The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 5: Trust No One (5 page)

“Okay,” she said. She nodded at Sinead. “Let’s do it. As soon as we get to Yale.”

As Sinead searched for a parking spot, Amy saw that Yale looked exactly like she’d imagined it would, autumn sunlight warming the pale honey-colored stone buildings, students everywhere. It was a New England postcard come to life.
I bet the libraries here are awesome,
she thought.

Sinead eased the SUV into a space on a side street that led to the Beinecke Library. Amy took out her phone slowly, still thinking. She tapped idly at the screen to bring up her messages, then frowned.

“That’s strange,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” Sinead asked.

“Error message. No connection.”

“Mine, too,” Dan said from the back.

“Want me to have a look?” Sinead asked.

Amy reached for the door handle. “Maybe it would be better outside the car.”

“Wait,” Sinead said. “Let me see it first.”

Amy caught it then — the strained, overeager tone of Sinead’s voice. Her brain turned over slowly:
Why does Sinead want to get her hands on my phone?

Amy got out of the car and looked at her phone. She was getting a signal now. Sinead jumped out of the driver’s side and rushed around the front of the car.

“I can fix it!” Sinead shouted and snatched at the phone. She knocked it out of Amy’s hand, and it fell to the ground.

But Amy had already seen the first of several text messages from Evan.

URGENT — SINEAD MOLE.

Reeling.

That’s what it said in books: “So-and-so reeled at the news.” Now Amy knew what it felt like.

Her stomach reeled — churning and roiling with that about-to-be-sick feeling. Her vision reeled, the world spinning and swirling in maniacal loops of color. And her brain reeled, the thoughts careening around and smashing into each other.

Amy raised her eyes slowly to meet Sinead’s. Evan hadn’t gotten it wrong: The bitterness in Sinead’s eyes was so sharp that Amy could almost taste it.

“Why?” Amy asked, her voice barely more than a squeak.

Jake started to get out of the car, but Amy raised her hand in a fierce gesture to stop him.

“You don’t have a clue, do you?” Sinead said. Her voice was ice-cold and hot with anger at the same time. It was like a different person speaking — someone Amy didn’t know. “My brothers. They’ll never be the same.”

Ted, blind. Ned, incapacitated by terrible headaches for which doctors could find neither cause nor cure. Their injuries had occurred near the very start of the hunt for the 39 Clues.

“If it weren’t for Grace’s stupid competition, nothing would have happened to them. I hate the Cahills. Everything about them, everything they stand for. And that includes you.”

Amy’s stomach still felt utterly unreliable. She swallowed hard. “So you — you’re with
them
now?”

Sinead nodded. “The Vespers won’t stop at anything. They’re going to be the most powerful people on the planet. And with all that money and power, they might be able to help Ned and Ted.”

“But Ted is one of the hostages!” Amy protested. “How could you —”

For the first time, Sinead seemed to waver a little. “He’s not going to be harmed. And once I explain everything to him, he’ll understand.”

Amy’s mind was still trying to get hold of the idea that their friendship for the past two years was a complete sham. The very ground she stood on felt shaky at the thought.
How can I ever trust my own judgment again?

Sinead was still speaking. “We’re triplets,” she said, “and you can’t possibly imagine what that means. Whatever you feel for Dan, it’s
nothing
, not a rat’s ass compared to —”

Without even thinking about it, Amy kicked out as hard as she could, striking Sinead on her left side.

Sinead’s legs buckled momentarily but she regained her balance, then turned and ran.

Amy was caught off guard; she had expected Sinead to fight back. In the second it took her to adjust and start running, Sinead got a good head start.

Faster!
Amy’s feet pounded hard on the pavement, keeping time with her throbbing pulse. She heard voices and the sound of car doors slamming as the three boys joined in the chase well behind her.

Then Sinead took a sharp left turn between two buildings. Amy saw her just in time and made the turn herself. She tried to yell to let the boys know, but what came out was a breathless, jagged noise that didn’t make sense even to her.

She found herself running down a narrow alley that led to a little courtyard with wrought-iron patio furniture. A dense bed of ivy grew along the base of the back wall, which was ten feet high and topped with a row of ornate iron spikes. No sound of the boys behind her; they must have missed the turnoff.

Sinead spun around to face Amy. Sinead raised one arm; she seemed to be holding something very small between her thumb and forefinger.

“It’s a gun,” Sinead said menacingly. “Don’t come any closer.” She raised her voice to a near-scream. “Stay right where you are or I’ll shoot!”

Amy wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry — to laugh at Sinead’s straight-from-Hollywood-cliché line or to cry because her best friend was pointing a gun at her.
At least, she seems to think it’s a gun. . . .

“A gun — yeah, right,” Amy said, trying to make her voice sound tough. “An invisible gun? Or maybe an imaginary one?”

“It’s a SwissMiniGun,” Sinead said. “The smallest in the world. Real bullets.”

“There’s no gun that small,” Amy said.

“Oh, yeah? Want to find out?” Sinead taunted.

If I can get close enough,
Amy thought,
maybe I can pin her to the wall, keep her there until the boys show up.
She took a slow, cautious step toward Sinead, who backed up a corresponding step. They continued this dance until Sinead was standing in the ivy with nowhere to go.

“Don’t come any closer!” Sinead screeched.

Amy took a breath to try to keep any tremor out of her voice. “I don’t believe it’s a gun,” she said. “You’re gonna have to prove it to me.”

She took one more step.

With a roar, Sinead lunged forward, grabbed Amy’s arm, and shoved something against her neck.

Instantly, instinctively, Amy twisted her head and body. Then —
BANG!

Am I dead?

The inside of Amy’s head was shuddering violently, as if it held a giant gong that had just been struck full force.

My ear — my right ear — oh, my God, it really WAS a gun — I can’t believe — what’s wrong with my ear?

Meanwhile, Sinead was attempting to reposition the gun for another shot; not surprisingly, a delicate and fiddly operation. Amy yelled, her own voice sounding dull through the gonging in her brain. She wrenched her arm free and went into kickboxing mode.

For an agonizing second, Amy stood frozen. Still dizzy and disoriented, was she really going to have to engage in a one-on-one, full-contact, bare-knuckle fight? Despite the months of kickboxing lessons with Sensei Takamoto, she had never truly imagined what it would be like to attack another human being.

Then her vision cleared and her gaze landed on the gun. Sinead had her finger on the tiny trigger.

It was amazing how fast Amy’s self-defense mechanism kicked in. She went straight to her best move, spinning to her right and using the one-two of centrifugal force and thrust to connect with Sinead’s hand.

Solid contact: A tiny object flew through the air and fell into the ivy.

“NO!” Sinead shouted. She dropped to her knees, scrabbling through the ivy vines in a desperate search.

Amy had seen the gun fall to her right; Sinead was looking in the wrong place.
Go for it! NOW!

Another solid hit: Sinead plowed into a planter, crushing a geranium and scattering its scarlet petals. But she was on her feet again in the next second. Abandoning all of Sensei’s dictates, she launched herself at Amy, knocked her to the ground, and started in on a good old-fashioned hair-pulling, nail-clawing catfight, complete with screeches.

It was absurd: Amy wanted to cry out, “No, no! This is NOT what we were taught!” But she was too busy trying to keep Sinead’s claws out of her eyes.

Sinead was on top, and she was bigger and stronger than Amy. One of Amy’s arms was pinned under Sinead’s knee. Her left hand yanked at Amy’s hair while her right went for a stranglehold to the throat.

Amy tried to smash Sinead’s nose with a flat palm but couldn’t generate any real force. All she did was shove Sinead’s face back a few inches. Sinead was bearing down as hard as she could on Amy’s throat. Struggling vainly, her airway closing off, Amy was starting to see stars.

Sinead had a death grip, with most of her weight behind it. Her eyes glittered with the knowledge that she had a clear edge in the fight.

As strangled, choking sounds came from her throat, Amy did the only thing she could think of: She used her remaining air to hock a big gob of spit into Sinead’s face.

“AARGH!”

Sinead loosened her grip for just a moment, but it was long enough. Amy head-butted her squarely in the nose. Sinead’s head snapped back, and blood poured from her nostrils. As Sinead clapped her hands to her face in agony, Amy rolled out from under.

For a few moments she saw red — literally, as the capillaries in her eyes were reinfused with blood. She heard the sound before she saw the sight: Sinead, one hand to her nose, running back up the alley.

“HEY!” Jake’s voice. “What the — OOF!”

Sinead had barreled him out of the way.

“Stop her!” Amy tried to shout, but what came out was barely above a whisper.

Jake rushed into the courtyard to see Amy on her knees in the ivy. It was too late to go after Sinead.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Jake asked.

No. I’m not okay. I might never be okay again.
But she nodded mutely.

“What happened to your neck?” he said, crouching next to her.

Amy became aware of a sore spot on the side of her neck that seemed to be something apart from the bruises caused by Sinead’s grip.

“Hold still,” he said and touched the spot gingerly. He frowned and looked at his fingertips, which were dusted with a gray substance.

“Argahgargah,” she said, then cleared her throat twice and still the words came out raspy. “That must be, like, gunshot residue.”

“She had a GUN!?” Jake looked stricken.

Her ear still ringing, Amy slumped against the wall. She felt something under her hand and picked it up.

“What is it?” Jake was kneeling beside her.

She held out her hand, palm outstretched. In it was the smallest gun either of them had ever seen.

The barrel was still warm.