Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18 Fiske paced while Mr. McIntyre talked on the phone. "Amy and Dan know where they need to go," Mr. McIntyre reported, his hand cupped over the phone. "They're in a hurry. They want to rent a helicopter." "But we haven't heard from our man at the church about how things went there?" Fiske asked. Mr. McIntyre shook his head and went back to talking on the phone. "Do you feel that you and the other teams have reached a proper, ah, rapprochement?" he asked. "You believe that your actions in Stratford— and from this point forward— will lead to the achievement of all our goals?" Fiske could always tell when Mr. McIntyre was nervous. He started sounding more and more like a lawyer.

"Yes," Mr. McIntyre continued. "I am talking about the reunification of the Cahill family, and the end of five hundred years of hostility, enmity, and outright war." Fiske passed close enough in his pacing that he could hear Amy's voice coming through the cell phone. "Mr. McIntyre, we're doing the best we can," she said. "Dan kind of has a plan." Grace had told Fiske once that Amy reminded her of him. Because of that, Fiske had spent the entire Clue hunt trying to imagine himself in Dan's and Amy's shoes. They're braver than I am, he'd thought, again and again. They're always so sure of themselves. But now, hearing the worry and fear in Amy's voice, he knew that wasn't true. Amy was terrified. She had no certainty of success. But she and Dan had always tried their hardest, done their best, from the very beginning. Could Fiske say the same about himself? He would have to do his best now. Fiske grabbed the phone from Mr. Mclntyre's

hand. "We trust you, Amy," he said hoarsely into it. "You won't be able to contact us once you get there, but— we'll trust your judgment. It's all up to you." Mr. McIntyre was staring daggers at him. McIntyre was a cautious man. He didn't like having to trust people— especially not children who were too young and erratic to be predictable. "Don't worry about the expense," Fiske found himself saying into the phone. "Don't worry that you'll tip off the others that you're connected to us. This is the final stop. It's almost time for everything to be revealed." On the other end of the phone, Amy gasped. Fiske wanted to keep talking. This was strange— he wasn't used to wanting to explain, to comfort, to encourage. But he couldn't think of anything comforting or encouraging to say. All he could think of were warnings. Hastily, he shut off the phone and dropped it onto the table. Mr. McIntyre watched him. "We'll need to make our own travel

arrangements," Mr. McIntyre said. Fiske just stood there, staring out at the darkness that had enveloped the river Avon. The phone rang again, rattling against the table. Mr. McIntyre answered it. He was silent for a few moments, then he cried, "What happened? Who stole the lead?" The phone slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. Fiske reached for it. "This is too dangerous!" he said. "We have to stop—" "We can't stop anything," Mr. McIntyre said. Now he was the one staring out into darkness. "It's out of our control."