The 39 Clues Book 7: The Viper's Nest (9 page)

"Who are you here to meet?"
Eisenhower demanded.

"Reagan did some research?" Madison said, parking her gum under her tongue. "She found out that the Tomas have a clue? It has something to do with some South African tribe?"

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"But if it's a Tomas clue, don't you know it?" Dan asked.

"You little brat," Eisenhower said. "Just like the others. Laughing at us. Looking down their noses. Cutting us off from the family secrets."

"Sweet pea ..." Mary-Todd said. "Your blood pressure ..."

The angrier Eisenhower got, the redder his face became. He clenched his fist around the string. Amy thought she could hear a frightened
yeep
from Alistair.

"Don't!" Nellie shouted.

"Who is your contact?"
Eisenhower demanded.
"Where is the Tomas clue?"

Stay calm,
Amy commanded herself. She was shaking.

She looked at Dan. He seemed paralyzed, staring intently ahead.

"Your uncle's hat," Eisenhower said in a tense, measured tone, "is connected to a wire via a magnet, which creates a groundified circuit. Knock off the hat, the circuit breaks. The pickup --
bang!
And for good measure, a loose wire falls upon the base of Mr. Oh's brain. Five hundred volts. I would hate to see that happen on a beautiful day like this, wouldn't you?"

Suddenly, Dan snapped out of his trance.
"I know the clue!"
he blurted.

Amy spun around. "You do?"

Her brother was jerking his arm back toward the car. "I --I need to get the map. Permission, sir?"

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Map?
Amy stared at him in utter confusion.

"Granted!" Eisenhower barked. "And you know what happens if this is a trick."

Dan ran to the Yugo. He was sweating. His fingertips shook. He opened the passenger door and leaned in.

"Mrrp?"

Saladin mewed hungrily from the backseat.

"RAWRF!"
Arnold lunged forward. His leash flew out of Mary-Todd's hand.

"No-o-o-o!"
Amy cried out.
"Shut the door, Dan!"

Dan scrambled to turn around. He pulled himself fully into the car. As he slammed shut the driver's door, Arnold banged headfirst into it.

The Yugo rolled downhill, toward the pickup.

"Pull back the handbrake!"
Nellie shouted, racing toward the car.

"The
what?"
Dan said.

"He's heading for the pickup!" Reagan shouted. "Stop him!"

"No ... oh, please, no ..." Alistair murmured, his face puckered and sallow.

"THIS IS NOTACCORDING TO PROTOCOL!"
Eisenhower bellowed.

Hamilton Holt sprinted across the road. He pulled open the pickup's front door and dived inside, his fingers working a tangle of blue wires in the dashboard.

The Yugo was picking up speed.

"The lever in the center!" Nellie shouted. "Pull it!"

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Hamilton leaped out of the cab. He leaned toward Alistair, turning his back, then whirled around.

The Yugo was fifteen feet away ... ten ...

"Now!"
he shouted.
"Stop now, Dan!"

Amy heard a metallic ratchet noise. The Yugo skidded left, turning sideways in the road.

She watched in horror as its right rear fender smacked against the pickup.

"DAN!"
she cried, racing toward him....

Her brother was trembling. Staring at the steering wheel of the stopped car.

In one piece.

Hamilton, Nellie, and Amy converged at the side of the Yugo. "I reset the mechanism," Hamilton said. "It's on a timer now. Three minutes. Take this. Go."

He handed Amy a folded-up sheet of paper and sprang away, running across the street.
"Move!"
he shouted to his family.
"It's about to blow!"

The Holts all ran in the other direction. Out of the corner of her eye, Amy could see Alistair crouching behind a tree. When the Holts were a half block gone, he began limping away, fast.

Amy felt a hand on her shoulder. Dan was pulling her into the car.

The door shut and Nellie tore away as the pickup blew.

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CHAPTER 14

Amy flinched at the sound of the bomb blast on Boom Street. Nellie was speeding the Yugo onto the highway entrance ramp.

"Yeeee-HAHHH!"
Dan screamed, hitting the car roof with his fist.

Amy's insides were frayed. "You think that was
fun?"
she blurted. "We could have all been killed --because of you!
What did you think you were doing?"

"Didn't you see him?" Dan said. "Hamilton --he was blinking!"

"So?" Amy said.

"Blinking Morse code, Amy!" Dan explained.
"Dit-dah-dit, dit, dit-dah-dit-dit, dit, dit-dah, dit-dit-dit, dit, dah-dit-dit-dit, dit-dah-dit, dit-dah, dah-dit-dah, dit!
Two words --
release brake!
He was giving me instructions."

"You understood that?" Nellie said.

"At first I'm, like, dude, what?" Dan said. "But he kept repeating the same message. He wanted me to create a distraction!"

"Are you crazy?"
Amy pressed. "What if Hamilton

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hadn't been able to fix the wires in time? You hit the van, Dan!
You hit it! A distraction doesn't mean dying!"

Dan deflated. His face darkened, and he fell back heavily into his seat. "You really know how to ruin a nice day."

The car fell silent as Nellie pulled onto the highway and zoomed toward Johannesburg. "So, campers," she chirped, "what say we celebrate our escape, Alistair's escape, Hamilton's good-guyness, and Dan's great code-breaking skills by stopping off and getting us a fresh GPS? And maybe, like, some food?" She paused while Amy and Dan shifted uncomfortably. "I knew you'd jump on that idea. I'll keep an eye out for a place."

As the flat, parched countryside raced by, Amy stared out the window. "I wonder where he is now--Alistair."

"I saw Hamilton whisper something to him after he fixed the wires," Nellie said. "Must have been telling him to make like a tortilla chip and break away."

Dan shook his head. "I can't believe that wacko was going to zap him."

Amy closed her eyes. The plan was so barbaric.

Zap.
One flip of the bowler.

She suddenly had the urge to cry.

Something was bubbling up inside Amy, something so muddy and deep she couldn't define it. "I... wanted him to die, Dan. I never felt that before. What's wrong with me?"

"Hey, kiddo ..." Nellie said gently.

Dan nodded. "Yeah. It's understandable. Really."

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"Is it?" Amy said. "
I
don't understand it. You should climb around inside my brain, Dan. It's like this dark room surrounded by quicksand."

"I know what you mean," her brother said quietly. "I hate being in my brain sometimes. I have to get out."

"What do you do?" Amy said.

Dan shrugged. "I go to other places --my toes. My shoulders. But mostly here." He tapped his chest and immediately turned red. "I know. It's stupid."

"Not really," Amy said. "I wish I could do that, too."

"It's not something you do," Dan said. "I mean, something's always going on in there whether you want it to or not. You just have to, like, lift up the shades and peek in."

Amy took a deep breath. The idea sounded so Dan. She closed her eyes and thought about the past few days. About Alistair and the hunt. About Dan and his body travel.

Lift
the shades ...

The quicksand was fading away. Relief washed over her. And she began to cry. "I hate myself," she said. "I hate what I'm seeing."

"Why?" Dan asked.

Stop feeling relief!
she scolded herself.
Relief is weakness. Relief is compassion. Compassion is trust. Trust no one.

"Why do you have such stupid ideas, Dan!" she blurted.

Dan smiled. "You do feel happy, right? About Alistair?"

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"I shouldn't!" Amy willed back the tears. "I can't! He always escapes. Mom and Dad didn't escape, but he does. It's not fair. He deserves to die."

"Amy?" Dan said.

"I don't want to feel glad that we saved Alistair!" Amy said. "Because saving him is like betraying the memory of Mom and Dad."

Dan nodded. He fell silent for a long time and then finally said, "You can't help it, Amy --being glad he's alive. I think Mom and Dad would be proud of you. They valued life. It's what made them different from some of those other Cahills. And Madrigals."

Amy thought for a moment. He was right. Being like a Madrigal was the worst possible fate she could imagine.

Sometimes -- just
sometimes
--Amy wanted to put her arm around her brother. But the last time she'd done that, he'd washed his shoulders off and written CP on his shirt for Cootie Protection. So she just smiled and asked, "How do you know, Dan? You were so young when they died. Do you really remember them?"

"Not in my mind," Dan replied, gazing at the passing scenery. "But everyplace else ..."

* * *

"Turn left, now..."
said a soothing voice from the Yugo dashboard.

"Thank you, Carlos," Nellie replied with a grin. "I'm going to marry Carlos. I tell him what to do, and he just does it. No complaints."

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Nellie's new GPS device, which they had named Carlos, was leading them into the city of Johannesburg. In the near distance, a cluster of glass-and-steel skyscrapers sloped up gently toward a slim, graceful structure like a giant scepter.

Amy's face was buried in a book. She had been reading aloud from it, a fact that made the trip seem about fifteen hours long. "'The N1 Western Bypass is part of a road system that rings the city, the busiest section of road in South Africa,'" Amy recited. '"As you approach Constitution Hill, notice the Hillbrow Tower, one of South Africa's tallest structures, resembling a more modest version of the Space Needle in Seattle.'"

"Uh--Amy?" Dan said. "We're
here.
We are
in
the traffic. We can
see
the tower."

Amy ignored him. "Let's find the Jan Smuts exit."

"Sounds like one of Nellie's boyfriends," Dan said.

Nellie leaned over and smacked him. "I'm loyal to Carlos. And he will find the exit for us."

"Smuts --pronounced
Smoots -- was
an Afrikaner military leader and prime minister of South Africa," Amy said. "He supported apartheid, the separation of races. But in 1948 he came out against it--and lost the election. Can you believe it? I mean, the Africans --the ones who were here first --were treated like that? And you could only be president if you agreed to it?"

"They could have voted the bad guys out," Dan said, "like we do in America. Well, sometimes."

"We're not so squeaky clean," Nellie said. "My dad--

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Pedro Gomez--was chased out of this town in the 'burbs? They hated Mexicans gathering on the street --but they were just waiting for farmers to hire them for daily work! My grandmother? She was going to settle in the South, until she saw this sign on a water fountain that said 'Coloreds Only.' She wasn't sure if she was or wasn't. But just the idea that she had to think of it was disgusting. Dude, why do you think there were marches and protests in the fifties and sixties?"

Dan recalled all pictures in textbooks and on a million PBS specials Aunt Beatrice used to sleep through. "People were crazy back then," he said.

"Crazy is something you can't help," Amy said. "This was planned. South Africa had always separated races, even in colonial days. Tribal people couldn't go into white cities after dark. They had to carry passes, or they were jailed. But apartheid didn't even start, officially, till, like, the forties. You had to be labeled black, colored, white, Indian. 'Colored' meant you looked part white, part black. If you weren't white you couldn't vote. You had to live in segregated areas -- like our Indian reservations but called
Bantustans.
You had your own schools, doctors, and stuff--totally inferior. The government made Bantustans separate countries, so they could control people with immigration laws. You had white bus stops and colored bus stops. You couldn't marry out of your race."

Dan's head was spinning. This somehow didn't seem real. It didn't match what he was seeing outside