A King's Ransom

In just a few moments, she heard footsteps and his voice behind her. “Just don’t steal it,” he said.

Amy decided it was better not to answer.

With the sons of Mark Rosenbloom with them, Amy and Dan had no problem getting into the library. They were ushered into the restricted section. Katja Mavel personally led them to the Renaissance collection. It was kept in a humidity-controlled room.

“You will have to leave your backpacks out here,” she said, pointing to a rack outside the room. “No packs, purses, pens, or pencils are allowed. There is a computer inside for your use in taking notes. You may send the notes to the printer.”

Dan, Amy, and Atticus put their backpacks on the rack. They walked into the collection room. The door shut behind them with a sharp click.

“This looks state-of-the-art,” Jake remarked.

“Absolutely,” the librarian replied. “Temperature and humidity controlled, halon gas fire protection system, all documents stored in archival boxes that are kept in fire-resistant metals. Oh, you know the halon system? It depletes the oxygen in the air in case of fire, to protect the materials. So if the alarm goes off, you must exit immediately. The door will automatically lock within two minutes. And of course you must wear the gloves if you touch the materials.”

“Of course,” Dan said. He pulled on a pair of white cotton gloves and splayed his fingers. “And they’re also so helpful for jazz hands.”

Katja Mavel opened a case and withdrew a long, flat box with the call letters Jane had jotted in the notebook. It looked faded and a bit battered. “Ah, this is one of the old boxes. Not much call for these materials. We are updating all the boxes, but it takes time.” She put down the box but lingered. “So. You are studying the works of Tycho Brahe and Kepler?”

“Such a fascinating story,” Amy said.

“Yes, you know, Brahe is quite a hero in Prague. His death … for so many years, scholars thought his bladder burst.”

“Excuse me?” Amy asked.

“You know, he was at this great banquet, and it was said he didn’t want to be rude and get up for the bathroom, so …”

Amy could feel Dan and Atticus trying not to giggle.

“We have a saying when we leave the table for the bathroom. We say ‘I don’t want to pull a Brahe.’”

Dan coughed. It was a strangled sound, as if he was smothering a laugh. Amy felt laughter bubble up inside her just at the sight of Dan’s red face. This always surprised Amy, how hilarity could suddenly sweep over them just when things were at their most tense.

“So what exactly are you studying about Brahe?” Katja Mavel asked.

Amy knew the question wasn’t a trap. But they had to get rid of Mavel if they were going to steal the map.

Jake cleared his throat. “You know, my father still remembers his visit here so fondly,” he said.

Katja Mavel blushed. “I remember him fondly as well – as a colleague.” She tucked a dark strand behind her ear. “I admire his work. His scholarship. We all do. Is your father working on another book?”

Jake smiled. “I’d love to tell you a bit about it. I had a long train ride from Rome. I was wondering if there was any tea or coffee available … ?”

“Yes, of course. Why don’t you come to my office… . Would anyone else care for refreshments?”

“No, thank you,” Atticus said.

Jake took the woman’s arm. “My father would be glad to know that the library is still doing such important work.” As they walked away he looked over his shoulder at them. The look plainly said work fast.

Amy felt a twinge of annoyance. Jake could sure work the charm when he had to. He must know how gorgeous he was. And that made him insufferable.

“Ready?” Atticus asked them. His hands hovered over the box.

Biting her lip, Amy nodded.

Atticus lifted the lid. A musty smell invaded the room. Inside was the leather-bound edition of Mysterium Cosmographicum.

With the reverence of a scholar, he carefully turned the pages. “It’s in Latin,” he said. “My Latin is pretty good, but I can’t translate the entire book.”

“I don’t think Jane wanted us to,” Amy said. “She hid the map somewhere inside the pages. I’m sure of it.”

“Just shake the book,” Dan advised. “Something will fall out.”

Atticus looked horrified. “Shake a sixteenth- century book? I couldn’t do that.”

“I could.”

Atticus emitted a squeak as Dan grabbed the book and turned it upside down. Nothing fell out. Atticus snatched the book back and hugged it.

“Dude, it’s a book, not a puppy,” Dan said.

“Let’s examine the endpapers,” Amy said.

Carefully, Atticus opened the book again. “Nothing in the front.” He turned the book over. “Wait a second … there’s something here. It’s like the book has been repaired. I mean, that makes sense … it’s more than four hundred years old… .” He peeled back a small section of endpaper. “There’s something under here,” he said excitedly. “I think we found the map!”

Cheyenne peeked over her book. Amy and Dan had disappeared into one of the side rooms with that skinny kid. The hunky teenager had gone into the library director’s office.

Casper lurked in the stacks. Cheyenne closed her book and joined him.

“The map has got to be here,” Cheyenne said. “We can trail them after they leave. There are some dark alleys between here and their hotel. I know you’re looking forward to that.”

“I have a better idea, and it’s even more fun,” Casper said. “We can get rid of them in one stroke and steal the map.”

“In one stroke?” Cheyenne asked doubtfully.

“One stroke of a match.” Casper waved at the books in the stacks. “This will go up like a torch. But I can set the fire so that it doesn’t burn down the whole place – though, let’s face it, who would miss a library?”

Cheyenne nodded. “Totally.”

“Here’s the best part – I checked out the fire system in the research rooms with the old stuff – halon! Sucks all the oxygen out of the room. Turns you into a fish on a dock.” Casper grabbed his throat and made gasping noises. “The whole place shuts down while we evacuate, I make sure the Cahills get stuck in the room of no air, they turn the systems back on, and we sneak back in and grab the map while the dead bodies of Amy and Dan look on. Presto change-o, we are winners!”

Cheyenne waved at the stacks. “You would destroy thousands of priceless antique books and papers just to get your hands on that map?”

“Is that so wrong?”

“Cool,” Cheyenne said. “I’m in.”

Atticus peeled back the last of the endpaper. A parcel was folded flat and wrapped in paper. A piece of notepaper sat on top.

“It matches the paper from Jane’s notebook,” Amy murmured.

Atticus read it aloud in a nervous voice.

“There’s that G again,” Amy murmured. “Grace?”

“No,” Atticus whispered. “Guardian.” He seemed to be in a daze, staring down at Jane’s note.

Before Amy could ask him what he meant, Dan broke in impatiently.

“C’mon. Let’s see what the parcel is.”

“Right.” Atticus unfolded the parcel and spread it on the desk. Amy recognized it immediately.

“It’s the de Virga!” she exclaimed. “Thank you, Jane!”

“It’s amazing,” Atticus breathed.

It just looked like an old map to Dan, but he leaned over to study it. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a spot.

“That’s the compass rose,” Atticus murmured. “Shows the direction of the compass. It’s right over Central Asia. The detail on this thing is amazing. Look at the coast of Africa!”

A light began blinking red over their heads. Amy looked up just as the siren went off. “Great. What a time for a fire drill.”

“We’ve got to conceal the map somehow,” Dan said.

“Wait a second,” Atticus said. “You guys are going to steal it?”

“We have to,” Amy told him.

“But Jake said – ”

“Never mind Jake. Dan, can you get it under your sweatshirt?”

“Under his sweatshirt? Are you crazy?” Atticus cringed as Dan folded the parchment.

“Believe me, A, we’ve got a good reason,” Dan told him.

“Atticus, can you go find Jake?” Amy asked. “We’re right behind you. Whatever you do, keep Mavel away from here. And, um, there’s no need to tell Jake that we stole the map. Yet.”

Amy crossed to the window in the door. Library patrons packed up and were leaving in an orderly fashion. Suddenly, she spotted two tall blond young people. Casper and Cheyenne stood in a corner, watching. What were they doing here? Her pulse hammered out a frantic beat.

“Atticus, I need you to go now,” Amy said, making sure her voice was level. “We’ll explain everything outside. Tell Jake … tell him he has to trust me.” Not that he would. But Amy couldn’t put Atticus in danger.

Amy took a firm hold of Atticus’s arm. She opened the door and gently shoved him out, then closed it.

To her shock, she heard the lock click. The automatic lock had engaged.

Atticus pulled frantically on the door. Amy tried to open it from her side. It wouldn’t budge.

The halon gas!

She whipped her head around to spy the fire panel.

HALON GAS ACTIVATED!

OXYGEN LEVEL 20%

This was no drill. This was really happening.

As she watched, the indicator beeped.

OXYGEN LEVEL 19%

Atticus took off at a run.

“Dan?” Amy’s voice shook. “We have a problem.”

“We sure do,” Dan said, adjusting his shirt. “This parchment is really itchy.”

OXYGEN LEVEL 18%

“I just saw Casper and Cheyenne outside. This isn’t a drill! The halon gas suppression system has been activated! And the door is locked!”

Dan looked at the oxygen level, then made a run at the door. He pulled at it. Just then Casper Wyoming’s face appeared at the glass panel. He waved and mouthed “Bye-bye.”

Then he kept on walking.

“Atticus saw what happened,” Amy said, her voice trembling. “He’ll do something… . He’ll get Jake!”

“With Casper and Cheyenne around? Don’t count on it. We have to do something.”

OXYGEN LEVEL 16%

Amy felt her pulse race. Was it the dropping oxygen level, or her own fear rising?

Dan began kicking at the door. Amy pounded on the glass.

There was nobody to hear. The building had been completely evacuated. Smoke was now billowing out of the stacks at the opposite end of the wide room. Amy saw orange licks of fire.

“We have to do something!” Amy’s breath was short. The effort of pounding against the glass had exhausted her. That wasn’t a good sign.

“The computer,” she said to Dan. “It’s hooked to the server. You could hack in – disrupt the alarm!”

Dan hurried over to the computer.

OXYGEN LEVEL 13%

“We have to hurry,” Amy said. “Oxygen depletion affects your brain. You can’t think… .”

“I’d have to get past the fire wall… .”

Amy felt her temples pound. “What was it that the hacker taught us? The back door option … you can get into their e-mail and go on from there… .”

“I remember, but I’m no Evan.”

“You’re just as smart as he is,” Amy said firmly. “You can do it.”

Dan began punching out a string of code.

OXYGEN LEVEL 11%

Looking over his shoulder, Amy tried to concentrate on Dan’s numbers. It seemed like an incredible effort. Dan made a mistake and had to back up.

OXYGEN LEVEL 9%

“I’m in!” Dan leaned forward. “Now to get Att … Attleboro… .” His breath was quick, and he wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “I’ve got Evan!”

Amy watched as Dan typed out HALON GAS CZECH LIBRARY SYSTEM HELP

It took a moment. Then they saw the words appear I’M ON IT

“He’ll … have to … hack into the system through this terminal,” Dan said.

Amy clutched the chair back as a wave of dizziness washed over her. “Dan …”

He looked over his shoulder at her. Perspiration streaked his face, and his eyes were glassy.

OXYGEN LEVEL 7%

They were close to passing out. Amy slid down to the floor. Dan slumped down next to her. She felt his hand reach for hers. If it was over, they’d go together.

Jake was out. Stretched on the ground, a lump on the back of his head and the world swimming in front of his eyes. One minute he was running after Atticus, the next, he was down. Some Nordic-looking guy had been next to him and suddenly managed – Jake wasn’t sure how – to check him right into a wall.

He forced himself to his knees. He saw a screaming Atticus being held by a blond young woman. She appeared to be trying to hold him back from running back into the burning building. But she was grip- ping him too tightly… .

Atticus met his gaze. “DAN AND AMY!” he screamed.

The blonde pressed Atticus’s head against her chest as if to comfort him. Jake saw with horror that she was actually muffling his scream.

He struggled to his feet. He had to get to his brother. But Dan and Amy were still in the library! Through the pounding pain in his head, he pushed forward, even before he knew which way to go.

Amy felt sick.

Dan’s voice was weak. “He’ll … do it… .”

She looked over at the oxygen indicator.

OXYGEN LEVEL 6%

The siren stopped. From somewhere far away she heard a click. The lock!

Fighting her nausea and weakness, Amy crawled to the door and reached up for the knob. It seemed so impossibly high. Her fingers grabbed at air. Finally, with an enormous effort, she raised herself up and gripped it. The door felt as heavy as iron. She yanked at it with all her strength, and it opened.

She fell forward into the hallway outside. She took a breath. It was smoky and it made her cough, but it was air. As oxygen filled her lungs, she felt stronger.

She made her way unsteadily back to Dan. He was half conscious. She lifted him to his feet and half dragged him out the door.

He leaned over, coughing, taking shallow breaths.

They stumbled down the corridor. Two firemen appeared at the end of the hall. As soon as they saw Amy and Dan struggling to walk, they rushed forward.

Amy felt herself being lifted up and cradled like a baby. Coughing, she was carried out the door. The air felt so pure and sweet.

She saw Jake pushing through the crowd toward them, Atticus at his side. And, off to the side, the tall Wyoming twins walked rapidly toward the tram stop. Cheyenne was limping.

Amy felt too tired to care. She was laid down on a patch of cold stone and it felt as luxurious as a bed. An emergency technician checked her over and put an oxygen mask on her face.

“Is she going to be okay?” Jake asked. His concerned face swam in front of her.

“She’ll be fine,” the technician assured him.

Atticus hovered near Dan, almost in tears.

Dan lifted one hand slowly, patted his chest, and gave Amy a nod. He had the map.

Rome, Italy

William McIntyre sat in his hotel room in Rome, file folders stacked to one side. He tried not to think about what time it was in Massachusetts. Jet lag lasted whole days for him now. His body felt tired, but he needed to push himself a little longer before he allowed himself to rest.

Amy and Dan were on his mind. He had the utmost confidence in their abilities, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry constantly. He hadn’t imagined anything could be more challenging and difficult than the search for the Clues, but this was proving to be so. Lives were at stake. And Vesper One … the fact that he could engineer this scheme, with hostages taken from all over the world … with kidnapping a boy of twelve … well, this was a new level of depravity.

He had confidence in all of them, not just Amy and Dan – Erasmus, Sinead, Ian, Hamilton, Jonah – even that boyfriend of Amy’s had turned out to be a worthy member of the team.

If only he didn’t feel as though they were missing something.

Something crucial.

He had come to Rome to meet with Erasmus, but first, he needed to consult with a client. That little thing that was nagging at him – he needed to dig a little deeper. But the client meeting hadn’t panned out. All he was able to get was a stack of old files.

McIntyre slipped the first folder off the stack and opened it. He began to read in his usual careful fashion. After plowing through a third of the stack, he suddenly straightened and began to read more intently.

He paused to kick off his shoes and order coffee and sandwiches from room service. He moved to the couch in order to spread out. He put some documents on the coffee table, separating them into piles.

It was with dawning horror that he realized that his instincts were right.

Why hadn’t he seen these connections before? He had been such a fool.

Amy and Dan were in greater danger than he thought.

He jumped up to retrieve his secure cell phone to call Attleboro, but there was a knock at the door.

“Room service, signore.”

Of course, the sandwiches. That was fast. He couldn’t imagine eating now, but he called, “Entrare – come in.”

McIntyre kept his gaze on the paper he was reading. “Just put it on the desk, per favore.”

He stood to sign the bill. The waiter had his back to McIntyre as he put down the tray.

McIntyre had exactly three seconds to notice several things. Water glass not quite full. Napkin folded imprecisely. Smear of butter on the metal dome covering the plate.

He made the conclusion with equal speed. Someone had picked up a used tray from the hallway and then tried to make it look fresh.

He had only a few more seconds to react. With one glance at the waiter he knew he was in no shape to take him on. He would go down fighting, but the best he could do was leave something behind.

Behind his back, he crumpled the paper. Then he leaned down as if for his wallet and stuffed the paper in his empty shoe.

The waiter turned, and McIntyre saw his face for the first time.

For a long second, the two just stared at each other. Then the intruder rushed toward him.

“It’s you!” McIntyre gasped.

The needle sank into his neck.

The smile on the face from the past was the last thing McIntyre saw before his knees gave way.

The firemen insisted that Amy and Dan get checked out at the hospital, but they refused. Katja Mavel either felt totally guilty or totally responsible and afraid to get sued, because she offered to take them to her own doctor. “But they were signed out!” she kept telling the firemen, wringing her hands.

In the end Amy prevailed, promising at the first sign of weakness or discomfort to head for a doctor. They were feeling fine, she told everyone earnestly. She was anxious to be gone. Her brother had a stolen map underneath his shirt.

“You should come with us,” Atticus urged. “We’re staying with this professor, a friend of our father’s. The apartment goes on for miles – we even have our own sitting room. He won’t mind if you stay, I guarantee it.”

Amy glanced at Jake. “Sure,” he said flatly. “You can fill us in on why somebody’s trying to kill you. And who those blond thugs were, and why they targeted me and Atticus.”

“I saw them leaving,” Amy said. “The girl was limping.”

“She needed a little persuasion to let my brother go,” Jake said. “Any idea why they were there?”

Amy didn’t say anything. She knew they’d have to spill some details, but she wasn’t sure how much to tell. They needed the help of the Rosenblooms right now. Soon, Vesper One would demand the transfer. Before they gave up the map, they had to figure out its connection to Il Milione.

As they trudged to the apartment, Amy dropped back, letting the three boys walk together. She took a moment to text back to Attleboro. She needed advice. Who better than Sinead? She totally trusted Sinead’s coolheaded opinion on things.

WE ARE FINE. HAVE MAP. JAKE AND ATTICUS HERE IN PRAGUE. THEY DEMAND ANSWERS. THEY GOT US INTO LIBRARY AND CAN BE HELPFUL W MAP AND MILIONE. THINK WE NEED TO CONFIDE SOME DETAILS ABOUT VESPERS, HOSTAGES, ETC.

ASK ERASMUS AND MCINTYRE ABOUT GUARDIANS.

In a few minutes, Sinead texted back:

NO INFORMATION ON GUARDIANS FM ERASMUS. MCINTYRE NOT ANSWERING. BEWARE. ROSENBLOOM BROTHERS TURNED YOU IN ONCE. WOULD DO IT AGAIN. STRONGLY ADVISE NO.

Amy slipped the phone back in her pocket, feeling strangely disappointed. She felt they owed Jake and Atticus more of an explanation. And she sensed that Atticus had more to tell them. But maybe Sinead was right. Certainly, Jake had turned them in once before. He could do it again. He could be lying to them right now. The two boys could be leading them straight to Interpol.

As Jake and Atticus reached a busy street corner, Jake put his hand on Atticus’s shoulder for an instant. Atticus was so busy talking he would have blundered right into traffic. Amy studied that touch. It was brief, so that Atticus wouldn’t feel directed by his big brother, but it was caring. She remembered the sight of Jake pushing through the crowd, trying to get to them, standing over her, making sure she was okay. He took responsibility for things, she could tell.

Just the way Jake felt responsible for Il Milione. Because, in a different world, under normal circumstances, Amy would have felt the same way.

Okay, she thought grudgingly, I’ll give him that. He cares.

Maybe she shouldn’t have kicked him quite so hard.

The apartment took up two floors of a grand building close to Old Town Square. Everything seemed to be upholstered in leather or velvet, and Amy had never seen so many tassels and trimmings – on curtains, on chairs, on sofas. Books were piled in short columns everywhere and used as tables for an assortment of abandoned teacups. At this hour, it was still and quiet.

Until Jake heard the news.

“You stole the map?” Jake asked furiously.

“We can explain – ” Amy started.

“Do you realize that you’ve implicated my brother in your crime? And me?”

“I’m sorry, that was unavoidable. The fire alarm – ”

“You said you were only going to look at it.”

“No, actually, that’s what you said,” Amy corrected.

“She’s right, Jake,” Atticus said.

Jake wheeled on Atticus. “And you! How could you get involved in something like this?”

Atticus took a breath and faced his brother. “Because I’m a Guardian,” he said. “I’m involved whether I like it or not.”

“What’s a Guardian?” Dan asked.

Jake held his head. “Not this wacko fairy-tale stuff again.”

“It’s not a fairy tale!” Atticus cried. “I know that now. Mom told me I was a Guardian. I didn’t know what she meant. I still don’t. But I think my great-grandmother was one, too.” Atticus looked at them, vulnerable and scared. “Do you know what it means?”

“No. Can you tell us what she said?” Amy asked.

“I remember that she talked about the Guardians right before she got sick. She said it was a story her mother told her, only she never believed it. That there was this group that protected something over the centuries. More than one thing. They moved stuff from place to place until they found the safest spot. My mom thought it was a made-up story. But then she met someone who told her it was true. She didn’t believe her, either. But this person said that the Guardians and the Madrigals were sort of partners. And that the Vespers were our enemies.”

“Grace,” Amy said. “That’s why your mother called for her in the hospital. Grace is – was – our grandmother.”

“Of course!” Atticus cried. “Because Mom suggested I join this online gaming group and look for this guy named Cahill. She said she’d met his grandmother once and thought we’d hit it off. And I thought you were really cool, so we became friends. Not because of her, but because …” Atticus’s voice faltered as he added, “Because you liked me.”

Dan held out his fist for a bump. “You are blowing my mind, dude.”

Meanwhile, Jake stood a few paces away, his arms folded. Amy tried not to squirm. Whenever she felt his eyes on her, she grew annoyed. He couldn’t just glance at a person. He had to read the person, as though he was waiting for her to make a mistake or pull something over on him.

“Listen, Miss Mysterioso, it’s time we heard some answers. We’re not going to go another step forward if you don’t tell us what you’re involved in. What exactly did you mean about lives being at stake? You and Dan almost suffocated. That wasn’t accidental. Somebody is after you. Who is it? Who are the Vespers? What do they have to do with you?”

They were facing each other across the room, both of them with their arms crossed.

“I’m afraid to tell you,” Amy said.

Jake’s stern expression relaxed for a moment. “Did you ever think,” he said slowly, “that we could help?”

Here it was – the moment Amy knew was coming. And she wasn’t in the least bit prepared. Sinead had told her not to trust them. But Sinead wasn’t in this room.

She remembered Jake’s hand on Atticus’s shoulder. She remembered him saying Because it was the right thing to do. She felt something odd insinuate itself inside her. She still didn’t like him. But she trusted him. He was one of the good guys – she could feel it.

She looked at her brother. They had a moment of pure communication, the thing between them that they’d counted on during the hunt for the Clues. There were so many times that they trusted their instincts, ignored what they should do and proceeded to take a different way. It had worked out. Usually.

Yes, Dan’s gaze was saying, we can trust them. We have to.

“Telling you what’s going on could endanger you,” Amy said hesitantly. “I know that sounds way dramatic, but it’s true.”

“We’re already in up to our necks,” Jake said.

Amy took a breath. There was so much to say, but she didn’t have to say it all yet. “The Vespers are a group that’s been in existence for hundreds of years – since the sixteenth century. It’s a secret organziation, and its members are recruited. So we don’t know any identities – well, we know two. The twins who were at the library. And your mother … She was right about the ring. They’re after it. It’s not magic, of course, but we don’t know why they want it.”

“Wait, hold on a second. Who’s we?” Jake asked.

Amy and Dan didn’t say anything. They couldn’t just blurt out a secret that had been kept for hundreds of years.

But they didn’t have to.

“You’re Madrigals,” Atticus guessed. “That story is true, too.”

“Seven people from our family have been kidnapped,” Dan said. “We almost were, too. And then we get this phone with a text on it from this dude called Vesper One. He says that if we don’t follow his instructions, he’ll kill them.”

“Are you sure he’s serious?” Jake asked.

“He shot one of them,” Amy said. “In the shoulder. She seems okay, but …” She took a shaky breath to compose herself. “So yeah, he’s serious.”

Jake kept his gaze on Amy. “Are the people they kidnapped … are you close to them?”

Amy felt her eyes sting. She willed herself not to cry. She lifted her chin and tensed her whole body so it wouldn’t happen. She couldn’t appear weak in front of Jake. “We’ll do anything to get them back.”

She’d done everything to show him strength, but somehow, she sensed, he saw her vulnerability instead. He cleared his throat and looked out the window.

Dan got his computer out of his backpack and then reached for Il Milione. “Okay, gang. It’s time to get the jump on Vesper One.”

“‘For to the world I was a Traveler, but once on the road I stopped in the great and splendid City. There I took on the task, Guardian, of what was entrusted to me to keep.

“‘Men steal and kill, they hide and conceal, and the great Task for us is to bury what should be buried and do not mourn, for it is better so.’”

Atticus read the words out loud. Then he pushed his glasses up on his forehead and rubbed his eyes. He’d found a dictionary of Old French in the professor’s library, and it had taken him awhile to translate the epilogue.

“It’s kind of rough,” Atticus said. “My Old French isn’t as good as my Latin.”

“Are you sure the translation is correct?” Jake asked.

“Who are you talking to?” Atticus asked, insulted. “Of course it’s correct.”

“‘The great and splendid City’ … there must have been a few on the Silk Road,” Amy said.

“What’s that?” Dan asked.

“It was an old trading route,” Jake said. “It wasn’t called the Silk Road back then.”

“The term didn’t come into use until maybe the late nineteenth century,” Atticus put in. “I believe it was a German term at first?”

“Uh, smart dudes? This isn’t Jeopardy!” Dan said. “Can you just give me a summary?”

“Trading routes through Asia,” Jake said, studying the de Virga map. “Look, the wind rose is right in Central Asia.”

“I thought it was called the compass rose,” Amy said.

“Same thing.” Without touching the map, Jake passed his finger over the expanse of territory. “Four thousand miles or thereabouts, from the Mediterranean to China. That includes parts of Turkey, Uzbekistan, India, Persia, Afghanistan … that’s a lot of territory. Maybe this will make sense if we look up some facts about cities along the route.”

“Let’s look at Jane’s note again,” Dan suggested.

“The murderer must be Kepler,” Jake said. “And the genius?”

“Leonardo,” Amy said. “His shield was concealing Il Milione at the Colosseum.”

“The city of stars,” Dan said. “What do you think Jane meant? Could it be the great and splendid city that Marco Polo talks about? He’s the traveler, right?”

Atticus was still consulting Il Milione. “Wait, there’s a couple more sentences.” He bent over the book again. In only a few minutes, he put down his pencil.

“That’s extreme,” Dan said. “The fate of the whole world? Exaggerate much?”

Amy noticed Atticus’s look of distress. “What is it?” she asked.

“‘The fate of the world is in our hands,’” Atticus said. “That’s just what my mother told me. The night she died.”

They all exchanged glances. This time, Dan stayed silent, and Jake didn’t scoff. It seemed so crazy … the fate of the world. But suddenly, it seemed so real.

Dan woke up with his face planted in a pile of papers. He had been dreaming about the wind. He pushed himself up, yawning and rubbing the indentations of balled-up paper on his cheek. The others had conked out, too – Jake in a deep armchair, and Atticus on the floor on a pile of quilts. Amy was asleep on the velvet sofa, her arms over her head, as if protecting herself.

The wind rattled the old panes of the windows and seemed to make the entire building creak with unease.

And the wind rose and pushed the traveler …

Dan suddenly felt wide-awake.

“Look, the wind rose is right in Central Asia.”

“I thought it was called the compass rose.”

“Same thing.”

Jane had been talking about the wind rose on the map!

Dan’s hands were shaking as he reached for the computer. He typed a word string into a search engine.

wind rose de Virga map

And the word popped up: Samarkand

He clicked on the link. It was a description of the de Virga map. It said that the wind rose was in Central Asia, “most likely over the city of Samarkand, where Ulugh Beg’s observatory once stood.”

Observatory? The city of stars. Jane had pointed them in the same direction!

It had been there all along, and it was all so much easier than he’d imagined! As though Samarkand was the magic word that unlocked every clue.

Dan did another quick word search. The great and splendid city – those were Marco Polo’s own words, and they described Samarkand. Buried in the text of Il Milione … but readily popped up on a search engine. Dan’s fingers flew on the keys. So this was why Amy got all excited when she researched! Piece after piece, falling into his hands, and they all made a picture.

Samarkand was the clue. And if they could get there first … maybe they could have a bargaining chip.

Dan crept over to where Amy lay sleeping. He put his hand on her arm and her eyelids sprang open.

“Samarkand,” he whispered. “That’s what he wants. If you put the map together with Marco Polo, that’s what you get. The wind rose is right over the city.”

“What?” Amy was wide-awake immediately. “Let me see.”

He showed her his process, from putting together wind rose with the clues in Marco Polo’s lost epilogue and Jane’s hints.

“I think you’re right,” Amy whispered slowly. “This is such good work, Dan!”

Dan felt a glow at his sister’s praise. He was known for his photographic memory. It was Amy who could take random information and form it into a theory. But tonight, he’d not only remembered things, he’d put them together.

Just then the Vesper smartphone buzzed by Amy’s side. She accessed the message and turned the phone so that they both could read it.

Here’s your alarm clock, and it’s ticking! Meet me at the Astronomical Clock at six a.m. When the skeleton pulls the rope, leave the packet at the feet of Jan Hus. And don’t look back!

“He’s going to be there himself,” Dan said. “He said ‘meet me.’”

“It’s twenty to six. We have to get moving.”

“Where? What is he talking about, the skeleton pulling the rope? Who’s Jan Hus?”

Amy put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. Don’t wake Atticus and Jake.” She grabbed for her shoes. “The Astronomical Clock is right in Old Town Square – it’s one of the biggest tourist destinations in Prague. At the top of the hour, these mechanical carved figures come out in a procession – but first, a skeleton on the clock pulls a rope. The Jan Hus monument is there, too. We passed through part of the square on the way here, do you remember? It’s about ten minutes away.”

“That doesn’t give us much time.” Dan reached for his shoes.

Amy slipped the de Virga map into her pack. “Let’s go.”

Fog shrouded the dark city. It was still dark. The sun wouldn’t rise until after seven A.M. No one was on the cobbled streets. Amy had mapped out the route and they slipped down the alley, made a right on an avenue, and continued toward the square, running as though a clock was ticking in their heads. Occasionally, they would see another figure in the fog, an early riser heading for work, someone walking a small dog.

As they approached the square their steps slowed. They had made it. Now the swirling fog enveloped them, magnifying every sound.

“Do you hear that?” Dan whispered. “Footsteps behind us.”

Amy could hear them now, the quick steps of someone on the cobblestones.

They picked up their pace again. The monument to Jan Hus was a dark shape that they scooted past to run to the Town Hall, where the clock was located. It rose suddenly out of the gray mist. Amy checked the time on her watch. One minute to six.

There were other people on the square. It was large and open, with restaurants and shops lining it, so there were people coming in to work. They could hear the footsteps and occasionally the sound of a murmured conversation. But the fog isolated them and kept them apart, staring up at the clock.

Was the fog lifting? The threads were twining around the clock tower. They could just make out the skeleton. A rope was in its hand. As they watched, the skeleton pulled the rope. The clock began to chime. Doors flicked open in the tower, and carved figures began to move jerkily forward.

“Now,” Dan murmured.

They turned toward the monument. The fog gave them great cover. Dan jumped over the chain.

Amy quickly scanned the square. A white-paneled bakery truck was unloading trays of bread. A waiter whistled as he set out tables. An old woman sat at a table with a cup of coffee and a glass of ice. A mother walked by the tables, holding the hand of a small child. No one was looking at them.

Dan hoisted himself up over the base and placed the packet at the feet of Jan Hus.

“Dan! Amy!”

The voice seemed amplified through the fog. Amy started as she saw Atticus running at top speed across the square toward them.

Time seemed to slow down. And yet, everything happened so fast.

She heard the squeal of tires. When she looked up, she saw the bakery truck careening across the square. Atticus was still running toward them, on a collision course with the truck.

“ATTICUS!” she screamed.

The truck squealed to a halt.

Atticus bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath.

Amy’s hand was on her heart. She could feel the pounding, hard and fast. She had expected to see the truck hit the skinny body, send it flying.

The driver stayed at the wheel. The passenger got out and crossed to Atticus with quick steps, as though to ensure that he was all right. Then she recognized the figure in the long white apron.

It was Casper Wyoming.

“ATTICUS!” Amy screamed again.

She sprinted across the square, across the uneven paving stones. All her months of cross-country training paid off. She didn’t stumble.

Atticus lifted his head, confused, as Casper grabbed his arm, twisted it back behind him, picked him up, and tossed him in the back of the truck.

“NO!” Amy screamed as she ran.

Dan suddenly appeared on her left. He had vaulted over the monument, making better time. In a last burst of speed, he threw himself at Casper.

Casper sent his elbow straight into Dan’s throat. Dan flew backward through the air, his head striking the paving stones with a thud that sent panic shooting through Amy.

The bakery van door slammed.

Sobbing, Amy reached Dan. She crashed to her knees.

“Dan!”

He was out cold. She pressed her cold fingers against his pulse. It skittered against her hand. “Dan!”

She looked up as the red taillights disappeared into the fog. “ATTICUS!” she screamed.

Atticus could smell bread and motor oil, and it made him sick. The truck jounced over the uneven road, slowing down now, which didn’t make the jolts any easier on his head.

When he’d seen movies about things like this, he’d always imagined how he’d react. Using his razor-sharp reflexes and boundless courage, he’d pull a surprise move and use a pencil to stab his abductor. Or he’d leap out of the way, jump onto the roof of a passing car, and escape.

Instead, he’d been picked up like a trussed chicken and tossed on a pile of bread. Before he could even cry out, a gag was stuck in his mouth, and then he’d been shoved in a sack with his hands tied behind his back.

And he was terrified. Maybe courage wasn’t on his list of attributes after all.

He didn’t want to be a Guardian. He didn’t want to know the things his mother had told him. He didn’t want any of this. He was a physical coward. Even Ferris wheels made him sick. He couldn’t do this!

There was one chance. One tiny chance. If Jake would only think of it.

One tiny chance to find him.

Amy and Dan sat on a bench at the monument.

The de Virga was gone. So was Il Milione. It had been taken from Amy’s backpack while she ran to save Atticus.

Amy tried to catch her breath. Her head whirled, and she felt dizzy and cold.

When her phone buzzed, she picked it up with dread in her heart.

Naughty, naughty. You had Il Milione all this time. You really shouldn’t keep secrets from me. Your punishment this time: A Guardian goes down.

“That message that Hamilton saw on Cheyenne’s phone,” Amy said. “‘G is in the picture. Could need removal.’ Why didn’t we realize that Atticus could be in danger! The message was about him!”

“We didn’t know he was a Guardian then,” Dan said. “And then things were happening so fast… .”

“The Vespers will kill him, Dan!” Amy held her head and rocked back and forth.

Just then they saw Jake stride into the square. He scanned the space, and relief crossed his face when he saw them.

Amy and Dan stood up to face him as he came forward.

Tears ran down Amy’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

Rome, Italy

Erasmus stood in McIntyre’s hotel room. He had dealt with the shock. The grief could wait. Grief would cloud his mind, and he needed to be clear.

McIntyre lay sprawled across the couch. A room service tray sat on the desk with the remains of a meal. Erasmus lifted the metal dome over the plate and sniffed. Shrimp. McIntyre was allergic to shrimp.

He pieced together the scenario. McIntyre had ordered room service and then the assailant had posed as a waiter. Picked up any random tray from the hallway, where people often put them instead of calling for pickup. Then after he was finished here, he’d called to cancel the order from the phone, so no one would come to the room until morning.

Erasmus checked the receiver. It had been wiped clean.

McIntyre had been working. His briefcase was open, and files were neatly stacked on the coffee table. Erasmus’s gloved fingers flipped through them quickly. Client files, none of them seeming important. He filed the names away in his memory just in case.

McIntyre was dressed in pants and a shirt and tie, but in his stocking feet.

Things had been taken. Erasmus knew McIntyre was old-fashioned. He always traveled with a yellow legal pad. Gone. His favorite pen, a gift from Grace that also happened to contain a voice recorder for his notes. Gone.

Nothing to see. And yet Erasmus lingered. Something was nagging at him. McIntyre had most likely been working at the couch. He’d slipped off his shoes to get comfortable, loosened his tie. The waiter had come in with the tray. Perhaps McIntyre had not even looked up. And when his guard was down – maybe when he was signing the bill – the waiter had struck.

McIntyre had been standing. Erasmus could tell this by the position of the body. He’d fallen back on the couch. Maybe he’d had only seconds. One arm held close to his body, one arm flopped off the couch and resting, oddly, in his shoe.

Erasmus crossed the room. He squatted by the shoe. He knew he wasn’t supposed to touch anything. He had great respect for the Italian police. He didn’t want to interfere with their investigation. But the hand on the shoe. The fingers were balled into a fist, except for the index finger. As though McIntyre were pointing.

Gently, Erasmus pulled the shoe toward him. He reached inside and felt the crackle of paper. He slipped it out.

For a long moment he couldn’t make sense of it, because it made no sense.

A list of cities. Then, just notes, random ones, written in pencil. He saw the words Guardians and Pompeii.

Noise in the hallway. Time to go.

He placed the paper in the hidden pocket inside his motorcycle jacket. He stood quickly, ready to go. His gaze rested on McIntyre.

No, no … this is not the time for grief!

He pushed the swell of emotion back, slipped on his tinted glasses.

“Good-bye, old friend,” he murmured. “Rest in peace.” His voice broke, and he let the tears fall at last.

Dan sank back down on the cobblestones, his head between his knees. He hadn’t told Amy the truth. He was more than shaken up. His head hurt badly.

He could hear Amy’s voice explaining, talking, promising Jake that they would find Atticus, that she’d die before she let anything happen to him. Jake looked as though he’d been struck and was about to fall down.

The light was slowly coming up, the blacks smudging to grays. They would get the call, or the text, and it would tell them of another death.

Atticus.

Vesper One had been right here. He had taken the map and Il Milione. If Dan had turned, he could have seen him.

The serum was the only thing that could help him now. The only thing that could fight this was power. More power than the world had ever known.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He didn’t want to see the questions from Attleboro on that phone. He didn’t want to give the answers.

He slipped it out of his pocket. The number was blocked.

Suspend judgment. The whole story is always more complex than its parts. Wait. AJT

Dan almost dropped the phone. He read the message again. He reached out and touched the letters AJT.

Arthur Josiah Trent.

What he had hoped for as long as he had a memory had happened. He’d gotten a sign.

His father was still alive.

Sneak Peek

The race to stop the Vespers continues with more dangerous heists to perform, historic treasures to find, and hidden traitors to unmask. Stay one step ahead of your enemy and help save the kidnapped Cahills by following Amy and Dan’s next adventure.

Turn the page for a sneak peek! (Just keep your eyes peeled for Vesper spies …)

In all his eleven years, Atticus Rosenbloom never imagined he’d die on a bed of fresh rolls and sticky buns.

Of course, he never imagined being tied up, shoved into a sack, thrown into the back of a bakery truck, and taken on a high-speed tour over every pothole in the Czech Republic, either. If he needed any proof that hanging out with Amy and Dan Cahill was trouble, this was it.

“Wohogashamee?” he shouted. It was the best he could manage for “Where are you guys taking me?” with a bandanna pulled across his mouth.

It was no use. They couldn’t hear him.

He fought back desperate tears. This had to be a mistake. They must have wanted some other nerdy kid with dreads, a plaid shirt, and beat-up Vans.

He jerked his body left and right, trying to loosen the ropes around his wrists. His head banged against a row of metal shelves. Breads and pastries cascaded to the floor, their sweet, yeasty smell seeming to mock him.

“Careful with the crullers, will you?” came a taunt from the front seat. “We may need them on the flight.”

Atticus froze. He knew the voice.

His brain, which had absorbed eleven languages already, did not forget distinctive sounds. Or near-death experiences. Like yesterday’s, when Dan and Amy lay trapped in a locked, burning library. Atticus and his half brother, Jake, had tried to help, only to be attacked by a woman and a guy dressed in black.

A guy with the same voice as this cruller-loving kidnapper.

Dan said they were killers. Twins. Vespers.

Suddenly, the whole thing was making some awful sense.

He knew Dan and Amy were Madrigals, the elite branch of the world’s most powerful family, the Cahills. The Vespers were bad guys who had kidnapped seven Cahills. As ransom, Dan and Amy had to perform nasty tasks – breaking into museums, stealing ancient artifacts, solving impossible codes. Which they were capable of doing, because they’d found something equally impossible called the 39 Clues.

So why did the Vespers gas Dan and Amy in a library? And why do they want me?

Nuts. The whole thing was nuts!

The truck veered abruptly to the right. Atticus slid on a layer of raspberry jam and banged against the rear door.

As he screamed in pain, the truck came to a sudden stop. The door opened and a pair of hands untied his sack. In a moment, Atticus was squinting against the sudden sunlight. The whoosh of a jet engine nearly knocked him over.

“Sorry for the bumpy ride,” his abductor said, yanking the gag out of his mouth. “The next will be smoother.”

Atticus’s eyes quickly adjusted. The guy was maybe in his twenties. He looked like he’d wandered off the set of a magazine shoot for Travel + Leisure – blond, blue-eyed, tanned, and buff. Atticus could feel the rope being untied from his hands and replaced with a handcuff on one wrist behind him. A silky female voice added, “How many boys your age can say they’ve been on a private jet – for free?”

“I’m not a boy!” Atticus blurted, the words spilling out of his mouth faster than he could think. “Okay, chronologically, yes, eleven years old fits the definition, but in actuality, I’m a college freshman. So if you’re looking for a boy, you’ve made a mistake!”

The woman came around to his side, her wrist now cuffed to his. “Just because we’re holding hands, college boy, don’t get any ideas.”

Atticus recoiled from her clammy grip. She was unmistakably this guy’s twin, but with the blondness cranked up to eleven. Her baker’s uniform had extra-long sleeves to hide the handcuffs from sight.

“We don’t make mistakes, Atticus,” the guy said. “We know you won the county fifth-grade chess championship, and the state spelling bee on the word renaissance. By the way, I always had trouble with that word -”

“Let me go right now or I’ll scream bloody murder!” Atticus shouted.

The man grabbed Atticus by the shirt collar. “If you scream, little dude, there will be bloody murder. And with that one hundred seventy-five IQ, you’re too smart to put your brother and father in danger.”

Atticus tried not to panic. The bits of knowledge – the cruel taunts – were like pricks of a tiny knife blade, keeping him off balance.

The man looked away briefly, checking his reflection in the window of a tan-brick building nearby. He ran his fingers carefully through his hair. “You babysit, Cheyenne. I’ll run ahead to see that the jet’s ready.”

“Make it quick, Casper,” his sister said, pushing Atticus forward. “And be sure there are enough mirrors on board for you.”

“Your names are Casper and Cheyenne?” Atticus managed.

“And our last name is Wyoming. Want to make something of it?” Cheyenne yanked his wrist, picking up the pace. “We’d planned on giving you a meal, a parachute, and a safe landing. We could always forget the parachute.”

“Wh-what are you going to do with me?” Atticus asked.

“We’re taking you to a more secure place,” Cheyenne replied. “For a few questions. A simple transfer of … guardianship.”

The blade twisted.

Atticus had always taken pride in being different. In being one of a kind. But there was one aspect he’d trade in a nanosecond.

He could still hear his mother’s words on her deathbed: I am passing along Guardianship to you… . You must continue. Tradition. So much at stake.

All he knew was that Guardians fought the Vespers. And that he was the only one left.

“I – I don’t know anything about Guardians!” Atticus said.

“Maybe you’ll change your mind when we’re through with you,” Cheyenne said.

Atticus’s legs wobbled. “What if my mom died before she could tell me anything?”

“I’d say that was pretty bad parenting,” Cheyenne said with a shrug.

Atticus’s panicked eyes scanned the airport. In minutes they would be on a plane, speeding away from Prague. He would be Hostage Number Eight. Caught by two Vespers who had already tried to gas Dan and Amy.

The Wyomings would think nothing of whacking Atticus Rosenbloom.

Think, Atticus. It’s the one thing you’re good at.

Casper was barking orders to a gray-haired airport worker at a hangar fifty yards beyond the tan-brick building. Cheyenne was pulling hard, trying to walk faster.

Atticus hated holding hands with this creep. The last female he had ever held hands with was his mom.

Mom, who was the kindest, smartest woman he ever knew.

Mom, who was a Guardian. Who told him in her last breath to stay friends with Dan Cahill. Who knew trouble was ahead.

Guardians were mixed up with the Cahills. Mom must have known something like this would happen. She had been taking precautions for years. She had secret papers. A weird tech guru on retainer.

Beezer.

The name popped like a flash of neon out of an inky mental cloud – Max Beezer, Mom’s tech guy. Atticus and Jake had found tons of his little gadgets after Mom had died. Max had turned most of them over to Mom’s assistant, Dave Speminer, but he had saved some of the cool ones for Atticus. Like the miniature tracker that he and Jake had been tinkering with yesterday. Neither of them was sure how it worked. It was nanotech. Weird design, way too tiny.

But worth a try.

He needed a moment alone. With his key chain.

Frantically he felt in his left pocket, but the chain was gone. He slowed down and moaned deeply, doubling over.

Cheyenne glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m okay. Really.” Atticus convulsed again. “All those pastries on the truck … plus motion sickness. Bad combo. But I’ll be f-f-fine.”

“Oh, great -” Cheyenne stopped.

Casper’s voice bellowed from within: “What do you mean, the plane isn’t ready? Hello? Earth to old guy? We paid you in advance.”

Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “Don’t ever treat your elders like that if you grow up.” Glancing toward the battered men’s room door, she said, “This isn’t a stupid trick, is it?”

Atticus gulped down some air. “I’ll just” – breath – “sit next to you on the plane” – breath – “and hold it in.”

“No, you won’t.” She pushed him toward the men’s room door, kicked it open, and immediately blanched. “Ucch. That is the grossest thing I’ve seen in my life.”

“I don’t mind.” Atticus pulled her inside, but she yanked back.

Reaching into her pocket, she took out a set of cuff keys and unlocked him. “You have two minutes. And don’t try anything funny, or you will be so sorry.”

Atticus peered into the bathroom and grimaced. “I need my key chain. So I can use my disinfectant.”

“Your what?” Cheyenne said.

“My Germ Away,” Atticus replied.

“What kind of eleven-year-old boy takes disinfectant into a men’s room?” Cheyenne snapped.

“A clean one?” Atticus offered with a shrug. “It’s just that … well, you see the sink and the toilet… . I mean, we’ll be handcuffed together and all… .”

Cheyenne’s face was turning green. She reached into her pocket and pulled out Atticus’s enormous key ring. It contained seven keys, five plastic store rewards cards, a screwdriver, a flash drive, and a tiny but festive-looking can of Germ Away. She carefully examined the ring, item by item.

Atticus held his breath.

A slow smile crept across his captor’s face as she held up the flash drive. “Ooh, clever boy. A transmitter!” She unhooked the drive, dropped it to the ground, and crushed it beneath her boot. With a triumphant, malevolent grin, she handed the key ring to Atticus. “Welcome to the big leagues, where IQ runs a distant second to street smarts. You have two minutes.”

Atticus’s jaw dropped. He cast a forlorn glance at the shattered pile of plastic and steel on the ground. As he turned to the men’s room, he fought back a sob.

Slamming the door behind him, he flicked on the light.

One minute and fifty-four seconds.

He turned the sink taps all the way. Brown water gushed out loudly into a stained basin. He moaned. He could hear Cheyenne calling out to her brother.

Atticus held up his key ring, separating out the small can of Germ Away. Carefully he twisted open the cap.

It beeped.

Fingers shaking, he tapped an app on the tiny screen. And he began typing a code into the keypad.

“Honestly, you stood there while they took the boy away?” asked Ian Kabra.

Amy shrank into the hotel room sofa. She felt numb. On Dan’s laptop, Ian’s features were exaggerated, his eyes wide and accusing. Behind him was the gleaming high-tech Cahill headquarters in Attleboro, Massachusetts, which Amy had designed. Once upon a time, Ian’s dark, dreamy eyes had made her melt inside. The angle of his head, the wrinkle in the left corner of his lip – they’d obsessed her. And he’d been obsessed right back.

Now all Amy wanted to do was throw her shoe at the screen. She hated him. She hated his tone of voice.

She hated that he was right.

Reagan Holt, Ted Starling, Natalie Kabra, Phoenix Wizard, Alistair Oh, Fiske Cahill, and Nellie Gomez – seven people she cared about were festering in a jail cell. And now Atticus was gone.

What kind of family leader lets those kinds of things happen?

“Yeah, that’s exactly what they did,” Jake Rosenbloom blurted out, pacing the floor. “Nothing!”

“It’s my fault.” Amy glanced at her brother, who was curled up on the sofa in the fetal position. “Just me. Not Dan. I should have seen this coming.”

On the screen, Sinead Starling elbowed Ian aside. Her red hair was pulled back with a rubber band, her delicate features taut with urgency. “I’ve alerted every Cahill in the area, our contacts at the Prague police, the Czech embassy, airports, limo services, every bakery from Pilsen to Hradec Kralove. Nothing yet. I’m thinking the Wyomings used a private jet. Short flight, no conspicuous-looking fuel drain.”

“They told me not to call the police!” Jake fumed, as if Sinead hadn’t said a word. “Then they shoved me into a cab and took me here! Some family you have – thieves and cowards.”

Amy bit her lip. She wished she could have called the authorities. But she and Dan were wanted for stealing a world-famous Caravaggio painting called the “Medusa,” at the demand of Vesper One. Jake himself had turned them in to Interpol. Police were the last people they could afford to see now.

“Coming to us was the right thing to do,” Sinead said. “We’ll find him. We have the resources.”

“What if you can’t find him?” Dan’s outburst startled them all. He looked up from his smartphone, his eyes streaked with tears. On his screen was an image of a skinny kid with dreads and a goofball smile. Atticus.

Amy ached for her brother. It hadn’t been easy for Dan to make friends after the Clue hunt. He’d survived a collapsing cave, been helicoptered to the top of Mount Everest, become trapped in an Egyptian tomb, watched a man die in Jamaican quicksand, and been entrusted with a complex five-hundred-year-old formula. What other kid could relate to that?

Atticus could. He was the only one who really “got” Dan.

“I jinxed him …” Dan murmured. “It is my fault.”

Jake’s breath caught in his throat. He let out an explosive moan, more animal than human. A sound impossible to hear without becoming physically ill.

Amy knew what it felt like to fear for your own brother’s life. She had been lucky. Dan was alive.

And she felt guilty she hadn’t shown Jake the text message Dan had received from Vesper One:

You had Il Milione all this time. You really shouldn’t keep secrets from me. Your punishment this time: A Guardian goes down.

Despite all her training, she’d been caught totally unaware. Because she and Dan had been

making a drop, and drops were always safe.

I should have been watching Atticus like a hawk. How could I have been so stupid?

As much as she’d wanted to tell Jake about the note, she couldn’t. Jake was a powder keg. He hated the Cahills and he’d betrayed Dan and Amy once. If he did it again, it meant jail time. Which meant death to the hostages.

And no hope for Atticus.

“This is about that Guardian nonsense, isn’t it?” Jake said, nearly spitting his words. “Atticus’s grandmother guarded some ancient map, which you guys stole from the library. My stepmother must have guarded something, too. Tell me, what was it? And what was Att supposed to be guarding?”

Amy replied with the truth. “We d-d-don’t know,” she said, fighting back the stammer that kicked in whenever she was bottoming out.

“And neither does he,” Jake said. “So whatever this secret unknown thing is, it must be … unguarded. Am I right?”

Amy shook her head helplessly. “M-maybe.”

“So whoever wants it wouldn’t want the Guardian to find out about it,” Jake barreled on, his voice rising in fury. “Because then he would go and guard it. So these Vespers … it would be in their interest to … to kill …”

Logic. Stupid, cold, awful, cruel logic. Stop it!

“They’re lying!” Dan blurted out, his words sounding hollow and desperate. “That’s what they do best. They said they would kill a hostage, too. But they didn’t.”

“They shot someone in the shoulder,” Jake said. “That’s close enough!”

Amy winced at the memory of the hideous footage of Nellie Gomez, their onetime au pair and now legal guardian, writhing bloody in the hostages’ secret location.

Sinead’s voice blared from the laptop. “Our operatives found a suspected Vesper command center in Legnica, Poland. Former Tomas territory. We’ve got the place under surveillance. Atticus could be there. So could the hostages.”

Jake turned and bolted for the door. “I’m out of here. I will find my brother if it kills me. And if it does, I will take you all down with me.”

Amy raced after him. “Jake, you can’t!”

“ ’Sup, Attleboro-o-o-o?” came a loud stadium cheer from the monitor. Despite the fact that the image was mostly cap, sunglasses, chains, and radiant smile, there was no mistaking the face of world-famous rap artist Jonah Wizard. “Yo, my homeys, listen up – okay, my boy Hamburger and me? We’re waiting here in Roma so long I’m afraid my cover is going to stop working. Do you know how hard it is to hide from fans in a country where my sales are through the roof?”

Jake paused for a moment, startled. He turned briefly to the screen, giving Amy just enough time to dart between him and the door.

On-screen, someone was bumping Jonah from the side.

Despite his muscle-packed, two-hundred-pound physique, Hamilton Holt had a hard time jostling Jonah for screen time. “Sorry, dude, but it’s grub time and I’m wasting away. What Jonah means to say is, we were supposed to meet Erasmus, but he didn’t show up.”

“You guys are related to Jonah Wizard?” Jake asked, his lip curled disdainfully.

“And the other guy,” Dan grumbled. “Vin Diesel’s stunt double.”

Jonah pushed his way into view again. “Yo, also? My man, Mac and Cheese? He didn’t show up, either.”

“He means McIntyre,” Hamilton clarified. “Is this a lawyer thing, to miss meetings?”

“That’s not like him,” Sinead replied. “Or Erasmus.”

“Did you say McIntyre?” Jake said. “As in William McIntyre?”

“You know him?” Jonah asked. “Skinny guy, a little dusty, nose like a screwdriver, kind of boring?”

“Yeah, I know him,” Jake replied. “He’s my dad’s lawyer. And he’s tough. Anything happens to Atticus, I will get him to sue you blind.”

Amy took a deep breath. McIntyre was their confidant and friend, the man who set the hunt for the 39 Clues in motion. He had been there in the background, watching over them, like the eyes and ears of their late grandmother Grace. Painfully formal, he was the last person in the world who’d appreciate being called Mac and Cheese.

He was also the last person who would ever sue Dan and Amy.

“Sit, Jake,” she said firmly. “This is more complicated than you think.”

Dan shut the bedroom door quietly behind him. No more noise.

Enough of Jake’s anger. Enough thinking about what happened to Atticus. One more moment and he would split apart.

He needed hope. Now.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his most recent text:

Suspend judgment. The whole story is always more complex than its parts. Wait.

AJT

The words made his blood race. The sight of those initials: AJT. The initials of his long-dead father. Arthur Josiah Trent.

Dan had only known him by the stories Amy told. By a blurry face in a tattered photograph he’d lost in the Paris Metro. AJT had died in a fire nine years ago. A fire that consumed his house and both of Dan’s parents.

When this message came in, Amy had scoffed. It could be anyone. Which was logical.

But life was not ruled by logic. If the 39 Clues had taught Dan one thing, that was it. Sometimes good was bad, sometimes dead was alive.

Dan poised his thumbs over the keypad. There were so many questions he could ask to prove the ID.

Then, if AJT did prove to be real, Dan could ask him … well, everything. Whether Erasmus’s tale was true – that Dad had been recruited by the Vespers as a young man. That Dad had renounced them, married Mom, and become a Cahill. He could find out how Dad had miraculously survived the fire.

But Dan’s thumbs were frozen. The truth terrified him. Either way.

If AJT wasn’t his dad, hope would be completely lost. Somehow, if you didn’t know the truth, the possibility stayed alive.

But if he was, how could Dan adjust to his father coming back to life? Could he forgive the lack of contact? What kind of man would let his own son think he was dead for nine years?

And how could Dan deal with a father who was a Vesper?

Suspend judgment… .

Dan’s eyes filled with tears. Images raced through his mind – helicopter blades cutting the cable of the gondola in Zermatt. The sight of Nellie, bloody and pale. The boat chase that had nearly killed them on Lake Como, and the halon gas in the library in Prague.

“Suspend judgment for what?” he murmured under his breath. “For nearly allowing your own kids to die?”

No. He couldn’t complete this circuit.

He tossed the phone into a corner. It bounced harmlessly on the rug. That was exactly how he felt – harmless. Powerless. Tiny. Confused.

He was tired of being the helpless kid. The victim. The chased. The lackey for a voiceless Vesper. When would it stop? Why could they never be on top – why was it that he never scared anyone?

It doesn’t have to be this way… .

Numbers and symbols spilled from his memory – a complex set of ingredients and precise formulas. It was the life’s work of their ancestor, Gideon Cahill. A formula thought to have been destroyed in 1507, discovered in a cave in Ireland, and now known only by Dan. It granted superhuman abilities. Strength to overcome any attack. Speed to move great distances. Intelligence to outthink an army.

With it, every decision was clear. Every enemy was doomed.

Every mystery yielded to utter clarity.

Cheyenne and Casper Wyoming wouldn’t stand a chance. The mystery of AJT would be resolved.

Dan wouldn’t wonder if he had a father. He would know. He would know whether he was the one thing he wanted to be, more than anything else.

A son.

A son to the most detestable man in the world.

Twenty-six more ingredients. That’s what he needed. He had thirteen of the difficult ones already – myrrh from a Chinese herbalist, iron solute and a solution containing tungsten ions from a machine shop, amber from a jeweler, iodine from a pharmacy, and a bunch of stuff from various chemical suppliers: mercury, liquid gold, zinc, magnesium, phosphorus, sulfur, calcium carbonate, and soluble silver in the form of silver nitrate. Some of the others, like water, clover, salt, and cocoa, would be easy.

“Dan, what are you doing?” Amy’s voice suddenly called from the doorway.

Dan jumped. “Come on in, the door’s open, thanks for knocking.”

“I wanted to talk about Jake,” she said softly.

“Oh, great,” Dan grumbled. “Mr. Congeniality.”

“He’s so angry all the time. I can’t bring myself to show him the text from …” Amy’s eyes locked on the phone, resting on the carpet. Its screen glowed with the text from AJT. She sighed.

Dan scowled. “Here comes the lecture.”

She sat on the floor next to him. “Dan, Dad was a Cahill. Through and through. Even if he wasn’t born one. I wish you could remember his eyes. When you were little, he’d hold you up to everyone and say -”

“‘Moon face,’ yeah, I know, you told me a billion times,” Dan said.

“You both would flash this big, identical grin,” Amy said. “Mom said you were twins separated by a generation. The man wasn’t capable of evil. His life was not a lie. If you really knew him, you’d never say the names Vesper and Arthur Trent in the same breath.”

“People lie, Amy,” Dan protested. “People pretend -”

“Dan, there were two bodies in the fire,” Amy insisted. “No one could have lived through that. Besides, if he were alive, he’d be with us. He wouldn’t have stayed away from the Clue hunt. He would have led it.”

Dan spun around. “The bodies were burned beyond recognition. They could have been anybody. Uncle Alistair survived a cave collapse, Amy! Cahills do things like that. And if Dad tried to save Mom, then watched her burn to death – in a fire set by her own family? Because Isabel Kabra thought they were hiding one of the thirty-nine clues? You think he’d just be a happy Cahill after that?”

Amy’s face drained of color. “What are you saying, Dan?”

“Remember Grace’s note – the one we found after discovering the secret to the clues?” Dan said. “She said the Cahill family was broken. Untrustworthy. Isabel set the fire, and no one helped out – the Holts, Uncle Alistair, none of them. I’m saying Dad would have seen them for what they are. Murderers.”

Amy’s face darkened. “So you think he went over to the dark side, just like that?”

“He would have seen it the opposite way, Amy,” Dan said. “The dark side was what he left.”

Amy reared back her hand to slap Dan. He reeled in shock.

Before she could move, a beep sounded from Dan’s smartphone.

They both froze.

Dan stooped to pick up the phone and noticed a blinking icon across the top of the screen. A GPS signal. He opened the app and saw a signal moving across a map of western Europe. Its origin was RUZYNE AIRPORT, PRAGUE. It was moving east.

Along the bottom was the name A. ROSENBLOOM.

“Wake up and smell the limestone,” said Cheyenne Wyoming, yanking the blindfold from Atticus’s face.

He blinked. On the plane, hours earlier, he had lined up his worst fears – torture, plane crash, poisoning, being shoved out at thirty thousand feet.

Waking up at Site Number Seven on his Cool World Travel Wish List would not have been anywhere near the top.

Awestruck, he stared into a scene of lopsided, cone-shaped mountains, like giant castles made of dripping wet sand. “We’re in Goreme, Turkey?” he said, his voice still froggy from a forced sleep.

“You’re familiar with this dump?” Cheyenne said.

“In actuality,” Atticus said, “it’s one of the most interesting geological formations on the planet. If I weren’t with you, I’d be running around like, woo-hoo -”

Casper pushed him hard. Atticus stumbled forward, his sleepy eyes focusing. His brain suddenly connected with something that had been dulled by sleep.

His terror.

Bread truck. Sack. Handcuffs. Jet. It all rushed back.

They had knocked him out on the plane. Cheyenne insisted on it. She was afraid he’d get sick.

He glanced around for a way to escape. He was no longer handcuffed, but there was nowhere to run. It looked as if they were in a vast moonscape, the monstrous rock formations casting deep shadows in the afternoon sun. He’d seen photos, but in person they were much bigger – like giant rock fingers poked through with enormous holes. Caves.

They were heading toward the largest rock, shaped like a sinking ship. At its base, an ominous-looking sign had been tied to a trash can:

Atticus rubbed his eyes, recalling his years of online language tutorials. “Wait, that’s Turkish,” he murmured. “And it means ‘Danger: Collapsed Cave.’ ”

“Don’t believe everything you read,” Cheyenne said.

She shoved him in before he could protest. He hit his head and had to duck low to fit through. His ankle twisted as it landed between two wooden planks, rotted and termite-eaten. Cheyenne scampered on ahead, waving a flashlight.

“I can’t see!” Atticus said.

“Casper, where are you?” Cheyenne called over her shoulder.

“Emptying my pockets.” Another flashlight beam, behind Atticus, began illuminating the planks. “A trash can outside. All the convenience of home.”

Atticus stumbled along, his head scraping the low ceiling. “Wh-where are you taking me?”

“To a place where we can talk in private.” Cheyenne stopped short. She gestured into a corner of the cave, sweeping aside a thick spiderweb. “Go.”

Atticus peered into the pitch darkness. The cave seemed to end there, a tiny, dank chamber big enough for one person. Nothing beyond. Just a cranny in a cave where a dead body could rot and no one would ever see it.

Cheyenne pushed him in. As his back hit the cragged wall, she and her brother crowded close to him. A light blinked on above, bathing them all in a greenish white glow. “Unrecognized DNA,” a mechanical voice droned.

“Allow access!” Casper called out.

A series of beeps was followed by “Voice recognition accepted.”

The ground rumbled. With a loud scraping noise, the floor beneath their feet began to move. They were on a circular platform, slowly sinking.

“No!” Atticus reached for the lip of the floor, but Casper batted his arms away. Bright lights flickered on below their feet, and soon the cramped, stinking cave gave way to a vast underground chamber.

The place was freezing. Enormous maps spanned the walls. A news ticker scrolled headlines near the ceiling. A bank of clocks ticked in unison, telling time in different parts of the world to the thousandth of a second. Brushed-steel cabinets lined the walls near empty computer workstations, their black, webbed chairs gathering dust.

The platform reached the chamber floor with a dull thump. Casper grabbed a chair. “Make yourself at home.”

Atticus sank into the chair, sending up a small cloud of wispy dust. His throat was dry. He had to swallow twice before he could eke out a sound. “What am I supposed to do?”

Cheyenne pulled a handkerchief from her bag and dusted off two seats. The twins sat. “Tell us what you know.”

“About what?” Atticus asked.

Cheyenne glanced at her brother, rolling her eyes. “The genius thinks he’s too smart for us nincompoops.”

“About being a Guardian!” Casper exploded, lunging forward.

Atticus screamed. His leg dug reflexively into the floor, propelling the chair backward. He crashed against a computer table, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

Casper cracked up. “Brave kid.”

“I suggest cutting to the chase,” Cheyenne said, looking brightly around the room. “No one can hear you in here. No one knows where you are. You will not leave until you answer. And you will not live if you don’t.”

“I don’t know anything!” Atticus insisted. “I told you! My mom was dying. She said I was a Guardian. She said we were enemies of you guys. The Vespers. She said you were after some secret. It was all in fragments – I can barely remember.”

Casper grinned. He stood slowly and sauntered to the wall. There, he opened a cabinet door. “Maybe we can change that,” he said.

Inside were a series of long knives. Casper pulled one out, a thin blade that made a high-pitched shhhhink.

Atticus felt the blood rush from his head. For a moment he could see only white spots. The room around him seemed to shrink, its frigid temperature warming, the walls rushing in, everything decaying into a tiny trap… .

His brain flashed an image of the tiny room at the airport. A men’s room. A tiny can.

Germ Away.

“I know! I mean, I don’t know!” he blurted, words propelling through his mouth before he could think. “That is, in actuality, I don’t know the information. In my head. But I have it. All of it. That’s how we Guardians do it. Even though we’re, like, nerds and geniuses, all we know is the inscription.”

Casper cocked his head. “The what?”

“Encryption!” Atticus said.

Slow down. Think.

Casper came closer, casually sliding the blade along his fingernail and shaving off a thin slice as if it were butter. “Go on… .”

“It … it’s a precaution,” he said. “To avoid hypnosis. And torture. And truth serums. We just know the key sequence, that’s all. So we can decrypt it.”

Casper flung the blade’s tip forward, sending a fingernail into Atticus’s face. “What. Exactly. Is it. That you decrypt?”

“It’s all in my flash drive!” Atticus said.

Cheyenne looked dismayed. “The one I smashed under my foot at the airport?”

“No!” Atticus shot back. “Another one. Hidden on my key chain.”

Casper’s face darkened. He lifted the blade carefully over his head. Then, with gritted teeth, he hurled the knife at Atticus.

Atticus screamed and ducked. The blade tore through the fabric of the seat and impaled itself into the table behind.

“That’s for making me have to go and get that stupid key chain,” Casper said. “I threw it in the trash can outside. It was ruining the hang of my pants.”

As he left, Cheyenne walked over to the bank of clocks. She stopped near one that said EASTERN STANDARD TIME, US, which read 7:02 A.M.

“This is Boston time, set precisely by the atomic clock,” she said. “All your little friends are waking up and getting ready for school. In a half hour, at seven thirty-two, they will be running for the school bus. And you, halfway across the world, will have decrypted your flash drive and given us all your supposed information.”

Atticus was shaking too hard to agree.

A half hour?

Even if he could make contact – with anyone – a half hour was not enough time. “I – I – m-m -”

“Chill out,” Cheyenne said. “You’re among friends.”

“I may need more time,” Atticus blurted out. “I need to … write code.”

“It’s a fast computer,” Cheyenne drawled.

“But I’m a human,” Atticus said. “Not even Mark Zuckerberg can code that fast!”

Cheyenne walked to the table where the knife was lodged. She yanked it out and held it toward the light. “Well, then … epic fail.”