Ignition
Authors: Riley Clifford
UNLOCK A TOP SECRET FILE
ABOUT THE CAHILLS’ DEADLIEST ENEMY —
THE VESPERS
!
- The seven Rapid Fire stories each contain a fragment of a code. Collect the fragments in order to assemble a complete ten-digit code.
- Go to
www.the39clues.com
. - Click on “
My Cards
.” - Enter the ten-digit Rapid Fire code to unlock a digital card and Top Secret Vesper file!
The code fragment for this story is:
S
Are you ready to save the world?
The Start of the Clue Hunt
Ian Kabra had charm, wealth, and stunning good looks. But he couldn’t move one stubborn cow out of the middle of the road. He didn’t understand it. The beast just stood there blocking the way with a dumb expression on its face, chewing its disgusting green cud. Ian grew more furious with each
chomp mash chomp
the cow made. He had places to be and people to judge. There was no room in his schedule for staring down dirty quadrupeds.
“Livestock isn’t nearly as stubborn in England. It must be the American blood,” his little sister, Natalie, scoffed from the seat beside him. Her black silk funeral dress gave her an air of confidence beyond her eleven years. The dress seemed perfectly designed for her. In fact, it
had
been designed for her — in Paris.
“All right, Giles,” Ian called out to the chauffeur as he glanced down at his Rolex watch. “It’s time for drastic measures. Get out, and push the beast over to the side of the road.”
The black BMW sedan that the Kabras reserved for their visits to the States sat purring in the narrow road, surrounded by cattle. The midday heat billowed like a mirage off the hood of the car.
“Me, Master Ian? Push the cow?” Giles groaned and opened the driver’s side door.
As Ian watched the chauffeur trudge over to the animal, Natalie turned the knob up on her personal A/C vent with a vengeance.
“Ugh! This humidity is simply horrid,” she whined. After a moment of dramatic fanning, she looked over at Ian and asked, “Do you think Grace left the estate to Amy and Dan? Those sad little orphans
were
her favorites, after all.”
“The
estate
is beside the point. I’m not entirely sure there will even be a will reading. All I know is Mum said we need to keep an eye on Amy and Dan,” Ian replied.
“What could those two really do with such a large house, anyway?” Natalie wondered. “Not that I care. We already have a mansion. But it seems so odd to just give one away to poor people.” Natalie shrugged, then pushed the
DOWN
button on the power windows and stuck her head out. “Giles, tell that blasted cow that if it doesn’t get out of the way soon, I‘m going to have it tanned by our man in Tuscany — and I’m not talking about
sun
tanned!” Natalie yelled.
It wasn’t long before the Kabras were back on the road, and what looked like endless farmland to Ian rushed by in a dizzying blur of sun-soaked blues and greens.
The car glided to a smooth stop along the gravel drive in front of Grace’s mansion. Ian heard the crunch of the small stones beneath his feet as he stepped out of the car. Catching the low rumble of distant thunder, he looked up to the vast stone gables of Cahill Manor. Rows of enormous windows along the face of the mansion reflected the overcast sky spreading out over the rolling hills and forests of the estate. Weathered spires and gargoyles lining the roof glared down over the drive. The mansion loomed in all its glory from the top of a hill at the center of the grounds. It was an impressive sight, and for a moment, Ian almost forgot he was in a country where it was acceptable to wear blue jeans to the opera and people ate pizza with their hands.
The heat of the day settled quickly onto Ian’s shoulders, though summer storm clouds were building in the east. A low hum sounded from the manor as a light breeze moved around its vast stone walls. Ian buttoned his double-breasted silk suit and walked over to Natalie.
The two Kabras strode down to the family graveyard, which was ringed by a small forest. The grounds were covered with guests. At least four hundred people stood in and around the graveyard, waiting for the funeral to begin. Grace had a very large and international family. They were all Cahills, in one way or another, though they didn’t always carry the surname. There were Brazilian, French, and Australian Cahills. There were high-ranking diplomats, Nobel prize–winning scientists, and famous artists in every branch of the family. But Ian never understood how they didn’t all dress in a manner befitting their status. His eyes traveled over to the Starling triplets who, despite being genius inventors, couldn’t seem to think beyond khakis and argyle.
Sinead, Ned, and Ted Starling were all sixteen, and from what Ian’s mother had told him, formidable opponents.
“Hello, Natalie. Ian,” Sinead said, grinning as she walked up to them. “I see your jet didn’t crash while crossing the Atlantic.”
“Was it supposed to?” Ian asked.
“Not this time,” Sinead responded sweetly. “Though I hope you have your designer life vest ready for the return trip.” The triplets shared an oddly diabolical laugh between themselves, and strode off in their matching khakis and loafers.
Turning back to the grave site, Ian noticed Alistair Oh, a distant Korean uncle of theirs. Some might call his diamond-tipped walking stick bling. Ian called it
tacky
.
Natalie was looking around for someone to talk to. She had already eliminated their immediate choices: an old woman wearing a tiara who was standing near them with a monkey on one shoulder and an iguana on the other, and
a toddler sitting on the ground attempting to eat handfuls of grass.
“Let’s go chat with the minister,” Natalie suggested. “He might actually know something useful.” As Ian and Natalie trudged off, the hearse carrying Grace’s casket made its way down all one hundred yards from the house to the cemetery. Ian watched it glide along the gravel drive, the reflection of the trees skimming over its glossy rooftop.
Ian felt a sense of finality rise within him, but it was joined with something else.
Sadness? Excitement?
Could it even be . . . fear?
Ian wasn’t sure, which was a new feeling to him, too. With his handsomeness, wealth, and social dominance, Ian had never felt unsure about anything. Ever. His mother had guaranteed that. Over the years, he’d felt the pressure of his duty, his parents’ strong-handed guidance, the weight of his family legacy, but never insecurity.
“Hey!” Ian suddenly heard someone yell from the procession line. He looked over just in time to see Dan Cahill get flipped upside down by the Holt sisters, Madison and Reagan. The child bodybuilders had grabbed hold of one leg each, and Dan was swinging like a blond-haired bat in store-bought funeral clothes.
“Look, guys,” eleven-year-old Madison said. “We caught a rat!” Dan was wriggling and throwing punches into the air, trying to get free, but his tie kept flapping in his face.
And
this
is my competition?
Ian laughed.
The rest of the Holt family — Hamilton and their parents, Eisenhower and Mary-Todd — jogged up in formation, wearing matching purple tracksuits. Ian wondered how they could possibly manage to don uniforms every day, looking like the waitstaff of that horrid excuse for a restaurant, McDonald’s. More important, he wondered where Amy was. That mangy bookworm was always with her little brother. It was rather sweet, like the runt of the litter protecting the deranged one.
Then he saw her. Amy’s face had gone pale, and she appeared to be stammering, as usual. The Holts were laughing at her. Ian’s mum, Isabel Kabra, said weakness should
always
be laughed at. Well, the Holt family was doing a fine job.
The girls finally dropped Dan, and Ian turned his attention back to the minister. Natalie must have been employing her interrogation training, since he looked a little frightened of her. Indeed, he looked scared of everyone. He kept wiping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief and looking anxiously back and forth. Ian knew he should probably call her off. It was unlikely the poor fellow knew anything useful.
Ian looked back to Amy and Dan. Ian’s mother said they posed the greatest threat, though Ian still couldn’t believe it. The two siblings could barely dress themselves. How could
they
ever become the most influential people in the world?
The funeral procession ended, and Reverend Niblocke, probably in an attempt to get away from Natalie, asked everyone to be seated. Ian dragged his sister over to the row behind Amy and Dan, trying to remain close to them.
“Well, any success?” Ian asked his sister.
“No,” Natalie replied in a huff. “He has a border collie named Moses, but that’s all I got.”
Ian snickered.
“Shut up!” Natalie said. “Loads of help you were. All you could do was stare at that fashion tragedy show, Amy and Dan. Now we have to sit behind them.” She shuddered. “I hope we don’t catch something.”
As they took their seats, Ian noticed an African American woman in the row behind them, dressed in a black sweaterdress, which was pilly and bookish looking. A floral silk scarf around her neck added some color, but her glasses didn’t even have designer frames.
It’s frightening, the kind of riffraff that sneak into these things
, Ian thought. But then Amy flicked her reddish-brown hair over her shoulder from the seat in front of him as she blew her nose, and Ian snapped back to reality. It was time to focus. Everything he’d been training for — all the plans the Lucians had spent centuries scheming — it all led up to this.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the surprisingly fragrant colonial air. It was a beautiful day for world domination.
Mummy will be so proud!
Jonah Wizard sat down in the front row and waved to his fans across the grave plot. A group of girls over there was going gaga for him. They all had on Wizard tees from his last concert in Toronto (the bedazzled special-edition ones) and had drawn his tag sign on their cheeks in black eyeliner — funeral appropriate. Jonah smiled his best gangsta smile at the girls.
I have the most dedicated fan base ever.
“Dad.” Jonah turned to his father in the seat beside him. “Make sure those girls get third-anniversary Jonah Wizard mugs, okay?”
“Mugs.” Broderick Wizard tapped into his BlackBerry. “Got it!”
Jonah looked back to the crowd, searching for Amy and Dan Cahill. Everyone knew they were Grace’s favorites. She had probably given them inside information. Jonah had to find a way to take care of those little nobodies before they could take advantage of their head start.
But where were they?
“Son,” Jonah’s dad interrupted his thoughts, “did you call the producer of The
Really Late Show
back? They want to have you on for
Gangsta Life
.”
“Book it for me,” Jonah answered distractedly, scanning the crowd.
There must have been over four hundred people at the funeral. Jonah knew crowds. He was the world’s biggest pop/hip-hop star under age seventeen. He’d been filling sports stadiums, amphitheaters, and mega music halls since he was twelve years old. This many people in one place invigorated him. But why more people at the funeral weren’t noticing him confused Jonah a bit. Didn’t they know his new album,
Gangsta Life
, had
just premiered at number three on the French music charts?
