The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 2: A King's Ransom

by Jude Watson

“There’s a fine line between criminality and genius,” Dan said. “That’s what Lightfinger Larry used to say.”

  The hallway was carpeted in severe gray. Steel-framed art marched down one wall. The offices on their left all had glass walls. They could hear the murmur of voices from behind a door to the right. Amy put a finger to her lips. They tiptoed down the hallway, slipping past the empty offices. They were lucky that it was a Saturday. The glass walls gave them a sightline into offices that looked like living rooms, with sofas and easy chairs and paintings on the walls. Amy stopped short.

  “I think that’s a Rembrandt,” she whispered, pointing at a small dark painting on the wall of the largest office. “Isn’t it amazing?”

  “Sorry. Only one art heist a week for me,” Dan said.

  They tiptoed past and kept on going. Finally at the end of the hallway, a door on the right was marked REKORDBÜRO. Amy nodded, and, after listening for a minute, they cautiously pushed it open. The office was empty.

  “Whew,” Amy whispered after they closed the door behind them. “Lucky. I think this is where the records are kept.”

  Unlike the elegant offices they’d glimpsed, this room was small and cluttered. A small desk with a fax machine was shoved in between a table and the door. The rest of the room was filled with filing cabinets. The old files could be right here.

  “I don’t think they would have digitized their transactions from eighty years ago. But they should have dead files.”

  Amy peered at the labels on the filing cabinets. “Bingo. These are the records from the 1950s. There are no records for the 1940s … they closed the business during World War Two … so … here!” She stopped before the last filing cabinet. “The records from the 1930s.” She opened the drawer and groaned. “This could take a while. They aren’t filed by the name of the object. It’s by date. We know it’s 1932, but we don’t know what month.” She handed Dan a hanging file. “Let’s get started. We have to get this done before the auction is over so we can leave with the crowd.”

  She opened the first file. Records were kept in a tiny, neat handwriting. Amy slumped against the cabinet. “These are in German. Of course they would be.”

  “It’s all right,” Dan said. “It will still say ‘de Virga.’”

  She and Dan bent over the files. They had to keep the light off, so they used their penlights, flipping through paper after paper. Their eyes almost crossed trying to decipher the thin, spidery handwriting or faint typewriter ink, all written in a language they didn’t know. Occasionally, they would freeze if they heard footsteps outside. Amy’s palms were damp with nerves. If they got caught, what would they say?

  Finally, just when wild goose chase was starting to dance around in Amy’s brain, Dan whispered, “Got it.”

  He passed over a paper. Amy saw the words de Virga and mappa mundi.

  Amy’s heartbeat speeded up. Here it was, the original notes on the auction of the antique map. “I can’t read the rest,” she murmured. “But look — there’s a list of names: ‘Prof. Otto Hummel … Jane Sperling … Marcel Maubert … Reginald Tawnley.’ And there’s a notation next to each name.”

  “Doesn’t Ian speak German?” Dan asked. “Maybe we can get a good enough resolution on a photograph to send it to him.”

  “Worth a try. And if he can’t translate it, he can find a Cahill who can.” Amy spread the sheet out on the floor and took a photograph with her phone. She e-mailed it to Attleboro.

  A loud noise sent them shooting to their feet. Amy looked around wildly, but Dan laughed softly. “It’s just the fax machine,” he said.

  “Make it stop,” Amy groaned. “Somebody might come in. We’re overstaying our welcome.”

  Dan crept over to the fax machine. “I wonder if it’s somebody bidding on an Old Masterful.” He mimicked a snooty British accent. “ I say, old chap, a million for that drawing of the cow. Make that two million… .”

  Amy stared down at the phone, willing it to chime an answer. When she looked up at Dan, he was staring at the fax in his hand.

  “I think you’re right about overstaying our welcome,” he said. He walked over and handed her the fax.

  INTERPOL MOST WANTED

  AMY CAHILL DAN CAHILL

  ALERT TO ART DEALERS, MUSEUMS, AUCTION HOUSES

  BE ON LOOKOUT FOR TWO SUSPECTS. CONFIRMED THEFT OF CARAVAGGIO MEDUSA FROM UFFIZI. CONSIDERED TO BE PLANNING ADDITIONAL HEISTS IN EUROPE. BELIEVED TO HAVE CROSSED THE ITALIAN/SWISS BORDER. IF SPOTTED, CONTACT INTERPOL NUMBER BELOW.

  “It’s from some guy named Milos Vanek,” Dan said. “He’s the detective assigned to our case, I guess.”

  “Photos and descriptions,” Amy said, looking at the next sheet. “This is not good.” She stared at the photos on the paper. They were their real passport photos, so they had been taken a few years before. On the fax they were smudged and indistinct. One piece of luck, anyway. “This can’t be the only fax machine in this place. We’d better get out of here.”

  They jumped again when Amy’s cell phone vibrated. Amy pressed SPEAKER and Ian’s voice rang out.

  “Simple to translate,” he said. “Easier than homework. Back in 1932, somebody at the auction house made a list of potential buyers for the de Virga. Those four names that have the little crosses and notations next to them? They were the clients that had to be treated with kid gloves. Hummel was a professor but he had family money. Jane Sperling was a socialite from Chicago. Maubert was an art dealer — there’s an address in Paris — and the last one — Tawnley — was an Englishman who had a private library.”

  Amy looked at the names again. “Can you do more research on the names?”

  “But why?” Dan asked. “We know they didn’t buy it. It disappeared before the auction.”

  “It’s the only lead we have,” Amy said. She folded up the paper and slipped it into her pocket. “The auction house knew that these four people really wanted the de Virga. Maybe one of them stole it.”

  “We’ll get back to you,” Ian said, and hung up.

  Activity in the hallway outside had increased. They could hear footsteps and voices.

  “Come on,” Amy said uneasily. “We’d better get out of here before somebody reads that fax.”

  When they cautiously cracked open the door, the gray-carpeted hallway was empty. They swiftly made their way down it. When they turned the corner, a door to the right was open, and they saw Frau Gertler standing with her back to them. A man in a dark suit with an earpiece approached and handed her the fax.

  Frau Gertler read the fax, then snapped it back to the security man. “Search the auction room,” she ordered. “Discreetly. There are two teenagers here that could possibly be them. Just keep a sharp eye out.” She hesitated. “My key card is missing. Better search the back rooms as well.”

  If Frau Gertler moved an inch, she would catch them out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, they began to back up.

  Amy jerked her head. Next to them was a keypad. Dan took out the key card and swiped it through. The door opened and they slid inside and closed it. They were in the luxurious office they’d glimpsed earlier, the one with the Rembrandt on the wall. They leaned against the door to catch their breath.

  “We’ve got to ditch this place fast,” Amy said.

  Dan hurried over and checked the windows. “They’re sealed. We could break one, but …”

  “Alarms.” Amy said. Her gaze roamed over the office, and she found herself staring at the brown and amber painting on the wall. The Rembrandt.

  Alarms, she thought again. Usually, they were trying not to trip them.

  But this time … maybe an alarm could help.

  Amy slipped the Rembrandt off the wall and turned it over. Just as she’d hoped, there was a small electronic device stuck to the back.

  “It’s a sensor,” s
he said. “Remember when we came in? There was a security checkpoint there.”

  “And we’re going to set off an alarm?” Dan asked. “Um, pretend I’m stupid, because I’m not getting this.”

  Amy opened her new handbag, the one that had caused her to feel dizzy when she first heard the price. The only thing in it was a bag containing the rest of her lunch. She opened it up and placed the sensor inside the sandwich. “Someone else is.” Quickly, she outlined her plan.

  “Lightfinger Larry is going to come in handy again,” Dan said after he heard it.

  They peeked out through the glass walls. The corridor was empty for now. Quickly, they ran to the door leading to the lobby. Dan opened the door a crack. “The auction is over,” he whispered. “People are starting to leave.”

  “That’s good. We’ll get lost in the crowd.”

  “Not for long. There’s at least four security goons at the door.”

  “We’ve just got to give them a bigger problem to handle.”

  Amy pressed her eye against the crack. People were still clustering outside the auction room. Frau Gertler stood by, greeting customers, a tight smile on her face. Amy noted how her gaze darted around the lobby.

  She quickly scanned the lobby, focusing on the fashionably dressed women.

  A sleek blond woman stood close to the doorway, checking her smartphone. She had a raincoat slung over one arm and a replica of Amy’s purse on the other.

  “That one,” she told Dan. “Ready?”

  They slipped through the door and came up behind the woman just as she switched her handbag to her other arm in order to put on her raincoat.

  “Allow me,” Dan said, stepping up to assist her.

  “Thank you, young man,” the woman said approvingly in a French accent. “And they say American young people have no manners!” She twisted as Dan helped her on with her coat. Dan twisted at the same time, and the woman was suddenly tangled in her coat.

  “Sorry!” Dan smiled winningly, and turned again, now pinning the woman’s arm around her back as if by accident.

  “Let me go, young man!”

  “Sorry … just a minute. If I can just … get this around like … that …”

  Amy moved up behind Dan. She was there to catch the handbag as it slipped down and quickly replaced it with her own. Without breaking stride she melted into the crowd.

  “There you go!” Dan said, finally getting the woman untangled. “Have a great day!”

  He caught up with Amy, but they slowed their steps, keeping their heads down and concealing themselves from the guards. The woman moved ahead of them. As she passed the security check, a piercing alarm sounded.

  Frau Gertler’s head jerked toward the checkpoint. She began to push her way through the crowd. Amy and Dan wriggled closer.

  “May I see your handbag, madam?” the security guard asked.

  “Absolutely not! This is absurd!” the woman protested.

  The security man held his hand out. “Madam.” It wasn’t a question.

  “What’s going on?” a silver-haired man asked in English. Someone else asked something in French. Amy didn’t need a translator to realize that rich people don’t like to be prevented from doing what they wanted to do.

  Frau Gertler checked the security screen. “It’s the Rembrandt,” she said in a low tone to the guard. “We have to search the bag.”

  “Somebody stole a REMBRANDT?” Dan yelled. “What kind of security do you have here, anyway?”

  “My Leonardo!” someone cried.

  “Go ahead and search her, but I have an appointment!” Amy shrilled above the crowd’s murmur.

  “I have a plane to catch!” someone shouted.

  “My driver is waiting!” a stout man insisted.

  “Let them all go and detain this woman,” Frau Gertler muttered.

  Amy and Dan joined the crowd thronging toward the doors. As they passed through, they saw the security man hold up a sandwich.

  “What is it?” Frau Gertler demanded.

  “Ham and cheese, Frau Gertler,” the man said.

  “Aha!” the woman trilled triumphantly. “You see? I’m innocent! I’m a vegetarian!”

  When they hit the cool air, Amy tossed the purse into the bushes and jumped in the car after Dan.

  “Just drive,” she told the chauffeur, and crashed back against the seat.

  FROM: V-1

  TO: V-6

  Remind me of your mission again? Oh, yes. Surveillance of targets Amy and Dan Cahill. That was it. Now enlighten me as to the reason for your utter failure to complete mission. Care to check in? Or would you like to check out permanentemente, cara?

  Vesper One slammed the phone down. Took a breath, then another. It was a shame he couldn’t do everything himself. He had to rely on the Wyomings for muscle and surveillance. They were a ruthless pair. But they needed … prodding.

  Fear was such a great motivator. Look at Amy and Dan, scampering around like hamsters, just for him!

  The de Virga map was the piece needed for the next step. The thought of it made his palms itch. He could feel it dropping into his hands. Amy and Dan could do it. Given the right incentive, they could do just about anything.

  In an odd way, he believed in them. Certainly, he was rooting for them. They would collect the pieces and he would assemble them, and then …

  Eyes closed, he envisioned it all. What he would gain. Nothing less than everything.

  Cheyenne Wyoming shoved her phone back in her purse as she swung down the Trüllhofstrasse in Lucerne. Vesper One was making threats. In his usual style, of course, calling her cara, an endearment in Italian, even while he was threatening to kill her.

  It had taken her years to work herself up to Vesper Six. After Casper had totally botched the job in Zermatt, when he’d almost died trying to get the ring … well, she’d vaulted right ahead of him. Casper had been furious.

  And even she didn’t like to get on the bad side of her twin. The bad side was … extremely unpleasant. She rubbed her wrist absentmindedly. The fracture had required a small metal plate to repair the bone. Casper hadn’t liked discovering he was out and she was in.

  Just then a yellow BMW pulled over to the curb. “Hey, want a ride, fräulein?”

  She stopped and shook her head. “Are you crazy, Casper? What are you doing in that car? Surveillance is supposed to be covert. That means nobody is supposed to notice you.”

  Her brother smirked. “Spoken by the tuba player of the Wilmington Wowzabelles?”

  “Wasn’t I right? Didn’t the tuba totally draw them in?” She slid inside the car and had barely closed the door before Casper gunned the motor and took off. “Your timing couldn’t be worse. I lost the Cahills. The GPS is all wonky. Satellite problems — it keeps going in and out.”

  Savagely, Cheyenne ripped off her dark wig and took the pins out of her long blond hair. She shook it and it cascaded down past her shoulders. Then she tossed her glasses out the window and popped out the dark lenses. She tilted the mirror and drank in the sight of her own baby blue eyes. She was herself again. Immediately, she felt calmer.

  “I’m getting kind of sick of dancing to V-One’s tune,” she brooded. “And having V-Two breathing down our necks all the time, waiting for us to make a mistake.”

  “Word. And now you’ve played right into it. We might get dropped from the Council of Six.”

  Who’s we, bro? Cheyenne wanted to say. I’m the one in the Council. You don’t even have a number anymore.

  But she couldn’t say it. She still needed her brother.

  “Now it’s going to take us even more time to climb up the ladder,” Casper continued.

  She looked out the window as the picturesque streets of Lucerne slipped by. Streets with fancy stores with th
ings in them that cost a lot. Things she wanted and deserved.

  A plan was forming in her mind. “It doesn’t have to take more time,” she said. “Not if we’re proactive.”

  A small smile began on Casper’s lips. “Oh, sister-friend. I know that tone. What are you thinking?”

  “If you want something, you take it,” Cheyenne said, repeating what the two siblings had told each other from the beginning of their lives in crime. Back when their parents robbed banks, pulled scams, dragged them all over the country. Cheyenne and Casper had added Internet scams to the family’s crimes, and they’d pulled in more than they’d ever dreamed. Soon they were known in the criminal underworld. And to the FBI and the police departments of various states. So when the Vespers came calling, Casper and Cheyenne were only too glad to ditch their parents (now serving twenty-five years to life) and join up with V-1. Now they weren’t just criminals — they were master criminals, linked into a global network.

  And she wasn’t going to give that up for anybody.

  “He thinks the Cahills can find what he’s looking for,” she said, tilting the mirror again to check out her image. “But what if we find it first?”

  The driver checked out Dan and Amy in the rearview mirror. It was the second time he’d done it in less than a minute.

  Dan’s fingers drummed nervously on the leather upholstery. He took out his cell phone and wrote a text to Amy.

  DRIVER CHECKING US OUT. WHY?

  Amy responded in seconds.

  NOTICED IT TOO. WE SHOULD BAIL.

  Casually, Dan pretended to adjust his backpack. Meanwhile, he looked over his shoulder. A sedan slipped in and out of traffic behind them. It speeded up to avoid a tram.

  A tail? Or just an aggressive driver?

  They were driving along the Reuss River now. Lucerne looked like a mashup of Zurich and Geneva and Zermatt to Dan — picturesque and impossibly clean, the streets full of law-abiding citizens. Wide, curving streets, buildings painted in pale colors. Everything looked fresh and pretty. It made him nervous. What he needed was a narrow, dirty alley to hide in.