The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 2: A King's Ransom (4 page)

“Cheyenne?” Amy asked, her heartbeat speeding up. “Any relation to Casper?”

“Cheyenne is his twin sister. But I have worse news. Casper is definitely still alive.”

Amy glanced at Dan. He looked as pale as she felt. Just hearing Casper’s name brought back the fear.

Dan swallowed. “Bummer. And the guy has a twin? That’s just wrong.”

“I’m sending a photo to Dan’s phone.”

Dan reached for his phone. “Bring me the face of evil,” he intoned.

“Any more information you can give us on the de Virga map?” Amy asked.

Sinead entered the frame. “We’re checking some Cahill contacts in Switzerland. We think you should definitely start at the auction house where it was last seen.”

“That’s where we’re headed.”

Dan held up his phone. “Meet Cheyenne Wyoming.”

Amy stared at the picture of a striking blonde. “Never seen her before,” she said.

Dan studied the photo, then gave a start of recognition. “Oh, yes, you have,” he said, bending over his smartphone.

“Amy?” It was Sinead. “I’m going to turn off the speaker. Evan wants to talk to you privately.”

Amy turned off the speaker and pressed the phone to her ear.

“I just wanted to have a moment alone,” Evan said. “Every time I talk to you, it feels like the whole world is listening.”

Hearing his murmur, Amy felt as though Evan had just enveloped her in one of his comforting hugs. “I know,” she said softly. “I was thinking the same thing. I’m so sorry that you got dragged into my mess. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I
did
sign up for this,” Evan said. Across the many miles, she heard the firmness in his voice. “You’re in trouble. Do you expect me to just walk away?”

“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did.”

“I know you wouldn’t. That’s only one of the reasons I’m crazy about you. I’ve got a million more.”

“Just a million?” she teased.

“Okay, a million plus one — your cat.”

She giggled. “You’re bonding with Saladin?”

“Somebody has to protect that cat from your cousin Ian. And I even feed him. The cat. Not Ian. He’s on his own. Anyway, if that doesn’t get me Perfect Boyfriend status, I don’t know what will.”

“Emptying the litter box?”

“Hey. I have my limits.”

Amy laughed. She had the phone pressed to her ear so tightly it burned. She closed her eyes, picturing his face… .

Ian’s crisp voice broke in. “All right, lovebirds, let’s move on. No offense, but I believe Amy and Dan might need a short course in style and class.”

“Is this the nonoffensive part?” Dan asked. “I can’t wait until you really insult us.”

“Let’s deal with reality, shall we? You don’t just walk into an auction house in your jeans and backpacks. You have to blend in. And that’s going to be hard.” Ian sniffed. “Considering that you’re Americans.”

“What are you talking about, dude?” Dan asked. “This is my best SpongeBob T-shirt.”

“Exactly my point,” Ian said. “An auction is a place of taste and refinement. If you barge in looking like … well,
you
…”

“I get your drift, Ian,” Amy said, cutting him off. “Do you know the most exclusive shop in Lucerne?”

“Of course. Here’s an idea,” Ian said. “Video your trip to the store, and I can advise you. Or else you’ll emerge looking like a mushroom, and Dan like he just rolled out of bed.”

Amy sighed. Just when she started to almost like Ian again — after all, he’d flown across the ocean and had been working around the clock to help — his snob quotient went through the roof.

She felt a sharp elbow in her ribs. Dan thrust his phone in her face. He had imported the photograph into a sketch program on his phone. He’d colored the bright blond hair brown and the eyes dark. He’d added a beauty mark above Cheyenne Wyoming’s lip.

Amy gasped. It was Vanessa Mallory!

She quickly told the others what Dan had figured out. “But why was she tailing us?” she wondered.

“Vesper One wants to keep tabs on us,” Dan said. “What else?”

“Remember, it’s in his best interest to keep you two out of jail,” Evan pointed out. “Maybe he sent her to make sure you got over the border.”

“It’s still creepy,” Amy said.

“Speaking of creepy, she probably knows where you are right now,” Evan said. “I’ve been looking at the manuals for the Vesper phone. I’m guessing that there’s a GPS embedded in it, too.”

Amy shivered as she glanced at the few pedestrians walking by. Was Cheyenne watching them right now? Was Casper?

“Can we dismantle it?” she asked.

“You don’t want them to know that you know it’s there. But you can learn how to turn it off and on. You’ve got to be careful — it’s got to look like satellite disturbance.”

“Let Dan do it,” Amy said. “He’s better at these things than I am.”

She handed Dan the Vesper phone. Dan tossed his apple core into the bushes. He pried off the back of the Vesper phone and listened to Evan.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Then what do I … oh, gotcha. Cool. Awesome! Take that, V-One!”

“Can we turn it off for a bit?” Amy asked.

“I think you can get away with it,” Sinead said. “Just get to Lucerne as soon as you can. There’s an auction at three. That can give you cover.”

“Got it.” Amy snapped the phone shut. She almost wished she didn’t know about the GPS.

That meant that Vesper One could get to them anywhere. Anytime.

Lucerne, Switzerland

Milos Vanek was tired. He was always tired. He relied on coffee to keep awake. Coffee and duty. He sat in the café on an upscale street in Lucerne. He’d chosen it for its large windows. He watched the crowd. You never knew when you could get lucky.

Tracing criminals … sometimes it was like a seed stuck in a tooth. Something that nagged him, some small detail that wouldn’t go away. A crime would occur, a suspect identified, a search begun. Some were routine. And some were a seed in a tooth.

This brother and sister — Amy and Dan Cahill. He couldn’t figure them out, and that was bothering him. Rich brats out for kicks? Most likely. Yet he dug a little bit and discovered that although they were fantastically wealthy they attended a public school, had not exhibited discipline problems, were not featured in the tabloids, did not give interviews, did not appear in a reality TV program … none of the things he expected.

Yet suddenly they had dropped out of school and headed for Europe. There was a small item in a Boston paper about a fuel truck and a school bus and a possible attempted kidnapping. It was the lack of detail that bothered him. Small article, then nothing. Schoolchildren had been endangered. Usually, Americans went crazy over things like that.

And within a few days these two kids had stolen a priceless painting from the Uffizi. A theft so cool and daring it must have been done by professionals.

But it had been done by children.

Then there was the strange accusation from an American student that Dan and Amy Cahill had stolen the first edition of Marco Polo’s manuscript … a manuscript that didn’t even
exist.
The accusation had been buried in a file, but Vanek had found it, because he didn’t sleep much and he had a seed in his tooth.

They’d been on the Zurich train, he was sure of it. That’s why he had the train stopped at the border. Somewhere between there and Lucerne, they had gotten off. But where did they get off? And
how
did they get off?

Kids could disappear more easily than adults. People didn’t notice kids. And these kids were so …
neutral.
So bland in that American way.

His partner came out of the ladies’ room. Most women when they exited a bathroom appeared with newly brushed hair, a fresh swipe of lipstick. Not Luna Amato. She went in looking like a slightly rumpled Italian grandmother and came out looking like a slightly rumpled Italian grandmother. Gray hair curling around her face. Black dress, flat shoes, unfashionable jacket with a coffee stain on the sleeve. Sharp brown eyes that could look vacant, kind, or merciless, depending on the situation.

He’d never worked with her before, but he needed someone who could blend in. Someone who could approach the kids and not scare them. He knew they’d been close to their grandmother, Grace Cahill. He’d been betting that they’d be suckers for someone her age.

Amato sat down and fished an ice cube out of her water glass. She plopped it in her coffee. He’d worked with her for three days now and the only thing he knew about her was that coffee was always too hot for her taste.

She took a sip. “Zurich,” she said. “I think they went on to Zurich. They could have taken any number of trains from the station. The city is bigger. More places to fence the artwork. I say we head there.”

Vanek nodded. She could be right. It was logical, a good deduction. And yet …

The seed in his tooth. The nagging feeling that they were close.

“You could be right,” he said. “But first, let’s see what we can find in Lucerne.”

“I can’t do this,” Dan said.

Amy and Dan stood on an exclusive shopping street in Lucerne. Steps ahead they saw the stone front of the expensive boutique Ian had told them about. One item hung on a skeletal hanger in the window, something black and tiny that appeared to be a dress or a tunic, or maybe a shirt?

If she couldn’t even identify the clothing, how could she pass herself off as a fashionista?

“We just stole a painting and smuggled ourselves off a train,” Amy said, trying to sound confident. “And we can’t
shop
?”

“Don’t make me.” Dan gave her a mute look of appeal. “Can’t you do it?”

“No.” Amy felt her phone vibrate. She held it up. It was from Ian.

DON’T ASK THE PRICE OF ANYTHING. DON’T SMILE. DON’T SAY “DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING CHEAPER?” DON’T

Amy shoved the phone back in her pocket. “Just pretend to be Ian,” she told Dan. “Come on, the auction is in an hour.”

They pushed open the frosted glass door. There appeared to be about ten garments in the whole store, each separated by a foot of polished stainless steel rod. Amy stopped, confused. She was used to the cheerful jumble of fabrics and colors at the stores at the mall. But mostly she shopped on the Internet, finding one sweater she liked and ordering it in a couple of colors — usually navy, black, or gray. Last Christmas, when the Kabras had visited, Natalie’s eyes had flicked over her sweater and skirt and said, “Is this a holiday, Amy, or did somebody die?”

When they had been enemies, Natalie would have punctuated the remark with a cruel smirk, but this time, she’d just shaken her head and laughed. And given Amy a beautiful wool scarf in a heathery blue for the holiday that Amy had worn every day.

Of course, a month later Amy had received the bill.

Dan was doing his best Ian Kabra impersonation, looking around the store as though inspecting it for cockroaches. Amy tried to turn her snort of laughter into a cough.

“Espresso?” The saleswoman materialized seemingly out of nowhere. Amy realized that the full-length mirror on the wall was actually a door.

If she were Amy Cahill, she would blush and shake her head no, just because she didn’t want to cause any bother. She imagined what Natalie Kabra would do.

“Tea. Darjeeling,” she said in a curt tone.

“Oh, not Darjeeling, sis,” Dan said. “That’s just
so
middle class.”

“Lapsang souchong?” the saleswoman asked.

“I just adored his last collection,” Dan said.

The woman’s tight smile dimmed. “That’s a
tea
,” she said through pursed lips. For the first time, her icy gaze traveled over their bulging backpacks and settled on their hiking shoes.

“Of course it is,” Amy said. “My brother and I are on holiday,” she added carelessly. “We came straight from boarding school and we’re heading to our chalet, but Mummy has arranged some parties, and we thought we’d pick up a few things.”

The woman appraised them coolly. It was clear that she didn’t believe Amy at all. “Perhaps you’ll be more comfortable in a department store.”

Amy didn’t reply. She remembered that about Ian and Natalie — they never reacted to something they didn’t want to acknowledge. They just pretended the person hadn’t said it at all. She handed the saleswoman a credit card. “Why don’t you take this? We don’t want to waste time. Just set up an account.”

The saleswoman bit her lip. “I’ll only be a moment,” she said curtly. When she returned, she must have checked out the credit limit of the card, because she was wearing a wide smile.

“Please follow me,” she said graciously. “My name is Greta.”

Greta led them into a private room with plush sofas and a wall of mirrors. An empty rack lined the other wall. She disappeared again, then reappeared with an armload of clothes. Amy gulped. So this was how rich people shopped. They didn’t even have to lift a hanger. They just had things brought to them.

For the next half hour, Amy and Dan almost drowned in silks, featherweight cashmeres, and supple leather shoes. Amy was overwhelmed, but she knew she needed to be efficient. Within thirty minutes they walked out of the store in new, impeccably tailored cashmere jackets, Dan in black and Amy in camel. Underneath she wore a green dress with heeled boots. Dan balked at the ties but chose a black sweater that Amy deemed Ian-worthy. The last thing Amy asked of Greta, now their best friend, was to call up a private car and driver.

“Do you know how much this purse cost?” she whispered to Dan as they sat in the backseat on the way to the auction house. She pointed to the large leather satchel on the floor. “More than a year at a fancy private school!”

“‘Everyone needs a statement bag,’”
Dan said, mimicking the saleswoman’s accent.

Amy directed the driver to pull the limo up in front of the auction house. It was a white building that looked like a large manor house.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t get any images of the interior,” Dan said.

The people going inside the heavy brass doors looked so … important. So self-assured.

I don’t belong here,
Amy thought.

A voice rose in her head. Nellie’s voice.
C’mon, kiddo. You can do it. You’re rocking the fancy threads. Work it.

Amy smiled, but she felt her heart constrict. She missed Nellie so much.

The clothes helped. Even the ridiculously large purse the saleswoman had insisted she needed. She saw similar purses on the arms of the chic women walking through the doors.

She tried not to wobble in her heels as they walked into the lobby of the auction house. It was a double-height room with ornate moldings and a gleaming floor. Ahead was a grand curving staircase and to their right was a pair of double doors. A petite woman in a black suit and many strands of large pearls welcomed them in German, but when they answered she switched to flawless English. “Welcome. I am Frau Gertler. The auction will begin in ten minutes.” She handed them a catalog. If she wondered what two teenagers were doing at an auction for Old Masters prints and paintings she gave no sign.

Dan moved closer to the woman. “I wonder if I might have a second catalog,” he said. “Papa will be joining us. By the way, those are fabulous pearls. Mummy has a set just like them, but hers are slightly larger.”

Amy nudged him. He was taking this Ian Kabra impersonation way too far. They had to blend in, not call attention to themselves.

“Thank you,” Frau Gertler said, and leaned over to grab another small stack of catalogs.

The double doors to the auction room opened, and they glimpsed a large room with rows of gilt chairs. An empty easel sat on an elevated platform. People were filing in and sitting down.

Amy’s eyes moved around the lobby. She saw now that many doors were tucked away in alcoves and underneath the stairs. Too many. Then she noted one that was marked
BÜROS
. She knew that was German for
offices
. She nudged Dan and pointed to it with her chin.

A group of people walked in and were greeted by the chic woman in the black suit. While she was occupied, they pretended to stroll and admire the moldings. They backed up against the door marked
BÜROS
.

“There’s a slot for a key card,” Amy murmured. “So I don’t think you can work your lock-picking magic.”

“That’s okay,” Dan said. “I have a key.”

“How did you get that?”

“‘Fabulous pearls. Mummy has a set just like them,’”
he mimicked himself as he looked up at the moldings. Dan’s face was set in a look of concentration Amy recognized. “I knew …” She sneaked a look and saw that behind his back Dan was trying to slide the card through the slot. “… if she leaned over … for the rest of the catalogs that I could … slip it out… .”

Amy leaned back. “About a fraction to the left and up an inch,” she muttered.

Dan found the slot and slid the card in. The door opened a crack. With one last glance at the activity in the lobby, they quickly slid inside.

The door clicked shut behind them softly. Amy let out a breath.

“When did you turn into such a criminal? I didn’t even see you move!”

“There’s a fine line between criminality and genius,” Dan said. “That’s what Lightfinger Larry used to say.”

The hallway was carpeted in severe gray. Steel-framed art marched down one wall. The offices on their left all had glass walls. They could hear the murmur of voices from behind a door to the right. Amy put a finger to her lips. They tiptoed down the hallway, slipping past the empty offices. They were lucky that it was a Saturday. The glass walls gave them a sightline into offices that looked like living rooms, with sofas and easy chairs and paintings on the walls. Amy stopped short.

“I think that’s a Rembrandt,” she whispered, pointing at a small dark painting on the wall of the largest office. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“Sorry. Only one art heist a week for me,” Dan said.

They tiptoed past and kept on going. Finally at the end of the hallway, a door on the right was marked
REKORDBÜRO
. Amy nodded, and, after listening for a minute, they cautiously pushed it open. The office was empty.

“Whew,” Amy whispered after they closed the door behind them. “Lucky. I think this is where the records are kept.”

Unlike the elegant offices they’d glimpsed, this room was small and cluttered. A small desk with a fax machine was shoved in between a table and the door. The rest of the room was filled with filing cabinets. The old files could be right here.

“I don’t think they would have digitized their transactions from eighty years ago. But they should have dead files.”

Amy peered at the labels on the filing cabinets. “Bingo. These are the records from the 1950s. There are no records for the 1940s … they closed the business during World War Two … so … here!” She stopped before the last filing cabinet. “The records from the 1930s.” She opened the drawer and groaned. “This could take a while. They aren’t filed by the name of the object. It’s by date. We know it’s 1932, but we don’t know what month.” She handed Dan a hanging file. “Let’s get started. We have to get this done before the auction is over so we can leave with the crowd.”

She opened the first file. Records were kept in a tiny, neat handwriting. Amy slumped against the cabinet. “These are in German. Of course they would be.”

“It’s all right,” Dan said. “It will still say ‘de Virga.’”

She and Dan bent over the files. They had to keep the light off, so they used their penlights, flipping through paper after paper. Their eyes almost crossed trying to decipher the thin, spidery handwriting or faint typewriter ink, all written in a language they didn’t know. Occasionally, they would freeze if they heard footsteps outside. Amy’s palms were damp with nerves. If they got caught, what would they say?

Finally, just when
wild goose chase
was starting to dance around in Amy’s brain, Dan whispered, “Got it.”

He passed over a paper. Amy saw the words
de Virga
and
mappa mundi
.

Amy’s heartbeat speeded up. Here it was, the original notes on the auction of the antique map. “I can’t read the rest,” she murmured. “But look — there’s a list of names: ‘Prof. Otto Hummel … Jane Sperling … Marcel Maubert … Reginald Tawnley.’ And there’s a notation next to each name.”