The 39 Clues Book 7: The Viper's Nest (8 page)

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the aftermath of some recent picnic. If it worked, he could use it to call a car service.

Picking it up, he noticed a text message notification. He pressed read.

SBS! M347.

How sad that people no longer communicated in real words. By now he had mastered "omg," "osm," "imho," "lol," "ttfn," and "rofl"--but not "sbs."
Such Boffo Shenanigans
perhaps.
Sis Boom Shazam? Super Bowl Sunday.
He winced as he remembered
Sushi Burrito Special,
a notorious product line that led to his company's demise. He'd been so obsessed with the hunt for the 39 Clues that he'd neglected to oversee the proper storage, resulting in the illness of thirteen people. And bankruptcy.

He clicked through the various menus, trying to find some sort of ID. But it was fruitless. Finally, holding the phone to his ear, he tapped out the number for information.

Static. Broken sound.

He tossed the phone back onto the ground and carefully placed his fallen bowler back on his head.
Thwock.

A soccer ball knocked it off again.

"Freeze," came a rough voice from behind him. "Hands in the air and about-face --
harch!"

Alistair tried not to shake as he turned.

"I hope," Eisenhower Holt said, "you play good defense."

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CHAPTER 13

Dan wondered how Shaka Zulu would handle a ride in a busted Yugo with two females arguing over hotel accommodations.

"You're the one who worries about money," Amy said. "A tent is perfect. We'd use it every day."

"I need a mirror, clean sheets, and those little paper-wrapped soaps," Nellie said. "I collect them. If you use them at home they remind you of where you've been--"

"This search is
not
about comfort," Amy said. "You're being like the Kabras and Alistair--pampered and fussy. First it's the secrets, and now it's--"

"Excuse me, Little Miss Anger Management," Nellie interrupted. "What's happened to
you?"

"OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!" Dan announced.

"Cram it, Shaka," Amy said dully.

But Dan ignored her. A brave warrior never took the bait. He was fighting to focus on the Shaka postcard, now wrinkled and sweat-soaked after their adventure. He stared at the last lines:

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BIMRSESOSEIM GEKK #4

BGOQBG GEKK

ALPHA>1

"This doesn't look right," he said.

"Lots of African words have odd pronunciations," Amy began lecturing. "Like, you make a clicking sound while saying it, like the
Xhosa
tribe."

The way Amy said the word, it was like a tongue-click followed by
-osa.

"Right, but those words have, like, Xs and exclamation points in the middle and stuff," Dan said. "These are different. They don't look African. They just look...weird."

"If it's not
African
weird, maybe it's
Dutch
weird," Nellie said. "They use lots of double letters. My aunt married a guy named Vanderdoonk."

Amy was peering at the names closely. "The brothers Gekk? I told you, those are the limo drivers. This is a business card for a taxi service."

"What about the stuff
under
the name?" Dan asked.

'"Alpha more than one,'" Amy said. "Alpha means 'A' --like, the best. They're bragging. Advertising."

Dan began to write. He scribbled the alphabet across the top of the card. "I'm thinking it's a code. 'Alpha' means 'alphabet.' 'More than one' is actually an arrow pointing to the right. It could mean 'substitute each letter with the one to the right' --like, B becomes C."

"You actually think like that?" Nellie asked.

Dan began replacing the letters one by one.

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CJNSTFTPTFJN HFLL #4

"Like I said, it was a dumb idea," Dan said.

"Whoa, wait," Amy said. "What if instead of a simple substitution code you, like, replace each
consonant
with the next
consonant,
and each
vowel
with the next
vowel?
Like, B becomes C but I becomes O?"

"You, too?" Nellie said.

Dan began writing again:

CONSTITUTION HILL #4

"Bingo!" Amy exclaimed. She leafed through pamphlets she had stashed in the glove compartment. "Constitution Hill... it's a region in Johannesburg. The site of an old jail. Number Four must be an address."

"Johannesburg?" Nellie said. "I thought we were marching to Pretoria!"

"Don't forget the other Gekk name," Dan said.

Quickly, he decoded it, using Amy's method:

CHURCH HILL

"'Church Hill'--find that!" Dan said.

Amy shook her head. "Nope. No such place. We'll need to get a better map. But at least we have a start. Okay, Nellie, we have to go back in the direction of the airport, toward Johannesburg!"

"What if
Church Hill
is the thing that's in Pretoria?" Dan said. "I mean, we're here already!"

Nellie slammed on the brakes and glided into a

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turnoff at the edge of the road. "Whoa, whoa, guys. I've been stunt-driving in a Yugo, running from Holts, diss-ing old men, and barely avoiding death by goat. I'm, like, ready to drop. I will take you wherever you want, but I want to finish what I started with Amy--and I get to pick where we stay, okay? I say, hotel. And I say, book it now or we sleep in the car." She reached into her pocket. "Do either one of you guys have my cell phone?"

"Nope," Amy and Dan said at the same time.

Nellie looked on the floor, then in the glove compartment. "Weird. I had it back on that field."

"The Holts are probably kicking it through the goal post," Dan said.

"Uh, dude," Nellie said. "This is no joke. I have to have that phone."

"The phone company has your stuff saved online," Dan said, "with all your boyfriends' numbers --"

"Not funny,"
Nellie said.
"You don't get it! I need that phone!"

Dan gave Amy a look. This was not Normal Nellie.

"Now who's got a problem with anger management?" Amy said quietly.

Nellie took a deep breath and hung her head over the steering wheel. "Okay. Sorry. I'm losing my head. May I use your phone, Amy?"

Amy handed over her phone. As Nellie made her call, Dan pulled out his and quickly accessed his e-mail account. He stared at the most recent message:

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we won. 10-7.

ilikeike

"Hey, Amy," Dan said, showing the screen to his sister. "Do we know anyone with this name?"

"Ilikeike ..." Amy shrugged. "Looks Hawaiian." Dan typed back:

um, gr8. who ru?

A moment later the response came:

meat 100 m n of BOOM on P Kruger or tacoman go BOOM

ilikeike

"It's a wrong number," Dan said.

"Wait," Amy said. "It's not Hawaiian.
I
like Ike
was a presidential campaign slogan from the 1950s!"

"Historical facts make me quiver with excitement," Dan said.

"For President Dwight David Eisenhower!" Amy said.

Eisenhower.

Dan stared at the screen. "'Tacoman' ... but Uncle Alistair was burritos ... yup, that would be something Eisenhower would write."

"Exactly!" Amy said. "And I'm thinking
m-e-a-t
is supposed to be
m-e-e-t.
He wants us to meet him --or something bad is going to happen to Uncle Alistair."

"Guys, what if this is a trap?" Dan asked.

"What if it's not?" Amy replied. "Think about it, Dan.

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The Holts found Alistair on that hilltop after we left. If he was working with them, they'd be mad at him, because he didn't deliver us. If he wasn't working with them, they'd be just as mad to find him interfering."

"We can't just ignore this," Nellie said.

"Yes, we can," Amy blurted. "Why do we have to run all over a strange country and risk our own lives? Why do we owe Alistair anything?"

Dan glanced at his sister uneasily. "Amy...? I know you don't really mean that, right?"

His sister turned away, her face red. She took a breath and murmured something he took to mean yes.

"Okay ..." Dan nodded. "'One hundred m n' ... that's one hundred
meters north
of--what's Boom?" He grabbed Amy's map of Pretoria. On the right side was an alphabetical list of street names. "It's a street--Boom Street on the north side of the city, near the zoo! Near Paul Kruger Street."

"Hang on, boys and girls," Nellie said, handing Amy back her phone. "Gomez and Cahills go Boom."

* * *

Boom Street ringed a large field across from the zoo. At the corner of Paul Kruger, Nellie hung a tight left turn, tires screeching.

A traffic sign on a wooden horse said:

DANGER: Construction Site

Hard Hats* Only

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At the bottom, scribbled in nearly illegible handwriting next to an asterisk, were the words *
and Cahills!

"Drive around it," Dan said. "They're up ahead."

Behind the sign, the street dropped off into a steep decline. Parked at the bottom was the purple pickup. Uncle Alistair stood beside it at attention, his cane in hand and his bowler hat neatly on his head.

Nellie put the car in first gear and rode the brake downhill. At the sound of the engine's whine, Alistair looked upward and waved them over.

"Alistair
is
working with the Holts," Amy hissed.

"He looks worried about something," Dan said.

"Be careful," Amy replied.

As Nellie slowed, Alistair's waving got more urgent. "Um, guys, what's with his hat?"

Two blue wires extended from the back of Alistair's bowler all the way into the driver's window of the pickup. Amy couldn't see anyone inside the cab, but Alistair was looking agitatedly across the street.

There, standing near a thick, gnarled acacia tree, were Eisenhower, Mary-Todd, Reagan, Madison, and Hamilton Holt, along with their pit bull, Arnold. Eisenhower leered triumphantly, his neck the color of rare roast beef. In his hand was a long yellow string leading to Alistair's bowler. "Let's talk," he said.

"Let's book!" Dan said.

Nellie threw the car into reverse.

Alistair's face turned ashen. "No,
don't!"
he shouted.

"Retreat is not --I repeat, not --recommended!"

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Eisenhower barked. "If you value human life."

"Don't listen to him!" Amy said. "Go, Nellie, go!"

"Ten-HUT!" Eisenhower held up his hand. "Your uncle is attached by means of technology learned and perfected by myself in Explosives Lab 101, Instructor Todd Bempster, West Point Class of None-of-Your-Business, to the pickup battery, in a manner too electronical to explain in civilianistic terms but easy to set up with the help of a few handy household--"

"Cut to the chase, will you, lamby?" said Mary-Todd.

Eisenhower held up the string with a triumphant smile. "If the hat comes off Alistair's head, the pickup explodes."

"He's bluffing," Dan said shakily.

"He's not." Amy knew Eisenhower meant business. And she liked the idea.

NOW you'll finally feel what our parents felt, Uncle Alistair. You'll know what it's like to be abandoned, instead of the one who abandons.

"YOU IN THE YUGO - COME ACROSS THE STREET, IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU," shouted Eisenhower. "ON THE DOUBLE! -ER, TRIPLE!"

Amy took a deep breath. She tried to grab on to a coherent thought in her brain, but they were flying around inside, slippery and dark like bats.

Dan put his hand gently on her shoulder. "Follow me."

He stepped out of the car and walked downhill toward the Holts. Amy followed behind, numbly. On the other side of the street, she could sense a change in the faces of Reagan and Madison --something like

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relief. This scheme, Amy realized, wasn't their idea. Hamilton was looking downright panicked.

She tried to meet his glance. He was blinking fast, as if he were embarrassed or fighting back tears. She felt a surge of gratitude toward him. For saving her life. For helping them against Alistair. "Ham ...?" she said.

Eisenhower clapped a beefy hand on his son's shoulder, nearly knocking him over. "We know you're here for the Tomas clue."

"We are?" Nellie blurted out.

Madison rolled her eyes. "Oh,
that
was convincing."

"Actually," Reagan murmured, "it was."

"When we heard you were going to Peoria on that intercept from Indonesia," Eisenhower said, "we made sure to follow."

"You mean, Pretoria," Nellie corrected.

"My husb --er,
we
bungled the flight booking," Mary-Todd said. "The two choices were so close on the drop-down menu. You see, by getting it wrong, we got it right."

"You found us by mistake?" Amy said. She glanced at Dan, but he was staring intently ahead, as if hypnotized by something.