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

by Linda Sue Park

  “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 Sin
ead’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.

  Back at the car, Amy was relieved to find that while the hearing in her right ear was a little woolly, the ringing sound had faded. And the powder burn on her neck didn’t seem to be serious. She told the boys what had transpired, surprised by how calm her voice was. For now, she had to relate just the facts. If I think about anything else, I’ll probably start crying.

  “Wow,” Dan said, examining the gun. “What do you bet it was an Ekat who came up with this?”

  “We found something under the dashboard,” Atticus said. He held out an electronic device. “It’s a signal blocker. She didn’t want us getting any messages.”

  Silence, while each of them considered the implications of having had a mole in their midst for so long.

  “She must know where the hostages are,” Amy said. The thought made her so angry that her voice shook.

  “And her brother is one of them!” Atticus said. “Do you think he’s in on it?”

  Amy shook her head. “He’s not. She told me.”

  “But she’s letting them keep him locked up!” Atticus was incredulous. He looked at Jake. “And I thought you were a pain sometimes.”

  “Gee, thanks, bro,” Jake said in mock gratitude.

  Just then Amy’s phone beeped with a text:

  I’m here at Yale — where are you?

  It was from Evan.

  Evan was hurrying toward them when he caught sight of Amy and stopped short, obviously aghast. For a moment, Amy was actually glad she looked so awful; she had been anxious about how he would greet her. With a hug, or even a kiss?

  So what? That’s what boyfriends do, and he’s my boyfriend. Why should I care what — what Jake thinks?

  “I’m fine,” she said to forestall his worry. “It was Sinead.”

  Evan looked startled, then miserable. He touched her arm hesitantly. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I didn’t catch on to her fast enough. And then I kept trying to text you —”

  “It was not your fault!” Amy snapped. “She almost talked us into giving up the serum formula — if it hadn’t been for you, we might have done it! The worst of it is, she got away.”

  “As long as you’re okay,” Evan said. “But you had her, four against one — how did you lose her?”

  “Look,” Jake said, his voice edged with annoyance. “You weren’t there — you didn’t see how it went down.”

  Evan bristled. “You’re right, I wasn’t there, so I want to know —”

  “Evan — I mean, um, Jake” — Amy felt the beginnings of a mild panic — “both of you — this is not helping!”

  Both of the older boys had the grace to look sheepish. Amy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “Can we start over? Evan, this is Jake and Atticus. Jake and Atticus, meet Evan.”

  It was Atticus who broke the tension.

  “Hey, Evan, nice to finally meet you,” he said.

  Amy could have hugged him. “Let’s all find somewhere to sit down,” she suggested. “And then we’ll get you caught up, Jake — I mean, Evan.”

  She wanted to bite her tongue off.

  Dan snickered. “Oops,” he said. “Why don’t you just call them both Jakevan — wouldn’t that be easier?”

  If looks could kill, Dan would have been six feet under.

  What’s eating her?

  Evan wondered if it had anything to do with him. Then he felt ashamed. Sheesh, give the girl a break.

  Amy had marched off to find a restroom. When she came back, she looked more herself — face washed, hair brushed, a fresh T-shirt. Evan’s spirits rose at the sight of her.

  They found a bench outside the library.

  “Okay, I’ve had a chance to think about this,” Amy said. “I’m going to lay it out now, and you can let me know what you think.”

  Nods all around.

  “First, we’ll need to send an urgent bulletin about Sinead. That’s you, Evan. A message to the entire Cahill network to keep their eyes peeled for her.”

  “What should they do if they spot her?” Evan asked.

  “Keep her locked down until we can get her to reveal the location of the hostages. Otherwise, any sightings should be reported so you can coordinate the hunt.”

  “Got it,” Evan said. He was impressed by her businesslike tone, which made him feel proud. He smiled at her.

  She nodded, but didn’t smile back.

  “Next. This one’s on me.” Amy hesitated for a moment; whatever was coming, it wasn’t pleasant. “I have to call Ian and apologize. For thinking he was the mole all this time.”

  “Not your fault,” Dan said. “It was obviously Sinead feeding you bad info.”

  “Garbage in, garbage out,” Atticus agreed.

  “Maybe not my fault,” Amy said, “but still my responsibility.”

  Now she raised her chin toward the building in front of them. “After that, we need a plan for the Voynich,” she said. “Sinead has been a major distraction. We have to get back on track.”

  “We need to talk about this,” Jake said. “Do we have to steal it?”

  “Of course we have to steal it,” Evan said. “Like everything else so far — why should this be any different?” Funny how things change, he thought. Just a few weeks ago I’d have been asking the same question. . . .

  Amy held up her hand. “We can discuss that in a minute,” she said. “Let me get through the list first.” Pause. “Once I get things straightened out with Ian, I want him to work with you, Evan, on finding the hostages. Dan and I have to keep playing Vesper One’s game — it’s too risky not to. But I don’t trust him —”

  “You think?” Dan said in disgust.

  “— so I want us focusing on rescue as much as on release. Whatever you need, whatever it takes
.”

  Evan didn’t respond right away. He made eye contact with Amy.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” he said quietly.

  He saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but then she blinked it away. She stood and walked away from the bench, around the corner of a retaining wall, where they had a little privacy.

  Amy crossed her arms, looking almost defensive; Evan could tell that she was not in girlfriend mode. He wanted to touch her, but instead put a hand on the wall and leaned against it. Close to her, but not touching.

  No use beating around the bush. “I don’t want to go back to Attleboro,” he said. “I want to stay here with you.”

  “Not an option,” she said immediately. “We need someone at the comm center and on the computers. You’re the only one who can do it.”

  He sighed. “I knew you’d say that,” he said. “I guess — I just wanted you to know that I’d rather be with you. I miss you.”

  Say it, he begged silently, say you miss me, too.

  Amy was staring at the ground. “I know,” she whispered.

  Then she straightened up and looked at him with an expression of — apology? Regret? Maybe even guilt? Why wouldn’t she tell him what she was thinking?

  “Evan, I can’t . . . I’m sorry. We have work to do.” She touched his arm briefly, then walked back to the others.

  As they rejoined the group, Evan saw Jake give him a long, cool stare. Evan’s stomach double-clutched.

  Does he — Is Amy —

  He tried to force his thoughts in a different direction. Don’t think about it. It’s not important, not right now.

  But another part of him wanted to shout, Yes, it is! It’s important to ME!

  Evan jammed his hands into his pockets. His shoulders hunched, he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

  I can wait, he thought. Until this craziness ends. And then we can talk, and everything will be okay.

  Maybe it wasn’t true. But for now, it wasn’t false, either.

  He’d take those odds. She was worth it.