Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 Standing at the rail, Dan Cahill looked over the roiling sea and thought: He who is responsible for the fate of the world does not lose his lunch. He held tight, feeling like the time Aunt Beatrice had let him ride the Whirl-a-Cup after three helpings of French fries. The results weren't pretty. The boat lurched on giant swells. The rain had let up, but that just made the volcanic ash worse. Between the ash and fog, Dan couldn't see the island where last night he and Amy almost became roast sibling stew. Arif had evaded the police by finding a channel behind the island. After circling south, he was now heading back to Jakarta. Well, bouncing back was more like it. The trip would take three hours. Which meant three hours of Radio Silence between Dan and his sister. Amy

was mad at him. He who is responsible for the fate of the world does not think about his sister while trying not to lose his lunch. Usually, you could count to ten and Amy would start jabbering about some fascinating topic like the growth rate of flax in Uruguay. But this anger was different. Sticky. Amy was mad at everybody —Alistair, Nellie, him. Not that he blamed her. Everything was confusing, and confusion made Amy mad. Even their motto— Trust no one— couldn't be trusted. Irina was bad, then good. Nellie was good, then (maybe) bad. Alistair was in a class by himself. Plus, they didn't know where they were going next. And the ride was nauseating. Take deep breaths. Think cheerful. Think funny. A lot of help that strategy had been. No one was laughing at his jokes. But jokes were the only way to get relief from yesterday. From the memory of Irina. He couldn't stop hearing her last words—

"Everything is up to you and Dan. Go!"—or seeing her face. She was reaching up from under the sea, staring down from the storm clouds, crying on the wind. Tickling his ankle. "GAHH!" Dan gasped, jumping away. "Mrrp?" said Saladin, looking as confused as he felt. "Didn't mean to scare you, little guy," Dan said, lifting the Mau into his arms. He felt Saladin's heart beat against his own chest. "How do you do it? How do you make me feel so much better? I try to make everyone feel good, and I just get them mad. With you, it's like, hey, everything's situation normal." Dan smiled. Situation normal was his dad's expression— one of the few things he remembered. "Dude, I have someone I want you to meet," Dan said. He reached into his pocket and took out his father's old Australian passport. It had a faint musty, sweet smell. Dan imagined the smell was his dad's cologne, but Amy claimed it was just

passport paper. Flipping open the blue cover, he looked at the photo and the fake name beneath: ROGER NUDELMAN. Dad had hidden his identity, probably to deceive rivals in the hunt. But the goofiness of the name always made Dan smile. "Say hi, Rog!" he said softly. "He was a jokester, too, Saladin— I know it. Like me. Family tradition." The boat lifted sharply up on a wave and then slapped down. Rain was beginning to fall again, so Dan quickly slipped the passport back into his pocket. With a crack of thunder, the skies emptied hard. Dan cowered. Saladin jumped away and scampered toward a small glassed-in cabin. Dan followed, the rain so thick he could barely breathe. "Ya, saya mendengar mereka—" Inside, the skipper, Arif, was shouting into a cell phone while at the wheel. He spun around suddenly. "No come in!" "Um, rain?" Dan gestured outside. "Wet?" He shook his head, spraying water on the floor.

"Towels?" Arif muttered something into the phone in Indonesian, then pointed toward a hinged wooden chest that ran the length of the cabin's back wall. Saladin was already scratching at something in the space between the chest and the wall. He managed to slide out a small oval-shaped tin. A rancid, fishy smell wafted upward and Dan felt his stomach lurch. As Saladin eagerly began licking out the slimy black contents, Dan noticed the tin's label: GENUINE RUSSIAN SEVRUGA CAVIAR. Irina's snack. Why did Russians like such disgusting food? Breathe. In. Out. You will not get sick. Dan opened the chest and found a stack of white towels, along with ropes, blankets, and notebooks. As he pulled out a towel, he stopped cold. Next to the stack was a leather shoulder bag engraved with the letters INS. Irina N. Spasky.

Dan pulled it out and quietly shut the top. The door to the cabin flew open, startling Arif. Amy barged in, soaked and angry looking. "There you are! I thought you'd hurled too many chunks and fallen off the edge of the boat." Glancing at Arif, Dan tucked the shoulder bag under his arm. He pulled Amy outside to a rain-sheltering overhang. "Before you say anything that makes me feel even more special, look at this," Dan said. Amy gasped when she saw the bag. "It's Irina's!" Dan opened it and riffled through the contents— some makeup, a telescope shaped like a lipstick container, some suspicious-looking vials, a leather notebook… "What's this?" Amy said, pulling out a thin leather wallet. Tucked inside was a stack of rubber-banded cards. Quickly, she unwrapped the bands and thumbed through. The top card made her flinch— a copy of her own United States Social Security card. Under it were copies of Ian's and Natalie's school IDs, an ID card for each Holt, a Burrit-Oh!