by Rick Riordan
CHAPTER 7
A mile away in Copley Square, Irina Spasky -- code name Team Five -- was worrying
about her poison. She had loaded her fingernail injectors with the usual mixture, but she feared it would not be enough for this meeting.
Back in the Cold War, she and her KGB colleagues used poison-injecting umbrellas, or spray painted toxins on toilet seats. Those were the good old days! Now Irina worked by herself, so she had to keep things simple. The needles extended when she bent back her fingers at the first joint. They were almost impossible to see and caused only a tiny pinprick sensation. The poison would leave her victims very sick, perhaps paralyzed, for many days -- enough to give Irina a good head start in the search. Best of all, the poison was completely untraceable and had no antidote. Unfortunately, it was slow-acting. Her victims might not show symptoms for eight hours or more. If she needed to incapacitate her enemies quickly, she would have to rely on other means.
Ian and Natalie Kabra were not to be underestimated. Back when they were ten and seven, perhaps Irina could've overpowered them. Now they were fourteen and eleven ... a very different story indeed.
She wandered Copley Square, waiting to spot them. They had agreed on standard antisurveillance tactics, only setting a general area and time for their rendezvous. The storm clouds had cleared. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, which Irina hated. All this sunshine and flowers and children playing -- bah.
She preferred a steel-gray winter in St. Petersburg, a much better climate for espionage.
She bought a coffee from a street kiosk, then spotted Ian and Natalie across the plaza, walking in front of Trinity Church. Their eyes met hers briefly and they kept walking. Irina's move. She followed them at a distance, checking to see if they had grown a "tail" -- any surveillance, any followers, any possible angles for photographers. After fifteen minutes, she saw nothing. She waited for them to turn and see her. As soon as they did, Irina turned and walked off. The game reversed. She led them across the plaza, toward the library, knowing they would be watching for tails on her. If they saw anything, Ian and Natalie would disappear. The meeting would be aborted. After fifteen minutes, Irina changed course and noticed the Kabras across Boylston Street, still shadowing her. This meant she was clean. No surveillance. The children turned toward the Copley Plaza Hotel, and Irina followed.
They met in the busy lobby, where neither party could ambush the other. Natalie and Ian looked much too relaxed, sitting across from each other on overstuffed sofas. The little brats had changed out of their funeral suits -- Ian wore a sky-blue polo shirt, beige trousers, and tasseled loafers; Natalie wore a white linen dress that showed off her coffee skin. Their eyes glittered like amber. They were so lovely they made heads turn, which was not a good thing for a secret meeting.
"You attract too much attention," Irina scolded. "You should be uglier." Natalie laughed. "Is that what keeps you alive, dear cousin?" Irina wanted to scratch the young whelp's face with her poison fingernails, but she kept her cool. "Insult me as you will. It gets us nowhere." "True," Ian said. "We have a mutual problem. Please, sit."
Irina considered. She would have to sit next to either Ian or Natalie, and neither was safe. She chose the young girl. Perhaps she would be easier to overwhelm if it came to that. Natalie smiled and made room for her on the sofa. "Have you considered our proposal?" Ian asked. 83
Irina had thought of nothing else since the text message came two hours ago on her cell phone, encrypted in an algorithmic code used only by the Lucians. She nodded. "You have come to the same conclusion as I. The second clue is not in Boston."
"Exactly," Ian said. "We've told our parents to charter us a private jet. We'll be off within the hour."
Chartering a private jet,
Irina thought resentfully. She knew the Kabras' parents from the old days. They were internationally known art collectors. Once they had been dangerous people, important people within the Lucian branch. Now they were retired in London and did nothing but dote upon their children. They let Ian and Natalie do all the traveling, writing them blank checks as needed.
What did these brats care about the thirty-nine clues? This was just another adventure to them. Irina had her own reasons for hunting the treasure -- much more personal reasons. The Kabras were too rich, too smart, too proud. Someday, Irina would change that.
"So," Irina said, "where will you go?"
Ian sat forward and laced his hands. He didn't look fourteen years old. When he smiled, he looked evil enough to be an adult. "You know it's about Benjamin Franklin."
"Yes."
"Then you know where we're going, and you know what we're after."
"You also know," Natalie purred, "that we can't allow the secret to fall into anyone else's hands. As Lucians, we should work together. You should set the trap." Irina's eye twitched, the way it did when she was nervous. She hated that it did this, but she could not stop it. "You could set the trap yourselves," she said.
Natalie shook her head. "They would suspect us.
You, on the other hand, can lure them to their doom." Irina hesitated, trying to see a flaw in the plan. "What is in this for me?"
"They're our biggest threat," Ian pointed out. "They may not realize it yet, but they will in time. We have to eliminate them quickly. It'll benefit all of us. Besides, you'll have the Lucian stronghold at your disposal. Afterwards, there will be time to fight each other. Now, we must destroy our competition." "And the Madrigals?" Irina asked.
She thought she saw a ripple of nervousness cross Ian's face, but it passed quickly. "One enemy at a time, cousin."
Irina hated to admit it, but the boy had a point. She examined her fingernails, casually making sure that each of her poison needles was primed and ready. "Does it seem odd to you," she asked slowly, "that the Lucian database contains so little about Franklin?" She knew very well they would have logged into the branch's mainframe, just as she had done.
Annoyance flickered in Ian's eyes. "There should have been more, it's true. Apparently, Franklin was hiding something ... even from his kin."
Natalie smiled coldly at her brother. "A Lucian who doesn't trust his kin -- imagine
that."
Ian waved her comment aside. "Complaining about it will change nothing. We need to deal with Amy and Dan. Cousin Irina, do we have a deal?"
The hotel doors opened. A heavyset man in a brown suit strode through, heading for
the front desk. He seemed out of place, possibly a security guard or an undercover
policeman. It might have nothing to do with them, but Irina couldn't be sure. They had
sat here too long. Meeting any longer would be dangerous.
"Very well," Irina said. "I shall prepare the trap." Natalie and Ian rose.
Irina felt relieved and perhaps flattered, too. The Kabras needed her help. She was,
after all, much older and wiser. "I am glad we came to an arrangement," she said,
feeling generous. "I did not wish to hurt you."
"Oh, we're glad, too," Ian promised. "Natalie, I believe it's safe now."
Irina frowned, not understanding. Then she looked at Natalie -- that pretty little girl
who seemed so harmless in her white dress -- and realized the young she-devil had a
tiny silver dart gun cupped in her hand, not two inches from Irina's chest. Irina's heart
skipped a beat. She had used such guns herself. The darts could carry poisons far worse than she dared keep in her fingernails.
Natalie smiled prettily, keeping the dart gun aimed and ready. "It was so good to see
you, Irina."
"Indeed," Ian said smugly. "I'd shake your hand, cousin, but I'd hate to ruin your special manicure. Do let us know when Amy and Dan are eliminated, won't you?"
CHAPTER 8
Amy knew something was wrong as soon as Nellie came out of the rental car place. She was frowning and holding a thick brown padded envelope. "What is that?" Amy asked.
"It
's for you guys." Nellie held out the package. "Somebody dropped it off at the counter this morning."
"That's impossible!" Amy said. "Nobody knew we'd be here."
But as she said it, a chill went down her back. They'd booked the train tickets and the rental car online last night from their hotel, using Nellie's name. Was it possible somebody had tracked them down so fast? "What does the envelope say?" Dan asked.
"'For A. & D. Cahill,'" Nellie read. '"From W. McIntyre.'"
"Mr. McIntyre!" Dan grabbed the package. "Wait!" Amy yelled. "It could be a trap." Dan rolled his eyes. "C'mon. It's from -- "
"It could be from anybody," Amy insisted. "It could blow up or something."
"Okay, whoa," Nellie said. "Why would somebody send a couple of kids a bomb? And
who is this McIntyre dude?"
Dan grinned. "I say we let Nellie open it."
"Um, no!" Nellie said.
"You're the au pair! Aren't you supposed to defuse explosives for us and stuff?" "I'm driving you, kiddo. That's enough!"
Amy sighed and snatched the package. She stepped into the parking lot, turned the flap of the envelope away from Nellie and Dan, and carefully peeled it open. Nothing happened. Inside was a metal cylinder like a flashlight, except the light was a strip of purple glass running down one side. A note was attached in sloppy handwriting, like the writer had been in a hurry:
Meet me at Independence Hall this evening at eight, but only if you find the information
-- WM
(P.S. Thank you for calling the ambulance.)
"Find what information?" Dan asked, reading over her shoulder.
"The next clue, I guess."
"What clue?" Nellie demanded.
"Nothing," Dan and Amy said.
Nellie blew a tuft of black and blond hair out of her eyes. "Whatever. Stay right here. I'll bring the car around."
She left them standing with the bags and Saladin in his new cat carrier. Saladin hadn't been too pleased with the cat carrier -- anymore than Nellie had been with the fresh red snapper they'd bought to keep him happy -- but Amy hadn't had the heart to leave him behind.
"Mrrp?"
Saladin asked.
Amy reached down and scratched his head through the bars. "Dan, maybe we shouldn't make that rendezvous. Mr. McIntyre told us not to trust anyone."
"But the note is from him!
"It could be a trick."
"That makes it even better! We've got to go!" Amy twisted her hair. She hated it when Dan didn't take her seriously. And this could be dangerous.
"If we go, it says we have to find information first." "But you know where to look, right? You're smart and stuff." Smart and stuff.
Like that's all they needed to track down a clue in a huge city. Before they'd left Boston, she'd splurged and bought some books about Franklin and Philadelphia from her friends at the used bookshop. She'd spent the whole train trip reading, but still
"I've got a few ideas," she admitted. "But I don't know where we're going in the long term. I mean -- have you thought about what this ultimate treasure could be?"
"Something cool."
"Oh, that's real helpful. I mean, what could make somebody the most powerful Cahill in history? And why thirty-nine clues?"
Dan shrugged. "Thirty-nine is a sweet number. It's thirteen times three. It's also the sum of five prime numbers in a row -- 3, 5, 7, 11, 13.
And if you add the first three powers of three, 3 (raised to the first power) plus 3 (raised to the second power) plus 3 (raised to the third power), you get thirty-nine."
Amy stared at him. "How did you know that?" "What do you mean? It's obvious."
Amy shook her head in dismay. Dan acted like a doofus most of the time. Then he'd pull something like that -- adding prime numbers or powers of three that she'd never thought about. Their dad had been a mathematics professor, and Dan apparently had inherited all of his number sense. Amy had enough trouble remembering phone numbers.
She held up the weird metal cylinder Mr. McIntyre had sent them. She switched it on and the light glowed purple.
"What is that thing?" Dan asked. "I don't know," Amy said. "But I have a feeling we'd better figure it out before eight o'clock."
Amy hated cars almost as much as she hated crowds. She promised herself that when she got older she'd live somewhere where she never had to drive. Part of that was because she'd been in the car with Nellie before.
Nellie had rented a Toyota hybrid. She said it was more environmental, which was fine with Amy, but it cost two hundred and fifty-eight dollars a day, and the way Nellie raced around corners and gunned the gas wasn't exactly "green." They were on Interstate 95, heading into downtown, when Amy happened to look behind them. She wasn't sure why -- a prickling sensation on her neck like she was being watched. In fact, she was. "We're being followed," she announced.
"What?" Dan said.
"Five cars back," Amy said. "Gray Mercedes. It's the Starlings."
"A Starbucks?" Nellie said excitedly. "Where?" "Starlings,"
Amy corrected. "Our relatives. Ned, Ted, and Sinead." Nellie snorted. "That's not really their names."
"I'm not joking," Amy said. "It's, um, part of the scavenger hunt. Nellie, we can't let them follow us. We have to lose them."
Nellie didn't need to be told twice. She yanked the wheel to the right and the Toyota careened across three lanes of traffic. Saladin yowled. Just as they were about to slam into the safety-impact barrels, Nellie slipped onto an exit ramp. The last view Amy got of the Starlings was Sinead's freckled face pressed against the window of the Mercedes, her jaw hanging open as she watched Amy and Dan get away "Is that lost enough?" Nellie asked.
"Mrrp!"
Saladin protested.
"You could've killed us!" Dan had a big grin on his face. "Do that again!"
"No!" Amy said. "Locust Street. And hurry!"
Their first stop was the Library Company of Philadelphia, a big redbrick building in the middle of downtown. Amy and Dan asked Nellie to wait in the car with Saladin. Then they walked up the front steps.
"Oh, boy, another library," Dan said. "We have such great luck with libraries." "Franklin founded this place," Amy told him. "It's got a lot of books from his personal collection. If we can convince the librarians -- "
"What's the big deal with Benjamin Franklin, anyway? I mean, so the guy invented electricity or whatever. That was hundreds of years ago."
"He didn't invent electricity," Amy said, trying not to sound too annoyed. "He discovered that lightning was the same stuff as electricity. He invented lightning rods to protect buildings and experimented with batteries and-"
"I do that. Have you ever put one on your tongue?"
"You're an idiot. The thing is Franklin was famous for a lot of reasons. He started out getting rich with his printing business. Then he became a scientist and invented a bunch of stuff. Later he helped write the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. He was even an ambassador to England and France. He was brilliant. World famous. Everybody liked him, and he lived until he was, like, in his eighties."
"Superman," Dan said.
"Pretty much."
"So do you think he knew what it was -- this treasure we're looking for?" Amy hadn't thought of that. Franklin had been one of the most influential people in history. If he was a Cahill, and he knew about this secret family treasure...
"I think," she said, "we'd better find out." She pushed open the doors and led Dan inside.
Fortunately, the librarians were having a slow day, and Amy wasn't shy around them at all. She loved librarians. When she told them she was doing a summer research project on Benjamin Franklin and needed to use historical documents, they fell all over themselves to help her.
They made Amy and Dan wear latex gloves and sit in a climate-controlled reading room while they brought out old books to look at.
The librarian set the first one down and Amy gasped. "This is Franklin's first cartoon!"
D
an squinted at it. The picture showed a snake, cut into thirteen pieces, each one labeled with the name of an American colony. "Not very funny for a cartoon," Dan said.
"It's not supposed to be funny," Amy said. "Back then, cartoons made a point. Like, he's saying if the colonies don't get together, Britain will cut them apart." "Uh-huh." Dan turned his attention to his computer. They'd been in the library maybe five minutes, and here he was, already looking bored, clacking away on his laptop rather than helping her.
Amy pored over the other artifacts: a newspaper that had been printed on Franklin's own printing press, a copy of Pilgrim's Progress that Franklin had owned. So much amazing stuff ... but what was she looking for? Amy felt pressured, and she didn't do well under pressure.
"Find what you need?" the librarian asked. She had frizzy hair and bifocals and looked sort of like a friendly witch.
"Um, maybe some more, please. Anything that was ... important to Franklin." The librarian thought for a moment. "Franklin's letters were important to him. He wrote many, many letters to his friends and family because he lived in Europe so long. I'll bring you some." She adjusted her glasses and left the room.
"Franklin invented those, too," Amy said absently. Dan frowned. "Librarians?" "No, bifocals! He cut up two sets of lenses and pasted them half-and-half, so he could see long distance and short distance with the same pair."
"Oh." Dan didn't look impressed. He went back to playing on his laptop. He had the mystery flashlight from Mr. McIntyre in front of him, and he kept switching it on and off.
The librarian brought them a stack of new stuff, including old letters preserved in plastic sheets. Amy read through them but felt more hopeless than ever. Nothing jumped out at her. Nothing screamed "clue." Suddenly, Dan sat up straight. "I found it!"
"You found what?" She'd assumed Dan was playing games, but when he turned the laptop to face her, there was a picture of a flashlight just like the one Mr. McIntyre had sent them.
"It's a black light reader," Dan announced.
"Oh!" the librarian said. "Very ingenious. We have one of those for our collection."
Amy looked up. "Why? What do they do?"
