There. She had nearly missed the glint of metal at the base of the drop-off. The phone must have fallen from her pocket when she landed.
She scrambled to it but Dan got there first.
“One second!” Atticus said.
“Hurry!” Amy urged.
Dan hit REDIAL. He thumbed two words —
Got it
But his finger slipped on the way to the SEND key, typing another character.
Got it1
“Time’s up!” Atticus shouted.
“Press send, Dan — send!” Amy said.
“There!” Dan shouted, showing her the screen.
Sending . . .
Above them, the beam of light scanned the area. It swept across the tree where they’d just been. Amy, Dan, and Atticus pressed their bodies against the edge of the cliff.
Amy’s eyes did not waver from the screen.
The lights above them went away. The sound of shutting car doors punctuated the night. Then the dull roar of two car engines.
But the screen remained blank.
10:51.
“It can’t be. . . .” Dan shook the phone. “Something must be wrong.”
It couldn’t be. A slip of the finger. A microscopic bead of sweat causing him to press 1 instead of SEND.
“It’s my fault,” Amy moaned. “I didn’t mean to drop the phone.”
“I don’t care!” Dan said. “I just want to know what happened to Uncle Alistair!”
“That guy — Vesper One — he couldn’t have,” Atticus said. “He wouldn’t. . . .”
Dan wheeled on him. “Oh, yes, he would. And you know what? I will return the favor some day. I will kill him.” He raised his face to the sky. “Did you hear me? I will kill you, AJT!”
“Dan — ?” Amy said.
“I know what you’re going to say, Amy,” Dan said through a torrent of tears, “but I hate him. I hate our —”
“No, look!” Amy said, pointing to the phone in his hand. “Your screen just lit up!”
The phone had turned liquid in Dan’s vision. He blinked and focused on the words:
Did I scare you? Don’t let it be said I don’t have a sense of drama.
And since you like the illusion of control, I will make the drop easy. Someone is coming to you.
Oh, yes. Congratulations. Your dear uncle is safe.
For now.
As the police car lurched, Jake Rosenbloom tried not to get carsick. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.
One of the officers in the front seat turned to face him. “You were trespassing. Resisting arrest. We must file report.”
Jake slumped into the seat. He hoped that Dan and Amy had been able to make the drop.
The driver muttered something in Uzbek and yanked the steering wheel to the right. Another car had fishtailed and was now broadside across both lanes.
With a screech of tires, the car swerved off the road and into a ditch. Jake braced himself. Even though he was wearing a seat belt, his face smashed against the side window.
The police leaped out of the car, yelling at the top of their lungs. Guns drawn, they approached the other car. It was a long, black limo with dark windows.
Jake grimaced, reaching up to touch a gash on the side of his head. Blood trickled down his cheek. Too early to know how serious this was. But he felt okay. More or less.
He glanced back outside and saw the limo’s back window rolling down. Inside was a man wearing a black hat and sunglasses. He looked up slowly at the cops and shrugged, as if to say he didn’t understand. Which only made the cops shout louder.
Jake looked to the right. It was nearly pitch-black. He slid over to that side of the car and tried the door. It swung open.
He knew he didn’t have much time. He jumped out of the car, tumbling into the small ditch. A few yards beyond it was an open gate. He stood. His head throbbed, but he was mobile.
He raced through the gate at top speed.
Behind him came two quick shouts, then silence.
And the thudding of heavy footsteps in pursuit.
The sunrise came as a shock. Amy realized she had no sense of day and night anymore. It seemed only moments ago that Vesper One’s message had come through:
Change of plans. At the earliest light, enter the graveyard. Use the entrance near the Shah-i-Zindi, just before the Siab Dekhkhan Bazaar. At precisely 5:30 a.m., find Olga Sakarov by the base of the nearest hill. And say hi from me.
As she entered the graveyard, the tombstones looked like lost, frozen souls, glowing with a pale silver light.
She clutched tightly to the astrolabe, tilting her wrist to check her watch. 5:15. They were fifteen minutes away from the drop. Acting, as always, on Vesper One’s instructions. Like puppets, she thought.
“Let’s move,” Amy said.
Fiddling with his phone, Atticus nearly stumbled.
“Any luck?” whispered Dan.
“No response from Jake,” Atticus said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been trying for six hours.”
Amy looked left and right as she edged into the pathway. Her neck ached. Sleeping in the field had not been comfy. She and Dan had managed some uncomfortable shut-eye, but she was worried about Atticus. He hadn’t slept at all.
“I don’t see our contact person,” Dan said.
“Maybe it’s the wrong place for the drop,” Atticus suggested.
Dan angled the screen toward him. Amy stopped to read the message once again.
“Olga Sakarov . . . she even sounds like a Vesper,” Dan said.
A small animal skittered across Amy’s path. She stifled a scream, took a deep breath, and stepped carefully. Polished stone slabs of all shapes rose around her like road signs. They were etched with faces that seemed to glower with disapproval.
“These names are in Cyrillic,” Atticus said.
“They look like real stone to me,” Dan remarked.
“Cyrillic, not acrylic,” Atticus said. “It’s the Russian alphabet. Samarkand has a huge Russian population.”
Amy stopped at the foot of the hill. The distant birdsong sounded like screams of the dying. As the sun’s crown oozed over the horizon, a vulture hovered overhead. Amy checked her watch. 5:24. “She should be within sight by now.”
“She better get here before that thing gets us,” Dan said.
“It’s a vulture,” Atticus said. “They only eat carrion. Dead animals.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Amy spotted another small critter racing across the ground. It stopped just beyond a massive gravestone, near a soft, ragged lump on the ground. It looked like a freshly killed squirrel. “There’s its breakfast,” Amy said.
Dan was walking closer to the lump, squinting. He stopped and turned, his face pale. “It’s not the only dead thing.”
Amy followed his glance to the silhouette of a foot, sticking out from behind the tombstone.
Atticus gasped.
“Is that . . . Olga?” Dan whispered.
Amy moved closer, girding herself against her worst fear. That Vesper One had found a total stranger and killed her. Just for kicks. As a warning.
A hostage by proxy.
Overhead came an angry cawing. Move away and let nature take its course. Leave the dead for the living. Every instinct told Amy to run from this creepy scene. Just drop the astrolabe and run.
“The foot . . .” Atticus said, holding tight to Amy’s arm. “It’s too wide for an Olga.”
Amy could see a leg now, wearing jeans. “H-h-hello?” she called out.
Dreading what she would see, she came around the front of the stone. A young man was sprawled on the grass, his head angled back into a shadow.
She stepped forward to see his face.
 
; “Jake?”
The first thing Jake Rosenbloom realized upon awakening was that it was raining. The second was that something was screeching high above.
The third was that the rain was actually Amy Cahill crying into his face. “Jake, you’re alive!”
Jake sat forward. He felt as if someone had split his head open with a pickax. “I hope so,” he said.
“Oh, man, I thought I would never see you. . . .” Now Atticus was hugging him, sobbing. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure . . . it was confusing. . . .” Jake touched his head and immediately jumped from the pain.
“We should have faced the police together,” Dan said. “If we had, the Vespers would have taken the astrolabe. That’s all they wanted to do.”
“So why don’t they just take it now and leave us alone?” Atticus asked, looking around the cemetery. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” Amy said, reaching down to help Jake up. “They told us to meet someone here at exactly five-thirty. Olga Sakarov.”
Jake groaned as he rose. He blinked his eyes, taking in the surroundings.
And suddenly he understood.
Although he had made a commitment to the Cahills, he hadn’t fully appreciated what they were up against. As he looked at Amy, he could read the lines on her face. They traced out a map of trouble, an old person’s pain on someone only sixteen. The Cahills, he knew, were in a hole so deep there might be no way out. A hole that he and his brother were in now, too.
He had never felt so right about his decision to join Dan and Amy in the fight against the Vespers. “They did this to me,” Jake said, “to teach you a lesson.”
He stood away from the tombstone behind him so that the others could see:
Atticus swallowed hard. “Olga Sakarov.”
“She was a prop,” Jake said. “A symbol of what could happen to any of us. He put me here, noted the name, and texted you. A morbid scene he wanted you to see.”
He looked at Amy’s watch. 5:30.
A loud scream rang out overhead. All four of them craned their necks upward.
The vulture, which had been hovering hungrily, was now flying away. Swooping down from the sky, its wings spread wide, was another creature — a thick-bodied raptor with a long neck and a sharp beak.
“Move!” Amy said. “It’s going after the dead meat!”
They scrambled back the way they came. With a tilt of its body, the bird followed. As it neared Amy, it opened its talons and let out a chittering squeal.
“Amyyyyy!” Dan was yelling.
Amy screamed. There was a brush of feathers against her hair. Talons clamped solidly on the astrolabe and pulled upward.
Amy felt the disc lift out of her clutches. The hawk soared into the rising sun, the astrolabe hanging like a helpless animal.
Amy raced to the top of the hill to watch. The bird was descending now, toward a distant road.
There, the solid black window of a black limousine rolled down. A leather-gloved hand reached out toward the sky, palm up.
The bird dropped fast, braking its descent just short of the car. The hand reached out, grabbed the astrolabe, and pulled it into the window.
Now Amy could see a man with sunglasses inside. He was blowing them all a kiss.
Sinead looked like she was going to jump through the laptop screen. “Amy, you are a hero!”
“Um . . . just Amy?” Dan said.
Amy stuck out her tongue at him. Cackling, Dan flopped back on the stone bench outside the Shah-i-Zindi mosque and watched the sun playing on the turquoise tiles. The place was quiet enough — and private enough — for a link to Attleboro.
“Well, everyone helped,” Amy said. “Atticus figured out the final code. Jake nearly sacrificed his life. And Dan . . . let me think. . . .”
Amy braced herself for a protest. But instead, Dan seemed preoccupied with his phone. “Guys . . .” he said. “We’ve got confirmation.”
He held his phone up to Amy, Atticus, and Jake — and then to the screen, for Sinead to see.
The drop was lovely. Many thanks to all who made it possible. Including dear Olga Sakarov.
Well, time to celebrate. And what better place than the cheerful city of Berlin? Home of a priceless jewel, in a heavily guarded museum. I trust you have heard of it. Because your next assignment is to liberate it. And deliver it to me.
Thanks in advance. And a jolly “Guten tag!” from Uncle Alistair.
“Germany?” Jake said. “Why? And what jewel?”
Dan shrugged. “Let Amy do the research. She likes that part.”
“I wish Vesper One wouldn’t joke about Uncle Alistair like that,” Sinead said.
Amy nodded. “I’ve been thinking about him all day. About what he avoided.”
“Thanks to all of you,” Sinead said. Her eyes darted left. “Um, Evan and I do have some news to report.”
Evan leaned into the screen. “Sinead and I are friends again. She totally nailed the lizard. Well, not actually impaled it with a nail. I mean, the identity of the lizard. And its type. Which is actually given away by its name, funnily enough —”
“Your brilliant guardian Nellie,” Sinead said, “was holding up an Argentine giant tegu.”
Amy nearly leaped off the bench. “Argentina! That’s amazing data. You pinpointed it!”
“Yesss!” Dan shouted.
Sinead eyed Evan, then turned back to the screen. “I’ve also been running a trace on Ian. We have confirmation he visited his mother. The good news is that he wasn’t kidnapped. The bad news is that immediately after seeing her, he changed his flight.”
“He’s in Argentina, Amy,” Evan said.
“Which also happens to be the location of one of Isabel Kabra’s strongholds,” Sinead added.
Amy rocked back on the bench. Isabel. Was she the master kidnapper? Could she be Vesper One? “Ian must have found out about the hostages’ location,” she said. “From his mother. And he went straight there.”
“Without contacting us?” Sinead said with an exasperated sigh. “He’s off the Cahill grid, Amy. Total radio silence.”
“I never did trust that guy,” Evan said. “I mean, with all respect.”
Amy shook her head. This didn’t add up. Ian couldn’t be involved with the Vespers. He was every bit as strong a Cahill as Sinead and Evan were. “Give him some time . . .” she said.
“We have our people on the case, inspecting every lead . . . ” Evan said, his voice trailing off. “Um, Amy? Are you okay?”
Amy’s eyes were misting. “I’m fine. Thanks, Evan. For all the amazing work. You’re the best.”
“Somebody cue the violins,” Dan said.
“Uh, sounds to me as if Sinead is actually the one who deserves the thanks,” Jake said.
Evan arched his eyebrows at the remark. “Amy Cahill is the head of the family. She can think for herself.”
Another airport. Another flight. Another delay.
At least this one had a good gift shop. With a collection of small aloe plants.
Seventeen ingredients.
Progress.
Dan sank against the wall, near a group of backpackers from Germany. Three flights were leaving from the same gate, and already two had been canceled.
Amy and Jake were off to get food. Atticus was sacked out against the opposite wall. Snoring.
Cautiously he snapped open his phone and read the message that had come in from AJT.
Hello, Dan! Figured maybe you had some downtime. Contact me when you want. Patience is my middle name. Just ignore the J. :)
The tone was so appalling, Dan nearly laughed.
He’d murdered Mr. McIntyre. He’d had Jake beaten up in a graveyard . . . as a stunt!
What would
he have done if I hadn’t pressed SEND in time to save Uncle Alistair?
Dan wanted to throw the phone under the wheels of a jumbo jet. Hire a hypnotist to wipe the memory of the messages from his brain.
But the feeling was back.
Against all odds, against every atom of human reason, the message gave him a strange sensation. A tingling from the bottom of his toes. Something like hope.
Bordering on insanity.
He snapped the phone shut and stuck it in his pocket. Then he closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them.
He took several deep breaths. He reminded himself that he was hungry. He pulled a squashed candy bar from his backpack and began to unwrap it. Each of these things was calming him down.
“’Allo?” said one of the Germans, a rosy-cheeked girl about Dan’s age.
“Hello,” Dan said.
“You have ’allo?” the girl persisted, pointing inside the pack — to a green leaf that was jutting out of a plastic bag.
“Oh, aloe?” Dan said. “Yup. To . . . um, to rub on my —”
“Sunburn.” The girl pulled down the collar of her T-shirt to reveal a patch of bright red skin below her collarbone.
“TMI . . .” Dan murmured, quickly breaking off a piece of the leaf and giving it to her. “Okay? Auf Wiedersehen. Whatever. Gotta book.”
He shoved the candy bar in his mouth and found a seat under a picture window. Rain pounded on the glass.
He had to be more careful about hiding the ingredients. One glance at the aloe plant, and Amy would know.
Overhead, a news report blared on an airport TV monitor. There was a report about a father and a little boy finding each other after a tornado. They were grinning, and they looked so much like each other.
Like twins, separated by a generation . . .
Amy’s words echoed in his brain. When you were little, he’d hold you up to everyone and say, ‘Moon face!’ You both would flash this big, identical grin.
Dan sat bolt upright.