Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 Alistair's father had always said that in every Oh there was an element of surprise. Not that Alistair remembered him actually saying it, considering Alistair had been a child when he died. But it was an Oh family trait to mix truth with a touch of wit. Alas, the Cahill children's hostile silence perplexed Alistair. He would have thought they'd have enjoyed this particular surprise. Screeee… screeeee… As Serge yanked the steering wheel left and right, forcing the car into spaces no normal human would dare to go, the children lurched from side to side. They seemed loathe to touch Alistair or even look at him, as if he were some distasteful substance, like boiled asparagus. As if he had not

just snatched them from the jaws of chaos to deliver them back to their chosen path. He tried to smile reassuringly at them. He felt for them. They looked so small, so scared, so lonely. He understood the feeling. More than they knew. "Gyess what?" shouted Serge over the noise of furious honking. "I chave keeds, too— gerrl fourteen, boy elyeven! Yes! True. They leeve in Moscow!" Alistair kept an eye on Dan, who was looking quite sick. The boy tried the door handle for what must have been the twentieth time in the last two minutes. Luckily, Alistair had made sure the safety locks had been activated. "Do not bother, please," he said. "You will only give yourself carpal tunnel problems later in life. And besides that, you are making me nervous for your safety." "So you were behind all this, huh?" Dan said. "With the Kabras and Irina. And the bomb scare. You're working with them now." Alistair's face twitched. He knew it would be difficult to earn their trust. Wild accusations were

to be expected. He knew there would be resentment, and understandably so. Leaving them in a burning house on the day of the will reading had been an unfortunate necessity— but a personal and strategic mistake. One he regretted deeply. "Believe me, my dear nephew, I don't have the slightest idea—" "Believe you?" Dan replied, spinning around to face him eye to eye. "Let's see. You abandoned us when Grace's house was collapsing around us. You planted a tracking device on Saladin—" "Tracking device? This?" Alistair reached into his pocket and pulled out an electronic device the size of a lapel pin. "I believe you planted it on me. At the museum in Salzburg, while I was dozing." "You d-d-deserved that, Uncle Alistair," Amy said uneasily, "after having hidden it in Saladin's collar in the f-f-first place." "No again, darling girl," Alistair replied with a warm smile, hoping to calm the girl's nerves. "Someone else was keeping tabs on you. Not I. Remember, many others in the family are competing for the clues. I am on your side. I, as

you know, believe in cooperation." "Oh, that's hilarious," Dan shot back. "Tell it to Comedy Central." Patience. Ever patience. Alistair folded his white-gloved hands over his lap. "Consider exactly who rescued you today," he said. "And who, in a very short time, managed not only to find you but to devise a method of escape. Consider also that as an added bonus, I am about to take you wherever it is you need to go. By private plane. All of this, and I ask only one thing in return— the location of where you are headed. Which, under the circumstances, is rather a necessity." "You have your own p-plane?" Amy asked. Alistair smiled modestly. "Well, not mine. But I still have business connections, favors I can call in during times of emergency. There are some financial advantages to being the inventor of microwavable burritos." "Ve stock zem on ze plane!" Serge said. "Biff, cheecken, cheese…" Good old Serge. Experience had taught them both the value of the Oh company motto: The

way to a young person's heart is through microwavable meals. Amy exhaled. "Okay, once we're on this plane— if we agree— what assurances do we have that—" "Amy!" Dan blurted. "Uh, no way, Goldfinger. If we're going to do this, we're doing it ourselves." Amy glared at him. "So I guess we're swimming to Japan? Drop us off at a mall, Uncle Alistair. I need flippers. The really big kind? With mad shark repellent?" Dan groaned. "You said the J word, Amy! You told him!" "What are our choices, Dan?" Amy said. "They have Nellie and Saladin and our s—" Amy stopped short, and Alistair glanced at her encouragingly. The poor thing had been making such great progress with her shyness. "Your…?" he said. "S-s-suitcases," she replied. Alistair nodded. Japan. Excellent. So that was where the next Clue would be. A fruitful turn of events. He leaned forward to his driver. "Can we

handle Japan, Serge?" The driver shrugged. "Vell, eez long treep. Ve must stop for refueling halfvay. In Moscow. I call ahead. Vhen ve stop, you can meet my keeds— Kolya and Tinatchka!" "Serge, please," Alistair said. "This is not a social trip." Serge let out a deep belly laugh. "Kolya and Tinatchka not socialists!" Dan glared at his sister. Swords, she'd been about to say. They have Nellie and Saladin and our swords. At least she corked herself on that one. Giving away their destination to the slippery dude was one thing. Giving away their Clue was another. Some things had to stay secret. Even sisterus dorkus knew that. He recognized the look in Amy's eyes right now. It was more than the usual disgust, more than her usual variations of You dweeb and No, it's not time to eat. This one said, If you screw this up, I will kill you. Which was exactly how he was feeling.