The 39 Clues Invasion (4 page)

The burglar followed cautiously, still wiping paint out of his eyes. As Atticus huddled in a corner of the basement, he heard the intruder descending into the darkness, testing each step on the way down. But Atticus hadn’t weakened the wooden steps to collapse under the man’s weight — he had no desire to be stuck in a confined space with an angry criminal.

Atticus hoped the lack of light would hide him, but the moon was shining through the window as the burglar advanced across the basement. The man pulled off his black balaclava, used it to wipe the paint from his face, and glared across the room at Atticus. His nose was flattened and he had a nasty scar along his jawline.

“Listen, kid,” the man said, carefully stepping over old bikes and gardening equipment. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but you tried to stop us. Just give up, and you’ll live through this. Otherwise . . .” He smacked his fist against his palm with a sickening
thud
.

Atticus said nothing, counting silently to himself as the man approached through the gloom.
Five, four
. . . the man looked around, expecting something to fly at him . . .
three, two
. . . finally, the burglar stepped over the last shovel . . .
one.

Atticus flipped the switch. A powerful lightbulb went on, bathing the room in light. Atticus was forced to squint, but there was an array of fifty mirrors behind him, all focused on the burglar. The man yelled in shock as his face was blasted with light.

The Greek inventor Archimedes had supposedly used a series of mirrors on cliffs to burn holes in the sails of Roman invaders’ ships. Atticus had adapted the principle to win the state science fair, and now his science project gave him the opportunity to dash up the stairs while the burglar tripped over bikes, broken weed whackers, and garden hoses, clutching at his temporarily blinded eyes.

At the top of the stairs, Atticus slammed the door shut and locked it. It took several seconds of shoving, but he finally toppled a trophy case, which fell across the door with a crash. It held the two brothers’ academic awards and Jake’s track-and-field trophies, though now a certificate was ripped and one of the trophies had snapped in two. But right now, trapping a burglar in the basement was the only prize Atticus cared about.

Dan pressed back into the closet as the intruder’s footsteps came down the hall toward him. Dan stood knee-deep in Jake’s dirty laundry, and he was pretty sure there were some sweaty socks or something down there. They did
not
smell pretty.

Dan tried to hold his breath as he heard the tall burglar turning the handle. The sound of the door hinges squeaking open filtered into the musty closet. Dan’s hand was poised over the remote control, but then the noise abruptly stopped.

For a moment Dan panicked. Had the burglar seen the trap? Dan listened for two horrified seconds until he heard the noise he had been waiting for. The burglar took another step — he was in the room. Dan jammed his finger down on the remote and covered his ears.

“
Yo!
” Jonah Wizard’s voice screamed out as the bass drum throbbed and synthesizers blared. “
This gangsta may not be teary eyed, but that doesn’t mean he don’t hurt on the inside. Even gangstas got feelings. . . .
” Dan didn’t know where Jake had gotten the enormous speakers, but the dude had a ridiculously overpowered sound system. And if the burglar’s yells were any measure, they had been placed at ear level right where the burglar was standing. The song cued up didn’t even get through the first line before one of the speakers went flying across the room and smacked into the wall.

Dan pressed his eye to the narrow slit between the wall and the closet door and saw the burglar advance to the center of the room, clawing frantically at his ears. Dan’s heart froze as the hulking man stumbled toward the closet door.
Outside
, Dan mouthed silently.
Look outside.

His heart restarted as the burglar veered off toward the window. Dan had left it hanging open, with the anchors of a metal fire-escape ladder hooked to the sill. The man swore and stepped to the window, leaning out to look for his prey.

His ears ringing with the sound of Jonah Wizard’s hit single, the burglar couldn’t hear the closet door open, or the sound of Dan tiptoeing across the room with a baseball bat.

Here’s the pitch
, Dan heard the Red Sox radio announcer’s voice in his head as he wound up.
Ortiz swings . . .
The man yelled as the bat made contact, and his legs flailed in the air as he jolted forward.
It’s deep right, way back . . .
Dan dropped the bat and slammed his shoulder into the burglar’s butt . . .
waaaay back . . .
the man yelled hoarsely as he fell headfirst toward the ground outside. Dan heard tree branches cracking as the man fell, and then a
thud
, followed by a yelp from below.
And it’s gone! The Red Sox win it!

Simeon heard the blaring music from the upstairs bedrooms, and the shouts from the basement. But they didn’t mean anything to him. He didn’t care if the goons killed the children.

He had a job to do.

The wires were snipped, and the security devices were inoperative. Now all he had to do was pick the lock on the study door, grab the files, and run.

But something was off. He tried to jiggle the pick, but it wouldn’t move. He withdrew it slowly — and found it covered in goop. Honey. The brats had squirted honey in the lock to slow him down.

No matter
, he thought as he pulled out his hacksaw and screwdriver. Honey couldn’t stop a man with the right tools. Simeon started to twist the screwdriver when something exploded against his hand. There was a great stinging
thwack
against his temple. He raised his arm to protect his face and touched wet paint on his balaclava. It was one of the anklebiters again. But Simeon certainly had the tools for
this
job.

He reached under his jacket and slid the Cretan dagger out of its sheath. Its engraved surface gleamed in the moonlight as he spun quickly to charge at the small boy running toward the back of the house.

When the Rosenbloom kid reached the glass doors in the kitchen that led outside, he stopped and turned. Simeon slowed down and glanced around him. A menacing smile spread across his face as he saw the metal trip wire hooked into an electrical outlet.

“I understand you’re something of a history buff,” Simeon said as he stepped delicately over the wire. “I think you should know that you’re going to be killed by a weapon that dates back to ancient Crete.” Atticus tried to dive past him, but Simeon’s arm flashed out to seize Atticus by the throat. “The Romans, the Saracens, the Venetians, the Turks. In the end the occupiers all faced the Cretan dagger when their power began to wane.”

The boy only squeaked at him, eyes wide.

Simeon raised the dagger, but before he could strike he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He dropped the boy and spun, dancing aside as the blond kid rushed at him with a baseball bat. Simeon effortlessly stepped back, and the bat smacked into the kitchen counter.

Simeon grinned as he advanced on the blond boy. It had been far too long since his weapon had tasted blood. The quarters were too close for the blond boy to swing his bat effectively, and the Cretan dagger had an unquenchable thirst.

Atticus watched in horror as the burglar lunged forward with his dagger. Dan swung the bat, but it got caught in the pots and pans hanging from the kitchen ceiling. As Dan pulled the bat free, the burglar ducked and twisted, launching a powerful kick that crunched into Dan’s stomach. Dan crumpled to the ground, wheezing, and the burglar leaned over and drew back his weapon to strike.

“No!” Atticus shouted and leaped at the man, grabbing his dagger arm with both hands. The burglar reared up and swung his arm, banging Atticus into the counter, then the cabinets, and finally sending him sprawling in front of the sliding glass doors.

The man ran his finger along the engraved flat of the dagger’s blade as he turned around to advance. Through blurry vision Atticus saw Dan crawling toward him, his face flushed bright red as he desperately puffed on his inhaler.

Atticus tried to crawl left, but the man stepped to his right with his dagger, forcing Atticus to shrink back against the glass door. There was no escape. The gleaming knife swayed back and forth in front of him like the head of a viper.

There was a flash of silver as the man pulled the knife back for one killing blow, and then a blur of the colors of Cambridge High School. With a roar, Jake Rosenbloom lowered his shoulder and slammed into the burglar from behind. Glass shattered as the man crashed through the doors and tumbled onto the back porch.

Sirens blared from the front of the house. Atticus had survived the longest five minutes of his life. The police had arrived.

Atticus finally let his breath out and took in ragged gasps of air, watching as the burglar sprinted off into the woods.

“Att, what happened?” Jake asked as he pulled Atticus to his feet and wrapped him in a hug.

“They were burglars, probably after the mask in Dad’s study. Dan and I knew we couldn’t stand up to them, so we fought them with traps.”

Jake pushed Atticus far enough away that he could look down into his brother’s eyes. “You
fought
them? No stupid mask is worth your life. You could have been killed!”

He wasn’t sure when it had started, but Atticus realized he was crying. “I know we should have run, or hidden, or given up. But Jake, if they got the mask and Dad lost his job. . . .”

Jake looked down at his brother in shock.

“Dad and Mom can’t take anything else right now. And if Dad loses his job, what about Mom? We won’t have the money to figure out why she’s sick.” Atticus’s eyes gleamed with tears.

Jake grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “Att! You could have
died
.”

“You wouldn’t understand!” Atticus yelled. “She’s not that important to you!”

“What? Of course she . . .” Jake shook his head in disbelief. “Why would you think that?”

“You act like nothing’s wrong! Whenever I try to talk about it, you try to cheer me up.” Atticus pulled away, and Jake was forced to let him go. “It’s okay. I get it. She’s not really your mom.”