.