Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8 Amy barely slept a wink. Worry mingled with jet lag in her mind, a toxic brew that had her watching the LED readout on her bedside clock throughout the long night. Never did more than ten minutes go by between red-eyed updates. In the other bed, Nellie was also sleeping fitfully, murmuring under her breath through nervous dreams. Even Saladin was restless and had coughed up three fur balls by morning. It was after five when Amy finally fell into an exhausted sleep. She was plagued by nightmares about her brother wandering through the deserted predawn gloom of Tiananmen Square. He would know no other place to look for her. And where was she? Safe in bed. It was all her fault. Why had she burdened her

brother with her deepest fears about Mom and Dad? No eleven-year-old was ready to face something like that. She wasn't sure she could face it herself. Nellie's urgent whispering penetrated her reverie."… in Russia they ran ahead of me on purpose. This is different. Dan knew we were in the square, waiting for him, and he didn't come back—" Amy sat up. "Who are you talking to?" Startled, Nellie slammed down the hotel phone. "Your uncle Alistair," she said quickly. "We got cut off." Amy frowned. "No offense, but that's not your call. We don't want to have anything to do with Alistair. He was there the night our parents were killed." Nellie was stubborn. "That was then and this is now. You're in charge of the clue hunt. But when one of you kids goes missing, that's Nellie time. Do you speak Chinese? Me, neither. We need someone who'll pick up on it if there's a story around town about a lost American boy."

Amy nodded, chastened. "Call him back. Thanks, Nellie." They arranged to meet Uncle Alistair at the Imperial Hotel in half an hour. And as they slipped out the door, leaving Saladin asleep on a pillow, a tiny nagging doubt tugged at Amy's mind. If Nellie had just been talking to Alistair on the phone, how come she'd had to look up the number? "Amy. Nellie." Alistair Oh stood as they approached his table and gallantly saw them into their chairs before reseating himself. He may have been a backstabber like all the other Cahills, but his manners were impeccable. "I took the liberty of ordering breakfast. Please help yourselves." Amy and Nellie dug in ravenously. In the tumult of Dan's disappearance, they had skipped dinner. "Amy, you must be frantic," Alistair said in a mixture of sympathy and worry. "Dan lost in

Beijing. All of us who love you will find this most upsetting." Amy's lips were tight. "How much did you love us when you faked your own death in Korea?" Uncle Alistair did not apologize. "That was different. A clue was involved. We Cahills are destined to serve two masters— our humanity and the thirty-nine clues." "And if a clue becomes involved again this time?" Nellie put in pointedly. "I care deeply about Dan, just as you do," he assured them, his expression pinched. "Where did you last see him?" "In Tiananmen Square," replied Amy, mangling the name with her full mouth. "Near the Gate of Heavenly Peace. We had an argument, and he ran away and never came back." The older man was astonished. "But you and your brother are so close. What were you fighting about?" Amy stuck out her jaw. "The night our parents died. The fire Isabel set. And the other people who might have been there— like you."

Uncle Alistair shut his eyes for so long that both girls thought he might have dozed off. When he looked at them again, it was as if his face had been drawn downward by a kind of peculiar gravity. "If I could travel back in time and change a single hour, that would be the one," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "Two fine lives extinguished, two beautiful children orphaned. What a terrible calamity." "Calamity!" Amy sat forward. "You talk about it like it was an accident! Isabel burned our house down!" Alistair winced, as if the effort of recalling were physically painful. "Do you want the truth?" "I have all the truth I need!" Amy seethed. "She set fire to your house in Java, and now Irina's gone! She did the same thing seven years ago!" Alistair nodded tragically. "We all knew Isabel's ruthlessness. I should have foreseen that she was capable of murder. Perhaps that is why I've always felt a special responsibility toward you and your brother— and why his disappearance is so distressing to me."

It was not that Amy had nothing to say to this. She simply did not trust herself to speak without falling to pieces, as if the only thing holding her together were her silence. Nellie put an arm around her. "I know this is big stuff for you, Amy. But right now we have to concentrate on Dan." "What do you need from me?" Alistair offered. Nellie pulled a stack of Beijing newspapers out of a large tote bag and dropped them with a thud on the table in front of him. "Look through these. Anything suspicious— lost American kid, young tourist in trouble, boy found sleeping on the subway— that kind of angle. Check radio and TV news, too." "What about the US Embassy?" Alistair suggested. "No embassy!" Amy rasped. "At least, not yet. Dan and I are wanted by Social Services! If they run our names through a computer, we're out of the contest." "The contest," he repeated carefully. "My dear child, far be it from me to use this terrible