The 39 Clues Invasion (3 page)

They still had the two papers, in the security deposit box at the bank. The certificate of death looked like an award, with curly borders and an official state seal. Here’s the date and time that you last talked to your dad, it said. And here’s the stamp that says your mom will never hug you again.

Dan had traveled the world and outsmarted some of the nastiest characters out there. He was one of the leaders of the most powerful family the world had ever known. And Atticus was a child genius. Together, they could outsmart a few dumb criminals.

Outside, they heard a thud and then more drilling.

He took a deep breath. “Nobody is going to take that mask.”

Atticus didn’t say anything. He just grabbed Dan’s arm and squeezed hard.

“Easy there, dude,” Dan said, grinning weakly. “We have a burglary to foil.”

“Rosenbloom!” Coach roared. “You’re up in five. Tighten your laces and stretch out.”

Jake glanced down at his phone as he did one last set of leg bends. Three calls and two texts, and he’d heard nothing from Atticus. His brother had promised to keep his phone on. Jake had even called the number Atticus gave him for that Cahill kid, but it went straight to voice mail, too.

The Cambridge High School athletic field shone like an emerald under the bright floodlights. Out on the track, Jake’s friend Sam was putting on a burst of speed to pass the kid from Newton and move into second place. The stands weren’t nearly as big as the ones on the football or baseball fields, but they were packed with parents, siblings, and students from five Boston suburbs, cheering as the runners rounded the final lap of the 1600-meter event.

Jake yelled along with the rest of his team as Sam closed in on a Somerville boy for the lead, his legs pumping like pistons. In the end, the two were neck and neck, and the crowd roared as they passed the finish line together. The timekeepers came up with a quarter-second advantage for Somerville, and Jake’s coach roared out onto the track to argue the decision.

Jake finished tightening the laces on his running shoes and pulled out his phone to try one more time. He dialed Atticus, but it went straight to voice mail. Then Dan — the same. He checked his e-mail, his IMs, and even CliqueMe. Nothing. He called the landline, and didn’t even get a ring. Just a woman’s robotic voice telling him the line was out of service.

I wasn’t supposed to leave him alone
,
he thought.
I promised Astrid I would take care of him while she’s sick.
Jake felt sick to his stomach himself.

Coach was still arguing with the timekeepers and the league officials as Jake turned and slipped into the darkness behind the bleachers. Someone else would have to run his laps tonight. He had to check on his brother.

“You’re up,” he said as he passed Ranjit, the scrawny freshman who was Jake’s backup in the 800-meter.

Jake broke out into a sprint as he reached the parking lot. Their house was three-quarters of a mile away, but Jake was already wearing his running shoes.

Dan’s stomach sank as he glanced around the room. A mostly empty box of pizza wasn’t going to stop the massive burglars he’d spotted outside. They looked like contestants from a weight-lifting competition.

Back at the mansion they had a locker full of weapons and explosives. Amy had insisted that they get equipment to defend themselves from the Vespers, but Uncle Fiske wouldn’t let Dan take any of it out of the house. What was the point of having an arsenal of weapons if you didn’t have one when you were in trouble?

Dan’s eyes caught the box of paintballs poking out from under Atticus’s bed.

“If we hide,” he explained, “they’ll just take what they want. If we fight them, they’ll kick our butts. We have to wear them down. Traps, tricks, stuff like that.”

Atticus jumped up. “It’ll be just like how the Russians beat Napoleon — they couldn’t win an outright battle, so they just kept retreating until the French army was too beat up to fight anymore!”

“Um, okay. Yeah.” The only thing Dan knew about Napoleon was that the dude hid his hand in his coat whenever people were painting him. Dan used to think that Napoleon was hiding his hand because it had six fingers or maybe a second thumb, but Amy had insisted that it was just the way people posed back then. Leave it to her to turn an awesome mutant general into an art history lesson.

The drilling continued outside as they made their preparations. Dan was sure the burglars would burst in before they were ready, but the door held as they ran around the house to set their traps. Finally, they were armed: a baseball bat and old hockey helmet for Dan, and a stainless-steel pot “helmet” and a high-powered paintball gun for Atticus.

All right,
Dan thought as he charged down the hall.
It’s time for justice. Dan Cahill style.
And then he caught a glance of his reflection in the darkened window.

He didn’t look like a great warrior ready to go into battle. He looked like a kid playing in his backyard. How were two geeky kids supposed to hold off three grown men?

But it was too late now.

Dan swung his baseball bat, smashing one of the windows and dislodging the security company’s sensor. The house alarm blared for five seconds before it abruptly went silent.

“It worked,” Atticus whispered before they split up. “We tripped the alarm! The guy who installed the system guaranteed that police would be here in five minutes.”

Dan grinned weakly. “Five minutes. We just need to not get killed for five minutes.”

Simeon hadn’t made a mistake. He had the right technique, the right information, and the right tools. But still, the alarm had gone off, and he’d been forced to cut the wires. The house was supposed to be empty, but he’d heard the sound of a window breaking. Someone was in the house. Someone knew he was coming.

This wasn’t part of the plan, but it was too late now. He’d promised Vesper One that he would acquire the targeted items. And no one failed Vesper One.

With no need to worry about the security system, Simeon used a small pointed hammer to crack the glass and reached through to open the door. It swung open easily, inviting him into the quiet house. There was no light in the entry hallway, and flicking on the switch did no good. Glancing up, he saw that the lightbulbs had been broken, leaving him in near darkness.

Statues lined the way, leering out from small alcoves as he and his two goons advanced. He could tell they were replicas, worth maybe a hundred dollars each. Nothing compared to the Aztec mask, which would go for tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars on the black market. But he hadn’t come for artifacts. Vesper One wanted Astrid Rosenbloom’s files, and Simeon would make sure his employer got what he paid for.

As Simeon and his crew reached the end of the hallway, they came to an open room with stairs up to a balcony. Simeon noticed that the last alcove in the hallway was empty. There also seemed to be something dripping down the wall below the balcony. He froze and gave the clenched-fist hand signal for a halt, but the taller of his two goons kept moving forward. Suddenly, there was a whistling sound and the missing statue came sailing down from the balcony and broke over the tall burglar’s head. A smaller man might have been knocked unconscious, but the bulky Vesper just yelled in pain and charged up the stairs. A blond kid appeared on the balcony, his mouth open in shock.

“Stop!” Simeon shouted. The kid took a neat sidestep into a bedroom while the tall goon careened past, unable to stop. The big man planted his feet but he kept sliding, as if he were skating on ice. He rammed into the banister and it crunched under his weight, sending him crashing back down to the first floor.

“Get up, idiot!” Simeon barked. “You’re twice his size. Go slowly and carefully and he won’t be able to stop you.”

The tall goon grunted and headed up the stairs a second time.

“And you,” Simeon ordered, gesturing to the shorter goon. “Go see if there’s anyone else. I don’t want any more surprises.”

Atticus heard the sliding upstairs and the
thump
on the ground floor as Dan sprang their first trap. Atticus’s mom loved their gleaming hardwood floors because they were elegant, but Atticus loved them because they were great for skating across in his socks. The burglars were wearing shoes, so he and Dan had emptied a bottle of olive oil on the floor to make it extra slippery.

He heard the burglar advancing up the stairs a second time, but he had his own problems to focus on. Peering out from behind the couch in the living room, he had a clear view down the hall to where the shorter burglar was approaching. He was wearing a black balaclava, but luckily no mask.

Atticus gripped his paintball gun as the man slowly advanced. Atticus’s instinct was to strike now, and he had to force himself to wait as the intruder approached. His aim wasn’t that great, and while he knew from experience that being hit with a paintball stung, it wouldn’t do anything to slow a grown man.

Atticus held his breath as the man approached, hoping that he was well hidden in the dim room. He’d left a bright light on in the hallway, so the burglar would be blind in the dark living room. A famous quotation from the battle of Bunker Hill flitted into Atticus’s mind:
Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes.
In actuality, no one was sure if General Israel Putnam had really given the order, but it was still good advice.

Atticus slid down below the back of the sofa and held his breath as the man walked into the living room. He waited a long, cool second as the man looked around. Finally, the man took a step forward and Atticus popped up from behind the sofa and opened fire. The paintballs exploded on the man’s face, and the burglar stepped back, shouting and wiping at his eyes. Atticus dropped the paintball gun and ran, his dreadlocks bouncing as he darted out of the living room and dashed down the stairs to the basement.