COMING NOVEMBER 2009 FROM PUFFIN BOOKS!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Pendragon Finale- T-17 Days!
It has all been leading to this. Every victory. Every loss. All the thrills and sadness; the hope and despair. Bobby Pendragon's heart-pounding journey through time and space has brought him to this epic moment. He and his fellow Travelers must join forces for one last desperate battle against Saint Dane. At stake is not only the tenth and final territory, but all that ever was or will be. Everywhere. This is the war for Halla.
Every question is answered. Every truth is revealed.
The final battle has begun.
Format: Hardcover, 608pp
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing
Pub. Date: May 12, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Last Olympian Preview(UK &US)
"Get back!" I slashed the air in a wide arc, driving the rest of the demigods away from Annabeth. "No one touches her!" "Interesting," Kronos said.
He towered above me on his skeletal horse, his scythe in his hand. He studied the scene with narrowed eyes, as if he could sense that I'd just come close to death, the way a wolf can smell fear.
"Bravely fought, Percy," he said. "But it's time to surrender -- or the girl dies."
"Percy, don't," Annabeth groaned. Her shirt was soaked with blood. I had to get her out of here.
"Blackjack!" I yelled.
As fast as light, the pegasus swooped down and clamped his teeth on the straps of Annabeth's armor. They soared away over the river before the enemy could even react.
Kronos sighed. "Some day soon, I am going to make pegasus soup. But in the meantime . . ." He dismounted, his scythe glistening in the dawn light. "I'll settle for another dead demigod."
I met his first strike with Riptide. The impact shook the entire bridge, but I held my ground. Kronos's smile wavered.
With a yell, I kicked his legs out from under him. His scythe skittered across the pavement. I stabbed downward, but he rolled aside and regained his footing. His scythe flew back to his hands.
"So . . ." He studied me, looking mildly annoyed. "You had the courage to visit the Styx. I had to pressure Luke in many ways to convince him. If only you had supplied my host body instead . . . but no matter. I am still more powerful. I am a TITAN."
He struck the bridge with the butt of his scythe, and a wave of pure force blasted me backwards. Cars went careening. Demigods – even Luke's own men – were blown off the edge of the bridge. Suspension cords whipped around and I skidded halfway back to Manhattan.
He towered above me on his skeletal horse, his scythe in his hand. He studied the scene with narrowed eyes, as if he could sense that I'd just come close to death, the way a wolf can smell fear.
"Bravely fought, Percy," he said. "But it's time to surrender -- or the girl dies."
"Percy, don't," Annabeth groaned. Her shirt was soaked with blood. I had to get her out of here.
"Blackjack!" I yelled.
As fast as light, the pegasus swooped down and clamped his teeth on the straps of Annabeth's armor. They soared away over the river before the enemy could even react.
Kronos sighed. "Some day soon, I am going to make pegasus soup. But in the meantime . . ." He dismounted, his scythe glistening in the dawn light. "I'll settle for another dead demigod."
I met his first strike with Riptide. The impact shook the entire bridge, but I held my ground. Kronos's smile wavered.
With a yell, I kicked his legs out from under him. His scythe skittered across the pavement. I stabbed downward, but he rolled aside and regained his footing. His scythe flew back to his hands.
"So . . ." He studied me, looking mildly annoyed. "You had the courage to visit the Styx. I had to pressure Luke in many ways to convince him. If only you had supplied my host body instead . . . but no matter. I am still more powerful. I am a TITAN."
He struck the bridge with the butt of his scythe, and a wave of pure force blasted me backwards. Cars went careening. Demigods – even Luke's own men – were blown off the edge of the bridge. Suspension cords whipped around and I skidded halfway back to Manhattan.
Congrats Rick Riordan!
Rick Riordan won the Missouri Mark Twain Award Last Year For The Lightning Thief. This year his won it again for The Sea Of Monsters. Congats Are In Order!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
2009-2010 Mark Twain Award Nominations
Dahlberg, Maurine F. The Story of Jonas. FSG.
Duble, Kathleen Benner. Bravo Zulu, Samantha. Peachtree.
Going, K.L. Garden of Eve. Harcourt.
Hahn, Mary Downing. Deep & Dark & Dangerous. Clarion Books.
Harlow, Joan Hiatt. Blown Away. Simon & Schuster.
Hart, Alison . Gabriel's Horses. Peachtree.
McKissack, Patricia. Friendship for Today. Scholastic.
Pitchford, Dean. The Big One-Oh. Penguin.
Ryan, Pam Munoz. Paint the Wind. Scholastic.
Salisbury, Graham. Night of the Howling Dogs. Wendy Lamb - Random House.
Selznick, Brian. Invention of Hugo Cabret. Scholastic.
White, Ruth. Way Down Deep. FSG.
Rick Riordan's Response To The Authors In 39 Clues:
There will be ten books in the 39 Clues series and each will be written by a different author. I designed the general story arc for the whole series and authored the first book, Maze of Bones, but the other books will be published in such rapid succession — roughly one book every three months — that it would be impossible for me or any other author to write them all. The editorial team works with each author to make sure the story and the characters stay consistent, but they also allow each author to bring their own personal flair to the story.
Dahlberg, Maurine F. The Story of Jonas. FSG.
Duble, Kathleen Benner. Bravo Zulu, Samantha. Peachtree.
Going, K.L. Garden of Eve. Harcourt.
Hahn, Mary Downing. Deep & Dark & Dangerous. Clarion Books.
Harlow, Joan Hiatt. Blown Away. Simon & Schuster.
Hart, Alison . Gabriel's Horses. Peachtree.
McKissack, Patricia. Friendship for Today. Scholastic.
Pitchford, Dean. The Big One-Oh. Penguin.
Ryan, Pam Munoz. Paint the Wind. Scholastic.
Salisbury, Graham. Night of the Howling Dogs. Wendy Lamb - Random House.
Selznick, Brian. Invention of Hugo Cabret. Scholastic.
White, Ruth. Way Down Deep. FSG.
Rick Riordan's Response To The Authors In 39 Clues:
There will be ten books in the 39 Clues series and each will be written by a different author. I designed the general story arc for the whole series and authored the first book, Maze of Bones, but the other books will be published in such rapid succession — roughly one book every three months — that it would be impossible for me or any other author to write them all. The editorial team works with each author to make sure the story and the characters stay consistent, but they also allow each author to bring their own personal flair to the story.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Hurricane Gold Book Review
Hurricane Gold, by Charlie Higson is on of the better James Bond books, but the rating should deserve 3 stars. The book is action packed, but deserves a longer story and not as many people should have died, espically in that river scene. Good Book, but not good enough.
The Sword Thief Book Review!
The Sword Thief, by Peter Lerangis, is a exciting action-adventure packed into a quick read. In the book, Amy and Dan Cahill find themselves teaming up with their unreliable uncle, Alistair Oh, and the deadly Ian and Natalie Kabra to find the next clue in the secret Underground Tunnels in Japan. The book sparks the conflicts of a good James Bond novel(even thought it's not as extremely violent). Like Kidnapping, because Nellie, Amy & Dan's au pair, is kidnapped at the beginning of the book. Romance, because Ian & Amy show a small romance in the middle(includes a lip kiss), even thought it turns out to be a ploy. Death, because Alistair kills a relative(who, why? Read the book to find out!). Action, because Amy & Dan almost get killed by subway train, and betrayal, because Amy & Dan get left behind by Oh and the Kabras'. This book deserves a rating of 5 stars, and dare I say it, is actually better than Rick Riordan's 39 Clues novel(and beilive me, you have to be really, really good to top that!). I'm going to check out some of Peter's other novels, and you should to! Hat's off, Mr. Lerangis!
The Host Book Review
The Host, by Stephenie Meyer, deserves a poor rating of 1 star. Honestly, the story was hard to get into, and was very complicated to understand. Two characters, Wanderer and Meliane tell the story, and it's very hard to tell one from the other. Even thought this book focus' primarly on adults, my advice to them is to "read the twilight books!", because they're heckamo better than this.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
CHAPTERS 1&2 OF SWORD THIEF!
CHAPTER 1
They were toast.
Amy Cahill eyed the battered black duffel bag rumbling up the airport conveyor belt. It bulged at the corners. The sign above the belt said THANK YOU FOR VISITING VENICE: RANDOM PIECES OF CHECKED LUGGAGE WILL BE SEARCHED in five languages.
“Oh, great,” Amy said. “How random is ‘random’?”
“I told you, a ninja warrior must always keep his swords in his carry-on,” whispered her brother, Dan, who had been operating on brain deficit for as long as Amy could remember.
“Excuse me, Jackie Chan, but carry-on luggage is always X-rayed,” Amy whispered back. “There are extra-special rules about samurai swords in backpacks. Even if they belong to scrawny, delusional eleven-year-olds who think they’re ninjas.”
“What was wrong with ‘we need them to slice the veal parmigiana’?” Dan said. “It would have worked fine. The Italians understand food.”
“Can you understand ‘five to twenty years, no parole’?”
Dan shrugged. He lifted up a mesh-sided pet carrier, inside of which a very disgruntled-looking Egyptian Mau was eyeing him suspiciously. “Bye-bye, Saladin,” he sang into the mesh. “Remember, when we get to Tokyo . . . red snapper sushi every night!”
“Mrrp?” whined Saladin from inside the carrier, as Dan set it gently onto the conveyor belt.
“Mmmm, hmm, ohh . . . aaaaaaaaghhhh!” came a strangled yelp from behind them. Although everyone else in the vicinity was turning with a look of alarm, Amy and Dan knew it was their au pair, Nellie Gomez, dancing to a tune on her iPod. She didn’t care that she sounded like a dying meerkat, which was one of the many cool things about Nellie Gomez.
Amy watched as the carrier disappeared through the cargo window. If the officials did search the bag, there would be alarms. Screaming Italian cops. She, Dan, and Nellie would have to run.
Not that they weren’t used to that. They’d been running a lot lately. It began the day they accepted the challenge in their grandmother Grace’s will. They’d had to go to her mansion in Massachusetts for that—and immediately afterward the mansion went up in flames. Since then, they’d nearly been killed in a collapsing building in Philadelphia, attacked by monks in Austria, and chased by boats through the canals of Venice. They’d been the target of dirty tricks from every branch of the Cahill family.
Once in a while—like every three seconds—Amy wondered why the heck they were doing this. She and Dan could have opted for a cool million dollars each, like a lot of Cahill family members did. But Grace had offered another choice: a race for 39 Clues to a secret that had been hidden for centuries, the greatest source of power the world had known.
Until then, Amy and Dan had been leading pretty lame, ordinary lives. After their parents had died seven years ago, their crabby Aunt Beatrice had taken them in—and the only cool thing she’d ever done was hire Nellie. But now they knew they were part of something way bigger, a huge family that included ancestors like Ben Franklin and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. It seemed like all the great geniuses of the world had been Cahills. That was pretty amazing.
“Hey, Amy, did you ever want to, like, get on the conveyor belt and see what happened? Like, ‘Hey, don’t mind me, I’m just hanging with the cargo’?”
And then there was Dan.
“Come on!” Amy grabbed her brother by the arm and headed for the departure gates. Nellie was right on their heels, spinning the wheel of her iPod with one hand and adjusting her snake nose ring with the other.
Amy eyed the airport clock. 2:13. The flight was scheduled to leave at 2:37. This was an international flight. You were supposed to arrive at the airport two hours in advance, not twenty-four minutes. “We’re not going to make it!” Amy said.
Now they were running toward gate 4, dodging other passengers. “Guess they didn’t find Rufus and Remus, huh?” Dan called out.
“Who are Rufus and Remus?” Amy asked.
“The swords!” Dan said. “I named them after the founders of Italy.”
“It’s Romulus and Remus,” Amy hissed. “And they founded Rome. And don’t ever say that word!”
“Rome?”
“No—s-w-o-r-d.” Amy dropped her voice to a whisper as they pulled up to the rear of a very long security line. “Do you want us to go to j-a- i-l?”
“O-o-p-s.”
“O-O-O-O . . . ” Nellie wailed off-key to some unidentifiable punk track.
The security line seemed to take, like, thirty-two hours. The worst part for Amy, as always, was having to take off her jade necklace to go through the X-ray machine. She hated to part from that necklace even for a minute. When they emerged, the clock read 2:31. They raced down a long corridor toward the gate.
“Now boarding all remaining passengers for Japan Airlines, flight eight-oh-seven to Tokyo, at gate four,” said a voice over the PA system in heavily accented English. “Have your boarding passes ready, and . . . arrrrrrrivederci!”
They pulled up to the rear of the line behind a sniffling toddler who turned and sneezed on Nellie. “Ew. Manners?” she said, wiping her arm on her sleeve.
“Has anyone seen my boarding pass?” Dan said, rummaging in his pockets.
“Have mine,” drawled Nellie. “It’s covered with boogers.”
“Try inside your book,” Amy said, pointing toward the paperback stuffed in Dan’s back pants pocket.
He pulled out a dog-eared copy of Classic All-Time Movie Comedies, which he’d found in the backseat of the cab on the way to the airport. The boarding pass was marking page 93."It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World,"Dan said.
“That’s the smartest observation you’ve made all day,” Amy said.
“It’s the name of a movie,” Dan replied. “I’m reading about it. The plot is so awesome—”
“Step forward, please—welcome aboard!” chirped a perky blond flight attendant whose Japan Airlines headset bobbed every time she nodded a greeting. She was wearing a name tag that read I. RINALDI.
Nellie handed over her boarding pass and headed into the accordion-walled tunnel that led to the plane’s hatch. “Um, guys, this shouldn’t be so hard to do,” she called over her shoulder.
Dan held out his pass to the attendant. “It’s really a funny movie. Like, all these old-school comedians, searching for this treasure—”
“Sorry, he’s challenged,” Amy said to the attendant, handing over her pass and nudging him toward the tunnel.
But Ms. Rinaldi scooted in front of them, blocking their path. “Un momento?” she said, trying to keep her airline smile while listening to something over her headset. “Sì . . . ah, sì sì sì sì . . . buono,” she said into the headset mike.
Then, with a shrug toward Dan and Amy, she said, “You come with me, please?”
As they followed her toward the corner, Amy tried to keep herself from shaking. The swords. They’d found the swords.
Dan was looking all puppy-eyed at her. Sometimes all she needed to do was look at him, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Maybe we should run, his eyes were saying.
Uh, where? she said back to him silently.
I will make myself invisible by using ninja mind control, he was thinking.
You have to HAVE a mind to do it,she beamed to him.
Nellie peered out from the tunnel entrance. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“It is routine,” Ms. Rinaldi called out, turning to face Amy and Dan. “My supervisor tells me it is random check. You please wait here by the wall?”
She bustled away, holding the two boarding passes, and disappeared around the corner.
From inside the tunnel, another attendant called out to Nellie, “Please take your seat, dear. Don’t worry, the plane will not leave without all passengers.”
“I hate airports.” Nellie rolled her eyes and turned back toward the plane. “See you inside. I’ll save you a bag of peanuts.”
As she disappeared, Amy hissed to her brother, “I knew it—they searched your duffel. They’re going to detain us and contact Aunt Beatrice, and that’s the last we’ll ever see of Nellie —”
“Will you stop being so gloomy?” Dan said. “We’ll tell them someone else put the swor—the you-know-whats in the duffel. We never saw them before in our lives. We’re kids. They always believe kids. And besides, maybe they haven’t searched our bags. Maybe they’re just double-checking your passport to make sure they can allow someone so ugly to board a plane—”
Amy elbowed him in the ribs.
“Final boarding call, flight eight-oh-seven to Tokyo, gate four!” a voice boomed.
A third attendant was putting a web-ribbon barrier in front of the tunnel.
Amy was nervous now. They weren’t going to hold the plane forever. “We have to get that flight attendant—Rinaldi,” she said. “Come on!”
Amy grabbed Dan by the arm and they raced to the corner, taking it at a run.
Whomp! They ran smack into another pair who were racing toward the gate. Amy bounced away, the wind momentarily knocked out of her. She bumped into Dan, who nearly fell to the floor. “What the—?” he blurted.
The two strangers were wrapped in full-length black trench coats with high collars obscuring their faces. One of them wore expensive black dress shoes; the other, jewel-encrusted sneakers. As they barreled past Dan and Amy, waving boarding passes in the air, one of them called out, “Clear, please!”
Amy recognized the voice. She grabbed Dan and whirled around. The two were grabbing the barrier and pulling it aside. “Wait!” Amy said.
An airline official shouted at them, too, sprinting to head them off. The two politely stopped and handed over their boarding passes. He examined the passes quickly, nodded, and pulled back the barrier. “Enjoy your flight, Amy and Dan,” he said.
The two passengers stepped into the tunnel entrance and immediately turned around. They pulled down their raised collars and grinned.
Amy gasped at the sight of their cousins, their archrivals in the search for the 39 Clues, a pair whose nastiness was surpassed only by their wealth and cunning.
“Sayonara, suckers!” sang Ian and Natalie Kabra.
CHAPTER 2
“Stop them!” Dan and Amy ran toward the tunnel, shouting as loud as they could.
Quickly, the flight official stepped into their path. “Boarding passes, per favore?” he asked, his face a mix of bafflement and annoyance.
Amy watched helplessly as Ian and Natalie slipped into the tunnel’s long shadow.
They could hear the plane’s hatch shut with a dull thump.
“They’re—they’re the Kabras!” Dan said. “Evil Kabras. Famoso, evillo, Kabritos! They are holding our au pair hostage!”
As a crowd of curious onlookers gathered, the official repeated, “No boarding passes?”
He was looking straight at Amy. Dan glanced frantically her way, his eyes screaming, You’re the older one—do something!
The thoughts were firing around in Amy’s brain like a broken laser-light show. How could the Kabras be here? She and Dan had left them unconscious in a smoldering room in Venice. Who had rescued them? How had they recovered so fast? How had they stolen the tickets?
Everyone was looking at Amy now. The whole airport. She hated when people stared at her. She hated it even worse when it involved being humiliated by the Kabras. They were always one step ahead, always one Clue closer to the Cahill secret. No matter how hard Amy and Dan tried, the Kabras were smarter, faster, cooler—and ruthless. They were impersonating Dan and Amy. They were about to ambush a defenseless au pair. How could Amy possibly communicate all this? She opened her mouth to try, but it was too much. Too many eyes. She felt as if someone had tied off her vocal cords. Nothing came out.
“Ohhh-kay, thank you, Amy,” Dan said. “Um, look, dude—officer—these guys? The Kabras? Well, actually, they’re a guy and a girl? They ripped us off, okay? Comprendo? The tickets say Cahill and they’re not Cahills—well, technically they are, but it’s a different branch of the family, they’re like Janus, I mean Lucians, and we don’t know what we are, I mean what branch, but we’re related—anyway, we’re all kind of involved in something, sort of this battle about our grandmother’s will, you could say, but it’s kind of a long story and THEY HAVE TO BE STOPPED! PRONTO!”
“Sorry,” the official said, “if you have no boarding—”
Amy grabbed Dan by the arm. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. They needed to find Ms. Rinaldi—or the supervisor who had summoned her. That person would rank higher than anyone here. Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe they could stop the plane from taking off.
She and Dan ran toward the corner again and rounded it. They raced past the place where they had collided with the Kabras, and immediately they emerged into the main corridor. In the distance they could see a line of shops. To their right was a supply closet and a glass door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
To their left, a knot of onlookers surrounded the entrance to the women’s room, where a group of EMT workers emerged, carrying a woman on a stretcher. Police were running in to join them from all directions.
Chaos. Total pandemonium. Amy strained to see around the rush of people as she ran, hoping to find a familiar face.
There.
A flash of blond hair, tossed over a shoulder, drew Amy’s eyes to the right. “Dan, look!”
“Oh, now you can talk,” Dan said. “What?”
Winding swiftly through the crowd was a tall woman in a Japan Airlines uniform about a size too large.
The sight of the familiar figure was enough to unlock Amy’s loudest outdoor voice. “IRINA!” she blurted out.
There was no mistaking Irina Spasky—the stiff military bearing, the bladelike motion of the shoulders as she walked. Irina was another of the Cahill family bent on finding the 39 Clues. Like Ian and Natalie, she was ruthless. Unlike Ian and Natalie, she had been trained in espionage by the KGB.
Irina did not turn. She showed no outward signs of hearing Amy, aside from a quickening of her step.
Then she disappeared into the throng as if she’d never been there.
“Stop her!” Dan sprinted forward, nearly colliding with a rather sour-looking man in a wheelchair.
“Polizia!” the man shouted, lifting his cane as if to whack Dan over the head.
Dan ducked. Amy pulled him away, trying to keep an eye on Irina. They plowed forward, elbowing their way around passengers.
When they emerged into a less crowded area near the end of the terminal, Irina was nowhere to be seen. “She’s gone,” Dan said.
“I—I don’t believe this,” Amy said, catching her breath. “She was working with Ian and Natalie. They sabotaged us together.”
“Are wesure that was her?” Dan asked. “I mean, how would Irina manage to get that uniform?”
Before he finished the question, a voice shouted in Italian over a bullhorn, and the crowd quickly parted. A small ambulance made its way through the airport, siren blaring.
Murmurs were passing through the crowd, mostly in languages Amy didn’t understand. But she spotted a couple with sunglasses, lots of cameras, awful Hawaiian shirts, and vapid smiles. “Look, Dan—Americans,” she said. “Let’s listen. . . .”
They both wandered closer until they could hear snatches of conversation. The people were talking about the woman on the stretcher.
Dan looked confused. “She was salted in the ladies’ room?”
“Assaulted,” Amy said. “She must have been the flight supervisor, Dan! Irina knocked her out and took her uniform.”
“Wow,” Dan replied, looking almost impressed.
Amy glanced toward the window, where she saw the jet slowly backing away from gate 4 and onto the tarmac.
They were leaving. Detached from the tunnel, taxiing for the runway.
Amy panicked. “Don’t look now, but they’re going!”
“Where’s the door? We can still run after them!”
“Right. You do that, Dan. Meanwhile I’ll try to talk my way onto the next flight—a ticket for one, while they’re scraping your remains out of the jet engine that sucked you in.” Amy began running again, back toward the reservation desk. “Or you can come with me!”
Outside, the windows of flight 807 were dull silver-black holes in the distance. Amy knew that behind one of them was Nellie, in a situation no human being should ever have to face.
She was alone with the Kabras.
Dan followed Amy past the crowded security checkpoint, back toward the reception desk. The line for tickets doubled around at least three times, and they took their places at the back.
They exchanged a silent glance. Amy knew Dan was thinking exactly the same thing she was. He sighed, his saddened eyes wandering slowly to the conveyor belt. “Saladin’s on the plane, too,” Dan said. “And our swords.”
Amy fought the urge to just collapse and cry. Right there in the middle of the terminal. Everything was going wrong. It had been a seven-year string of bad luck, ever since their parents died in that house fire. How were Amy and Dan supposed to do this alone? The Kabras had money. Their parents supported them. Plus, they were working with Irina. The Holts were a whole family. Jonah Wizard had his dad planning every moment of his life. It was Amy and Dan against . . . families. Teams. Generations. They didn’t stand a chance.
If only Grace had told them earlier, back when their mom and dad had been alive. If only they were alive now! Thinking about them just made Amy feel worse. She’d been dreaming about them every night. She’d see their faces at odd times—smiling, confident, kind. She could sense their approval or disapproval, their pride whenever she got things right. They’d be there in her mind and then—whoosh! Gone. And she’d feel the loss all over.
“Amy?” Dan said quizzically. And there they were—again. In the eyes of El Dweebo. Not their faces, exactly, but them.Looking out at her, as if they’d just borrowed Dan’s features for a moment. Which no other sane person would do.
In that moment, she knew exactly what the right decision was.
“There’s a flight leaving at five-ten,” she said, reading the overhead departures screen. “Nellie’s safety is at stake. We have to follow.”
“Hey, coolio—no retreat, no surrender!” Dan whooped. “So. Any thoughts about how we’re going to pay for it?”
WAWWP! WAWWP! WAWWP! WAWWP!
An alarm rocked the terminal, stopping all conversation. As a terse announcement resounded, first in Italian, then French, then German, sections of the crowd began heading for the entrance—until finally:
“Ladies and gentlemen, please proceed immediately to the nearest exit, as this terminal must be evacuated for safety reasons. . . .”
A scream ripped the air, and then people were rushing, falling over one another. Amy ran toward the door, pulling her brother behind her, listening to shouted fragments around them, some of them in English:
“Bomb scare . . .”
“Terrorists . . .”
“Anonymous phone call . . .”
They reached the door and pushed their way through. The day had turned gray, but the winding access roads were dotted with the headlights of approaching vehicles. Passengers crowded the sidewalk, shouting into cell phones, hurtling toward buses and cabs. Dan and Amy pushed against the crush of bodies toward the curb, where the last of a group had climbed onto a bus.
The door shut in their faces and the bus farted its way noisily into the clogged road. Dan ran after it, banging on the window. “Stop!Pasta!”
“Pasta?” Amy said in bewilderment.
“I have a limited vocabulary!” Dan shouted. “Linguini! Mangia! Buon giorno! Gucci!”
A black limo screeched to a halt inches away, nearly hitting her.
“Gucci. I knew that would do it,” Dan said.
The tinted window on the driver’s side rolled down, and a man wearing sunglasses and a thick mustache calmly gestured for them to get in.
Amy opened the passenger door and climbed inside, yanking her brother in after her.
“Hey!” shouted another frantic passenger, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket and waving it at the driver through the window. “Soldi, soldi!”
Dan pulled his door shut, and three people fell on the car, banging and shouting. The driver turned forward and let his window roll up, nearly amputating the arm of the man with the money.
“Dude, thanks,” Dan said to the driver. “Or graciasor whatever.”
“Ve go to de udder airport?” the man replied in a deep accent that did not sound Italian.
“There’s another airport?” Dan said.
“Small craft,” the man replied.
“But—” Amy stammered. “We don’t have any mon—”
Dan poked her in the ribs.
“I have to tell him the truth,” Amy whispered.
Dan poked her again.
Amy glared at him. “Will you please stop—?”
It was only then that she saw the other person sitting in the backseat. An Asian man with a placid smile, dressed in a silk suit with white gloves and a bowler hat.
“Greetings, my elusive relatives,” purred Alistair Oh.
They were toast.
Amy Cahill eyed the battered black duffel bag rumbling up the airport conveyor belt. It bulged at the corners. The sign above the belt said THANK YOU FOR VISITING VENICE: RANDOM PIECES OF CHECKED LUGGAGE WILL BE SEARCHED in five languages.
“Oh, great,” Amy said. “How random is ‘random’?”
“I told you, a ninja warrior must always keep his swords in his carry-on,” whispered her brother, Dan, who had been operating on brain deficit for as long as Amy could remember.
“Excuse me, Jackie Chan, but carry-on luggage is always X-rayed,” Amy whispered back. “There are extra-special rules about samurai swords in backpacks. Even if they belong to scrawny, delusional eleven-year-olds who think they’re ninjas.”
“What was wrong with ‘we need them to slice the veal parmigiana’?” Dan said. “It would have worked fine. The Italians understand food.”
“Can you understand ‘five to twenty years, no parole’?”
Dan shrugged. He lifted up a mesh-sided pet carrier, inside of which a very disgruntled-looking Egyptian Mau was eyeing him suspiciously. “Bye-bye, Saladin,” he sang into the mesh. “Remember, when we get to Tokyo . . . red snapper sushi every night!”
“Mrrp?” whined Saladin from inside the carrier, as Dan set it gently onto the conveyor belt.
“Mmmm, hmm, ohh . . . aaaaaaaaghhhh!” came a strangled yelp from behind them. Although everyone else in the vicinity was turning with a look of alarm, Amy and Dan knew it was their au pair, Nellie Gomez, dancing to a tune on her iPod. She didn’t care that she sounded like a dying meerkat, which was one of the many cool things about Nellie Gomez.
Amy watched as the carrier disappeared through the cargo window. If the officials did search the bag, there would be alarms. Screaming Italian cops. She, Dan, and Nellie would have to run.
Not that they weren’t used to that. They’d been running a lot lately. It began the day they accepted the challenge in their grandmother Grace’s will. They’d had to go to her mansion in Massachusetts for that—and immediately afterward the mansion went up in flames. Since then, they’d nearly been killed in a collapsing building in Philadelphia, attacked by monks in Austria, and chased by boats through the canals of Venice. They’d been the target of dirty tricks from every branch of the Cahill family.
Once in a while—like every three seconds—Amy wondered why the heck they were doing this. She and Dan could have opted for a cool million dollars each, like a lot of Cahill family members did. But Grace had offered another choice: a race for 39 Clues to a secret that had been hidden for centuries, the greatest source of power the world had known.
Until then, Amy and Dan had been leading pretty lame, ordinary lives. After their parents had died seven years ago, their crabby Aunt Beatrice had taken them in—and the only cool thing she’d ever done was hire Nellie. But now they knew they were part of something way bigger, a huge family that included ancestors like Ben Franklin and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. It seemed like all the great geniuses of the world had been Cahills. That was pretty amazing.
“Hey, Amy, did you ever want to, like, get on the conveyor belt and see what happened? Like, ‘Hey, don’t mind me, I’m just hanging with the cargo’?”
And then there was Dan.
“Come on!” Amy grabbed her brother by the arm and headed for the departure gates. Nellie was right on their heels, spinning the wheel of her iPod with one hand and adjusting her snake nose ring with the other.
Amy eyed the airport clock. 2:13. The flight was scheduled to leave at 2:37. This was an international flight. You were supposed to arrive at the airport two hours in advance, not twenty-four minutes. “We’re not going to make it!” Amy said.
Now they were running toward gate 4, dodging other passengers. “Guess they didn’t find Rufus and Remus, huh?” Dan called out.
“Who are Rufus and Remus?” Amy asked.
“The swords!” Dan said. “I named them after the founders of Italy.”
“It’s Romulus and Remus,” Amy hissed. “And they founded Rome. And don’t ever say that word!”
“Rome?”
“No—s-w-o-r-d.” Amy dropped her voice to a whisper as they pulled up to the rear of a very long security line. “Do you want us to go to j-a- i-l?”
“O-o-p-s.”
“O-O-O-O . . . ” Nellie wailed off-key to some unidentifiable punk track.
The security line seemed to take, like, thirty-two hours. The worst part for Amy, as always, was having to take off her jade necklace to go through the X-ray machine. She hated to part from that necklace even for a minute. When they emerged, the clock read 2:31. They raced down a long corridor toward the gate.
“Now boarding all remaining passengers for Japan Airlines, flight eight-oh-seven to Tokyo, at gate four,” said a voice over the PA system in heavily accented English. “Have your boarding passes ready, and . . . arrrrrrrivederci!”
They pulled up to the rear of the line behind a sniffling toddler who turned and sneezed on Nellie. “Ew. Manners?” she said, wiping her arm on her sleeve.
“Has anyone seen my boarding pass?” Dan said, rummaging in his pockets.
“Have mine,” drawled Nellie. “It’s covered with boogers.”
“Try inside your book,” Amy said, pointing toward the paperback stuffed in Dan’s back pants pocket.
He pulled out a dog-eared copy of Classic All-Time Movie Comedies, which he’d found in the backseat of the cab on the way to the airport. The boarding pass was marking page 93."It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World,"Dan said.
“That’s the smartest observation you’ve made all day,” Amy said.
“It’s the name of a movie,” Dan replied. “I’m reading about it. The plot is so awesome—”
“Step forward, please—welcome aboard!” chirped a perky blond flight attendant whose Japan Airlines headset bobbed every time she nodded a greeting. She was wearing a name tag that read I. RINALDI.
Nellie handed over her boarding pass and headed into the accordion-walled tunnel that led to the plane’s hatch. “Um, guys, this shouldn’t be so hard to do,” she called over her shoulder.
Dan held out his pass to the attendant. “It’s really a funny movie. Like, all these old-school comedians, searching for this treasure—”
“Sorry, he’s challenged,” Amy said to the attendant, handing over her pass and nudging him toward the tunnel.
But Ms. Rinaldi scooted in front of them, blocking their path. “Un momento?” she said, trying to keep her airline smile while listening to something over her headset. “Sì . . . ah, sì sì sì sì . . . buono,” she said into the headset mike.
Then, with a shrug toward Dan and Amy, she said, “You come with me, please?”
As they followed her toward the corner, Amy tried to keep herself from shaking. The swords. They’d found the swords.
Dan was looking all puppy-eyed at her. Sometimes all she needed to do was look at him, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Maybe we should run, his eyes were saying.
Uh, where? she said back to him silently.
I will make myself invisible by using ninja mind control, he was thinking.
You have to HAVE a mind to do it,she beamed to him.
Nellie peered out from the tunnel entrance. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“It is routine,” Ms. Rinaldi called out, turning to face Amy and Dan. “My supervisor tells me it is random check. You please wait here by the wall?”
She bustled away, holding the two boarding passes, and disappeared around the corner.
From inside the tunnel, another attendant called out to Nellie, “Please take your seat, dear. Don’t worry, the plane will not leave without all passengers.”
“I hate airports.” Nellie rolled her eyes and turned back toward the plane. “See you inside. I’ll save you a bag of peanuts.”
As she disappeared, Amy hissed to her brother, “I knew it—they searched your duffel. They’re going to detain us and contact Aunt Beatrice, and that’s the last we’ll ever see of Nellie —”
“Will you stop being so gloomy?” Dan said. “We’ll tell them someone else put the swor—the you-know-whats in the duffel. We never saw them before in our lives. We’re kids. They always believe kids. And besides, maybe they haven’t searched our bags. Maybe they’re just double-checking your passport to make sure they can allow someone so ugly to board a plane—”
Amy elbowed him in the ribs.
“Final boarding call, flight eight-oh-seven to Tokyo, gate four!” a voice boomed.
A third attendant was putting a web-ribbon barrier in front of the tunnel.
Amy was nervous now. They weren’t going to hold the plane forever. “We have to get that flight attendant—Rinaldi,” she said. “Come on!”
Amy grabbed Dan by the arm and they raced to the corner, taking it at a run.
Whomp! They ran smack into another pair who were racing toward the gate. Amy bounced away, the wind momentarily knocked out of her. She bumped into Dan, who nearly fell to the floor. “What the—?” he blurted.
The two strangers were wrapped in full-length black trench coats with high collars obscuring their faces. One of them wore expensive black dress shoes; the other, jewel-encrusted sneakers. As they barreled past Dan and Amy, waving boarding passes in the air, one of them called out, “Clear, please!”
Amy recognized the voice. She grabbed Dan and whirled around. The two were grabbing the barrier and pulling it aside. “Wait!” Amy said.
An airline official shouted at them, too, sprinting to head them off. The two politely stopped and handed over their boarding passes. He examined the passes quickly, nodded, and pulled back the barrier. “Enjoy your flight, Amy and Dan,” he said.
The two passengers stepped into the tunnel entrance and immediately turned around. They pulled down their raised collars and grinned.
Amy gasped at the sight of their cousins, their archrivals in the search for the 39 Clues, a pair whose nastiness was surpassed only by their wealth and cunning.
“Sayonara, suckers!” sang Ian and Natalie Kabra.
CHAPTER 2
“Stop them!” Dan and Amy ran toward the tunnel, shouting as loud as they could.
Quickly, the flight official stepped into their path. “Boarding passes, per favore?” he asked, his face a mix of bafflement and annoyance.
Amy watched helplessly as Ian and Natalie slipped into the tunnel’s long shadow.
They could hear the plane’s hatch shut with a dull thump.
“They’re—they’re the Kabras!” Dan said. “Evil Kabras. Famoso, evillo, Kabritos! They are holding our au pair hostage!”
As a crowd of curious onlookers gathered, the official repeated, “No boarding passes?”
He was looking straight at Amy. Dan glanced frantically her way, his eyes screaming, You’re the older one—do something!
The thoughts were firing around in Amy’s brain like a broken laser-light show. How could the Kabras be here? She and Dan had left them unconscious in a smoldering room in Venice. Who had rescued them? How had they recovered so fast? How had they stolen the tickets?
Everyone was looking at Amy now. The whole airport. She hated when people stared at her. She hated it even worse when it involved being humiliated by the Kabras. They were always one step ahead, always one Clue closer to the Cahill secret. No matter how hard Amy and Dan tried, the Kabras were smarter, faster, cooler—and ruthless. They were impersonating Dan and Amy. They were about to ambush a defenseless au pair. How could Amy possibly communicate all this? She opened her mouth to try, but it was too much. Too many eyes. She felt as if someone had tied off her vocal cords. Nothing came out.
“Ohhh-kay, thank you, Amy,” Dan said. “Um, look, dude—officer—these guys? The Kabras? Well, actually, they’re a guy and a girl? They ripped us off, okay? Comprendo? The tickets say Cahill and they’re not Cahills—well, technically they are, but it’s a different branch of the family, they’re like Janus, I mean Lucians, and we don’t know what we are, I mean what branch, but we’re related—anyway, we’re all kind of involved in something, sort of this battle about our grandmother’s will, you could say, but it’s kind of a long story and THEY HAVE TO BE STOPPED! PRONTO!”
“Sorry,” the official said, “if you have no boarding—”
Amy grabbed Dan by the arm. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. They needed to find Ms. Rinaldi—or the supervisor who had summoned her. That person would rank higher than anyone here. Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe they could stop the plane from taking off.
She and Dan ran toward the corner again and rounded it. They raced past the place where they had collided with the Kabras, and immediately they emerged into the main corridor. In the distance they could see a line of shops. To their right was a supply closet and a glass door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
To their left, a knot of onlookers surrounded the entrance to the women’s room, where a group of EMT workers emerged, carrying a woman on a stretcher. Police were running in to join them from all directions.
Chaos. Total pandemonium. Amy strained to see around the rush of people as she ran, hoping to find a familiar face.
There.
A flash of blond hair, tossed over a shoulder, drew Amy’s eyes to the right. “Dan, look!”
“Oh, now you can talk,” Dan said. “What?”
Winding swiftly through the crowd was a tall woman in a Japan Airlines uniform about a size too large.
The sight of the familiar figure was enough to unlock Amy’s loudest outdoor voice. “IRINA!” she blurted out.
There was no mistaking Irina Spasky—the stiff military bearing, the bladelike motion of the shoulders as she walked. Irina was another of the Cahill family bent on finding the 39 Clues. Like Ian and Natalie, she was ruthless. Unlike Ian and Natalie, she had been trained in espionage by the KGB.
Irina did not turn. She showed no outward signs of hearing Amy, aside from a quickening of her step.
Then she disappeared into the throng as if she’d never been there.
“Stop her!” Dan sprinted forward, nearly colliding with a rather sour-looking man in a wheelchair.
“Polizia!” the man shouted, lifting his cane as if to whack Dan over the head.
Dan ducked. Amy pulled him away, trying to keep an eye on Irina. They plowed forward, elbowing their way around passengers.
When they emerged into a less crowded area near the end of the terminal, Irina was nowhere to be seen. “She’s gone,” Dan said.
“I—I don’t believe this,” Amy said, catching her breath. “She was working with Ian and Natalie. They sabotaged us together.”
“Are wesure that was her?” Dan asked. “I mean, how would Irina manage to get that uniform?”
Before he finished the question, a voice shouted in Italian over a bullhorn, and the crowd quickly parted. A small ambulance made its way through the airport, siren blaring.
Murmurs were passing through the crowd, mostly in languages Amy didn’t understand. But she spotted a couple with sunglasses, lots of cameras, awful Hawaiian shirts, and vapid smiles. “Look, Dan—Americans,” she said. “Let’s listen. . . .”
They both wandered closer until they could hear snatches of conversation. The people were talking about the woman on the stretcher.
Dan looked confused. “She was salted in the ladies’ room?”
“Assaulted,” Amy said. “She must have been the flight supervisor, Dan! Irina knocked her out and took her uniform.”
“Wow,” Dan replied, looking almost impressed.
Amy glanced toward the window, where she saw the jet slowly backing away from gate 4 and onto the tarmac.
They were leaving. Detached from the tunnel, taxiing for the runway.
Amy panicked. “Don’t look now, but they’re going!”
“Where’s the door? We can still run after them!”
“Right. You do that, Dan. Meanwhile I’ll try to talk my way onto the next flight—a ticket for one, while they’re scraping your remains out of the jet engine that sucked you in.” Amy began running again, back toward the reservation desk. “Or you can come with me!”
Outside, the windows of flight 807 were dull silver-black holes in the distance. Amy knew that behind one of them was Nellie, in a situation no human being should ever have to face.
She was alone with the Kabras.
Dan followed Amy past the crowded security checkpoint, back toward the reception desk. The line for tickets doubled around at least three times, and they took their places at the back.
They exchanged a silent glance. Amy knew Dan was thinking exactly the same thing she was. He sighed, his saddened eyes wandering slowly to the conveyor belt. “Saladin’s on the plane, too,” Dan said. “And our swords.”
Amy fought the urge to just collapse and cry. Right there in the middle of the terminal. Everything was going wrong. It had been a seven-year string of bad luck, ever since their parents died in that house fire. How were Amy and Dan supposed to do this alone? The Kabras had money. Their parents supported them. Plus, they were working with Irina. The Holts were a whole family. Jonah Wizard had his dad planning every moment of his life. It was Amy and Dan against . . . families. Teams. Generations. They didn’t stand a chance.
If only Grace had told them earlier, back when their mom and dad had been alive. If only they were alive now! Thinking about them just made Amy feel worse. She’d been dreaming about them every night. She’d see their faces at odd times—smiling, confident, kind. She could sense their approval or disapproval, their pride whenever she got things right. They’d be there in her mind and then—whoosh! Gone. And she’d feel the loss all over.
“Amy?” Dan said quizzically. And there they were—again. In the eyes of El Dweebo. Not their faces, exactly, but them.Looking out at her, as if they’d just borrowed Dan’s features for a moment. Which no other sane person would do.
In that moment, she knew exactly what the right decision was.
“There’s a flight leaving at five-ten,” she said, reading the overhead departures screen. “Nellie’s safety is at stake. We have to follow.”
“Hey, coolio—no retreat, no surrender!” Dan whooped. “So. Any thoughts about how we’re going to pay for it?”
WAWWP! WAWWP! WAWWP! WAWWP!
An alarm rocked the terminal, stopping all conversation. As a terse announcement resounded, first in Italian, then French, then German, sections of the crowd began heading for the entrance—until finally:
“Ladies and gentlemen, please proceed immediately to the nearest exit, as this terminal must be evacuated for safety reasons. . . .”
A scream ripped the air, and then people were rushing, falling over one another. Amy ran toward the door, pulling her brother behind her, listening to shouted fragments around them, some of them in English:
“Bomb scare . . .”
“Terrorists . . .”
“Anonymous phone call . . .”
They reached the door and pushed their way through. The day had turned gray, but the winding access roads were dotted with the headlights of approaching vehicles. Passengers crowded the sidewalk, shouting into cell phones, hurtling toward buses and cabs. Dan and Amy pushed against the crush of bodies toward the curb, where the last of a group had climbed onto a bus.
The door shut in their faces and the bus farted its way noisily into the clogged road. Dan ran after it, banging on the window. “Stop!Pasta!”
“Pasta?” Amy said in bewilderment.
“I have a limited vocabulary!” Dan shouted. “Linguini! Mangia! Buon giorno! Gucci!”
A black limo screeched to a halt inches away, nearly hitting her.
“Gucci. I knew that would do it,” Dan said.
The tinted window on the driver’s side rolled down, and a man wearing sunglasses and a thick mustache calmly gestured for them to get in.
Amy opened the passenger door and climbed inside, yanking her brother in after her.
“Hey!” shouted another frantic passenger, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket and waving it at the driver through the window. “Soldi, soldi!”
Dan pulled his door shut, and three people fell on the car, banging and shouting. The driver turned forward and let his window roll up, nearly amputating the arm of the man with the money.
“Dude, thanks,” Dan said to the driver. “Or graciasor whatever.”
“Ve go to de udder airport?” the man replied in a deep accent that did not sound Italian.
“There’s another airport?” Dan said.
“Small craft,” the man replied.
“But—” Amy stammered. “We don’t have any mon—”
Dan poked her in the ribs.
“I have to tell him the truth,” Amy whispered.
Dan poked her again.
Amy glared at him. “Will you please stop—?”
It was only then that she saw the other person sitting in the backseat. An Asian man with a placid smile, dressed in a silk suit with white gloves and a bowler hat.
“Greetings, my elusive relatives,” purred Alistair Oh.
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