Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 "Sugar maple!" Mary-Todd Holt knelt over her husband. "Are you all right?" Eisenhower sat up, an egg-size lump blooming on his crown. "Of course I'm all right!" he managed, his words slurred. "You think a little insect can stop me?" Reagan was unconvinced. "I don't know, Dad. She brained you with a baseball bat!" "Hockey stick," Dan corrected. "Those could be your last words, brat—" The victim leaped to his feet, then reeled and almost went down again. His wife reached out to steady him, but Eisenhower shook her off. "I'm fine. It's just the motion of the train. You think I can't take a shot? They said that at the Point, and look at me now!" "What do you want?" Amy demanded.

"That's putting on your thinking cap," Mary- Todd approved. "Give us the clue from Paris, and nothing will happen to you." "It's better than you deserve," her husband added, rubbing his head gingerly. "We don't have it," Amy told them. "The Kabras took it." "They took the bottle," Madison corrected. "Don't worry, they'll pay soon enough. You've got the paper." "What paper?" Dan asked defiantly. In reply, Eisenhower grasped Dan by the collar and lifted him as easily as he might have raised his arm to signal a waiter. "Listen, you little stinkbug. You think you're hot stuff because you two were Grace's favorites. But to me, the pair of you mean less than what gets cleaned out of the bottom of a birdcage!" His massive paw closed on Dan's neck, squeezing like an industrial-strength vise. Dan gasped for breath and realized he had none. He was being strangled. His eyes sought his sister's, but he found no

help there, only a mirror image of his own horror. It was easy to laugh at the Holts, with their bodybuilder physiques, their gung ho coaching jargon, and their matching warm-up suits. This was the chilling wake-up call. They were dangerous enemies. And with the stakes so high, they were capable of— Of what? Amy wasn't willing to find out. "Stop it! We'll give you anything you want!" Madison was triumphant. "I told you they'd fold under the full-court press." "Now, Madison," her mother admonished. "Amy did the smart thing. Not all Cahills have what it takes." Amy ran to help Dan, who had been dropped unceremoniously onto a lumpy mailbag. With relief, she noted that normal color was returning to his cheeks. He was upset. "You shouldn't have done that!" "Grace wouldn't want us to get killed," she whispered. "We'll find another way." The Holts began marching them toward the

back of the train. "Don't get any ideas," Eisenhower muttered as a porter sidled past them. Reluctantly, they approached their seats. Hamilton sat with Nellie, his bodybuilder bulk pressing her painfully against the train window. But the au pair's discomfort was instantly forgotten at the sight of Amy and Dan. "Did they hurt you?" she asked anxiously. "Are you all right?" "We're fine," Amy said glumly. To Eisenhower, she added, "It's in the overhead." The Holts very nearly trampled one another in their eagerness to get the luggage bin open. With a yowl, Saladin dropped to the floor. In his wake fluttered a blizzard of shredded paper — all that remained of the original sheet music penned by Mozart himself. "Our clue!" Nellie wailed. "Your clue?" The roar that came from Eisenhower was barely human. He grabbed Saladin, held him upside down, and shook him. With a feline gulp that sounded more like a

hiccup, Saladin burped up a hairball liberally sprinkled with musical notes. There was nothing that could be salvaged. It was confetti. Eisenhower Holt's explosion of temper proved that his muscles extended all the way to his vocal cords. The outburst sent passengers scurrying for adjoining cars. A moment later, a uniformed conductor rushed up the aisle, picking his way through the agitated travelers. "What is going on here?" demanded the man in a heavy French accent. "You will show me your ticket for this train." "You call this a train?" roared Eisenhower. "If this was back in the States, I wouldn't let my gerbil ride this rattletrap!" The conductor flushed red. "You will surrender your passport, monsieur! At the next station, you will talk to the authorities!" "Why wait?" Eisenhower thrust the cat into Amy's hands. "Take your rat. Holts — fast break!" All five members of the family raced out the connecting door and hurled themselves from the moving train.

Amy and Dan stared out the window at the sight of their cousins rolling down the hillside in tight formation. "Wow!" Nellie breathed. "That's something you don't see every day." Amy was close to tears. "I hate them! Now we've lost our only lead!" "It wasn't much of a lead, Amy," Dan said softly. "Just music. Even if it was by Mozart — big whoop." "It is a big whoop," his sister lamented. "Just because we couldn't find what was hidden in the piece doesn't mean it wasn't there. At least I wanted to play the notes on a piano. Maybe it would have told us something." Her brother looked surprised. "You want the notes? That's easy enough." He folded down a tray table, opened a fresh napkin, and began to work. Amy watched in amazement as he drew the five-line staff and began to place notes on it. "You can't write music!" "Maybe not," he agreed without looking up. "But I've been staring at that sheet since Paris.