The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 5: Trust No One (12 page)

“Very funny,” Dan said, hoisting the pack a little higher. “I just don’t want it messing with my stuff.”

“It’s only looking for food,” Amy said.

“Yeah, Dan, it’s not interested in your dirty underwear,” Jake said with a snicker.

Dan didn’t dare make eye contact with Amy.
Did she see . . . ?
He aimed an air-kick at the offending coati. “Leave my stuff alone,” he muttered.

“Hey, chill,” Atticus said. “It’s no big deal, right?”

Dan gritted his teeth. “Right,” he said. “No big deal.”

The path to the river level of the park descended in a series of switchbacks supplemented by an occasional set of stairs, all under the canopy of the Brazilian rain forest. At the bottom of the last set of stairs, they saw a broad walkway flanked by metal railings. It extended several hundred yards out over the Iguazu River and ended in a viewing platform.

They walked toward the platform, Dan and Atticus leading the way. Jake could feel a cool dampness in the air; a few more steps and mist from the waterfalls began coming down on them in earnest. The tourists on their way back from the platform were very wet.

Jake got a peculiar feeling at the back of his neck. He flipped up the collar of his jacket to keep the mist off.

But it’s not the wetness. It feels more like . .
.
like we’re being followed.

He took a quick glance over his shoulder.

A crowd of tourists, any one of whom could have been following them. They all looked innocent enough, but what did he expect — someone who looked like a spy?

“What is it?” Amy asked. Somehow she was keyed in to his thoughts; he saw the immediate tension in her shoulders even though her voice was calm.

Don’t get her all upset,
Jake told himself.
The fun meter crashes when she freaks out. Besides, it’s probably nothing.

He smiled reassuringly. “Just a little game I play when I’m in a tourist place,” he said, “seeing if I can guess the nationalities.” Which was true — he and Atticus sometimes did this together.

She raised her eyebrows. “So what do you look for?”

“Well, let’s see . . .” He nodded toward a couple a few yards ahead of them. “Blond, big backpacks, Birkenstocks. My guess, either German or Dutch.”

“What about me?” she asked. “If you didn’t know me, would you guess I’m American?”

He put his hand on his chin, pretending to be in deep thought. “I’d have to say . . . Mars. Definitely Martian.”

Amy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Figures. I knew you couldn’t be serious about this.”

Jake cocked his head and examined her head to toe.

She looked self-conscious now. “What?”

He held up one hand. “Welcome, Martian female. Greetings from Earthling male.”

She laughed.

It felt great to make her laugh.

They caught up with Atticus and Dan on the viewing platform, where the mist was so heavy it was like being rained on while standing in the middle of a cloud. None of them minded getting wet with the air so warm.

All four stood silent in wonder at the beauty around them. Green rain forest. Blue sky. Birds floating lazily on the thermal wind currents — a big black hawk flying solo, a flock of primary-colored parrots. The white foam of the falls complete with a double rainbow, sunlight refracted through the spray . . .

Dan was the first to speak, his words blurred by the roar of the cascading water. “Pools,” he said. “What about the pools?”

“Poos?” Amy said.

“What poos?” Atticus asked. “Bird poos? It’s called guano. Actually, it’s pretty interesting how many different words there are for animal poos.
Guano
,
dung
,
droppings
,
spoors
,
cow pies
,
buffalo chips
. . . One of my favorites is
fewmets
.”

Dan said, “But I didn’t —”

“
Fewmets
— that’s from medieval times, the poo you find when an animal is being hunted on a quest.” Atticus was on a roll again. “And did you know that otter poo is called spraints?”

“Why do otters get their own word for poo?” Jake wondered.

“I love otters, they’re so playful,” Amy said. “
Spraints
— what a funny word.”

“Enough with the poos!” Dan yelled. Then he looked at Atticus. “I mean, it’s cool — especially about the spraints, I didn’t know that before — but I didn’t say
poos
.”

“You didn’t?” Atticus looked puzzled. “Then why are we talking about it?”

Dan threw up his hands. “Forget it — can I start over? I didn’t say poos.
I said
POOLS
.”

“Oh.
Pools
.” Atticus’s brain made the immediate switch. “You mean, in Dr. Siffright’s message?”

“Yeah. Iguazu, Voy, Falls — check, check, and check,” Dan said. “But there’s no pools. Just the river.”

Jake had almost forgotten the reason they were there. He dropped his gaze from the heights of the falls to the river around the platform.

“The water’s a little calmer here,” he said.

“But you couldn’t call it a pool,” Atticus pointed out.

“Still, we should have a good look around,” Amy said.

Reluctantly, they turned away from the view and began walking back. By unspoken agreement, they split up, Dan and Atticus on one side, Jake and Amy on the other.

Jake kept his head down, inspecting every inch around him. It was hard to believe that Dr. Siffright would have hidden a valuable manuscript folio in such a wet location, but he searched diligently anyway. It was slow going.

Then he got that feeling in his neck again.

Jake straightened up and looked around. Most of the crowd they had arrived with had left by now, replaced by new waves of tourists. Was there anyone familiar — someone he had seen before?

Maybe . . . it could have been the same person. Wait — I’m sure now, I recognize those clothes . . . But there’s no law against anyone hanging out here as long as they want. . . .

Then Atticus called out, “Hey, guys?”

The group met in the middle of the walkway. “We’re only searching
half
of this place,” Atticus said. “There’s a whole other half we can’t see.”

They all looked at him blankly.

Atticus pointed down toward his feet. “Underneath,” he said.

Boy Genius strikes again,
Jake thought as he hurried with the others to the side.

They peered over the railing. The walkway and platform were supported by concrete pylons sunk deep into the riverbed. The water was at least twenty feet below.

“It’d be easy to climb over,” Dan said. “I could hang on to the railing and maybe get a look —”

“NO,” Amy said. “Don’t even start.”

“He’s right,” Jake said. Amy glared at him, so he went on hurriedly, “And so are you. All we would need is a harness and some rope. You could do it sort of rock-climbing style and it would be safe.”

Amy still looked doubtful. “We’d have to come back after the park is closed and sneak in somehow.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Dan said. “They don’t have anything like the security at museums.”

Amy nodded. “Okay. But let’s finish searching up here. You never know, if we find something we might not have to come back.”

Dan and Atticus returned to their side. Jake stood at the railing a little longer, trying to envision the best way to fix a rope so they could examine the supporting structure.

With Amy and the boys covering the sides, Jake decided to move toward the middle of the walkway. Up ahead, a large crowd walked toward him; they were led by a tour guide who held a red umbrella high over her head so the group could keep her in sight easily. On Jake’s left was a gaggle of elementary-school kids in their uniforms of white shirts and navy shorts. To his right, several paces behind Dan and Atticus, Jake saw a man with dark hair in a ponytail, carrying a musical instrument — a long straight pipe made of bamboo. The man stopped walking and raised the pipe to his lips.

Jake frowned as his mind began to tick off things that weren’t quite right.

Doesn’t make sense — it would be too hard to hear the music with all the noise from the falls.

And that pipe — there aren’t any holes in it. So how can it be a musical instrument? It looks more like —

There was a cold, calculating look on the man’s face. He closed one eye and squinted along the length of the pipe.

Like he’s aiming at something . . .

Aiming? Then it’s definitely not a musical instrument. It’s some kind of — of blowpipe.

Which meant that it was a weapon.

And it was pointed directly at Atticus.

Slow motion.

Fast action.

An impossible combination, but that was what it felt like to Jake.

Atticus was standing next to Dan, about ten feet away. Jake yelled and ran toward them, covering the distance in two giant strides. Then he launched himself off his feet and knocked his brother into the railing.

Something whistled past his ear.

The brothers both ended up on the ground. Jake threw himself on top of Atticus, who immediately began squirming in protest.

“Stay still!” Jake warned and moved to cover Atticus with his body.

“Like I have a choice?” Atticus’s voice was muffled beneath him. “What the heck is going on?”

Jake raised his head cautiously. “You stay down,” he said to Atticus. He stood up and scanned the crowd.

No sign of Mr. Blowpipe.
Whoever he is, he knows what he’s doing. Not running away — that would have made him stand out.
The man had simply melted into the crowd.

“Hey, guys?”

A few steps away, Dan was staring at something in his hand.

“My shoulder,” he said vaguely. “I’m not sure, but . . .”

Dan’s legs buckled beneath him. He dropped whatever he was holding. Jake only just managed to grab one of his arms in time to break his fall.

“Dan!” Atticus scrambled on his knees to get near his friend. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Jake lowered Dan to the ground. Then he searched the area around them frantically and found what he was looking for — the thing Dan had dropped.

A blow dart.