The 39 Clues Book 7: The Viper's Nest (15 page)

"EEAAARRRGHHH--
STOP!" a voice screamed as they walked past a chamber marked COMBAT FREESTYLE.

"It is quieter in my office," Mr. Malusi said over his shoulder. He led them into a spacious room, frigid with air-conditioning. He gestured toward a set of

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leather chairs as he sat behind a dark polished-wood desk. "Holt ... Holt ..." he said, fingers tapping on his phone. "Not much information here. Oh! Oh, my goodness. Ha! Eisenhower ..."

Despite himself, Dan felt the pang of insult. "Our family has been loyal for generations--"

"Yes, yes, the sins of the father, et cetera," Mr. Malusi said, vaguely waving the thought away. "It is still very good you have volunteered for the training."

"Training?" Nellie said.

"You have seen our pods," Mr. Malusi said. "Each is dedicated to an aspect of Zulu training adapted for the twenty-first century--agility, tactics, strength, endurance. The Zulus, of course, were the greatest warriors ever known. Under history's greatest leader. We are a leadership school." He stood up abruptly. "We have exactly two hours for a tour and dormitory placement. Then you must choose your combat specialty."

"I -- I -- I don't know if..." Amy stuttered.

But Mr. Malusi was already out the door.

They followed him past a three-walled boxing ring where two men were duking it out with lightly padded gloves and no helmets. Each whirled with blinding speed, leaping impossibly high, lashing with legs and arms, seeming to defy gravity as they ran up the walls to execute flips and frontal attacks.

"Now, that's cool," Dan said.

"It is the art of
samhetsin, a
martial art invented by the Tomas," Mr. Malusi said.

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Just beyond the ring, taking up nearly half the room, was a dirt-floored cage. In it was a bare-chested man facing a slavering animal with a sloped back.

"Is that a hyena?" Dan asked.

Mr. Malusi nodded. "Chosen for the power of its jaws, which can crush and pulverize bone."

The hyena leaped at the guy. With a grunt the man stepped aside, managing to avoid the animal and dart out his hand to its neck at the same time.

The hyena collapsed silently onto the floor.

"Excellent, Mr. Yaman!" Mr. Malusi called out. Noticing Amy's look of horror, he said, "Do not be concerned. Mr. Yaman has mastered the art of nerve isolation, which demobilizes the animal only briefly, before we let it back into the wild."

"And if he misses?" Amy said.

Mr. Malusi shrugged. "He doesn't."

As Mr. Malusi moved on, Dan felt Amy grabbing his shirt. "D-D-Dan, we can't do this," she said.

"I know," he whispered. "I'm thinking."

"Unlike the other branches," Mr. Malusi said over his shoulder, "we realize we are at war. Ownership of the clues will require the greatest defense, the fiercest and most skillful protectors the world has known. Other branches may have the technical know-how, the design skill, and so on. Only the Tomas will be prepared to keep and hold the secret of the thirty-nine clues."

And do what?
Dan thought.
What exactly do you do when you find the greatest power on earth?

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Dan looked nervously at Amy. He could tell she was thinking the same thing.

"How will you --we--share it?" Dan asked.

Mr. Malusi turned, tilting his head curiously. "Share? That's an odd concept. Does a country share its nuclear stockpile? Does a successful merchant share his goods? We are not in the business of chaos, young Hamilton. We are in the business of taking and holding. For the benefit of our glorious family."

He led them to a section set off from the others, the size of several pods put together. "Our theater," he said. "Your timing is impeccable. The Shaka Zulu play begins in five minutes."

"Can I go to the bathroom first?" Dan asked.

Mr. Malusi looked at his watch. "Three minutes. Fourth pod to your left."

* * *

Amy had a creepy feeling even before the play began.

The Tomas training center was like being in some kind of end-of-the-world fantasy. Was
this
the branch philosophy? People turning into fighting machines? If this was what power did to people, why search for the 39 Clues at all?

Because Grace wanted you to,
she thought.
She had a plan. And she was not a Tomas.

Or was she? Amy realized that besides her and Dan, Grace was the only Cahill whose family branch she didn't know.

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As the lights dimmed, Dan slid into the seat next to her and the play began. Mr. Malusi, who was sitting one row in front of them, looked at his watch and glared disapprovingly at Dan.

To the rhythms of a musical group in traditional dress, the play told the life story of Shaka. It was brutal and realistic, climaxing in the Ndwandwe-Zulu battle, with hundreds of actors sweeping away each other's shields with grand gestures, then driving spears into each other's chests. Amy closed her eyes.

"Ew," Nellie murmured.

"It's not real," Dan whispered. "I don't think."

When Amy opened her eyes, the actor playing Shaka was shoving a screaming older woman into a hut. Her face was covered in bluish-brown makeup, her eyes solid white. She was chanting to the heavens, causing a burst of stage lightning. From upstage came three realistic-looking, slavering jackals. Mr. Malusi turned in his seat to face them. "Shaka was great but ruthless," he explained eagerly. "He believed that the mother of Zwide, the Ndwandwe king and his main rival, was an evil
sangoma
whose spirit had magically entered the Zulu kingdom and slaughtered his people. So when he captured her, he fed her to the-"

"AAAHHH!"
came a scream inside the hut. Amy couldn't take it. She leaped up and ran. "A Tomas with a weak stomach?" Mr. Malusi said to Dan. "We have training for this, too."

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"I'll talk to her," Dan said.

He found her outside the theater, pacing back and forth. "Let's go," she said. "I want to get out of here, Dan. I hate this place."

"You are brilliant," Dan said, taking Amy by the arm. "I was trying to figure out a way to leave the theater with you, but you did it for me. Hurry."

"Where are we going?" Amy said.

"I wasn't in the bathroom," Dan said. "When we came down the escalator, I noticed a pod that was different than the others. So I went and looked at it...."

He led her to the center of the hive. There, inside a chamber of ivy-covered glass walls ascending toward a skylight that seemed miles above them, was a sundrenched quadrangle with grassy, twisting paths. Exotic cacti with brightly colored shoots obscured what looked like a stone monument inside.

"It's, like, two acres," Amy said.

"Come," Dan said. "We're allowed. We're Tomas."

Amy followed him into the huge pod and along one of the paths, until they were standing at the monument. It was shaped like a circular Zulu hut with a pointed thatched roof. In front was a statue of Shaka Zulu, holding a body-sized shield.

At the center of the shield was the Tomas symbol.

"This was the shield stolen from the Durban museum!" Amy whispered.

Dan was looking at a series of plaques on the walls of the hut, each in a different language.

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"Dutch ... Afrikaans ... Zulu ..." Dan read. "Xitsonga... Xhosa... Sesotho... Setswana... SiSwati... Shangaan ... Venda ... Tsonga ...
English.
Okay. Read this."

IN MEMORIAM

SHAKA ZULU

WARRIOR -- UNITER

May His Soul Rest in Peace

But Live in the Freedom

Of South Africans Everywhere

"Dan, is this ...?" Amy asked.

"A crypt?" Dan's face was so alive with emotion it looked like it was going to crack. "Okay, this building is at the location of Churchill's coordinates --and he wrote 'Tomas ingredient in the ground with Shaka.' The legend says Shaka was buried in Durban, but no one has ever been able to prove it.
This is it,
Amy. We found the real burial place of Shaka Zulu!"

Amy looked down. The soil was dry and hard, the base of the monument choked with cactus-like plants.

When she looked up, Dan was holding a spear. "What are you doing with that thing?" Amy hissed.

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"It's not q
thing,
it's an assegai," Dan said. "They're all over the place here. I hid one in the vegetation."

He pointed it toward Amy and plunged it down.

"Hey!"
Amy shouted, lurching aside.

The spear sank with a solid
thunk
into the dirt, splitting a cactus plant. "I can do this," Dan said. "But I'll need cover. How long will that play last?"

"Mr. Malusi isn't going to be fooled for long!" Amy insisted. "This is suicidal. I am putting my foot down, Dan. This will not happen."

"Dan? Amy?" Nellie called out from the corridor. "Yo, where are you guys?"

Amy whirled around, and the door swung open.

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CHAPTER 22

The man in black hated airports. So much waiting, so much security.

He looked up. His surveillance had indicated enemy arrival at any minute. But flights were crowded today. Schedules would be disrupted, landings postponed. They could be circling for a long time. Or, heaven forbid, sent to another airport.

But Lucians had a way of sneaking up on you, and the man in black was nothing if not patient. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted someone approaching the circular landing pad. An airline employee. He lowered the magnification lens over his sunglasses and waited for a clear frontal view of the face.

There. Using the high-res telephoto cam in his glasses frame, he captured the image, uploading it to his portable surveillance device. He waited .7 seconds for a facial recognition check against the master database.

He was a Lucian operative. A Fixer, no doubt. Very well paid these days, as it had become so difficult to infiltrate airlines.

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The man in black smiled. The two men were waiting for the same arrival. But for very different reasons.

A distant familiar noise cut through the airspace above. The Lucian lackey looked up, his face a rigid mask of efficiency.

As the man in black began to move forward, a large silk handkerchief came down from behind, in front of his face. His hand darted upward, catching the scarf before it could make contact with his neck.

Hermès. Silk.

Whirling around like a skater, the man in black lifted the scarf, and with it, the arms of his attacker.

He brought the scarf down around the neck of Alistair Oh.

"Arrrgglllchh .
.."Alistair sputtered.

"Alistair," said the man in black, "I would have thought that at your age, with your experience, you would know better than to make such a serious mistake."

* * *

Dan stood stock-still against the Shaka monument, holding his breath.

"Yo, Amy, Dan --Mr. Malusi is looking for you!" came Nellie's panicked voice from the direction of the courtyard-pod door.
"Where are you guys?"

"I'll take care of this," Amy said to Dan. "I'll go back to the theater and make up some excuse to Mr. Malusi about where you are. Hurry!"

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She ran to the door. With a soft
thump,
it shut.

Dan made a quick circle around the monument. Where to start? The cactus-like plants were thick and stubbornly hard to move. He yanked the stalks aside as best he could, examining the smooth stone at the base of the monument, hoping for some hint.

Just under the statue of Shaka, the stone was gouged in about three or four places, as if someone had banged it with blunt instruments. A thick shovel could have done that. It was as good a place as any to start.

Dan dug in with the blade. The soil was packed thick, but he hacked away, sending up little explosions of dirt. An assegai may have been a great spear, but it was a terrible shovel.

Outside he could hear a commotion, a rumble of voices. He plunged harder, a rhythmic
chuck ... chuck ... chuck ...
echoing ever louder against the surrounding walls.

A voice filtered in from outside, growing closer. "I know he is only a boy--but he is a
Tomas
boy, and I expect a Tomas sense of responsibility!"

Mr. Malusi.

CHUCK... CHUCK... CHUCK...
Sweat dripped into Dan's eyes. It stung. "Can you show me the women's m-m-martial arts?" Amy was saying.
THOCK.

Dan stopped and knelt. The arrowhead had hit