The Viper's Nest

  Nellie exhaled. “Sure, no problem. My Visa’s gone, but I can rack up my MasterCard. Remind me to enter the Peoria Lotto when we get there.”

  “Peoria …” Dan murmured. “No dissing the place but is anyone worried that we’re wrong about this?”

  “Hey, we decoded the message,” Nellie said. “Plus, there are two Cahill Cluesters who know the song. Irina wrote down the words, and Alistair sang it in the Harvard Glee Club. It’s a lock, dude.”

  “Glee Club …” Dan repeated. “What do they do, sit around and tickle each other?”

  “It’s an old-school word for chorus.” Amy smiled. “Both Dad and Mom sang in their college glee clubs. When we were growing up, their friends would come over and do a cappella music. You know, songs without instruments? One guy would bring this sheet music. Grace would sometimes come to hear. I used to love listening. Especially some of these amazing songs in German and French.”

  “Figures you’d like the boring stuff,” Dan said.

  In her memory, Amy could see the men and women standing in the old living room, their reading glasses at half-mast on their noses. She could picture the ornate script of the song titles on the sheet music….

  And in that moment, she knew exactly what she needed to do next.

  Just up the street was a stout tan-brick building with flags flying from either side of the front door. The words Perpustakaan Umum were carved into a marble stone above the entrance, and even though they were completely unfamiliar, she had a feeling she knew exactly what the building was. “Can we make a short stop here?”

  Dan’s skin was beginning to lose its color. “Oh, har-har. A library, right? Just to make me crazy. ‘Cause there’s no reason we would go into a library. Right? I mean, we don’t need to research Peoria, do we?”

  Amy began heading for the building. “Not Peoria. Something else.”

  “Not funny, Amy!” Dan called as she pushed open the heavy brass doors. “Amy … Amy?”

  Alistair Oh had nothing against brass wristwear, but handcuffs created unsightly marks on one’s skin.

  As the police van jounced along a road west of Jakarta, he carefully adjusted the metal shackle so it was over the cuff of his Egyptian-cotton shirt. This sort of thing was a good distraction from the chaos in his brain. Nothing made sense anymore — how could Irina Spasky be dead? Why had she saved him and the children?

  He had only been able to stare in disbelief. He had been a coward, just as he’d been seven years ago …

  Don’t think of that now.

  He had to keep his head clear. There were more immediate problems.

  The car bounced over a pothole, and Alistair heard a grunt of complaint from the front. From the person who had framed him. The person he had stupidly assumed would be Isabel Kabra.

  From the front passenger seat, a familiar gaunt old man turned stiffly. “Are you experiencing discomfort, Alistair? You are certainly looking well for someone who died in Pukhansan Park.”

  Bae Oh’s words cut through Alistair like a rusty blade. He stared at his uncle, trying to detect a shred of feeling in the steel-gray eyes.

  As a child, Alistair had been afraid of Bae, from the day the old man took custody of him. Which was immediately after the mysterious murder of Gordon Oh, Alistair’s father.

  Bae had been second in line to the leadership of the Ekaterina branch. All that lay in his way was his brother Gordon. At Gordon’s funeral, Bae appeared to be sobbing. Alistair was only five, but he never forgot staring at his uncle’s cheeks and seeing they were bone dry.

  The innocent wept. The guilty pretended.

  “I commend you, Uncle, on your acting abilities,” Alistair said. “They have improved since I was a boy. Did you convince the police that I set the fire?”

  “I fail to understand your hostility toward me, Alistair,” Bae said. “I do have a heart, you know. Your obituaries in the Seoul newspapers moved me, and I rejoiced when I learned you were alive. Even after that bit of drama in my office, which I must add was rather baffling. Has it occurred to you that you are being unfair to me?”

  “An interesting claim, with me here in the back of a police car,” Alistair said.

  “First things first,” Bae said. “Perhaps you would like to tell me how you survived the cave-in.”

  “Life must retain some of its mysteries, don’t you think?” Alistair said. “You certainly have your own.”

  Bae sighed. “I tried my whole life to groom you, Alistair. You had so much potential. I thought we could share the duties of Ekat leadership — I as branch head, you as my successor. Why did you never take responsibility? Spending time with those wretched American children. Did I teach you nothing, my son?”

  “I am not your son,” Alistair said through tightly clenched teeth. “I am the son of Gordon Oh.”

  Bae bowed his head. “Dear, dear Gordon …”

  Tell him, Alistair thought. Confront him now.

  Why was it so hard to face up to Bae? Alistair had had the opportunity after the cave-in. He’d sneaked into Bae’s office, scared away his secretary.

  I had him all alone, but I walked away. I didn’t do a thing.

  He. Must. Not. Scare. Me. Any. Longer.

  Alistair took a deep breath. “I found the letter,” he said calmly. “You wrote it on Oh stationery in 1948. A letter concerning a payment for the murder of Father.”

  Bae’s eyes widened. “It was a payment for driving!”

  “Five thousand dollars to drive across town — the exact day Father was murdered?” Alistair said. “With the command to ‘destroy letter immediately’?”

  “It was a lump payment to the limo company for several months’ business. And for your information, we routinely destroyed all our correspondence!” Bae stared at his nephew in shock, slowly shaking his head. “Honestly, Alistair, you surprise me.”

  Alistair, you surprise me …

  Alistair, you disappoint me …

  Alistair, how could you have been expelled from college … AGAIN?

  Alistair shook off memories that never seemed to fade, no matter how old he was. He was letting Bae into his soul again. He will lie to your face because he knows you will lose your cool, Alistair told himself. And then, once again, he will own you.

  Alistair met his uncle’s glance. “How am I to trust someone who lies to the police about his own nephew?” he said. “You know I didn’t set the fire, and you will never make that charge stick.”

  Opening his overcoat, Bae patted a thick leather wallet that jutted from an inner pocket. “I have ways of influencing what sticks and what does not. And I can be persuaded to use that influence to your benefit.”

  Alistair laughed. “Lies and bribes, as always —”

  “Unlike you, Alistair, I value the truth,” Bae said. “You are an Ekaterina. And yet you withhold the truth from me, your erstwhile guardian and branch leader. All you need do is give what you owe me — the truth about what happened on that island, and all you have learned about Robert Cahill Henderson’s discoveries.”

  “I … will … never …”

  “Watch that blood pressure, my son,” Bae said. “Your years as a failed junk-food magnate have taken their toll. Too many cheese burritos weaken the heart.”

  Alistair closed his eyes briefly and remembered something his father told him, a phrase he had never understood as a child: Silence is strength. He breathed deep and then stared calmly at Bae Oh.

  “Well?” Bae asked.

  Alistair suddenly lurched back in the seat. His body convulsed once, twice. He gasped for air, flailing wildly, yanking the handcuffed arm of the cop.

  The car was swerving now, toward the side of the road. The tires screeched. As the backseat cop tried to hold Alistair still, the driver swerved around.

  “Keep going!” Bae shouted. “We have no time!”

  “ARGGHH … GLLLLURGHHH!” Alistair sputtered. With a violent jolt of his upper body, he felt his head hit the roof and then collapsed, lifeless
, on the backseat.

  Mildew. Rotting paper. Amy smiled. There was nothing more intoxicating than the aroma of old books.

  In a small air-conditioned library room in Java, she set down a stack of music books from the library archives. The books were heavy, and they made a comforting thump on her table. Amy’s backpack sat in a small puddle on the floor, and a young librarian rushed over with a towel to protect the cloth seats from Amy’s wet clothes. She frowned, scolding Amy softly in Indonesian.

  “Thanks,” Amy said. “S-s-sorry.”

  Sheepishly she concentrated on the books, opening the top one first: Glees, Shanties, Fight Songs, Madrigals, and Motets. Just inside the cover was a stamp — the book had been donated by a local Harvard graduate.

  As she opened the book, she heard a commotion by the door. The librarian and Nellie were chasing Saladin around the room. Dan skulked behind them. He shrugged at Amy. “Sorrrrry … I took him out for dinner and a cleaning. Now he’s frisky.”

  “Got ’im!” Nellie said, snatching Saladin by the collar.

  As Nellie scooted outside, Amy turned to her brother. “How is Saladin feeling?”

  “Angry,” Dan said. “After the bath, we found an Internet café. I checked a Mau-lovers’ listserv? Oops, no red snapper in this area. He had to eat tuna.”

  But Amy didn’t hear a word. She was too busy staring at a song title on page 47.

  Fewer than a hundred miles away, on a highway outside the airport, Bae Oh watched his nephew in the throes of heart failure.

  “Eccckkkk … Unc … Uncle …” Alistair cried out.

  The driver was kneeling over Alistair, urgently talking on a cell phone while trying to hold his nephew still. The officer who had been cuffed to Alistair was fumbling with the keys to the cuffs.

  “Good grief, men, do something!” Bae shouted.

  Alistair reached up with trembling hands. He was gagging, his body contorted. Seeing him this way shocked Bae. Alistair had always carried himself with dignity. He had survived deadly explosions and massive collapses with nary a hair out of place.

  How ironic that his own heart would do him in.

  And nothing to show for it, Bae thought, but a life frittered away. College, business, and now health—Alistair had failed in everything. If only he hadn’t been so soft. So ignorant of the uses of power. So willing to put others first. College is needlessly competitive, Uncle … I want my own business to feed people at reasonable prices, Uncle … By now he could have been something in the Ekaterina branch. Instead of a constant problem.

  Ah, well, Bae thought, watching the life ebb from Alistair. Often problems have unexpected solutions.

  The officer finally unlocked the cuff. As it fell away, Alistair’s arm thudded heavily to the roadbed. His head lolled to the side. The officers were dumbfounded.

  “Mati?” one of them muttered.

  Dead, Bae translated silently.

  He steadied himself on the police van. Alistair’s eyes were open, staring. Accusing. In repose, he looked like his father. “Gordon …” Bae whispered.

  Stop. It’s not Gordon. It’s the boy.

  Struggling to stand, Bae walked farther into the road’s shoulder, away from the noise of traffic. Leaning on his cane, he spoke into his cell. “Hello … I am calling to report the natural death of Alistair Oh….”

  “AAAAAAAGHHHH!” At the sound of an officer’s scream, Bae hurried back toward the car.

  He stopped short, dropping his phone and his cane.

  The two officers were flat on the ground, writhing in pain. Alistair Oh stood between them, brushing himself off. He turned to Bae, nodded cheerfully, then scooped Bae’s cane off the ground. “You dropped this, Uncle?”

  Bae reached out. “But … but you were …”

  “I may have been expelled from Harvard, but I got an A in acting,” Alistair said, flipping open the top of Bae’s cane to reveal a collection of small black switches. “My, what have we here?”

  Bae lurched forward. “No, Alistair, you don’t know what you’re doing!”

  “Watch me,” Alistair said. He swung the hilt of the cane toward Bae, releasing a black cloud of pepper spray.

  Bae dropped to the road in a fit of coughing. His leg twisted. He heard a snap below the knee. Pain shot upward from his leg and downward through his lungs, and he felt as if his body were exploding.

  He screamed, fighting to keep consciousness.

  Alistair approached, the cane raised. “You look distressed, my dear, compassionate uncle.”

  Breathe. Eyes open. Focus. Bae stared at his nephew. Alistair had the perfect chance. One rap to the head was all it would take.

  “AAGHH!” Alistair raised the cane over his head.

  Bae closed his eyes. He heard a thump on the ground. He felt his hand being pulled upward. His back sliding against the grass. A cuff clanking shut on his wrist. Another on the car door handle.

  Over the sound of his own shrieking, he was vaguely aware of a distant police siren piercing the air. And his nephew’s voice, growing fainter and fainter.

  Alistair was singing.

  “I’m with you and you’re with me and so we are all together….”

  The Peoria International Airport had its share of mums and bored children. But rarely ones with an arsenal of poisons tucked into carry-on shampoo bottles, which made Ian Kabra quite proud.

  The fact that the Cahill children had missed their flight did spoil things a bit. Not to mention the airport uniforms they were wearing.

  “I can’t believe we have to make ourselves look so … so …” stammered Natalie Kabra.

  “Working class?” said Ian, whose airline security shirt was already making him itch. “Remember what Mother said. It’s no longer so easy to infiltrate airline personnel. Be grateful for our Lucian contacts.”

  “Don’t get me started on the little airplane name badges,” Natalie grumbled.

  “Will you two be quiet?” said Isabel Kabra as they rounded a corner, heading for the airport employee lounge. A brimmed SUPERVISOR cap could not hide the anger in her eyes as she hissed softly into her mobile: “Arif, speak slowly. My Indonesian is exceptional but not perfect … yes, I know you outwitted them … of course they didn’t suspect you knew English, that is precisely why we pay you the big bucks … yes, I saw their names on the passenger list to Peoria, but they were not in their seats, Arif! … Ah, you have information on the next flight … three hours? Good. We shall hope they are on it. And, Arif … you should hope so, too.” She flipped the phone shut, her face flushed.

  “Well, then, happy news! Hakuna matata and all that,” Ian said cheerily. “We’ll rest and have a fine dining moment while we wait.” He looked around at the various airport fast-food choices. “Well, er, we’ll rest …”

  “Three hours — here?” Natalie pulled on her starched collar. “Yesterday it was Tokyo, Paris, Vienna, Seoul, Sydney, and Java. I had such respect for the Cahills’ location scouting. But — oh, honestly, Mother, that bumpy little puddle jumper to … P-Peo —” Her face turned green. “Excuse me, I’m not feeling well.”

  Ian watched her run off. “She has a point.”

  “Complaining about a location?” Isabel spun on her son. “When those children evaded us in Indonesia—twice? What does that tell you, Ian?”

  “That they’re lucky?” Ian guessed.

  “Those children,” his mother said, “are our only worthy adversaries.”

  Ian barked a laugh. “Good one, Mother!”

  “Are you laughing at me, Ian?”

  “No.” Ian dropped the smile. “Then is it possible, Mother, that they have flown somewhere else?”

  “Remember who is leading them,” Isabel replied. “That nose-ringed nanny grafted to an iPod. It’s a wonder they ever make a flight on time. No, Ian, we will not panic. They will be on the next flight they can manage to book. Remember, by our little arrangement with Bae Oh, we have taken out Alistair. Here in Peoria, they will be alone. To eliminate them,
there must be no variables — that is the lesson of Indonesia.”

  Ian nodded. Do not question her, he told himself. Not when she is in a state like this.

  Still, it was a pity to attack them with such force. Especially the girl, Amy. He’d never met anyone like her. Shy. Gentle. With an exciting edge of hostility. So unlike the girls back home, who flung themselves at him so often that his chauffeurs traveled with first-aid kits.

  Doesn’t she know better? Isn’t she smart enough to stop the hunt?

  It was the boy and the au pair. He was a pint-sized hothead. She was a collection of piercings and piggish-ness. If only Amy and Dan had stayed trapped in the cave in Seoul, at least long enough to get discouraged. Why did they antagonize Mother?

  They don’t know what it’s like to live with her.

  “Right you are,” Ian said. “They’re asking for it. Heaven forbid they listen to the brains of the outfit.”

  “And that would be —?” Isabel said

  Ian looked away. “Well, the sister, I’d say. Amy.”

  He felt a smile inching across his face.

  “Ian?” His mother grabbed his wrist. “If you are having the inkling of a shadow of a thought …”

  “Mother!” Ian could feel the blood rushing to his face. “How could you suspect for a moment …?”

  “Mother! Ian!” Natalie was racing out of the bathroom now. She looked even sicker than before. “I just got a text message from Reagan Holt!”

  Isabel Kabra looked aghast. “You texted a Tomas?”

  “No! She hacked into my mobile.” Dismayed, Natalie looked at the screen in her hand and began reading. “ ‘Thanks, Nat. We managed to pick up Dan and Amy’s next loction from your phine’ — oh, good grief, the spelling! — ‘location from your phone. We are on their tail, and if we smell a Lucian, WATCH OUT. ttfn, Reagan.’”

  Ian groaned. The Holts were one of the more unpleasant aspects of this hunt — nasty, brutish, and dull. “So much for the Cahills being alone.”

  “Perhaps we can put a ‘Tomas-Free Zone’ sign on the landing strip,” Natalie said. “That will confuse the dolts — sorry, Holts — for a day or so.”