Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10 Bae. The name, once so important in his life, now consumed Alistair with rage. His uncle Bae had been so close. Across the street! It wasn't the right time, Alistair reminded himself. He would have to wait. To plan. He turned in his seat to check on his flight companions. The Kabra siblings were absorbed in an old episode of The O.C. on their personalized seat-back flight screens, and the Cahills were doing the airline magazine crossword puzzle. Quietly, he unfolded the printout from the library. In his lifetime, Alistair had spent a fortune on private investigators looking for the man who had taken everything from him. Now the man's

identity had been discovered. He had died of old age — a respectable elder who had secretly built his fortune on contract killings and kept a record of each one in a private vault. Apparently, he had kept everything. Alistair spread the printout on his tray table. Fingers shaking, he read it for what seemed like the hundredth time: OH INDUSTRIES April 22, 1948 Dear Brother will be arriving on 15:07 Delta flight, Idlewild Airport in New York, May 11. Booked into Room 1501 at Waldorf Astoria on Park Avenue. Scheduled to meet oar in front of hotel on May 12 at 7:15 P.M., after dinner, for trip to Broadway play at Imperial Theater. Driver is. Will take route across 45th Street. Upon completion of mission, payment will be forwarded by the expected means. Please confirm $5K US as proper amount. Destroy letter immediately. Sincerely, Bae Oh Senior Vice President

Alistair forced himself to read it, fighting back nausea and anger. Five thousand dollars. His father's life for five thousand dollars. The details of what had happened in New York were hardwired into Alistair's brain. He still carried around with him the tattered, yellow news clipping of the murder: New York City, May 12, 1948: Korean industrialist Gordon Oh was killed at the intersection of Madison Avenue and 45th Street while being driven to the theater. Here is what the newspapers all said: There had been a break-in at Brooks Brothers, an alarm, the desperate robber running up the avenue with a gun and trying to commandeer a car stopped at a red light— his father's hired limousine. Mr. Oh had tried to subdue the man. He had struggled nobly but tragically lost his life. The gunman had slipped away and was never found. His dad had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. An unlucky accident. That was the official report. As a child, Alistair had never suspected foul play. But sometimes accidents were planned, and

killers were hired. He had always been afraid of his uncle Bae Oh, his father's twin brother. Bae had grown up the lazy twin, the greedy slacker, repeatedly passed over for the head of the Ekaterina family, always under the shadow of the robust and well-loved Gordon. As an adult, Bae was all about foul play, as ruthless as a Kabra in his business dealings. Bae craved glory and riches— and the 39 Clues. Whoever stood in his way had to go. Even his own brother. It didn't matter that Gordon had a wife halfway across the world whose grief was so great that she needed to be hospitalized. Or a four-year-old boy whose heart that day had been ripped out. A boy who was packed off, crying and alone, to be brought up by a man with a heart of glass, to be ignored and mocked his whole life. His uncle Bae Oh. The murderer's boss. Alistair glanced at the Cahill children. They were squabbling over the answer to a crossword puzzle now, the argument turning into a joke, the boy making up a nonsense word— a babble of

nonsense words, a burst of laughter. Even now they sounded as they did eleven years ago, as a newborn and a three-year-old. Back when Alistair had made his promise to Hope and Arthur. A promise that had been nearly impossible to keep. The children wouldn't remember, of course. But he did. And now the couple was gone, for the same reason he'd lost his own parents. For the Clues. He sighed. At least the children had each other. All Alistair could hope for was revenge. His fingers shook as he folded the sheet and put it back into his pocket. On this flight, he knew he would not sleep.