One False Note - 39 Clues 02 (15 page)

Roughly, he thrust Dan against the wall and shoved Amy over beside him.

Natalie faced them, holding them at gunpoint. "Don't worry," she promised with mock sweetness. "The dart won't kill you. But you'll wake up in a few hours with a nasty

headache."

"Again," added her brother. He stepped over the velvet ro
pe and seated himself at the

harpsichord, cracking his knuckles with a flourish.

"You're bluffing!" Dan accused. "You don't even know what to play!"

"I'm sure something will come to me," Ian said cheerfully. "Perhaps 'Three Blind Mice.'

Or 'Pop Goes the Weasel.' Or maybe a little tune called KV 617."

"How could you know about that?" Amy blurted.

"You think you're so clever, but really, you're pathetic," Natalie scoffed. "We've been following you since the train station in Vienna. We've intercepted your computer's wireless signal. You downloaded this piece from the web, and we downloaded it from you."

"I took the liberty of printing my own copy," Ian added, unfolding a page of sheet music and propping it in front of him.

Amy and Dan exchanged a meaningful look. Ian and Natalie had no way of knowing that the Internet version of KV 617 was not the same as the Ben Franklin clue. Maybe all was not yet lost.

Ian began to play. The metallic sound of the harpsichord reverberated through the tomblike room. It was much louder than Amy expected, and only a little out of tune. What a magnificent instrument! She craned her neck to watch Ian's long fingers dancing across the ivory keys. That was when she saw it -- a tiny wire extending from underneath D above high C and disappearing into the burnished wood of the harpsichord.

D above high C. Amy frowned. Why did that sound so familiar? And then a picture of it formed in her mind: D > HIC.

Grace's note on the Nannerl pages! It's a warning! That D key is booby-trapped!

The notion had barely crossed her mind when she heard the pitch of the music rise and saw Ian's right hand fluttering in the direction of the fateful D.

Her reaction was so natural, so instantaneous, that she had no time to think about how foolish it was. With a cry of "Don't!"
she leaped forward, bowling over Natalie. The gun discharged, but the dart missed and buried itself in the drapery. Amy was in full flight, determined to knock Ian off the stool before disaster struck. She was a split second too late.

She plowed into Ian just as his finger caressed the booby-trapped key.

BOOM!

With a flash of flame, Mozart's harpsichord blew apart, tossing Amy and Ian ten feet clear. Amy tucked and rolled, emerging unhurt. Ian's head struck the marble floor. He lay there, out cold.

Natalie scrambled to her feet and reached for the dart gun, but Dan was too quick for her. He snatched up the dart from the drapery behind him and flung it like a spear at his adversary. The point buried itself in her shoulder. She raised the weapon, woozily fighting
the effects of the knockout formula. Dan braced for impact, knowing the next dart was coming for him. And then Natalie's eyes rolled back in her head, and she dropped like a stone beside her brother. Dan ran to his sister. "Are you okay?"

Amy crawled to the wreckage of the instrument. The woodwork was in smoldering pieces, but amazingly, the keyboard was intact. Both could now see a second set of wires, which disappeared into the floor. "Quick! The music!"

Dan stared at her. "It's not going to play now.

It's on fire."

"Give it here!" She unfolded the napkin and began to press the keys. There was no sound except for a soft clicking. But she "played" on, following the notes exactly from the Ben Franklin clue.

Suddenly, the floor began to shake beneath their feet.

"Way to go, Amy!" cried Dan. "Now the whole building's coming down!"

A section of marble one yard square dropped away on a hidden hinge. The Cahills

crouched over the new opening it created. Before them, on a bed of black velvet, lay a

pair of gleaming swords.

"Samurai!" Dan said with reverence. He reached down, took hold of a golden hilt, and

then stood up and brandished the weapon. "Samurai warriors
carried two blades -- one short and one long. These must be the short ones. Seriously
cool."

Amy drew out the other sword and examined the Japanese characters engraved in the

metalwork. "I'll bet these are made with that special steel Mozart was interested in." Dan nodded. "But how can that be our clue? It has nothing to do with the stuff Grace wrote in those diary pages."

"D above high C turned out to be the booby-trapped harpsichord key," Amy explained. "And gateau
minus the music -- " It came together in her mind. "Musical notes are also letters,

remember? A, B, C, D, E, F, and G. If you take those out of the word gateau,

you're left with ... T-U." She looked puzzled. "It doesn't make sense."

"Yes, it does!" Dan exploded. "It's the old chemical symbol for tungsten! That's the thing Grace told me that I forgot! Wolfram is what they used to call tungsten!"

Amy's eyes sparkled with discovery. "That's why Marie Antoinette said 'Let them eat cake.' She wasn't talking about the poor
gateau was the coded message between Franklin and Mozart telling him what ingredient he needed. We've got it! The first clue was iron solute; this one's tungsten! That's what this contest is all about! We're putting together some kind of formula!"

It was a supercharged instant -- the smoke from the explosion, the steel of the swords,

the thrill of a breakthrough. Yet for Amy, there was so much more. This clue brought them closer to winning the contest --

And closer to understanding who we really are!

Somehow, she knew their parents were smiling down on them.

She reached for her brother's hand. The two spent so much time bickering, but this was their moment.

We're still in this thing!

Suddenly, the lights blazed on, and a uniformed night watchman galloped frantically into the room, bellowing in Italian. Shocked, Dan wheeled to face him, not realizing he was still holding the samurai sword two-fisted, like a baseball bat, ready to swing. With

a terrified yelp, the guard turned tail and ran the other way.

"Let's get out of here," Amy decided urgently.

"What about them?" Dan indicated the Kabras, out cold on the floor.

"That guard will be back with the police any minute. They'll call a doctor."

Hugging their swords, the Cahills sprinted for the exit.

Nellie was ready to throw in the towel.

She could no longer bear the sight of Saladin, gaunt and languid, barely able to work up a decent "mrrp."

As soon as Amy and Dan got back, she was going to find a fish market and buy fresh snapper. Okay, it was

172

total surrender, not to mention a waste of thirty bucks a pound. But that was preferable to a dead cat.

Grace Cahill may have been a great woman, but as a pet owner, she hadn't known much about tough love.

Nellie frowned at her watch. It was after seven. All the museums had closed a couple of hours ago. Amy and Dan were late again. She was afraid to think about what that might mean.

With a sigh, she decided to give it one more try. She popped open yet another tin of cat food and brought it to Saladin, who was draped over the arm of the couch, listlessly watching

Home Improvement
dubbed in Italian.

"All right, Saladin, you win. You've proven you're the better man. But I can't get you the good stuff until later, so why don't you take a few bites of this to tide you over until the kids get back?" She took a morsel on her finger and applied it to the Mau's tongue during a yawn.

If a cat could look startled, Saladin did. He smacked his palate like a wine taster. Then

he lunged for Nellie's finger and licked it clean.

Encouraged, the au pair held up the tin. It was empty in thirty seconds.

"Good boy!" Nellie cheered. "I knew you'd love it if you just gave it a chance! It's cat

food -- it's for people like you!"

Saladin was halfway through tin number two when Amy and Dan came bursting in the

door.

Nellie was beside herself with triumph. "Congratulate me, you guys! The hunger strike is over -- " She took in the sight of Dan waving the lethal samurai sword around the tight hotel room. "Put that thing down before you slice your own ears off!" Dan ignored the warning, but Saladin stopped feasting and ducked under the bed.

Pink with excitement, Amy waved the other sword. "It's okay! It's the next clue!"

"Swords?"

"Tungsten! That's what the steel's alloyed with!"

"Start packing!" Dan crowed. "We're going to Tokyo! Oh, yeah, and way to go, Saladin. We knew you could do it."

A nervous "Mrrp!

" came from behind the bed skirt. Nellie was totally confused. "But why Tokyo?"

"That's where the swords are from," Amy explained breathlessly. "That's where the steel was forged. And the exhibit said that Fidelio Racco went off to Japan and was never heard from again!"

"And we have to do it, too?" the au pair demanded. "The trail leads there," Amy insisted. "That's where we'll find the next clue." It was the best thing about loyal Nellie Gomez. Without another word of protest, she picked up the phon
e and called Japan Airlines.

The Kabras had money; the Holts had muscle; Irina had guile and training; Alistair had experience; and Jonah had fame. Amy and Dan Cahill had their wits and little else. Yet only they had uncovered the sec
ond clue. On with the chase.

CHAPTER
21

To the citizens of Salzburg, Austria, William McIntyre looked like just another tourist. More formally dressed, perhaps, in a dark business suit, but a foreign visitor strolling through the public square. Nobody seemed to notice the tiny handheld monitor, nor did they hear the soft beeps emitted by the device as it homed in on the transmitter beacon.

For nearly a week, Mr. McIntyre had used this equipment to keep tabs on Amy and Dan as they traveled from Paris to Vienna and on to Salzburg. But now the signal had stopped moving. In fact, it had not budged in two days. Something was wrong. As he crossed the crowded plaza, the beeps consolidated into a continuous tone, which meant the transmitter was very, very close.

McIntyre stared. There it was, affixed as a lapel pin to the statue of Mozart in the center of the square.

A strong hand on his shoulder spun him around. It was Alistair Oh, in a towering rage.

"So it's you!" the elderly man accused. "I don't appreciate your meddling in this contest! Where is my clue?"

The lawyer shrugged, bewildered. "I have nothing of yours."

"There was a clue from the tunnel at St. Peter's," Alistair said coldly. "When I went to retrieve it to have it translated, I found it missing and your
homing pin in the head of my cane. Your explanation, if you please." "I have none."

"So you confess that you're trying to influence this contest." His eyes narrowed. "Or perhaps your plan is to hijack it entirely and take the prize for yourself." McIntyre rose to his full height. "I resent that. You may well have been bamboozled, but not by me. You ought to know that, with the stakes this high, treachery is to be expected. And Cahills are capable of almost anything."

"You haven't heard the last of this. When I win the contest, I'll see to it that you never work again!" Alistair spun on his heel and stalked away.

With a sigh, McIntyre retrieved the homing pin from Mozart's lapel -- it had been affixed with chewing gum. Pocketing it, he exited the square and walked three blocks to an outdoor cafe in a secluded courtyard. He seated himself at a quiet table, across from a man dressed entirely in black.

"You won't believe it," the lawyer announced in a despairing tone. "They found the homing device under the cat's collar and planted it on Alistair Oh." The man in black stroked his furrowed brow. "So what you're saying is we've lost the children."

McIntyre nodded glumly. "It's more like the children have lost us. It's possible that they are more resourceful than even Madame Grace had imagined." High above their table, the vapor trail of a jetliner left a white ribbon in the clear blue sky, heading east.