Operation Trinity

by Clifford, Riley

  Or not, Ian thought, cringing as he watched Amy flick a damp leaf off the hem of her horrid jeans. What was it about Americans that made them so uncouth?

  The dinner bell rang. Ian stood up and stretched. When the Lucians found the 39 Clues and unlocked whatever legendary power they were meant to provide, Ian’s first order of business would be reclaiming the American colonies. It was for their own good, really.

  He turned to the screen for one last look at Amy Cahill, but she had disappeared inside the building.

  By the time Ian made it down to the dining room, everyone else was already seated. Vikram and Isabel were in their usual spots at the ends of the long table, and Natalie was sitting across from their visitor. Ian sat next to his sister and placed the stiff cloth napkin in his lap. He was used to having guests at dinner, but they were normally foreign dignitaries, or local billionaires — people who generally didn’t have sweat stains blossoming on their rumpled shirts. Mr. Pringle looked even more anxious than he had upstairs. It was clear he was unaccustomed to dining in such a setting, and was probably nervous about using the wrong fork or making some other plebeian error. It was like watching a mouse that had just been dropped into a snake tank — his eyes were wide and he kept glancing over his shoulder, as if frantically trying to find a hidden escape route.

  A line of servers emerged from the concealed doorway with the first course, foie gras with caviar. “I’m delighted you could join us, Mr. Pringle,” Isabel called from the end of the table, her melodic voice echoing through the vast dining room. “You’re a difficult man to track down.”

  Mr. Pringle’s fork clattered to the floor. “I’ve been t-t-traveling. For my research.”

  “Yes. I understand you’re publishing a book on Northern Renaissance art. I just adore Flemish painting.” She took a dainty bite of foie gras before continuing. “So full of hidden meaning, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He gulped. “I suppose.”

  “I’ve always been particularly intrigued by the Ghent altarpiece. Such a fascinating history. Is it true it’s been the subject of more theft attempts than any other work of art in the world?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Pringle said, a measure of assurance strengthening his voice. Awkward people always bucked up when discussing their little hobbies. Even Amy Cahill’s dreadful stammer disappeared when you let her prattle on about books. “Seven times, actually.”

  “Now, why is that?” Vikram asked.

  “Oh, it varied,” Mr. Pringle said, picking up his butter knife. “Religious reasons. Political reasons. One of the panels was stolen just before the Second World War and was never found.”

  “That’s right,” Isabel responded sweetly. “It was replaced with a reproduction, wasn’t it? It makes one wonder if perhaps the rumors are true.”

  “Rumors?” Mr. Pringle asked. The hand holding the knife began to tremble, preventing him from making contact with his dinner roll.

  “You know,” Isabel said, patting her mouth with her napkin, although there wasn’t a trace of anything on her face. “About the map.”

  Mr. Pringle’s knife clattered to the floor. “It’s a myth. There’s no evidence to suggest that the altarpiece contains a map of any sort.” He waved his empty hand over his roll, apparently forgetting that he was no longer holding a knife. Bickerduff materialized beside him and handed Mr. Pringle a new one. “Th-th-thank you,” Mr. Pringle said, looking over his shoulder. But Bickerduff had already slipped away.

  “It’s a shame your wife couldn’t join us,” Isabel said as she cut a small sliver of meat. “I understand she’s an art historian as well. Does she share your opinions about the altarpiece? I’d love to hear her thoughts on the rumors.”

  Mr. Pringle raised his head and looked at Isabel directly for the first time. “She’s on holiday,” he said with surprising firmness. “She’ll be out of the country for some time. It would be pointless to try to contact her.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ian thought he saw his father stiffen, but Isabel smiled. “Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s remarkable what you can do with the right resources.” She lifted a crystal decanter in the air. “More wine?”

  Mr. Pringle took a deep breath, but then pressed his lips together and waited a moment before replying. “She doesn’t have the information you want. Neither of us does.”

  Ian wondered why his mother was wasting her time quizzing this blundering fool. He was obviously useless.

  Isabel placed the decanter back on the table and then turned to Ian and Natalie. “Time for bed, children.”

  “But we haven’t even had pudding,” Natalie said, crossing her arms.

  “You have a big day tomorrow, darling. Off you toddle.”

  Natalie grunted and then stomped out noisily. As Ian rose to follow her, Mr. Pringle shifted in his seat. “I should probably be going as well.”

  “Oh, you can’t.” Isabel’s eyes widened. “Not before dessert. Our pastry chef is an absolute genius.”

  “You’re too kind, but it’s getting rather late. . . .” He trailed off.

  Vikram’s chair scraped against the marble floor as he stood up. “Of course. There’s just the small matter of that . . . transaction. If you follow me, we can finish our discussion in the East wing.”

  Ian paused. The East wing was the command center. No one but high-ranking agents was allowed anywhere near the entrance, and he was certain that this quivering wreck was not a Cahill, let alone a Lucian.

  Mr. Pringle forced his mouth into a pathetic semblance of a grin. “B-but your library is so charming. Can’t we speak there?”

  Isabel rose and glided toward their guest. He scrambled to his feet so quickly he almost knocked over his chair. “Oh, I think you’ll be more comfortable in the study. Once my husband starts talking about the Ghent altarpiece, it can be hard to get him to stop. Do come this way.” She placed her hand on Mr. Pringle’s elbow and guided him past Ian out of the room.

  Ian was too excited to sleep. It didn’t matter that the thick velvet curtains blocked out all light, shrouding his bedroom in complete darkness. It didn’t matter that he’d already rung Bickerduff for hot cocoa twice. He couldn’t stop going over the plans for the next day. He’d swallowed the information so quickly he could almost feel it bouncing around in his stomach. They were supposed to try to hack the key reader on the side entrance. If that didn’t work, they’d have to scale the side of the building and crawl through the air vents on the roof.

  Had Bickerduff packed his climbing shoes? Ian sat up and was about to ring the bell a third time when a sound rose up from the bottom of the house. Almost like a man’s scream. A terrifying notion scurried across his brain before darting into a hidden den of dark thoughts. They’re probably watching a film, Ian told himself, trying to ignore the fact that he’d never seen his parents use the DVD player.

  A stream of bright light pierced the darkness of the room. He sat up and squinted, shielding his eyes from the glare. “Natalie?” he whispered as the blurry figure came into focus. “What are you doing?”

  She crept in and closed the door. “Have you seen my Gucci sunglasses?”

  “What?” He rubbed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  Natalie took a few steps forward and then leaped onto his bed like a small pajama-wearing dog. “I can’t find my sunglasses. What if I need them in Belgium?”

  Ian glanced over at the clock on his night table. “It’s half twelve, Nat. Can you look for them in the morning?”

  Another one of the strange sounds clawed at the silence of the house. This time, it sounded more like a shriek than a shout. Ian saw Natalie’s eyes widen in the faint light and suddenly understood the real reason for her midnight visit.

  “They must be watching television.” It sounded even less convincing when he said it aloud. Natalie didn’t answer, and instead curled up on the foot of his bed.

  Ian wasn’t sure how much time passed before the noises stopped. But he still couldn’t fall asleep
.

  The silence was even worse than the screams.

  A few hours later, they were airborne again, this time in the private jet instead of the helicopter. It was still dark — Isabel had sent Bickerduff to wake them up at three A.M. — and the lights of London glinted dimly in early morning mist.

  Natalie was next to him, fast asleep. But Ian could barely manage to close his eyes. He sank back in his leather seat, staring at the untouched croissant in front of him. As the plane juddered through some turbulence, the china plate rattled on the plastic tray. He knew he should try to eat something, but his stomach was writhing like a frantic caged animal — he could almost feel it trying to climb out of his throat.

  He looked over at his mother, who was perched on a seat across the aisle, calmly typing on her BlackBerry.

  Despite the ungodly hour, Isabel’s gray shift dress was perfectly pressed and her hair was up in a smooth twist. He’d actually never seen his mother in a nightgown or robe. Running the world’s most powerful secret organization didn’t allow for much downtime. But it was worth it. The Kabras didn’t need to lounge around in bed, watching Ping-Pong with the Stars. That was one of the many things that set them apart. It wasn’t just their enormous wealth, their impeccable breeding, or astonishing good looks. When they wanted something, they didn’t rest until they got it.

  Isabel glanced up from her phone and caught his eye. “All right there, sweetheart? Do you not like the croissant?” She smiled. “We can’t have you go off on your first mission on an empty stomach.”

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Don’t be nervous, darling. You and Natalie are going to do splendidly. All your hard work is going to pay off. You’re going to waltz into that building, fetch me the files, and walk back out in five minutes flat. My only concern is that you’ll find it too easy.” She reached over and squeezed his knee. “We’ll come up with something a bit more fun for you next time. It’s about time we started taking advantage of your talents.”

  The wild creature in Ian’s stomach stopped thrashing and curled into a contented little ball, sending a flood of warmth throughout his body. He felt his mouth stretch into a wide grin that would look ridiculous on camera, but what did he care? He was off to perform his first real mission as a Lucian agent.

  Suddenly, his eyelids felt heavy and he leaned back, allowing his body to sink into the soft leather.

  Before his eyes closed completely, he took one last glance at his mother. She had returned to her phone and looked just as alert as before. Perhaps she never slept at all. He heard that sharks never went to sleep. They never stopped swimming. Never stopped hunting.

  Ian knew he’d be like that someday. But for now, he needed to rest.

  There was a sleek black sedan waiting for them at the private airfield outside of Ghent. It was almost dawn, and the car zipped through the silent city as if trying to outrace the sun rays that had begun to shine out over the tops of the peaked roofs.

  While London was a mix of old and new, the buildings in Ghent had been remarkably well preserved. With its narrow streets flanked by pointy Gothic and sprawling Renaissance buildings, the city seemed like something out of a fairy tale, making the modern cars parked alongside the road look like they’d been spat out of a time machine gone haywire.

  By now, both he and Natalie were wide awake, sitting up on either side of Isabel. The car turned onto a larger boulevard and sped away from the historic city center, toward the university. The closer they got, the faster Ian’s heart began to beat. He leaned away from his mother, worried that she’d be able to feel it.

  “All right,” Isabel said cheerfully as a cluster of modern high-rises appeared in the distance. “I’m going to drop you two off by the side entrance. Then Hendrik will drive the car around the block to avoid suspicion. You have ten minutes before the morning cleaning staff arrives. Did you synchronize your watches?” Ian and Natalie both nodded. “Wonderful.” She beamed. “Your father and I are so lucky to have such clever children.” She reached over and grabbed each of their hands. “Now make sure to stay together, no matter what.”

  The car slowed to a stop. There was a faint click as Hendrik unlocked the doors. The ordinary sound had never felt so ominous. Isabel leaned over and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. “Off you go, duckies. I know you’ll make me proud.”

  Ian opened the door and slid out into the cool morning air, stepping to the side to make room for Natalie. The physics building was twenty-two stories of glass and metal that shimmered under the rising sun. Despite its large, light-filled windows, it struck Ian as impenetrable as a fort. His palms grew sweaty as he craned his neck to see the roof. The backup plan — climbing to the top to enter through the air vents — suddenly seemed insane. Ian readjusted the backpack that held his rappelling gear and other tools, silently praying that he wouldn’t have to use it.

  “There’s an extraction helicopter on standby, right?” Ian asked. It was standard Lucian practice to have one at the ready during missions, in case of emergencies.

  “Isn’t there always?” Isabel said quickly, glancing down at her phone. “Oh, and one more thing. Make sure you reactivate the alarm when you leave. It’s the same code.” She slid over and grabbed the door handle. “Good luck, darlings.”

  “Bye, Mummy,” Natalie called as Isabel shut the door. The car drove away and turned a corner. She was gone.

  Ian nodded at Natalie, and they jogged down a gravel path, which led to an alley along the side of the building. Without saying a word, they pressed themselves against the wall and glanced around, but the coast was clear.

  There was an electronic key reader next to the door. Natalie reached into her backpack and pulled out a plastic card. She waved it across the sensor, which produced a series of beeps. She pressed a few numbers on the keypad, and the door swung open. Ian exhaled loudly. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.

  With one more glance behind them, he and Natalie stepped into the basement of the building. It was unlikely that the university had installed motion sensors in what appeared to be a janitorial supply room but, just to be safe, he pressed his back against the wall and inched toward the door at the other end. He peered around the corner, and then signaled for Natalie to follow him into the hallway.

  They moved quickly but silently down the dark corridor and up the emergency staircase to the fourth floor, where the Ekaterina professor had his lab. The sun had risen high enough to flood the hallway with faint light and illuminate the colorful posters on the wall. There were huge satellite photos of the planets interspersed with flyers advertising student events. Or, at least, that’s what Ian assumed. It was hard to tell when everything was written in Dutch.

  Despite his nervousness, Ian grinned. It was amusing to think of the university students all over the world, taking classes, making plans for the future, when really, it was Ian’s family who made all the decisions. Being a Cahill was all that really mattered. And Ian and Natalie were about to establish themselves as two of its rising stars.

  “Ian,” Natalie hissed. “What are you doing?”

  He’d stopped without realizing it. His cheeks flushed as he jogged to catch up with Natalie, who was waiting for him in front of a set of heavy double doors. Lab number 403. This was it. Unlike the other rooms along the hall, this one had warning signs affixed to the small plastic windows. INGANG VERBODEN.

  There was a keypad on the wall. Ian raised his hand and saw that it was shaking. Calm down, he scolded himself. Everything is going according to plan. He turned to Natalie. “Four-eight-one-eight, right?” She nodded.

  Ian entered the code and held his breath. There was an agonizing moment of silence followed by a reassuring low beep. It worked. “Ready?” He reached forward, pushed on the bar, and opened the door.

  The large, windowless room was dark. Long lab tables were arranged in neat rows, and the shelves were full of equipment. Ian recognized the beakers and microscopes from science class, but
most of the tools were unfamiliar.

  There was a computer on each table, but the desk at the front of the room had the largest, newest-looking monitor. That had to be it. Ian motioned for Natalie to follow him as he darted over to the desk and tapped the keyboard. They both jumped as it pinged to life, and then got to work.

  Natalie inserted a flash drive into the USB port while Ian performed a search for the files. According to Irina, Professor Hauser’s project had the code name Archimedes. An error message popped up. Password required. He took a deep breath and flexed his fingers, then began furiously typing as he opened the program he’d learned from his hacking tutor. The screen turned black for a moment, then lines of code began scrolling across. Ian clicked on the folder again. It opened, showing six documents labeled Archimedes.

  “We did it!” Natalie whispered.

  “I did it,” Ian said, smiling as he copied the folder onto the USB drive. “Now come on. Let’s get out of here.” He placed the drive in his pocket, turned off the monitor, and headed toward the door.

  They walked back and Ian turned to the keypad and typed in the same code they’d used to enter: 4-8-1-8. A message flashed across the screen.

  INDRINGER

  Before Ian had time to react, a high-pitched alarm rang out from somewhere down the hallway. Natalie gasped and Ian whirled around. Red lights had begun flashing and a stream of beeps joined in with the alarm.

  Don’t panic, he thought, forcing himself to breathe. They were in a university physics lab, for goodness’ sake, not the Pentagon. At worst, some part-time security guard would come lumbering down the hall, and Ian and Natalie would just pretend to be lost. He could talk his way out of anything. His sister could cry if necessary. No one was going to arrest them.

  “It’s fine,” Ian said, forcing himself to sound calm. “We’ll just head back downstairs and sneak out.” He grabbed Natalie’s hand and they ran down the hallway. Ian flung open the door and hurled into the staircase, pulling his sister with him as he took the stairs two at a time.