The 39 Clues: Cahill Files: Silent Night (4 page)

But his chance found him the next morning. Rupert was eating a breakfast of cold beans from a can when another soldier came up to Rupert, panting.

“You’re . . . you’re Davenport,” he said.

“Indeed,” said Rupert, as gentlemanlike as he could. “How can I help you?”

“The major,” said the soldier. “I’ve been looking all . . . all over for you. The major wants you,” he said, and then turned and took off through the other soldiers again. Rupert grabbed his rucksack and went after him, stepping over other soldiers, who were sleeping or shaving or writing letters home.

The private took Rupert to one of the damp holes that had been built into the trenches. Wet sandbags made the walls, and the crumbly dirt ceiling was held up by bowing wooden rafters. Wild, flickering light spilled out of a smoky lantern, casting jumpy shadows all over everything. The major sat upon an overturned crate, a map rolled out in front of him, and a fat cigar clenched between his teeth. It was the same man Rupert had seen on his first day, shoveling the dirt like a machine. Just thinking about it made Rupert’s arms ache. The major was a wide and tall man; Rupert thought he looked like he, too, was made of crates all piled up on top of one another.

“Sir!” said the private, jumping to attention. “Special Officer Davenport as requested, sir!”

“Yes, thank you, Private,” said the major, looking up. He took his cigar from his mouth and gestured at Rupert with it. “Sit down, son. Private Jenkins, bring in the tea tray.”

Jenkins hopped to it, and Rupert sat himself down across from the major.

“I’ll be mother,” said the major. He picked up the teapot and daintily poured a cup for Rupert, and one for himself. “Sugar?” he asked, before adding four lumps to his own cup.

“Thank you,” said Rupert, stirring his tea. “I appreciate the gesture. It’s been so long since I’ve sat down to a proper cup.”

“I thought you might say as much,” said the major.

“Did you?”

“I did. I’ve been watching you, Davenport. Imagine my shock at meeting you on your first day here! Well, I know what you expect. I know about Eton. I know about Oxford. And I know about the Marne. I was surprised to see you in these parts, but I should have known you’d have heard the rumors by now.”

Rupert paused for a moment, and then he nodded. So the major thought he was Albert. That was okay. Rupert could play along with that.

The major leaned back on his crate, took a sip of tea, and leveled his gaze at Rupert. “I’ve a mission for you, Davenport,” he said.

Rupert knew that was coming. He could feel it, he swore, from a mile away. Even so, he sat up a little straighter. “Yes, sir?”

“I need someone with your particular . . . skills,” said the major. “And connections.”

“Certainly!” said Rupert. He was trying very hard to not look too eager — he desperately wanted to play it cool. But he was failing. The prospect of stealing a special mission from right under Albert’s nose made Rupert’s very muscles twitch with excitement. He could just imagine telling the tale at the dinner table. “Well, you know, they had originally wanted Albert for the job, but then they realized that I was
much
better suited to the task.”

“It’ll be dangerous,” said the major. “Awfully so. We’ll be headed across enemy lines.”

Even better
, Rupert thought to himself. Perhaps he’d find a way to send his father a telegram from a foreign post office, so he’d know that Rupert was already in the thick of it.

“You say the word and I’m ready, sir,” said Rupert. “It would be an honor to serve King and country in whatev —” But then Rupert stopped. Because something caught his eye — a ring on the major’s hand. A ring with a crest on it. A blue crest with a white bear.

That’s when Rupert jumped to his feet. “What do you want?” he blurted. A Tomas. This major was from another branch of the Cahill family. Rupert felt a rush of suspicion set every nerve in his body on high alert. This was far too much of a coincidence to be anything other than a trap.

But the major merely took another sip of his tea. “Do sit down, Davenport. You’ll be much more comfortable.”

“I’ll stay standing, thanks,” said Rupert. But the major pointed.

“Sit now,” he said, in a tone that made Rupert do as he said. “Now, where were we? Right. You were going on about King and country. It’s bigger than that, although more of a family affair, cousin.”

“Don’t call me that,” said Rupert.

“Look,” said the major, tamping out his cigar. “I don’t like this any more than you do. You think I want to waste my valuable time trying to talk to some slimy Lucian? No, I don’t. But things happen, and here we are.”

Rupert didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t paying attention. He was looking behind the Tomas, over his own shoulder, at his feet, trying to figure out where the blow was going to come from.

“Stop fidgeting,” said the Tomas major.

“I’m not fidgeting,” snapped Rupert. “I’m trying to figure out how you’re going to kill me. It must be something having to do with brute force. Your type aren’t known for their cunning or imagination.”

The major’s smile was grim. “If I wanted you dead, Davenport, you’d be half-buried or half-eaten in no-man’s-land by now. Unfortunately, I need you alive for this. So stop your mouth, and listen to me. The Germans — they’ve kidnapped a Cahill.”

Rupert folded his arms. “A Lucian? Because if not, it’s none of my concern.”

The major’s face turned grim, like the way clouds boiled and roared before a storm. “It’s all of our concern. Not just the family’s. Not just one branch’s. It’s all of ours. They’ve got an Ekat.”

“So?” said Rupert.

“Don’t be an idiot,” said the major. “His name is Dr. Frederick Woolsey. He’s a chemist out of Oxford. And they’ve got him working on some sort of . . . I don’t know all of the details, and even if I did, I wouldn’t understand it. But it’s a weapon, and if he gets far on it, the war is all but lost. I know that Lucians are about as sympathetic as pond scum and as cooperative as spoiled toddlers, but this is important.”

“I’m not interested,” Rupert said, and stood up. His family would hardly be impressed to learn that he’d spent his time on the continent rescuing an
Ekat
.

“That’s too bad,” said the major. “I never thought I’d see such a coward amongst the Lucians.”

Rupert froze. He bristled. He knew he shouldn’t dignify that with a response, but he really couldn’t help himself.

“I’m not a coward,” said Rupert.

“Then I suggest you stay. Unless you want your branch to be left out of the most important rescue mission in this century. It’s not going to be easy, Davenport, but it’s got to be done. This Woolsey is as genius as they come, and I don’t want to think about what they have him working on. We’ve got to get him back on this side of the line, and we’ve got to destroy his lab. It’s not a joke.”

Rupert turned and glowered at the Tomas.

“Believe me, I don’t like it, either,” said the major. “Let the fact that I’m
asking
you to do this be a testament to the seriousness of the operation.”

Rupert sat back in the chair. The major made a good point. “Fine,” said Rupert. “I’ll
deign
to help you. But don’t you dare try anything.”

“I swear on my favorite tea cozy,” said the major, putting one hand on his heart and lifting the other in the air. “Besides, there’s another cousin coming along. And I’ll need you around to keep me sane. If there’s anything worse than a Lucian, it’s a Janus.”

A Janus. Rupert closed his eyes. If the war didn’t kill him, this was bound to.

The next day, at dusk, Rupert and Major Thompson prepared to set off. Rupert had snuck over to the supply tents that morning and slipped a few cans of beans and packets of crackers into his rucksack, hiding them beneath his spare uniform. He didn’t have much else besides — a toothbrush, a woolen blanket, and two contrary cousins. Despite the absurdity of the situation, he was ready to do it. He’d had a moment to think things over, and he’d decided that this
was
his chance. He’d do something amazing on this mission, and then they’d all see him for how valuable he was. For how much he
meant
. This wasn’t just a war mission — this was a
Cahill
mission, which was infinitely more important than just some war stuff.

Major Thompson’s plan was simple enough. They would leave the trenches. Then, in the orchards a half mile away, they would meet up with the Janus cousin. From there, they would sneak across the border between the armies. They would follow the trenches as they snaked across the border from France to Belgium, cutting across the Lys River. Major Thompson knew of a stretch right along the river where the trenches had all been destroyed in a bombing a few weeks back. They would use the quiet there to cross the river, sneak into the old factory where the Ekat was being held, destroy the lab, and then sneak the doctor back across.

Rupert knew that the first part — leaving the trenches — might be the last as well. He began to shake, just thinking about it. But he promised himself, no matter what, he would not throw up on anyone this time.

Rupert and Major Thompson waited until it was dark. They slipped along to the darkest part of the line, where there were no lanterns and no moonlight. It was a quiet night — there was a break in the fighting, and a stiff stillness had settled over everything. It was as if the dark was afraid to move around them, afraid of waking up the war again. The peace was artificial — Rupert knew, and everyone knew, that the stretch of land ahead was a graveyard of land mines and dead men.

“Set, then?” whispered the major. Rupert tried to say yes, but he couldn’t speak. Instead he nodded, like this was no big deal. “All right,” said the major.

And then, on the count of three, they heaved themselves up and over the edge.

Rupert’s heart was beating so fast and so loud, he knew the Germans could hear it. With his cheek pressed into the cold mud, Rupert waited for the gunfire. He waited to die. But nothing came.
They must not have seen us
, he thought. There was no moonlight because of the thick clouds. He promised himself he’d never complain about bad weather again.

He felt Major Thompson’s hand on his shoulder. The major tapped once, twice, three times, and at the third tap, the two of them slipped to their feet and took off in a crouched run. They were headed to the woods, to the safety of the tree line.

Rupert tried to ignore everything around him. He tried to ignore the enemy that hid only yards away. He tried to ignore the dead bodies. He told himself Davenports kept their lips stiff and their eyes ahead. He tried to ignore the coils of wire waiting to spring at him, to snare him, to hold him down while other people shot at him.

He could do this, he promised himself. He could show them. And maybe, he thought from a small back room in his brain, he could show himself, too.

They moved quietly through the dark. But the same clouds that protected them from sight also nearly killed them. Because Rupert stepped in a miry, soggy pit from a mortar shell. The
splash
seemed to echo in the still, cold night, and from far too close, Rupert could hear the first German stir.

“Wer ist da?”
called one of them.

“Run!” Major Thompson hissed. Stealth was no longer an asset, only speed. A dull roar began in the back of Rupert’s brain, and it spread up around his head and filled his ears until all he could hear was the rush of his own heart and the thumping of his own legs. He splashed along behind Major Thompson. It felt as if they were only inches ahead of the German gunfire. It was just like delivering the messages, but instead of another trench, he was running for the tree line.

Until he tripped. With a cry, Rupert was pitched forward. He landed on his face, his hands skidding out in front of him, and his mind went blank. The world faded into a white haze and the only thing he was aware of was his own body, his limbs in the dirt, and his heart, which was still beating, somehow. He lifted his head and it felt like he was moving through deep water, and it pressed down on him.

With a great
crack
right beside his head, the whole world came back to him. Sounds and smells hit him again: the sharp bursts of gunfire, the earthy smell of water and dirt, Major Thompson’s boots against the ground growing farther and farther away.

Rupert had to get up. He pushed against the ground, dug his boots into the dirt. And then he was running.

When he passed the tree line, Major Thompson grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down into the soggy leaves.

“Get off! Get off of me!” Rupert hissed, remembering only at the last minute to keep his voice down. So this was Thompson’s plan, he thought. He’d take Rupert out past the trenches, past the others who would see. And he’d kill him in the woods. That’s what a Cahill would do. It’s what Rupert should have thought about.

“Shh!” Major Thompson put a hand over Rupert’s mouth. “You’ll get us shot, you idiot. Stop your thrashing! Hold still!”

Rupert eventually did. But only so he could stop and think about a way to escape.

“Now get up,” said Major Thompson, extending a hand down to him. “Our Janus ally won’t wait forever.”