Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11 Sinead Starling crouched out of sight in a pew at Holy Trinity Church. She and Alistair were the advance scouting team. Her brothers were on guard duty outside. At least, that's what she'd told Alistair the boys would do. He can't tell, can he? she wondered. He hasn't noticed that my brothers are… There were certain words that Sinead didn't let herself think. She hugged her arms around her torso. Even through her sweatshirt, she could feel the ridges of scar tissue that crisscrossed her rib cage— just one of her souvenirs from the explosion at the Franklin Institute. She shivered, the horrible memories crashing down on her yet again: The flash of light, the rumble of what seemed to be the whole world falling in on her and her brothers… the pain… the screaming. How many times did she shout her brothers' names before

anyone answered? How many times did Sinead beg, "Save them! Please save them!" Sinead gritted her teeth and tried to shut down the flow of memories. We just have to win, she reminded herself. No matter what. That's the only thing we can think about. She and her brother had already had two lucky breaks, getting mysterious tips about the Globe yesterday and the church today. Not that Sinead had exactly told Alistair she was getting help with her brilliant deductions. "Psst." Alistair's whisper came through the tiny communications device hidden in Sinead's headband. Sinead might not trust Alistair, but this was one point in his favor: He loved gadgets as much as Sinead and her brothers did. Or as much as they always had. "I'm in," Sinead whispered back. "Nothing to report yet." Not that she intended to report anything truly worthwhile to Alistair. "I think we can call your brothers off guard

duty," Alistair whispered from his position on the other side of the church. "It appears we are latecomers to this party." "What? What's that mean?" Sinead hissed. She raised her head so fast she cracked it against the side of the pew. Oh, Sinead realized, the pain in her head growing. He means that the other clue-hunting teams are already here. A cluster of Holts was striding down the aisle near the front of the church in what looked to be a military formation. Jonah Wizard was skulking along the wall, running his fingers over the stones. And two of those nasty Kabras, Natalie and Ian, were closing in on Alistair. Trapping him in the corner. We're Ekats, you're an Ekat…. It's really like we're on the same team, Sinead had said to Alistair only yesterday when she was trying to get him to tell his secrets. Had he believed her? Would he expect her to come to his assistance now?

Sinead started to stand up— she really did. But the memory of the Franklin Institute explosion hovered at the edge of her mind. Sinead still didn't know which of the other Clue-hunting teams had caused it. What if it had been the Kabras? Ian was reaching into his pocket. For a gun? Sinead wondered. Or something worse— a hand grenade? A detonator? Sinead's flashback was starting again. If there was another explosion, could Sinead get out to her brothers in time to make sure they were safe? Ian pulled out… a piece of paper. "How many clues do you have, Uncle Alistair?" he asked in an ingratiating voice as he glanced down at the paper. "Just confidentially, you can tell me. Brag. Tell me how much smarter you Ekats are than we Lucians." He gave Alistair a smile that was probably meant to be charming. Sinead thought it looked desperate. Desperation was something she understood. "Appealing to my vanity, are you?" Alistair

asked. "Please. Give me credit for being smarter than that." "You have fourteen clues, don't you?" Natalie asked. "Fifteen, if you count the clue the Starlings stole from Bae Oh and shared with you. And six of them are clues that no one but Ekats have. Right?" Alistair blinked. Uncle Alistair! Sinead thought. Can't you fake them out any better than that? You just confirmed everything! "No!" Alistair said, a bit too emphatically. "You're wrong!" Ian scribbled something on his piece of paper. Quickly, Sinead popped a contact into her eye— one of the telescopic-vision contacts she and her brothers had designed. She focused as quickly as she could on the paper in Ian's hand. It was a welter of initials and numbers and question marks. Most people wouldn't have been able to make heads or tails of it. But Sinead had always been good with numbers. She zeroed in on the column where Ian had written the numeral 6. She added

numbers in her head and double-checked twice. All three times she came up with the same number: thirty-eight. And she knew what it meant: Ian Kabra thought that the Clue-hunting teams all together had found thirty-eight Clues. We're even further behind than I thought, Sinead realized, despair sweeping over her. There's only one clue left. The scars on her torso ached. Her head throbbed. She popped out the telescopic contact and peeked out the door behind her, catching a glimpse of her brothers huddled behind a tombstone in the church cemetery. I don't care what we have to do, Sinead thought. Lie, cheat, steal, betray every relative we have… We Starlings have to get that last clue. Hamilton patrolled the front section of the church while his mother and sisters peered down at Shakespeare's tombstone. It was inside rather than out in the cemetery— part of the floor, really, in a roped-off section not far from the altar. Hamilton saw Ian and Natalie Kabra edging too