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 …”
“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
“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
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?
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.
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,
