One False Note

  "By boat," Nellie supplied. "Venice is crisscrossed by dozens of canals."

  Just before the parking entrance, the limo came to a stop. A uniformed chauffeur emerged and opened the rear door. Out stepped two figures, one slender, the other taller and stocky. They wore baseball caps, pulled low over dark glasses. But there was no mistaking the teenager's hip-hop swagger.

  Jonah Wizard -- with his father, as always.

  "That bonehead?" exclaimed Nelly in dismay.

  Dan was also confused. "If we've got the paper that says Venice, how did Jonah know to come here?"

  Amy could only shake her head.

  They watched as the Wizards walked over to join a crowd of people waiting to board a ferry to the city. The chauffeur got back in the limo and drove away. Nellie's brow furrowed. "The great Mr. Hip-Hop Mogul standing in line with the common peasants? How do you figure that?"

  Dan grinned. "I'm starting to dig this 'no cars' thing. It's a great equalizer." Amy wasn't convinced. "Jonah can afford to buy that ferry and kick everybody else off. If he's taking a public boat, it's because he's trying to slip into town unnoticed. Quick, park the car. Let's see where he's going."

  The Tronchetto complex was enormous, so they were half a mile away before they managed to locate an open spot. By then, the ferry had moored at the landing, and the passengers were already starting to board.

  "Come on!" Dan scooped up Saladin in his arms and began to run for the terminal. "If we have to grab the next boat, we'll lose Jonah for good!"

  "Mrrp!" complained the Egyptian Mau, displeased with the rough ride.

  The deep-throated bass of a horn rattled Tronchetto, setting off several car alarms. The ferry was ready to set sail.

  The three sprinted across the lot, backpacks flailing wildly. Luckily, the passenger queue was long, delaying the departure. Dan flung Saladin onto the gangway just as a uniformed sailor was closing the chain behind the last customer. The cat scampered onto the deck, and the exasperated crewman had no choice but to allow the Cahills and their au pair to board with their pet.

  The trip to Venice took barely ten minutes. Amy, Dan, and Nellie kept well away from the Wizards, making themselves small behind a bulkhead. They needn't have worried. Jonah and his father seemed just as determined to keep a low profile. They spent the short ride at the rail, faces downcast at the water. And when the ferry docked in Venice, they were the first passengers off, pushing purposefully through the bustling cobblestone streets.

  The Cahills and Nellie followed at a distance.

  "Taking public transit and walking -- both in the same day," Dan marveled. "If Jonah gets any more human, the Pez people are going to stop selling his dispenser."

  It was easy to remain unnoticed by the Wizards on the busy main roads. But after a few twists and turns, Jonah and his father started down a deserted alley, lined with tiny shops. Amy pulled Dan and Nellie into the cover of a recessed doorway. Halfway down the block, the Wizards entered a store. The Cahills and Nellie waited. Ten minutes. Then twenty. "What are they doing in there?" Amy wondered.

  Dan shrugged. "Maybe when you're rich, shopping takes longer, since you get to buy more stuff."

  "Let's take a closer look," Amy decided.

  Dan handed Saladin to Nellie, and brother and sister approached the store cautiously. disco volante blazoned a neon sign with the dancing image of a CD morphing into a flying saucer.

  Dan made a face. "A music store? Jonah's the Mr. Wonderful of the record business. Anything he wants to hear they'll beam digitally to the home theater in his mansion. Why would he buy his own CDs?"

  Amy edged in front of the glass and peered into Disco Volante. It looked like any music shop back in the US -- racks of CDs and old-fashioned vinyl records,

  posters of artists and album covers, a young, slightly scruffy-looking clerk behind the cash register. And --

  She blinked. That was it. The cashier was alone. She checked again, venturing farther out in front of the window until she was right in the middle of it. She searched up and down the aisles and into the soundproof listening booth in the back. Nobody. Dan noticed the expression of befuddlement on Amy's face. "What is it? Can you see Jonah and his dad?" "They're not there."

  He joined his sister at the window. "We just saw them walk in!" Amy shrugged. "I can't explain it, either."

  Back at the doorway, they brought Nellie up-to-date on their findings. The au pair was practical. "His name may be Wizard, but he isn't one. He can't teleport himself out of a CD shop."

  "Exactly," Amy agreed. "Either Jonah and his dad are still in there, or they left through a secret door. We have to search that store."

  "Yeah, duh," her brother put in. "But how do we do that with a guy at the cash register?"

  Amy turned to Nellie. "Can you create a diversion to draw the clerk outside?" The au pair was wary. "What kind of diversion?"

  "You could pretend to be lost," Dan proposed. "The guy comes out to give you directions, and we slip inside."

  "That's the most sexist idea I've ever heard," Nellie said harshly. "I'm female, so I have to be clueless. He's male, so he's got a great sense of direction."

  "Maybe you're from out of town," Dan suggested. "Wait -- you are from out of town."

  Nellie stashed their bags under a bench and set Saladin on the seat with a stern "You're the watch-cat. Anybody touches those bags, unleash your inner tiger."

  The Egyptian Mau surveyed the street uncertainly.

  "Mrrp."

  Nellie sighed. "Lucky for us there's no one around. Okay, I'm going in there. Be ready."

  The clerk said something to her -- probably May I help you?

  She smiled apologetically. "I don't speak Italian."

  "Ah -- you are American." His accent was heavy, but he seemed eager to please. "I will assist you." He took in her black nail polish and nose ring. "Punk, perhaps, is your enjoyment?"

  "More like punk/reggae fusion," Nellie replied thoughtfully. "With a country feel. And operatic vocals." The clerk stared in perplexity.

  Nellie began to tour the aisles, pulling out CDs left and right. "Ah -- Arctic Monkeys --that's what I'm talking about. And some Bad Brains -- from the eighties. Foo Fighters --

  I'll need a couple from those guys. And don't forget Linkin Park "

  He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start."

  "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door. He was so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to run after her. With a meaningful nod in the direction of the astounded Cahills, she barreled down the cobblestone street with her load.

  "Fermati!" shouted the cashier, scrambling in breathless pursuit.

  Nellie let a few CDs drop and watched with satisfaction over her shoulder as the clerk stopped to pick them up. The trick would be to keep the chase going just long enough for Amy and Dan to search Disco Volante.

  Yikes, she reflected suddenly, I'm starting to think like a Cahill

  If she was nuts enough to hang around this family, it was only going to get worse.

  CHAPTER 1 2

  Amy and Dan scoured the store, hunting for trapdoors under tables, behind shelves, and at the back of closets.

  Dan threw aside a curtain to reveal a small office. There was a cluttered desk, a sink with a hot plate and ancient espresso pot, and a tiny bathroom. No way out. He tried to open the window. It was sealed shut with countless coats of paint.

  "Dan," called Amy. "Look at this."

  She was in the listening booth, a tiny enclosure behind soundproof glass. There was a

  compact stereo system. Two sets of headphones lay on the bench.

  Dan tapped on the walls. Everything was solid. "No secret passages."

  Amy frowned at the stack of CDs on the counter. "Don't you think the musical choices

  are a little odd?"

/>   Dan crouched to read the cases. Green Day, Rage Against the Machine, Eminem, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and, what was this? Twilight of Genius: The Later Works of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

  He removed the disc and handed it to Amy, who loaded it into the machine. They set the headphones over their ears. Dan was expecting some kind of secret message, so he was disappointed when a string quartet began to play.

  He made a sour face at Amy -- he'd had enough Mozart to last a lifetime. He examined

  the CD case. The usual dumb classical music words -- cantata, adagio, cadenza. Amy

  probably knew what they meant. Or she'd pretend to, just to annoy him.

  His eyes moved to the bottom of the list: Adagio KV 617 (1791). There it was again. He

  pressed the forward button, skipping ahead to the final track.

  The floor disappeared beneath their feet, and they were falling, sliding down a metal

  chute. The sides were mirrored, reflecting their own shock back at them.

  Amy pressed both hands against the ramp in a desperate attempt to slow her descent.

  There was zero traction, even when she tried to dig in with the rubber soles of her

  sneakers. The surface was flawlessly smooth and slick.

  What -- ? Even in her mind, she was unable to form a complete sentence. She squinted, but only darkness loomed below.

  Suddenly, a pair of electronic doors separated before them, and Amy saw the bottom rushing up. There was no avoiding it. She braced for impact --It didn't come. At the last minute, the slide leveled off and deposited them delicately on a soft cushion made of beanbag material. They hopped to the floor in bewilderment. A hallway stretched before them. Stark white walls were covered with paintings. Muted classical music played in the background. "Another Mozart house?" whispered Dan.

  "Can't be," Amy told him. "Some of these paintings are modern. It looks more like an art museum."

  Dan was mystified. "An underground museum where you have to slide down from a CD

  shop?"

  Amy stared at a portrait in an elaborate old frame -- a man with part of his face in shadow, a stiff white ruff around his neck. "Dan -- I'm pretty sure that's a Rembrandt." Her brother made a face. "You made me mail back the recipe to those monks. Like you're going to let me collect a million-dollar painting."

  "If it's real, try fifty million."

  "Ka-ching!" Dan gawked at the artwork that decorated both walls of the corridor. "All this must be worth -- " He gulped. "There isn't enough money in the world to buy half this stuff!"

  Amy nodded. "But here's the thing. Grace was a Rembrandt fanatic. She had tons of books of his paintings. I've never seen this one before." "Fake?" Dan suggested.

  "I don't think so. The style is perfect. And look -- " She led him further down the corridor. "That's definitely a Picasso. But it isn't famous, either. I think this might be a secret gallery of undiscovered masterpieces."

  "What would that have to do with Jonah Wizard?" Dan wondered. The classical music ended, and a well-modulated voice announced, "That was the final movement of the Unfinished Symphony by our own Franz Schubert. You're listening to Radio Janus -- all Janus, all the time. Next we have a one-of-a-kind recording of Scott Joplin performing at Harry Houdini's birthday party."

  As the bouncy ragtime piano rang out, light dawned on Amy. "Janus! That's one of the four branches of the Cahill family! The Janus, the Tomas, the Ekaterina, and the Lucian!"

  "I hate Lucians," Dan hissed. "That's the Cobras' branch. Irina, too -- remember when she lured us into that weird command center in Paris?"

  "I think," said Amy in a hushed whisper, "that this might be the same kind of place. Only this one's for Janus."

  Dan was confused. "Who puts a command center in an art gallery?"

  And suddenly, Amy just knew. It was as if a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle had

  miraculously assembled itself in a fraction of a second. One moment there was nothing

  but confusion; the next, a complete picture was spread out before her.

  "What if each branch of the family has a special skill?" she exclaimed in a hushed tone.

  "Remember, the famous Lucians were mostly world leaders, great generals, secret agents, and spies. What do those careers have in common? Strategy, plotting -- maybe that's the Lucian talent!"

  "Okay, but that still doesn't help us here -- " All at once, Dan clued in. "So you're saying the Janus are artists?"

  She nodded ardently. "People like Mozart, a great musician. And Rembrandt and Picasso -- "

  "And Jonah Wizard!" Dan added excitedly. "I mean, I think he stinks, but he's a big star."

  "This is huge! Jonah came here for a reason. We have to figure out what he's after and get to it

  first."

  "Aren't you forgetting something?" Dan pointed out. "Jonah's a Janus. He's allowed to be here. But we're not."

  "Grace never told us what branch we belong to. It might be Janus. I play piano."

  "Face it, Amy. You're lousy at piano. And I can't draw a straight line with a ruler. We're

  about as artistic as a couple of hockey pucks."

  She sighed. "We'll be careful. They don't have to know we're here."

  They set out down the hall, passing paintings by masters from Van Gogh to Andy

  Warhol. The corridor was curved, the floor sloping downward.

  "This is weird," Dan wondered. "It's like we're spiraling deeper and deeper

  underground."

  "Maybe that's the shape of the stronghold," Amy suggested. "They didn't have a lot of space, so they designed the place like a corkscrew. If they've got the best artists, they've probably got the best architects, too."

  He nodded. "Sell a few fifty-million-dollar paintings and you've got enough cash to build whatever you like. You could hire your own private army -- " He looked nervous. "You don't think they've got a private army, do you?"

  Amy could only shake her head blankly. With this contest, the only predictable thing was that the Cahill family would continue to be unpredictable.

  And you can never underestimate the power of the forces stacked against you.

  The corridor widened, and there stood a full-size fighter plane from WWI, with propeller, fixed machine guns, and two levels of wings. It was painted with an Indian head on both sides.

  Amy regarded it in confusion. "Maybe some kind of modern art?"

  Dan's eyes were wide. "This is no artwork -- it's the coolest thing I've ever seen live!"

  "A real plane?" "Not any plane -- this is the Nieuport Fighter flown by Raoul Lufbery! One of the greatest flying aces of World War One! Only" -- he frowned -- "I thought Janus are supposed to be artists, not fighter pilots."

  "I guess that depends on what you call an artist," Amy mused. She pointed to a display case on the wall where a collection of crossbows and rifles was mounted. "Archery, target shooting, aerial combat. On the PA they were talking about Houdini, who was an escape artist."

  "Sweet," said Dan. "I'm starting to dig these Janus a little bit."

  "Dan - over here!" Amy held open the doors of a chrome elevator beyond a model of

  an F-15 cockpit.

  He rushed to join her and examined the floor directory. "Now where to? Sculpture ... Movies ... Strategic Planning? Why would you need strategic planning for an art museum?"

  "It's not just a museum, remember?" said Amy. "It's a base of operations for the whole Janus branch to plan strategy."

  "Yeah, but strategy for what?"

  "Well, for starters, clue finding."

  "Aw, come on!" Dan protested. "The contest was announced at Grace's funeral. No way could the Janus build a setup like this in two weeks, I don't care how many paintings

  they sell." "The official contest began at the funeral," Amy amended. "The clues have been around since Mozart's time -- maybe even before. I'll bet the branches have always known about the thirty-nine clues. And whatever the prize is -- this huge secret -- that's what they've been fighti
ng about all these centuries."

  The steel doors hissed shut and the car started its descent into the guts of the stronghold.

  Dan regarded his sister with alarm. "Did you press anything?" She shook her head anxiously. "Someone must have called the elevator!" Fear gripped her. In a few seconds, the doors were going to reopen, revealing a Janus who might know he was looking at two kids who didn't belong.

  Amy dove for the panel, slapping at the buttons willy-nilly, hoping to stop the car before it reached its destination. The elevator came to an abrupt halt. Had she managed to send it to a safe floor?

  By the time we know for sure, it'll already be too late

  They heard the voices first -- not just one or two but the general hubbub of a crowd.

  "People!" Dan hissed. "Get us out of here!"

  But the chrome panels were already sweeping apart.

  CHAPTER 13

  Amy and Dan dove out of the elevator and ducked behind the only available cover -- a bronze statue by Rodin. They peeked out through the crook of the figure's arm. This room was larger than the tunnel-like corridors they'd seen so far. Hanging banners depicted prominent Janus throughout history. She gawked at the famous faces: Walt Disney, Beethoven, Mark Twain, Elvis, Dr. Seuss, Charlie Chaplin, Snoop Dogg -- the list went on and on.

  A crowd of about thirty milled around, focusing not on the banners but on three stages that ringed the space. There was a performance of Japanese Kabuki theater on one. Another featured a group of artists in splattered smocks squirting paint from spray bottles at a canvas on a spinning wheel. On still another, sword fighters in fire-retardant jumpsuits dueled with flaming foils.

  Dan appeared at his sister's elbow. "What planet is this?"

  "It's amazing," she replied in a hoarse whisper. "A whole society celebrating art and creativity. I hope we turn out to be Janus. The problem is how do we get past all these people?"

  Dan thought it over. "When you go to a movie, what do you pay attention to, the audience or the screen?"

  She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  "Maybe we can melt into the swarm and slip out the other side."

  Amy wasn't a fan of crowds even when she was totally welcome. The idea of putting herself in the middle of thirty enemies made her nauseous. On the other hand, it was a plan -- their