The 39 Clues Unstoppable Book 3 Countdown (13 page)

“Amy, you’re making me dizzy,” Dan said with worry in his voice. “I feel like I’m on the teacup ride at Disneyland.”

“I’m thinking,” Amy replied, but the truth was she couldn’t stand still. The serum was coursing through her veins, energizing her, calling her muscles to action. Her muscles demanded something to do. It was a strange feeling for a girl who could normally sit reading in a window seat for hours without pausing to look up.

She felt a twitch in her pinky finger and stopped twirling. She stared at the finger. It twitched again. Strange, but nothing to be too worried about . . .

But then, suddenly, her stomach churned. Probably from spinning around and around the way she’d been doing. She stood perfectly still, trying to calm her nerves.

“You stopped twirling, finally,” Dan said. “Thank you.”

She swallowed and nodded. Dan’s face blurred. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. His skin, his hair, his eyes — everything looked yellowish, as if she were gazing through a yellow lens. Or was that her imagination?

“Amy, what’s wrong?” Atticus asked.

She blinked again, and her vision cleared. The yellowing and blurring were gone. She touched her pinky with the other hand. Steady. “I’m fine,” she said. “Perfectly okay.”

But everyone knew she wasn’t fine. She had six days to live. And the side effects that would kill her had begun.

“Shake it off, Amy,” Jake said with the same mix of fear and irritation that had colored everything he’d directed toward her since she took the serum, as if all she had to do to stop dying was “put her mind to it.” Her supersharp mind picked up the angry flash in his eyes, perceived the way they lightened for a split second from gray blue to azure as clearly as if it had happened in slow motion.

“Shake what off? I told you I’m fine.”

The three boys stood awkwardly around Amy, afraid to touch her. She was at once very strong and very delicate, as if an accidental jostle might break her, or one wrong word could set her off, make her snap at them with a fierceness she couldn’t quite control.

“The crystal,” she reminded them. “We’re going to go find it tonight.”

“What about Pierce’s men?” Atticus asked. “What if they’re spying on us? What if they ambush us again?”

Poor Att. He’d been through a lot for a little kid. Being chased around the world by Pierce’s men must have felt like living in a bad dream where the bogeyman was always after him.

Her brain suddenly lit up — she could actually feel the neurons firing — with a brilliant idea.

Pierce’s men were always in the way. Always the obstacle that kept Amy from her goal. The answer was obvious. Get rid of them.

Amy turned to face the boys. “We’ll set a trap.”

Jake looked alarmed. “Set a trap for who?”

“Pierce’s men.” Amy stalked forward again, barely giving the others a chance to keep up. “Think about it. They’re trying to kill us. We spend a lot of time and energy fighting them off, running away from them, just trying to stay alive. If we didn’t have to do all that, we could make the antidote a whole lot faster.”

“I wish they’d shrivel up and crawl into a hole, too,” Dan said. “But that’s not going to happen. Those dudes aren’t going anywhere.”

“That’s why we have to trap them — the ones who are here in Tikal, at least. Then we’ll be free to find the crystal and the book without worrying and watching our backs all the time.”

“Trap them how?” Atticus asked.

“I’m working on that,” Amy said. “I’m thinking some kind of cage, or a pit . . . a very deep pit, so deep they’d never get out.” She jumped up on a high wall, walked along it as if it were a balance beam, and jumped off as neatly as a gymnast, all without giving it a thought. Her mind seemed to work better if her body was kept busy this way.

She turned to see how far behind her they’d fallen. They’d stopped, all three of them. They were standing in the middle of the path, staring at her as if she were a lunatic. “Nothing will go wrong,” she insisted. “We do away with them. It makes sense. It makes
more
than sense.” That was how things seemed to Amy then, bigger, better, more. . . . It was part of the way the serum acted on her. Brilliant ideas flew through her mind so fast she barely had time to catch them. There were so many! It was amazing, but it made it hard to relax. Impossible to relax, actually. Luckily, she never felt tired. She started walking again, but the three boys still didn’t move. “What?” she demanded.

“You want to trap people in a pit?” Jake asked. “A pit so deep they can’t climb out?”

“If they fell into a pit that deep, they could break their legs,” Dan said.

“And then what?” Jake prodded. “You’d leave them there in the pit? With no food or water, and possibly broken legs . . .”

“ . . . to die in the jungle?” Dan said. She could hear the real question in his voice:
Amy, are you in there?

Atticus said nothing. He just held back, as if he were a little bit afraid of her.

Now she knew why she’d never thought of this plan before.

It was murder.

She started to tremble. Atticus walked slowly up to her and put his arms around her the way a lost child hugs his mother. “Oh, Att,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Trilon Laboratories
Delaware

“Excuse me, Dr. Gormey. I have a question for you.”

Nellie bristled. Her coworker, Dr. Brent Beckelheimer, was a brilliant chemist but supremely annoying. She knew she’d have a problem with him the minute she noticed how he’d decorated his workspace: with a collection of miniature garden gnomes. Just the sight of him made Nellie want to scream. Amy was dying. The kiddos needed Nellie. Dr. Beckelheimer was wasting her time.

Her work at the lab was critical. She knew that. But she felt a magnetic pull south toward Guatemala. All she wanted to do was throw her lab coat on the floor, drive 190 miles per hour to the airport, and go save Amy.

Instead she was stuck in The Middle of Nowhere, Delaware, dealing with buffoons like Dr. Beckelheimer.

She’d assumed, since she was his boss, that she’d be able to avoid him, but he was strangely sticky, always hovering around. Now he leaned against the door of her office, just off the main lab, where she was supervising a team of chemists who were trying to solve the problem of drug side effects. Her research group had started as a cover operation, but there was a new sense of urgency in the lab and everyone was now working on a mysterious new project. Nellie had a good idea what this mysterious project was, of course, and working on it directly gave her a little more access to top secret information. It made it harder than ever for Nellie to camouflage her total ignorance of organic chemistry, though.

The drug they were studying — though the other scientists weren’t aware of it — was the Cahill serum. The side effects they were trying to cure included something called Buccoglossal Syndrome, or involuntary movements of the body.

Nellie knew why they were trying to get rid of Buccoglossal Syndrome. She’d seen the footage of Pierce with the queen of England on TV, and she recognized an involuntary movement when she saw one, no matter how cleverly Pierce had tried to cover it up. But she had to play along, stay friendly with the others to keep them from suspecting that she had infiltrated the company and was basically a corporate spy. “Yes, Dr. Beckelheimer? I only have a second.”

“I noticed this chemical compound has a piperazine ring, which interacts with proteins in the body. . . .”

Nellie tensed up and tuned out as he spoke. She had no idea what he was talking about, and she knew from hard experience that hearing more would not help. “. . . when the receptor DRD2 is present; it causes yellow vision instead.” Was he still talking?

What about death?
she thought.
Have you figured out how to cure that particular side effect?
“Do you think there’s a connection?”

“Um . . .” Nellie spun around in her fancy desk chair, tapping a pencil against her teeth. She didn’t understand the question, obviously. “Are you asking if there’s a connection between yellow vision and Osso Buco Syndrome?”

Whoops. She could tell from Dr. Beckelheimer’s stiff, condescending smile that she’d said something wrong. “Did you just say ‘Osso Buco Syndrome’?”

“Did I?” Shoot. Osso buco was an Italian meat dish she’d been learning to prepare at cooking school in Boston before she got roped into going undercover at this drug factory.

His eyes narrowed. “I assume you meant Buccoglossal Syndrome.”

“Very good. I’m glad to see you know your stuff. Back to work. We’ve both got a lot to do.”

She tried her best to look stern and forbidding, an intimidating boss. It wasn’t easy. But it was true that she had a lot of work to do. Nellie had been ordered to write a report synthesizing the biochemists’ most recent findings on the side effects of the serum. She told herself not to freak out.
It’s like a book report
, she thought.
No different.

That would have been true if she’d understood any of the “book” she’d read. She focused on an interesting side effect Sammy had noticed — that in late stages the serum could cause Xanthopsia, or — hey, look at that! — yellow vision, just like Dr. Beckelheimer had been saying. Nellie had heard a theory that the painter Vincent van Gogh had suffered from yellow vision, which had a big influence on the coloring of his paintings. She wrote about this in her report, trying to make a case that maybe yellow vision wasn’t always such a bad thing. Maybe they could market the drug as something that
promoted
yellow vision, she suggested. The ads could say something like:
You, too, could paint like Vincent van Gogh!

Or maybe not.

She stayed late working on her report, but Dr. Beckelheimer was still busy working when she left. She passed him on her way out.

“Good night, Dr. Beckelheimer.”

“Good night, Dr. Gormey.” He had his eye glued to the eyepiece of his microscope. He didn’t look up as she left.

The next morning she was called into her supervisor’s office. Dr. Stevens didn’t look pleased.

“Dr. Gormey, what’s the meaning of this?” He waved a sheath of papers in her face. She caught a glimpse of
Vincent van Gogh
.

Beckelheimer. That smug gnome-lover had printed out her report and turned it in to Dr. Stevens before it was ready. He was out to get her.

“Is that my report on Buccoglossal Syndrome?” At least she’d gotten the term right this time.

“Yes, it is. And it’s a travesty. I wouldn’t even call this science.”

“I wasn’t finished with it yet, sir. But — may I see it?”

“Certainly.” Dr. Stevens handed her the papers. Nellie glanced through it. She couldn’t admit to him that she’d written it — he was right. The person who wrote this was clearly not a biochemist.
A marketing genius, maybe, but not a scientist.
And if she was exposed as a fraud, she’d be lucky just to be fired. “This is very serious,” Nellie said, pasting her most concerned expression on her face. “May I ask where you got it?”

“Never mind how I got it. The person who brought it to my attention has been concerned for some time that you are not qualified for your job. And based on this report, he’s right.”

“Dr. Stevens, I didn’t write this report. Someone is trying to frame me.”

“Dr. Beckelheimer showed it to me. He’s one of our best scientists. I trust him completely.”

“You do?” Nellie raised one of her eyebrows as high as it would go, so Dr. Stevens wouldn’t miss the hint. “I happen to know he’s not trustworthy at all.”

“That is a serious allegation, Dr. Gormey. Do you have proof?”

“Let’s just say I can convince you that Dr. Beckelheimer is a crackpot. Give me until lunchtime.”

“All right. You have until lunchtime. But if you don’t convince me, I’ll report you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Nellie said. “You’ll see.”

She marched to her office and let out a deep breath. All this bluffing was taking a toll on her. A minute to breathe, and she went back into action. She took out her cell. “Pony, I’ve got a job for you,” she said when he answered. “And I think it’s going to be pretty easy.”