The 39 Clues: Unstoppable Book 2: Breakaway (4 page)

Cara Pierce stepped into the dojo as the clock struck noon. Her brother, Galt, stood across from her, barefoot in his black uniform and black belt. He snapped into a fighting stance with a snarl.

The dojo was spacious, with clean white walls and a polished floor of blond wood. A weapons rack holding bamboo swords, staffs, and nunchakus sat along one wall. Up in a high corner, a single black video camera swiveled back and forth. Cara knew her father was at his desk, watching on a monitor. When they were done, he would descend and give the winner a reward.

When they were kids, the reward for Galt and Cara’s weekly sparring matches was ice cream or a new toy, but as they got older the winner received an extra helping of their father’s most prized, most hoarded possession — his time. The winner sat in his meetings, listened to his plans, helped him conspire. The loser was shut out.

Of course, sometimes Cara wasn’t sure what she wanted more — her father’s favor or to wipe the vicious smirk off of her brother’s face.

Cara dropped into her own stance, but before she could make a move there was a blur of movement followed by a crunching impact to her jaw. The world flipped and Cara found herself on her back. She cursed herself for her distraction and leaped back to her feet. She managed a quick roundhouse kick that connected with Galt’s side but he flashed away.

Galt had always been fast and strong, but in the last few weeks, he seemed to border on inhuman. One minute he was safely on her left, and then without warning he was on her right, sending a punch flying toward her temple. Cara got a few punches in but they came more and more infrequently while Galt bounced back from them faster every time.

Always, out of the corner of her eye, she could see that black camera tracking them.

Cara spun away from another crushing blow. Along with her father’s favors came the lectures. Survival of the fittest is what he always said. Winners rose to the top through hard work and God-given talent. And losers? All they were good for was doing the bidding of the winners.

Cara had an idea. Instead of circling away from Galt as their sensei had taught, she slid straight back from him, dodging a flurry of blows. Galt growled as he came at her, working himself into a frenzy, his eyes ablaze.

That’s right,
Cara thought.
Keep coming. You may be strong and fast, but it’s time to see which one of us is smart.

Cara slowed and let him land a right on her side. It was like taking a freight train in the ribs. Cara stifled a scream and responded with a worthless punch and then a side kick that went nowhere. Galt laughed and landed a stunning combination. Right left right. Straight kick. Roundhouse. Cara’s breath left her in a rush and she went down in a heap.

Galt stood before her, hands on his hips, self-satisfied grin flashing. Cara crawled over to the weapons rack and grabbed the top rail. She slowly pulled herself up, finally making it to her knees and draping her arms over the lip of the wooden rack. She didn’t have to fake it now. Every inch of her body throbbed with pain.

Galt sauntered over, reveling in the opportunity to mock her. “Need some help there, sis?”

Cara looked over her shoulder. The black surveillance camera in the corner was right on them. Galt was holding out his hand, cocky smile burning. Cara smiled right back.

“Nope.”

Cara swept a bamboo sword out of the rack and swung with all her might. Galt’s eyes went wide as the shaft whistled through the air.

“Hey! This isn’t a weapons drill! Cara!”

Cara laughed as her brother retreated, varying her strikes to keep him off balance. She went right, then left, a hard jab to the stomach with the sword point to knock the wind out of him, and then a spinning kick to his side. Galt went down with a cry and Cara stood over him, triumphant, her bare foot on his stomach, the sword at his throat.

“Okay!” Galt cried. “You win! I surrender!”

“You get overconfident, bro,” Cara said with a smile of her own. “Get to thinking you’re invincible when you’re not.”

“Funny,” Galt said. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“What do you — ?”

Before Cara could react, the sword was out of her hands and in Galt’s. And he was back on his feet.
How did he —
Galt whirled the sword like a helicopter blade, gaining momentum before slamming it into Cara’s side, and shoulder, and back. Each strike was perfectly aimed, hitting a jutting bone or a nerve point. Cara feinted left and then moved right, but the bamboo blade came out of nowhere, sending her crashing into the wooden rack.

When she managed to look up, Galt was striding toward her, grinning.

“Sorry, sis,” he said with a shrug. “I guess there’s just no fighting God-given talent.”

Cara shut her eyes and Galt lifted the sword, tensing up for the blow.

“Enough!”

Their father stood in the doorway. He looked like a marble statue in his inky-black suit.

“Dad!” Galt said. “Did you see? I totally beat Cara!”

“But, Dad,” Cara cried as she struggled to get to her feet. “He surrendered!”

“I did not!”

“You did! Dad, Galt totally —”

“What? Cheated?” her father replied acidly. “Only losers whine about rules, Cara. Rules and regulations were put in place to coddle the weak, and Pierces are not weak! Now, I believe your mother could use some help arranging her teddy bear collection. Of course, if you don’t want this to happen again, maybe you should hit the gym more often.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Galt,” he said as he stepped into the hallway outside. “You’re with me.”

As soon as their father’s back was turned, Galt stuck his tongue out at Cara and then slipped out into the hall. The door slammed behind them, and Cara forced herself to her feet and started lurching toward the gym. She’d show Dad and Galt, too. She’d train harder than ever. Longer, too.

I’ll show them both who’s stronger.

Amy wandered for more than an hour before she gathered the courage to admit something very important.

She was lost.

The cabdriver who picked her up in the medina spoke Arabic, French, and Italian, but no English. So the best Amy could do was repeat
Carthage
,
museum
, and
north
over and over again. Finally, the man waved his hand and hit the gas, driving at terrifying speeds before screeching to a halt in the middle of a small town. When she questioned him, he pointed vaguely, then sped off in a cloud of exhaust.

Amy tried to figure out where she was using her phone, but reception was almost nonexistent.

As frustrating as it was, Amy had to admit there were worse places to be lost. The town she found herself in sat on a palm tree–covered hill with a wide view of the Mediterranean below. The narrow streets were lined with low buildings, each one painted snowy white with accents of the deepest blue Amy had ever seen. Residents lounged on wide porches, soaking up the last rays of the sun, while tourists drifted down the avenue, visiting the few merchant stalls that hung on despite the gathering dark.

Amy paused at a corner and looked down on boats gliding into a small marina for the night. She was surprised to find the strain of the day begin to fade.

Is this what Dan wants?
Amy wondered. The fact that her brother was leaving after they beat Pierce was never far from her mind.
To come to a place like this and simply . . . be. No running. No fighting.

Amy couldn’t imagine it. And what would he say the next time someone like Pierce turned up? “Sorry, world! Got to work on my tan.”

No
, Amy thought.
Dan and I are Cahills.
It isn’t just what we do, it’s who we are
.
If we stopped, if we split up, what’s left? Who would we even be?

Amy pushed it out of her head. Dan’s talk was just that — talk. After they finished with Pierce, she’d make sure he got some time off. Let him go sit on a beach. After a little downtime, she was sure he’d forget about it. Satisfied, Amy struck out again down the road.

“Excuse me? The Carthage Museum?” she asked.

Tourist after tourist either shook their head or pointed generally to the south. The sun was setting fast. Amy needed to move. She hiked her backpack up on her shoulders and headed down the road.

“You’re looking for the Carthage Museum?” A man’s voice came from behind her.

Finally! “Yes!” Amy said, turning back. “I guess I just got a little —”

Jake Rosenbloom was leaning against one of the clean white walls, an infuriating grin plastered across his face. “Lost?”

“What are
you
doing here?”

“Looks like I’m rescuing you.”

“I know exactly where I’m going!” Amy insisted, turning and pointing down the road. “It’s . . . that way!”

Amy would have thought it impossible if she hadn’t seen it herself. His grin actually grew wider. Jake stepped out of her way. “Well, after you, then. I’ve
always
wanted to see the Carthage Museum.”

Amy turned and continued down the street. She winced at the sound of Jake’s sneakers behind her.

“So how’d you end up here anyway?” Jake asked in an overly chipper tone. “Cabdriver not speak English?”

Amy ignored him. The street took a sharp turn and started heading downhill into thicker darkness.

“It’s just funny,” Jake went on. “Since if I remember correctly, you’re traveling with people who have a working knowledge of Arabic and Italian. Some French, too!”

“Shouldn’t you be looking after Dan and Atticus?”

“They’re fine,” Jake said. “Hunting the mythical Tunisian pizza. The three of us figured we’d all go back to Dad’s house later on tonight and get everything sorted out. Once he’s cooled down, he’ll listen. Atticus thought it might actually go better if you and Dan made a direct appeal.”

“Oh, right, because he
loves
us.”

“Don’t worry, we’re going to let Dan do the talking. His record on not infuriating people who are only trying to help is way better than yours.”

Amy wanted to scream but she forced herself to keep walking. The farther they went, the darker it got. Soon, Amy began to hear the crashing of waves. Getting closer to the beach meant they were walking east, not south. Amy searched for roads branching off in that direction but saw nothing. Of course, if she turned back, she’d have to face Jake’s I-told-you-so glee, so she put her head down and kept going.

We’ll get to the bottom of this hill and the road will turn south,
Amy told herself.
Right to the museum.

Of course, it didn’t. Several minutes later Amy found herself ankle deep in sand, just down the beach from the marina. Her frustration was nearly at a boil. At her side, Jake made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Don’t. Say. A. Word.”

“No!” he said. “Absolutely not. I just didn’t know that the Carthage Museum was one of those new invisible floating museums,” Jake said, unable to control his laughter any longer. “Look, Amy, you need to just —”

“What? Relax? Oh! Yes! Why don’t we all just relax?” Amy screamed. “I mean all we have on the agenda is defeating a lunatic who has hired teams of serum-enhanced assassins to kill us. Oh! And then your dad, the number one person we needed to help us, just completely freaks out! For no reason! And then the taxi driver doesn’t speak English and my phone doesn’t work and I CAN’T EVEN FIND A STUPID MUSEUM!!”

Jake looked up at the gaggle of tourists hanging out by the marina. “Uh . . . Amy. Maybe you should —”

“And to top it all off, my stupid brother suddenly wants to retire at thirteen
and
I have to deal with you! You, who just shows up out of nowhere with your smug attitude and your perfect hair and your big stupid face that looks like it’s carved out of marble.”

“You really think my hair is perfect?”

“Ahhh!”

Amy stomped away through the sand, leaving Jake and heading toward the marina.

“Amy, wait!”

“I’m going to go find a cab.”

“Hey! Are you Amy Cahill?”

Two men in suits stood between Amy and the marina. One of them reached inside his jacket.

“Oh, great! And now I have to deal with you people, too. What? You want more pictures for your stupid newspaper? Well, go right ahead and take them!”

One of them laughed. “We’re not here to take pictures, Ms. Cahill.”

“Then what are you here for!?”

The man smiled and pulled his hand out of his jacket, but instead of a camera Amy found herself staring down the barrel of a very large gun.