Flashpoint

  Amy gathered the others behind her and stepped forward. “It’s not going to be as easy as you think.” Ever since she had taken the serum, her mind had been playing tricks on her, making it increasingly hard for her to tell the difference between what was real and what was imagined. But at this moment, her priorities were absolutely clear. She might very well die in the next few minutes. That would be fine so long as she got Dan, Jake, and Atticus past the goons and to safety. And that meant fighting all six enemies by herself.

  As his sister took an aggressive step toward the son of J. Rutherford Pierce, Dan yanked the belt out from Atticus’s jeans and raked the buckle along the sandstone wall, raining sparks all around the room.

  Galt was amused. “You’re kidding, right? What? Do you think you can set my clothes on fire?”

  Dan continued to scrape the buckle back and forth against the wall, sending a blizzard of embers airborne in the dark chamber. Some of these floated down to rest on the stack of ancient fireworks. There was a smoldering smell, followed by a pop and a sizzle. And then a jet of bright color shot from one of the bamboo tubes.

  It took Galt’s attention from Amy. “What’s that?”

  “Down!” shouted Dan, dropping to the ground and covering his head with his arms.

  Amy, Jake, and Atticus followed suit as an explosion of light and color filled the chamber. The fire from the initial rocket set off the others, at first one by one, and then in a subterranean supernova.

  The shaft acted as a chimney, drawing the blast up and away from the Cahills on the floor toward the fresh oxygen above. The concussion wave surged through the passage, pushing a wall of color that knocked Galt and his goons off their feet.

  It was so bright that Amy had to squeeze her eyes shut. She felt a whirlwind of heat buffet her, scorching her skin and hair. The sound was deafening — like a string of firecrackers going off inside her head. Her only thought was of Dan and the others. Were they all right? Had they managed to cover themselves in time?

  And then it was all over, and the silence was as loud as the conflagration had been. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air, but after the onslaught of light and color, it was impossible to make out anything in the darkness.

  Jake’s flashlight app pierced through the gloom. Amy waved her arms to clear away the smoke that hadn’t already been drawn out via the stairs. Galt and the five goons lay draped across the stairs and one another, unmoving.

  “Man!” exclaimed Dan, producing his asthma inhaler for a quick puff. “Did anyone get the license plate of that nuke?”

  Atticus coughed once and got to his feet. “Those ancient Khmer fireworks were built to last!” His eyes fell on Galt and the goons lying on the stone steps, and his voice grew solemn. “Are they dead?”

  Amy leaned over the six victims, pinching out a glowing ember in Galt’s fair hair. Her sensitive hearing picked up six distinct pairs of lungs, all breathing. “They’re okay, just knocked out by the concussion wave. They may have a few minor burns, too.”

  “What should we do with them?” Jake mused. “They’re still a threat to come after us.”

  “I vote we hit them over the head with some of that Feldstein wacke,” put in Dan.

  “Feldspathic,” Atticus corrected him.

  “I think they’ll be unconscious for a while longer,” Amy decided. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They stepped around their fallen enemies and climbed the narrow stairs until all four were once again standing on the lower gallery, breathing in great gulps of fresh air. A tour group from Scandinavia watched them quizzically. Who were these young people covered in soot and ash?

  “Oh, hey,” Jake greeted them genially. “Great temple, huh?”

  They left Ta Keo and its grounds as quickly as humanly possible without breaking into a run. As they made their way back through the jungle, Amy struggled hard to conceal the tremors that had returned to her right leg. In fact, all three boys noticed the limp, although no one mentioned it. The triumph of defeating Galt and his thugs faded quickly as they recalled that they were no closer to finding a Tonle Sap water snake.

  “We need to push the King Kong back on the river,” Dan said firmly. “We’ve still got a couple of good snake-hunting hours before dark.”

  At that point, the waterway came into view, and the plans changed. Cambodian police swarmed all over the Kaoh Kong, and what was left of the wrecked speedboat and shattered dock.

  “All we have to do is explain —” Atticus began.

  “Don’t you open your mouth!” Jake warned. “We’d spend a week in jail before it all got straightened out.”

  Dan cupped his hands to his mouth. “Hey, officer, look! There’s smoke coming from the temple over there! You’d better go check it out.”

  They followed his pointing finger to the plume rising from the lower gallery. Two of them ran off, jabbering excitedly into walkie-talkies.

  Atticus couldn’t hold back a grin. “Galt’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Chapter 12

  At Trilon Labs in Delaware, Sammy Mourad was working around the clock developing the Franken-serum. In reality, this was not a twenty-four-hour-a-day job.

  The guards were not ever to know that Sammy and Nellie had another project going — one that would not have been approved by lab management, and certainly not by J. Rutherford Pierce himself.

  Nellie’s elbow accidentally nudged the eyedropper, knocking it over the edge of the worktable. When it hit the floor, there was a sound like a miniature thunderclap, and a little flash of light. A wisp of smoke rose to the ceiling. When Nellie went to recover the dropper, there was nothing left of it but the rubber bulb, blackened and melted.

  Sammy was as pale as a ghost. “Do you think anybody heard that?”

  Nellie quickly scooped up the remains of the dropper and deposited them in the hazardous waste bin. “I don’t think so,” she said nervously. “Anyway, there’s no evidence.”

  Sammy was terrified. “You can smell the smoke!”

  “Lab explosions happen all the time.”

  “There’s nothing combustible in the serum! No one knows we’re really” — he dropped his voice to a whisper — “sterilizing the test tubes.”

  Their code again. Sammy and Nellie were spending every extra minute creating nitroglycerin — gallons, dozens of gallons, soon to be hundreds of gallons. When the time was right, this lab, with all its contents, all its research and blueprints and formulas, and, most important, all its serum, was going to the moon.

  If a few leftover drips could make that forceful an explosion, it stood to reason that the amount Sammy and Nellie intended to produce could take out the whole lab and the building around it.

  But it’ll never happen if we get caught before we’re ready to put the plan into action! Nellie thought.

  They waited breathlessly. No one came, not the guards who regularly looked in on them, nor any of the other scientists or assistants. They were safe.

  “We were lucky — this time,” Sammy told her, his voice quavering. “People have been laying off us because they like your cooking. But make no mistake about it — we’re not their friends; we’re their prisoners. One step out of line, and they’ll start looking around. And then they’ll notice that every spare tank, vat, and container in this lab is full of nitro. We’re basically turning the whole facility into one giant bomb! And if they catch us, all the pastries in Paris won’t buy us any mercy!”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a real buzzkill?” Nellie asked him.

  “I’m just being realistic,” he said stubbornly. “There are two of us and dozens of them. You’ve got to admit our chances of success aren’t great.”

  “We’re with Amy and Dan,” Nellie told him firmly. “My kiddos can have a zero percent chance of success, and they somehow come out on top — if they get the kind
of support they need.” She frowned. She and Sammy had to hold up their end by eradicating not just the serum, but also their enemy’s ability to manufacture more.

  “You know, there’s another way this could go,” Sammy added in a hushed tone. “What if we sterilize the test tubes, but we can’t get ourselves out before the building goes up?”

  “I never said what we’re doing isn’t dangerous. But that doesn’t change the fact that it needs to be done.” She held out her hand in the manner of a police officer stopping traffic. In response, Sammy pressed his palm against hers. It had become a signal to the two of them, the silent restatement of a solemn vow. Their goal was to destroy the lab and rejoin Amy and Dan in the fight against Pierce. But if escape turned out to be impossible — if the only way to blow up the serum was to blow themselves up in the process — they had decided it was a sacrifice they were willing to make.

  “I know, I know,” breathed Sammy. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. You can’t fault me for that.” He checked his watch. “You’d better be getting to the kitchen. Your fans will be expecting their tiramisu for lunch.”

  She grinned. “Today it’s chocolate éclairs.”

  “Save me one,” he said, with a trace of a smile.

  Carefully, she and Sammy loaded two five-gallon jugs onto a rolling cart. “Be careful with that stuff,” he whispered urgently. “Remember the eyedropper? Think what this much would do.”

  Nellie made a face. “Let’s not, and say we did. How about I just walk slowly and don’t bump into anything.”

  She wheeled gingerly down the hall, pushing the lethal payload in front of her. An armed guard followed a few steps behind.

  If he only knew, she thought to herself, unsure if the idea made her want to laugh or cry.

  Her destination was storeroom 117A, which had two unique qualities: (1) it was seldom used, and (2) it was located on the building’s main gas line, which Nellie privately called Kablooey Avenue.

  “Well, now, what have we here?”

  Oh, no! It was Dr. Benoit, the senior ranking scientist at the lab.

  Nellie fought down the urge to break into a run. The only thing scarier than being busted was the thought of all that nitro, sloshing around inside two five-gallon containers.

  “Sorry, Dr. B. Can’t stop to chat. Wouldn’t want dessert to be late.”

  The scientist put his foot on one of the containers to stop the cart from moving. “And can the director of research get a little preview of what’s on the menu?”

  “Oh, this is just liquid sugar,” Nellie explained. “It’s more concentrated, you know.”

  He looked delighted. “I haven’t had that in years. Give us a taste.” He reached for the cap of the nearest container.

  If Benoit dipped his finger in the jug, Nellie knew, he was going to get a lot more than a taste of sweet. Without thinking, she lashed out and slapped his hand away.

  The guard’s eyes widened, his grip tightening on his sidearm. Yet he made no overt move. It was impossible to tell if what he’d witnessed was a playful exchange or something else.

  Dr. Benoit looked shocked at first. As the boss of the entire facility, he probably didn’t get slapped very often. Then he laughed. “Nellie, you’re one of a kind. From now on, I’ll wait patiently for your desserts along with everyone else.” And he walked off, still chuckling.

  The guard’s hand retreated from his sidearm.

  Nellie wanted to slump over the cart, dry heaving in sheer relief.

  But she didn’t dare.

  Chapter 13

  The Cahill party got an early start the next morning, grim in the knowledge that time was running out.

  Their plan today — as it had been yesterday — was fishing. There were definitely water snakes in the Angkor region, and logic dictated that some of them had to be Enhydris longicauda. But like any fishing trip, success would depend on pure random chance. It was a maddeningly flimsy strategy — especially with Pierce closing in on his goals.

  Amy had hardly slept at all, and when she had managed to drift off, hideous dreams had woken her quickly. Yet instead of becoming weaker as she got sicker, she was actually becoming stronger. Her slender body began to bulge with muscle tissue. Her face glowed with vitality and strength. She seemed the picture of health when, in reality, she was anything but.

  They purchased new fishing nets and hired a tuk-tuk to take them out of town. But rather than heading north toward the temples of Angkor, this time they decided to try their luck to the south and the waters of the Tonle Sap, Cambodia’s Great Lake.

  “Where else would you look for a Tonle Sap water snake?” Dan explained his reasoning. “Tonle Sap is its middle name. Well, Sap, anyway.”

  Everyone laughed except Hamilton, who had something else on his mind. “The cops left a message on my cell. After the crash, they traced the boat to my credit card. And now I’m a person of interest.”

  “You’re an interesting guy, cuz,” said Jonah bitterly. “The crocodile farm seemed pretty interested in banning you for life!”

  “There might be another avenue we could pursue,” Ian began carefully. “Yesterday, I made contact with April May.”

  This caused a stir in the tuk-tuk. The idea that the mythical April May was a real person required a major adjustment in their thinking.

  “How?” Dan exclaimed. “Did she e-mail you?”

  “No,” Ian replied, “she followed me to Angkor Wat and attacked Pony’s computer. Hold on to your hats, mates: April May is actually Cara Pierce.”

  His fellow passengers stared at him in shock.

  Hamilton found his voice first. “The Cara Pierce?” he asked in amazement. “Like, the daughter of the guy we’re doing all this to save the world from?”

  As the tuk-tuk jounced along the rough roads, Ian recounted the meeting on the grounds of mighty Angkor Wat. The others peppered him with questions, but Amy remained silent, her supercharged brain sifting through the new information at high speed:

  April May was the last person any of them expected: the daughter of their enemy. Her involvement meant yet another piece was in play in this vast chess match, a piece no one had anticipated. . . .

  Amy spoke up at last. “Why create a secret identity and hire herself out to her dad anonymously?”

  “She says she doesn’t trust her father anymore, and she wants to work with us to stop him.”

  “And you believe her!” Amy scoffed. “Do you also believe in the magic rabbit that hides colored eggs every Easter?”

  “I don’t know, Amy,” Dan said slowly. “I think Cara might be legit. I told you how she helped me escape from the Pierce plane.”

  “That’s your hunch,” Jake put in. “You can’t be totally certain.”

  “She undid my bonds, and explained exactly how to open the door,” Dan insisted. “That’s not what they teach you in hostage taking one-oh-one.”

  “I know she’s done a few things to make it seem like she’s moving away from her father’s side,” Amy argued, “but that could be part of a strategy to sucker us in. Does she honestly expect us to accept that she turned herself into the world’s greatest hacker and her dad had no idea?”

  “It’s not impossible,” Ian supplied. “Every day we hear dozens of stories of people with rich lives online, while their friends and family know nothing about it.”

  “She’s a Pierce,” Amy said stubbornly.

  “And technically a Cahill, too,” Ian pointed out. “Her mother’s a Starling. I’ve never been particularly fond of the Ekats. All that tinkering and inventing — so labor-intensive and messy. But she’s as closely related to Gideon as any of us. So technically, she wouldn’t even be changing sides.”

  “She’d be double-crossing her own father,” Jake argued. “That’s not something I would ever do.”

  “I have some experience with tha
t,” said Ian stiffly. “It’s by no means easy, but you fight against a parent if that parent is evil. I’d say Pierce qualifies every bit as much as my mother.”

  The others regarded him in solemnity. They understood how painful it had been for Ian to turn against Isabel Kabra. Knowing he’d made the right choice gave him little comfort, even after all this time.

  “We can’t trust her,” Amy concluded. “And that’s just based on what she did as Cara Pierce. How about what she did as April May? She’s one of the most ruthless hackers and data thieves in history!”

  Dan dug in his heels. “You put me in charge because you didn’t trust your own judgment under the serum. Well, how do you know the serum isn’t clouding your judgment about Cara?”

  “I don’t,” Amy admitted. “I’m just saying it’s too risky.”

  “But that’s a judgment, too!” Dan argued, a little angrily. “If I’m the head of the family, doesn’t that mean I choose what risks are worth taking?”

  “We’re betting my life, so I make the call on the risks we take.”

  Dan set his jaw. “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Then nobody pays a higher price than I do.”

  There was total silence in the tuk-tuk except for the loud raspberry of the three-wheeled vehicle’s motor.

  Jake put an arm around Amy’s shoulder, and she didn’t shrug it off.

  In the opposite seat, Dan smoldered. Like Jake Rosenbloom had a monopoly on being worried about Amy! From the instant Amy had taken the serum, Dan had realized something that he’d always known, but never put into words: that his greatest fear was losing his sister. Dan had been only four when their parents had died. He had no memory of them, only vague impressions. Amy was everything, had always been everything. And that was even before they’d crisscrossed the globe together and saved each other’s lives dozens of times. The one thing in his crazy world that had been as constant as the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening was that Amy was always there. If he lost her, he was dead certain he would lose himself. The cold fear that had clutched his heart the day she took the serum had been tightening its grip with every passing hour. Jake was a pretty good guy, and his feelings for Amy were genuine. But when it came to worrying about her, he was strictly minor league.