The Medusa Plot Read online

  “Early this morning,” McIntyre said grimly, “Fiske Cahill disappeared from the El Rancho Jojoba Spa in California.”

  “Well,” Dan began, “you know Fiske —”

  “He was last observed wearing a bathing suit, approaching the hot tubs. All his belongings — including his cell phone — are still in his room.” The lawyer’s expression was grave. “There’s more, I’m afraid. Much more. At around the same time as the last known sighting of Fiske, Reagan Holt went out on a training swim in the Caribbean and never came back. Natalie Kabra was reported missing from her boarding school. They traced her as far as Harrods in London, and there the trail ended. And in Tokyo, young Phoenix Wizard vanished from one of his cousin’s — shall we say livelier—concerts, right under the collective nose of Jonah’s security—what is the word?”

  “Posse,” Dan supplied, distracted.

  Amy was profoundly shocked. “A little over an hour ago, our bus was attacked by three men in ski masks. They definitely knew me, and probably Dan, too. We fought them off, but it could have gone either way.”

  “Like if they’d used a cookie truck instead of a gas tanker,” Dan added. “Nobody’s scared of Oreos.”

  “The police think they were after ransom,” Amy went on. “I was half hoping they were right. Now we know better.”

  “Yeah, but that’s all we know!” Dan exclaimed in agitation. “Everybody we care about is disappearing!”

  There was frantic pounding at the door, and in burst Sinead. Her usual expression of calm control was gone. She looked like she’d been pulled the wrong way through a hedge, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide.

  “Ned just called from Tel Aviv! Ted and Alistair have been kidnapped!” Kidnapped! The word echoed through the large room. So many disappearances in so many places — it couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone was kidnapping Cahills.

  Sinead grew even more upset when the others just stared at her. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything? Don’t you even care?”

  “Sinead, we’ve got some news that you should hear.” Amy told her friend about the incidents around the globe and the attempt on herself and Dan. “Ned’s our first real witness,” she finished. “Now we know for sure we’re dealing with kidnapping.”

  “Hallelujah,” Dan said sarcastically. “With that and a buck you can buy a lottery ticket. Now tell me something useful, like who these kidnappers are and what they want! Or why us! Or who’s next —”

  All at once, the thought flashed between brother and sister like radar.

  “Nellie!” they chorused in perfect unison.

  With the practiced motion of a Wild West gunslinger, Dan had his phone out of his pocket and was speed-dialing the mobile number of their former au pair in Paris.

  The furrows in Dan’s brow deepened as he listened to ring after ring. “She’s not picking up.”

  Amy detected a panicked edge to his voice and knew he was scared, even though he’d die before admitting it.

  “Just because there’s no answer doesn’t mean she’s been kidnapped,” Sinead reasoned.

  “She answers my calls,” Dan replied stiffly. “I have my own ringtone on her cell — the Misfits cover of ‘Monster Mash.’”

  McIntyre flipped open his own phone. “I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he vowed. “We Cahills have connections everywhere — even inside the Académie Gastronomique.”

  The lawyer stepped into the kitchen and a nervous silence fell in the parlor.

  Sinead was still trying to be reassuring. “Maybe she’s in class and her cell is set on vibrate.”

  It made perfect sense. Yet all the logic in the world could not diminish their growing dismay.

  A few minutes later, McIntyre was back. “Miss Gomez fainted at a sidewalk café in Paris. She was picked up by an ambulance that never reported to any area hospital.”

  “No!” Dan exclaimed in anguish.

  Amy’s hands flew to her lips to staunch her exhalation of horror.

  Nellie had been kidnapped. She was in danger.

  Amy had been only seven, and Dan barely four, when their parents had died. Nellie was the closest thing to a parent they’d had since the fire that had taken Arthur Trent and Hope Cahill away from them.

  McIntyre took in their desolate expressions. “While I share your worry, I must remind you that panic will not help our loved ones—especially when we don’t yet understand what is happening, and who is behind it.”

  The four fell silent, listening to the clattering blades that signaled the approach of a helicopter. The sound grew louder and louder until the crystal chandelier began to buzz and vibrate.

  “To the basement!” ordered McIntyre. “Quickly!”

  But as they rushed to the cellar door, all four caught sight of a small parachute drifting lazily down past the lead-paned windows. As it settled its payload in a hedge of emerald cedars, the helicopter noise grew fainter and finally disappeared.

  “It could be a bomb,” Sinead suggested nervously.

  “If they wanted to kill us,” Amy pointed out, “they could have dropped it right on the house.”

  “I’m going to get it,” said Dan. He ran outside, the others close behind him.

  The package was about the size of half a shoe box, a canvas bag wrapped in waterproof plastic. McIntyre detached it from the chute by cutting the strings with his pocketknife. Then he removed the plastic cover and unfurled the canvas. Out tumbled a wad of bubble wrap. Amy caught it before it hit the ground and began to remove the tape and unwind the plastic.

  “A phone?” Dan queried. “At least I think that’s what it is. It sure doesn’t look like any phone I’ve ever seen.”

  Amy turned the device over in her hands. “There’s no brand name or model number.”

  “Nothing that can be traced,” McIntyre noted. Sinead produced a Swiss Army knife. “I’ll open it up, examine the guts. Maybe we can tell something from the way it’s wired. And the chip might be stamped with an identifier —”

  “Don’t you dare,” Dan interrupted. “If somebody takes the trouble to parachute a cell phone down on your front lawn, it’s because they’re going to call.”

  He pressed the power switch, and the device lit up, booting itself to life. There was a chime, and a text message appeared on the small screen.

  Greetings, Amy and Dan Cahill.

  I’d hoped to meet you in person, but perhaps it’s better this way.

  Congratulations on your escape from my team. Interesting that Dan chose not to use his lighter. A fundamental difference between him and me. Nevertheless, you have proven yourselves worthy of the task I now present to you.

  After you succeed, I will release Reagan Holt, Phoenix Wizard, Natalie Kabra, Ted Starling, Alistair Oh, Nellie Gomez, and your dear Uncle Fiske. Until then, they will remain with me as a guarantee of your cooperation.

  If you do not arrive in Florence, Italy, by tomorrow morning, one Cahill will die. If police are alerted, one Cahill will die. If my instructions are not followed to the letter, one Cahill will die. We hold only seven. You do the math.

  You will hear from me upon your arrival in Florence. Have a pleasant journey.

  Vesper One

  Vesper. Amy’s and Dan’s eyes locked. That was the unspoken name behind all Amy’s training and preparation. A centuries-old adversary shrouded in mystery. She’d known the Vespers would be coming.

  Her fingers worked like pistons on the phone’s tiny keyboard: Offer to trade myself for hostages. She pressed SEND, and the phone responded: Recipient unknown.

  She tried again: Must meet to discuss terms. Recipient unknown.

  “Neat trick,” Dan remarked. “That Vesper guy can reach us, but we can’t reach him.”

  Sinead was mystified. “What’s a Vesper?”

  Amy took a deep breath. “We tangled with them a couple of years ago. I’d hoped it was a one-time thing.”

  “Yeah, and I believe in the Tooth Fairy, too,” mourned Dan.

  Amy to
uched her watch, which had been custom made from a family heirloom — a gold ring. She could never think of the Vespers without reaching for it. It had become an instinctive reaction.

  William McIntyre’s face was gray. “Come back inside, and I’ll tell you what I know. It isn’t much, I’m afraid. Not when there are lives at stake.”

  When they were settled in the parlor, nestled in the velvet upholstery, the lawyer began to speak.

  “The Cahills are the most powerful family in history, but that doesn’t mean we are without rivals. Five hundred years ago, in the time of Gideon Cahill, there was a man named Damien Vesper — a formidable man, a peer of our illustrious ancestor, but a man with a dark side.”

  “Like Gideon had no dark side,” Dan scoffed. “He only cooked up the juice that almost got us all killed.”

  “Maybe so,” McIntyre agreed. “Yet Gideon had been searching for a cure for the plague when he made his unfortunate creation. Damien Vesper was not so interested in the good of humankind. He, too, was a great alchemist. The nature of his research, however, was far more destructive.”

  “Like what?” Dan asked, accepting Saladin onto his lap.

  The lawyer shrugged. “Sadly, that information has been lost. Or perhaps we never had it.”

  Amy’s brow furrowed. “But the Vespers aren’t his descendants, right? Aren’t they more like a secret society?”

  “A secret society of pond scum,” Dan added.

  “True, the Vespers are not a family but a cadre of ruthless associates,” the lawyer confirmed. “Still, some believe that there may yet be direct descendants of Damien among their number. They are ruled by a Council of Six, dedicated to fulfilling Damien Vesper’s dream — whatever that might have been.”

  “That still doesn’t explain the most important thing,” Dan pointed out. “Why us? What good does it do the Vespers if we go to Italy? I don’t know what this Damien guy was working on. Do you?”

  “Don’t you see?” McIntyre replied. “The clue hunt is over. Vesper One must believe that you two have captured the serum.”

  “Then why doesn’t he just ask for it?” Amy challenged.

  “That I cannot answer,” the lawyer admitted. “We know only the barest bones of our situation — that our mortal enemies have kidnapped the people we love in order to bend us to their will.”

  “I don’t love Natalie Kabra so much,” Dan grumbled. “And I’ve only met the little Wizard kid a couple of times —”

  “Dan!” his sister exploded. “Of course we’re going!”

  “I know that. I’m just pulling your chain.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Sinead volunteered.

  Amy brightened. “That would be great! Thanks, Sinead.”

  Dan wasn’t so sure. “If we’re getting ordered around Italy, shouldn’t somebody stay here to hold down the fort?”

  “Very wise,” the lawyer agreed. “Another concern — news of the kidnappings will spread rapidly within the family. You have to reach out to as many as you can to avoid chaos and panic.”

  Amy looked worried. “Couldn’t you do that?”

  McIntyre shook his head. “I don’t have the authority.”

  “And we do?” she cried in astonishment.

  “No one commands the Cahills,” the lawyer acknowledged. “Even Gideon himself could not control his own children. This, as much as the serum, is the reason why the branches of our family have been feuding for five hundred years. Only one thing holds sway with us — the thirty-nine clues.”

  Dan made a face. “You mean we won the clue hunt, so we have to do it?”

  “Lucky us,” sighed Amy.

  CHAPTER 3

  Another one of the features that was different from Grace’s original house was the communication and command center in the attic. Amy had designed it, insisting that it could serve as a kind of Cahill headquarters in an emergency.

  Dan had petitioned to turn the space into an indoor paintball battlefield. Now, he reflected ruefully, it was a good thing Amy had won that argument. And, he had to admit, no paintball battlefield, or laser-tag arena, or even the greatest video arcade on the planet could come close to the amazing array of high-tech gadgetry on display here. The dome, for example. It was a working astronomical observatory keeping track of Gideon, the Cahill satellite with spy capabilities. Gideon provided near-perfect reception on the three dozen high-definition video monitors. The only interference: sunspots. Sinead was already working on solving that.

  The babble of voices made Dan’s head hurt. Thirty-six screens, thirty-six agitated Cahills, and thirty-six wildly different opinions on what had to be done — immediately. Tears from Leila Wizard, Phoenix’s mother. Blind rage from the Holts, Reagan’s family. Genuine distress from Ian Kabra, Natalie’s brother, but also cold calculation.

  On monitor 27 (Asia/Oceana), Jonah Wizard’s normally confident features were warped into an expression of deep concern as he pleaded with his aunt on monitor 11 (Southwestern USA).

  “Leila, you can’t call the cops! Vesper One said no police, and the dude’s not playing!”

  “I’m supposed to do nothing when my little boy has been abducted?” Phoenix’s mother demanded.

  Amy tried to step in. “You’re supposed to leave it in our hands. We’re the ones the Vespers contacted.”

  She could not have anticipated the acid of Leila’s reaction. “And who are you, exactly? A sixteen-year-old child.”

  “She’s a Madrigal, that’s who she is!” Eisenhower Holt had only one volume setting — loud. “I never trusted them before, and I’m sure not about to start now! How do we know they’re not behind these kidnappings? I never heard of any Vesper!”

  Ned Starling spoke up on 22 (West Asia/Middle East). “It’s happening to all the branches, not just the Tomas,” he said from Dr. Shallit’s clinic in Tel Aviv, where he’d been accepted as an inpatient. “You should have seen the guys who grabbed Alistair and Ted! They meant business —” He had more to say, but a wave of pain contorted his face and erased his train of thought.

  Amy fought valiantly to control the conversation and her deepening stammer. “It’ll be better for R-Rea — it’ll be better for Reagan if we k-keep our heads —”

  She’s losing it, Dan thought, leaning against the wall, a little apart from the action. Not that he could do better. Nobody could. To unite bickering Cahills was like trying to make something out of pieces from a hundred different jigsaw puzzles.

  McIntyre was nuts to put him and Amy in charge of this “meeting.” Ha! A global high-tech brawl was more like it — broadcast via private satellite to this chrome-and-silicon dome so Amy and Dan could be shouted down from all continents at the same time.

  True, there had been some Cahill cooperation at the end of the Clue hunt. But it had come from the younger generation — Sinead and a handful of others. For example, Hamilton Holt was trying to keep his volatile father from going completely berserk. Ned, an Ekat like his sister, was providing useful information. And without Jonah’s efforts, they could not hope to prevent Leila Wizard from bringing in the authorities.

  Then there was Ian. It was impossible to set aside the awful fact that Ian’s mother, Isabel Kabra, had set the fire that had killed Amy and Dan’s parents. Ian and Natalie had been pretty much the Cahills’ archenemies during the Clue hunt. In fact, you could depend on Ian to be a total bonehead about ninety-nine percent of the time. Now, however, seemed to be one of those rare moments when he could be depended upon to act as an ally, not an adversary. His sister was in danger, and he would do anything to aid in the rescue effort.

  But if the younger generation was willing to find ways to work together, the older Cahills were as stubborn as mules.

  “Why give this kidnapper what he wants?” Eisenhower demanded. “We can’t let him get away with grabbing our people! That’ll just encourage him to hit us again!”

  “Dad, he’s got Reagan!” his son argued.

  “Hamilton’s right,” Amy put in quickly.
“We’re at Vesper One’s mercy — at least until we can stage a rescue attempt. We have to figure out where he’s h-holding the h-h-hostages —”

  She’s stammering like crazy now! Dan looked over to McIntyre, who was watching impassively as Amy floundered in front of the entire family.

  Eisenhower’s veins bulged as he waved off any effort from Hamilton to quiet him. “I’m not putting my daughter’s life in the hands of a babbling teenybopper! You don’t even know your own plan! Make up your mind! Are you kowtowing to this Vesper or are you looking for the hostages?”

  That question — a specific inquiry about strategy—jolted Amy out of her helplessness. Maybe she lacked the nerve to shout down her squabbling relatives. But when it came to what needed to happen now, she knew exactly how to respond.

  “We’re going to do both!”

  Her back straightened, and she peered directly into the camera that was broadcasting her around the world. “I propose a two-pronged response,” she continued, her stammer gone. “Dan and I will travel to Italy to follow Vesper One’s demands. We have no choice. The safety of our hostages depends on that. Meanwhile, Sinead will set up a Cahill command center right here in Grace’s house. Ian, will you help her?”

  “I’ll be on the next flight,” Ian promised.

  “The command center will have two missions. First, to figure out where the hostages are being held so we can rescue them. Second, we have to answer the biggest question of all: Who are the Vespers and what do they want? They’ve been dogging our family for centuries, yet they’re a total question mark. As horrible as these kidnappings are, they could be just the beginning. If we’re at war, we’d better learn something about our enemies. Especially since they seem to know an awful lot about us.”

  Dan watched in amazement as his sister secured promises of cooperation from Cahills in every corner of the globe.

  She used to hate public speaking, he marveled. She still hates public speaking.

  Yet here she was, persuading the unpersuadable. She was almost scary—and somehow weirdly familiar.