The 39 Clues Unstoppable Book 3 Countdown (11 page)

Easy one. Cara pressed her buzzer a split second before Galt did. “Renegade.”

“Correct. Give me three more code names for bonus points.”

“Bill Clinton: Eagle. Richard Nixon: Searchlight. John F. Kennedy: Lancer. Senator Ted Kennedy: Sunburn —” Cara could go on forever.

“Enough.” Pierce’s voice was stern, but he was smiling. “I only asked for three, Cara.”

“You should penalize her a point,” Galt said.

“I’m not going to penalize her for doing more than I asked,” Pierce said. “You should always strive to do more than is asked of you. That’s how you get ahead.”

Galt scowled.

“Next question. Name three cities that have hosted the Republican National Convention. Go.”

Again Cara was quicker to buzz. “Tampa, 2012; St. Paul, 2008; New York, 2004; Philadelphia, 2000 —”

“Showoff,” Galt grumbled.

“Extra credit for knowing the years. Good job, Cara.” Pierce noted Cara’s points on a score sheet and shuffled his question cards. “Lightning round. This one’s for the losers. I’ll name a president, and you tell me the name of the candidate he beat. Ready? Dwight D. Eisenhower.” Cara buzzed. “Cara.”

“Adlai Stevenson.”
Give me something challenging
, Cara thought.
This is too easy.

“George W. Bush in 2000. Cara.”

“Al Gore
and
Ralph Nader,” Cara said.

“Ralph Nader! Green Party!” Galt shouted out.

“Too late, Galt. George H. W. Bush. Cara.”

“Michael Dukakis.”

“Right. Um . . . Rutherford B. Hayes. Galt.”

“Samuel J. Tilden,” Galt said.

“Score one for Galt.” Pierce noted their scores. Of course Galt would get Rutherford B. Hayes — that was his favorite president. Because his name was Galt Rutherford Pierce, after his father.

They played for another half hour. Galt managed to score a few more points, but Cara beat him in the end.

“Cara has pulled ahead,” Pierce announced after adding up their scores. “It’s now 157 for Cara, 123 for Galt. Nice job, Cara. And as a reward for your impressive performance, you’ll be going to Washington with me tomorrow.”

Galt jumped to his feet. “What!? You said I could go with you!”

“I think the most politically astute child should be the one who accompanies me while I’m meeting with Congress,” Pierce said, nailing Galt with a hard stare. “Don’t you agree, Galt? It only makes sense.”

Galt was fuming and frustrated. Cara could practically feel the heat of his rage coming off his skin.

“Thank you, Dad.” She stood up to go. “I’ll start packing.”

“Ask your mother to help you,” Pierce called after her. “She knows the right things to wear in Washington.”

Cara fumed as she walked up the plushly carpeted stairs to her room. Her father wouldn’t have worried about what Galt was going to wear. Was he taking her to Washington because she was smart, as an aide? Or as an ornament, like her mother?

He still favors Galt
, Cara realized. Her father thought Cara’s recent success was a fluke, just a temporary setback for her brother.
Deep down
, Cara thought bitterly,
in spite of everything I’ve done, my dad thinks I’m a carbon copy of Mom — basically, a ditz.

I’ll show him.

Cara’s mother knocked on her bedroom door later that day. “Would you like to go shopping with me this afternoon, honey?” Debi Ann asked. “Your father told me that he’s taking you to Washington with him! That’s exciting. There are going to be more and more of these public appearances, and you’ll need some new dresses.”

Cara knew the kind of dresses her mother wanted to buy her. They were expensive, neat, and always had some little-girlish detail — a white Peter Pan collar, maybe, or a bow at the waist. Perfect for a candidate’s daughter. But utterly ridiculous.

“Can’t you just order a few things in my size?”

“Of course, dear.” Her mother hated conflict, and she must have known from past experience that a shopping trip with Cara would be one long argument. “Your father said you were a whiz at Round Table this morning.” She looked down at her perfect pink manicure, as if she were afraid to meet Cara’s eye. As if she were intimidated by her own daughter.

“Thanks, Mom.” She could barely look at her mother these days. Debi Ann got this pained, deer-in-the-headlights expression that drove Cara crazy. If only her mother would stand up for herself. But Cara couldn’t really blame her. How could anyone stand up to her father?

Debi Ann Pierce sat at the pristine white desk in her pristine white study. This was where she signed the notes her secretary wrote for her, thank-you notes to the wives of visiting dignitaries, get-well cards to important people who were sick, checks to the many charities she supported. She didn’t really need a study all to herself, but they had the space, and so here she spent her days, sitting alone, worrying.

Lately her worries had settled on Cara. Cara had changed recently. It was surprising enough when her slightly awkward daughter began excelling at tennis, waterskiing, judo, karate . . . pretty much any sport she tried. She seemed to become a natural athlete almost overnight. Galt, too, though he’d been more athletic than Cara as a young child.

Lately, the children’s talents struck Debi Ann as more than just surprising — they were astonishing. Unbelievable. And they made Debi Ann wonder what exactly was going on right here under her own roof.

If Rutherford caught her snooping . . . Debi Ann shuddered. She didn’t know what he’d do. She hated to think about it. Yes, she was his wife. But that wouldn’t stop him from hurting her if she got in his way. She might as well be a total stranger as far as he was concerned. Or a mosquito, something small and annoying that he could swat away without a thought — and squash if it tried to sting him.

All he cared about were his ambitions. Power. Debi Ann was sure Pierce hadn’t felt anything like “love” for anyone — not even for her or the children — in a long time. Not since the woman no one was allowed to name.

So why should she honor his wishes? If she had to trail along in his wake, she wanted to know where they were going.

Tikal, Guatemala

“It’s gone,” Jake said, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s like the jungle just swallowed it up.”

Dan, Jake, and Amy had gone back into the jungle to search for Olivia’s lost book, retracing their steps futilely, while Atticus tried to figure out where the riven crystal was.

Dan hunched his shoulders. He looked tense, coiled tight. Amy wanted to comfort him, to let him know she didn’t blame him for losing the book, but he shied away whenever she came close. At one point, he’d actually shuddered, as if she were already dead and he had just brushed against a corpse.

He caught her watching him. “What?” he asked, his voice strangely flat.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just hope you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” he said, avoiding her eyes. She could feel him shutting down, pulling away as if trying to get a head start on his grief. Or was he
punishing
her for dying? For taking drastic action to save
his
life? Could he possibly be that ungrateful? And yet . . . she understood. If the burden had been too much for him before, it was greater than ever now.

No one said a word on the long walk back to the hotel. The silence was thicker than the heat, heavy with all the thoughts they were afraid to say aloud.

“Any luck with the glyph, Att?” Dan asked when they returned to the hotel.

Atticus shook his head. “I’ve checked all the hieroglyphs that have been deciphered so far, but this one isn’t there. I’ve even tried reenacting a
pok-a-tok
game with these palm nuts to see if it triggers any ideas. . . . Amy, what does this glyph look like to you?”

Amy sat down with Atticus and focused on the symbol. Maybe now, with her mind sharpened by the power of the serum, she could crack the code. Despite the grave faces surrounding her, she felt invincible. When she focused on distances it was like looking through a telescope. She could spot a worm in a bird’s beak miles away. Her vision in the dark was like looking through night goggles. She’d been in great shape before she took the serum, but she’d had to work hard for every muscle. Now, for the first time in her life, bookish Amy Cahill, denizen of the library, was a natural athlete.

She had to keep reminding herself why she felt so strong, and when she remembered, her mood plummeted. The serum was doing this to her. The very thing that made her feel so good now would soon kill her.

But that didn’t feel real. Death seemed impossible. She knew in her mind that the serum was fatal, but she couldn’t feel it in her body, which was so full of energy and life. It was like carrying a time bomb inside her body, only she misheard the ticking of the bomb as the beating of her heart.

The crystal . . . focus on the crystal.
She trained her eyes on the glyph. The bottom part of it had a squarish shape with rounded corners and inside it a smaller square and two horizontal lines like dashes. On top of the main square were three vertical rectangles.

“They almost look like panels,” she said. “Or — what if the square was a man’s face, with two lines for eyes . . . and the top part was a headdress?”

Suddenly, there was a tap at the window. Startled, Amy jumped up and whirled around, leg in the air and fists clenched, ready to defend against an attack. She was about to kick through the window when she saw a small, furry black creature crouched on the sill, staring at the nuts Atticus had left on the table.

“Relax, Amy,” Jake said. “It’s just a howler monkey.”

Amy let her hands fall to her sides.
Breathe, breathe . . . 
The monkey knocked on the window again and hopped up and down as if it were laughing at her. She looked more closely at it. “Jake, that’s not a howler monkey. It’s a spider monkey.”

“What?”

“You can tell by the reddish fur on its upper body. Anyone who knew anything about the native fauna of Guatemala would see the difference easily.”

She heard the contempt in her voice and saw the flash of hurt surprise on Jake’s face. “My mistake,” he said.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but another thought zipped through her brain.
He’s smart, but he’s not a Cahill, and he never will be. He’ll never be able to keep up with me and Dan. Why doesn’t he just take his little brother and go back to Rome?

“Amy, it’s just a monkey,” Dan said.

“Just a monkey? Every detail matters! You know that as well as I do, Dan.”

Dan, Jake, and Atticus were all staring at her with worry on their faces. And fear. Amy felt a stab of pain at the sight of them. She wanted to melt into the floor and slip away like mercury. They loved her, all three of them. And she loved them. They were working themselves to the bone to save her life, and she couldn’t keep herself from snapping at them. The contempt she’d felt drained away in a rush, replaced by remorse. “Jake, I’m sorry —”

Her phone buzzed — Nellie. Amy was grateful for the distraction. She transferred the call to her laptop so they could all see her and talk to her. Amy was still startled every time she saw Nellie with plain brown hair — no crazy colors, no neon skunk stripes. Yet although she looked shockingly different, she still sounded like the same old Nellie, which was more than Amy could say for herself.