The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 2: A King's Ransom (19 page)

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 …)