The Viper's Nest Page 6

  “Excuse me, Little Miss Anger Management,” Nellie interrupted. “What’s happened to you?”

  “OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!” Dan announced.

  “Cram it, Shaka,” Amy said dully.

  But Dan ignored her. A brave warrior never took the bait. He was fighting to focus on the Shaka postcard, now wrinkled and sweat-soaked after their adventure. He stared at the last lines:

  “This doesn’t look right,” he said.

  “Lots of African words have odd pronunciations,” Amy began lecturing. “Like, you make a clicking sound while saying it, like the Xhosa tribe.”

  The way Amy said the word, it was like a tongue-click followed by -osa.

  “Right, but those words have, like, Xs and exclamation points in the middle and stuff,” Dan said. “These are different. They don’t look African. They just look … weird.”

  “If it’s not African weird, maybe it’s Dutch weird,” Nellie said. “They use lots of double letters. My aunt married a guy named Vanderdoonk.”

  Amy was peering at the names closely. “The brothers Gekk? I told you, those are the limo drivers. This is a business card for a taxi service.”

  “What about the stuff under the name?” Dan asked.

  “ ‘Alpha more than one,’ ” Amy said. “Alpha means ‘A’ — like, the best. They’re bragging. Advertising.”

  Dan began to write. He scribbled the alphabet across the top of the card. “I’m thinking it’s a code. ‘Alpha’ means ‘alphabet.’ ‘More than one’ is actually an arrow pointing to the right. It could mean ‘substitute each letter with the one to the right’ — like, B becomes C.”

  “You actually think like that?” Nellie asked.

  Dan began replacing the letters one by one.

  “Like I said, it was a dumb idea,” Dan said.

  “Whoa, wait,” Amy said. “What if instead of a simple substitution code you, like, replace each consonant with the next consonant, and each vowel with the next vowel? Like, B becomes C but I becomes O?”

  “You, too?” Nellie said.

  Dan began writing again:

  “Bingo!” Amy exclaimed. She leafed through pamphlets she had stashed in the glove compartment. “Constitution Hill … it’s a region in Johannesburg. The site of an old jail. Number Four must be an address.”

  “Johannesburg?” Nellie said. “I thought we were marching to Pretoria!”

  “Don’t forget the other Gekk name,” Dan said.

  Quickly, he decoded it, using Amy’s method:

  “ ‘Church Hill’ — find that!” Dan said.

  Amy shook her head. “Nope. No such place. We’ll need to get a better map. But at least we have a start. Okay, Nellie, we have to go back in the direction of the airport, toward Johannesburg!”

  “What if Church Hill is the thing that’s in Pretoria?” Dan said. “I mean, we’re here already!”

  Nellie slammed on the brakes and glided into a turnoff at the edge of the road. “Whoa, whoa, guys. I’ve been stunt-driving in a Yugo, running from Holts, dissing old men, and barely avoiding death by goat. I’m, like, ready to drop. I will take you wherever you want, but I want to finish what I started with Amy—and I get to pick where we stay, okay? I say, hotel. And I say, book it now or we sleep in the car.” She reached into her pocket. “Do either one of you guys have my cell phone?”

  “Nope,” Amy and Dan said at the same time.

  Nellie looked on the floor, then in the glove compartment. “Weird. I had it back on that field.”

  “The Holts are probably kicking it through the goal post,” Dan said.

  “Uh, dude,” Nellie said. “This is no joke. I have to have that phone.”

  “The phone company has your stuff saved online,” Dan said, “with all your boyfriends’ numbers —”

  “Not funny,” Nellie said. “You don’t get it! I need that phone!”

  Dan gave Amy a look. This was not Normal Nellie.

  “Now who’s got a problem with anger management?” Amy said quietly.

  Nellie took a deep breath and hung her head over the steering wheel. “Okay. Sorry. I’m losing my head. May I use your phone, Amy?”

  Amy handed over her phone. As Nellie made her call, Dan pulled out his and quickly accessed his e-mail account. He stared at the most recent message:

  we won. 10-7.

  ilikeike

  “Hey, Amy,” Dan said, showing the screen to his sister. “Do we know anyone with this name?”

  “Ilikeike …” Amy shrugged. “Looks Hawaiian.”

  Dan typed back:

  um, gr8. who ru?

  A moment later the response came:

  meat 100 m n of BOOM on P Kruger

  or tacoman go BOOM

  ilikeike

  “It’s a wrong number,” Dan said.

  “Wait,” Amy said. “It’s not Hawaiian. I like Ike was a presidential campaign slogan from the 1950s!”

  “Historical facts make me quiver with excitement,” Dan said.

  “For President Dwight David Eisenhower!” Amy said.

  Eisenhower.

  Dan stared at the screen. “ ‘Tacoman’ … but Uncle Alistair was burritos … yup, that would be something Eisenhower would write.”

  “Exactly!” Amy said. “And I’m thinking m-e-a-t is supposed to be m-e-e-t. He wants us to meet him — or something bad is going to happen to Uncle Alistair.”

  “Guys, what if this is a trap?” Dan asked.

  “What if it’s not?” Amy replied. “Think about it, Dan. The Holts found Alistair on that hilltop after we left. If he was working with them, they’d be mad at him, because he didn’t deliver us. If he wasn’t working with them, they’d be just as mad to find him interfering.”

  “We can’t just ignore this,” Nellie said.

  “Yes, we can,” Amy blurted. “Why do we have to run all over a strange country and risk our own lives? Why do we owe Alistair anything?”

  Dan glanced at his sister uneasily. “Amy …? I know you don’t really mean that, right?”

  His sister turned away, her face red. She took a breath and murmured something he took to mean yes.

  “Okay …” Dan nodded. “ ‘One hundred m n’ … that’s one hundred meters north of—what’s Boom?” He grabbed Amy’s map of Pretoria. On the right side was an alphabetical list of street names. “It’s a street — Boom Street on the north side of the city, near the zoo! Near Paul Kruger Street.”

  “Hang on, boys and girls,” Nellie said, handing Amy back her phone. “Gomez and Cahills go Boom.”

  Boom Street ringed a large field across from the zoo. At the corner of Paul Kruger, Nellie hung a tight left turn, tires screeching.

  A traffic sign on a wooden horse said:

  DANGER: CONSTRUCTION SITE

  HARD HATS* only

  At the bottom, scribbled in nearly illegible handwriting next to an asterisk, were the words *and Cahills!

  “Drive around it,” Dan said. “They’re up ahead.”

  Behind the sign, the street dropped off into a steep decline. Parked at the bottom was the purple pickup. Uncle Alistair stood beside it at attention, his cane in hand and his bowler hat neatly on his head.

  Nellie put the car in first gear and rode the brake downhill. At the sound of the engine’s whine, Alistair looked upward and waved them over.

  “Alistair is working with the Holts,” Amy hissed.

  “He looks worried about something,” Dan said.

  “Be careful,” Amy replied.

  As Nellie slowed, Alistair’s waving got more urgent. “Um, guys, what’s with his hat?”

  Two blue wires extended from the back of Alistair’s bowler all the way into the driver’s window of the pickup. Amy couldn’t see anyone inside the cab, but Alistair was looking agitatedly across the street.

  There, standing near a thick, gnarled acacia tree, were Eisenhower, Mary-Todd, Reagan, Madison, and Hamilton Holt, along with their pit bull, Arnold. Eisenhower leered triumphantly, his neck the
color of rare roast beef. In his hand was a long yellow string leading to Alistair’s bowler. “Let’s talk,” he said.

  “Let’s book!” Dan said.

  Nellie threw the car into reverse.

  Alistair’s face turned ashen. “No, don’t!” he shouted.

  “Retreat is not — I repeat, not — recommended!” Eisenhower barked. “If you value human life.”

  “Don’t listen to him!” Amy said. “Go, Nellie, go!”

  “Ten-HUT!” Eisenhower held up his hand. “Your uncle is attached by means of technology learned and perfected by myself in Explosives Lab 101, Instructor Todd Bempster, West Point Class of None-of-Your-Business, to the pickup battery, in a manner too electronical to explain in civilianistic terms but easy to set up with the help of a few handy household —”

  “Cut to the chase, will you, lamby?” said Mary-Todd.

  Eisenhower held up the string with a triumphant smile. “If the hat comes off Alistair’s head, the pickup explodes.”

  “He’s bluffing,” Dan said shakily.

  “He’s not.” Amy knew Eisenhower meant business. And she liked the idea.

  NOW you’ll finally feel what our parents felt, Uncle Alistair. You’ll know what it’s like to be abandoned, instead of the one who abandons.

  “YOU IN THE YUGO — COME ACROSS THE STREET, IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU,” shouted Eisenhower. “ON THE DOUBLE! — ER, TRIPLE!”

  Amy took a deep breath. She tried to grab on to a coherent thought in her brain, but they were flying around inside, slippery and dark like bats.

  Dan put his hand gently on her shoulder. “Follow me.”

  He stepped out of the car and walked downhill toward the Holts. Amy followed behind, numbly. On the other side of the street, she could sense a change in the faces of Reagan and Madison — something like relief. This scheme, Amy realized, wasn’t their idea. Hamilton was looking downright panicked.

  She tried to meet his glance. He was blinking fast, as if he were embarrassed or fighting back tears. She felt a surge of gratitude toward him. For saving her life. For helping them against Alistair. “Ham …?” she said.

  Eisenhower clapped a beefy hand on his son’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over. “We know you’re here for the Tomas clue.”

  “We are?” Nellie blurted out.

  Madison rolled her eyes. “Oh, that was convincing.”

  “Actually,” Reagan murmured, “it was.”

  “When we heard you were going to Peoria on that intercept from Indonesia,” Eisenhower said, “we made sure to follow.”

  “You mean, Pretoria,” Nellie corrected.

  “My husb — er, we bungled the flight booking,” Mary-Todd said. “The two choices were so close on the drop-down menu. You see, by getting it wrong, we got it right.”

  “You found us by mistake?” Amy said. She glanced at Dan, but he was staring intently ahead, as if hypnotized by something.

  “Who are you here to meet?” Eisenhower demanded.

  “Reagan did some research?” Madison said, parking her gum under her tongue. “She found out that the Tomas have a clue? It has something to do with some South African tribe?”

  “But if it’s a Tomas clue, don’t you know it?” Dan asked.

  “You little brat,” Eisenhower said. “Just like the others. Laughing at us. Looking down their noses. Cutting us off from the family secrets.”

  “Sweet pea …” Mary-Todd said. “Your blood pressure …”

  The angrier Eisenhower got, the redder his face became. He clenched his fist around the string. Amy thought she could hear a frightened yeep from Alistair.

  “Don’t!” Nellie shouted.

  “Who is your contact?” Eisenhower demanded. “Where is the Tomas clue?”

  Stay calm, Amy commanded herself. She was shaking.

  She looked at Dan. He seemed paralyzed, staring intently ahead.

  “Your uncle’s hat,” Eisenhower said in a tense, measured tone, “is connected to a wire via a magnet, which creates a groundified circuit. Knock off the hat, the circuit breaks. The pickup — bang! And for good measure, a loose wire falls upon the base of Mr. Oh’s brain. Five hundred volts. I would hate to see that happen on a beautiful day like this, wouldn’t you?”

  Suddenly, Dan snapped out of his trance. “I know the clue!” he blurted.

  Amy spun around. “You do?”

  Her brother was jerking his arm back toward the car. “I — I need to get the map. Permission, sir?”

  Map? Amy stared at him in utter confusion.

  “Granted!” Eisenhower barked. “And you know what happens if this is a trick.”

  Dan ran to the Yugo. He was sweating. His fingertips shook. He opened the passenger door and leaned in.

  “Mrrp?”

  Saladin mewed hungrily from the backseat.

  “RAWRF!” Arnold lunged forward. His leash flew out of Mary-Todd’s hand.

  “No-o-o-o!” Amy cried out. “Shut the door, Dan!”

  Dan scrambled to turn around. He pulled himself fully into the car. As he slammed shut the driver’s door, Arnold banged headfirst into it.

  The Yugo rolled downhill, toward the pickup.

  “Pull back the handbrake!” Nellie shouted, racing toward the car.

  “The what?” Dan said.

  “He’s heading for the pickup!” Reagan shouted. “Stop him!”

  “No … oh, please, no …” Alistair murmured, his face puckered and sallow.

  “THIS IS NOT ACCORDING TO PROTOCOL!” Eisenhower bellowed.

  Hamilton Holt sprinted across the road. He pulled open the pickup’s front door and dived inside, his fingers working a tangle of blue wires in the dashboard.

  The Yugo was picking up speed.

  “The lever in the center!” Nellie shouted. “Pull it!”

  Hamilton leaped out of the cab. He leaned toward Alistair, turning his back, then whirled around.

  The Yugo was fifteen feet away … ten …

  “Now!” he shouted. “Stop now, Dan!”

  Amy heard a metallic ratchet noise. The Yugo skidded left, turning sideways in the road.

  She watched in horror as its right rear fender smacked against the pickup.

  “DAN!” she cried, racing toward him….

  Her brother was trembling. Staring at the steering wheel of the stopped car.

  In one piece.

  Hamilton, Nellie, and Amy converged at the side of the Yugo. “I reset the mechanism,” Hamilton said. “It’s on a timer now. Three minutes. Take this. Go.”

  He handed Amy a folded-up sheet of paper and sprang away, running across the street. “Move!” he shouted to his family. “It’s about to blow!”

  The Holts all ran in the other direction. Out of the corner of her eye, Amy could see Alistair crouching behind a tree. When the Holts were a half block gone, he began limping away, fast.

  Amy felt a hand on her shoulder. Dan was pulling her into the car.

  The door shut and Nellie tore away as the pickup blew.

  Amy flinched at the sound of the bomb blast on Boom Street. Nellie was speeding the Yugo onto the highway entrance ramp.

  “Yeeee-HAHHH!” Dan screamed, hitting the car roof with his fist.

  Amy’s insides were frayed. “You think that was fun?” she blurted. “We could have all been killed — because of you! What did you think you were doing?”

  “Didn’t you see him?” Dan said. “Hamilton — he was blinking!”

  “So?” Amy said.

  “Blinking Morse code, Amy!” Dan explained. “Dit-dah-dit, dit, dit-dah-dit-dit, dit, dit-dah, dit-dit-dit, dit, dah-dit-dit-dit, dit-dah-dit, dit-dah, dah-dit-dah, dit! Two words — release brake! He was giving me instructions.”

  “You understood that?” Nellie said.

  “At first I’m, like, dude, what?” Dan said. “But he kept repeating the same message. He wanted me to create a distraction!”

  “Are you crazy?” Amy pressed. “What if Hamilton hadn’t
been able to fix the wires in time? You hit the van, Dan! You hit it! A distraction doesn’t mean dying!”

  Dan deflated. His face darkened, and he fell back heavily into his seat. “You really know how to ruin a nice day.”

  The car fell silent as Nellie pulled onto the highway and zoomed toward Johannesburg. “So, campers,” she chirped, “what say we celebrate our escape, Alistair’s escape, Hamilton’s good-guyness, and Dan’s great code-breaking skills by stopping off and getting us a fresh GPS? And maybe, like, some food?” She paused while Amy and Dan shifted uncomfortably. “I knew you’d jump on that idea. I’ll keep an eye out for a place.”

  As the flat, parched countryside raced by, Amy stared out the window. “I wonder where he is now—Alistair.”

  “I saw Hamilton whisper something to him after he fixed the wires,” Nellie said. “Must have been telling him to make like a tortilla chip and break away.”

  Dan shook his head. “I can’t believe that wacko was going to zap him.”

  Amy closed her eyes. The plan was so barbaric.

  Zap. One flip of the bowler.

  She suddenly had the urge to cry.

  Something was bubbling up inside Amy, something so muddy and deep she couldn’t define it. “I … wanted him to die, Dan. I never felt that before. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Hey, kiddo …” Nellie said gently.

  Dan nodded. “Yeah. It’s understandable. Really.”

  “Is it?” Amy said. “I don’t understand it. You should climb around inside my brain, Dan. It’s like this dark room surrounded by quicksand.”

  “I know what you mean,” her brother said quietly. “I hate being in my brain sometimes. I have to get out.”

  “What do you do?” Amy said.

  Dan shrugged. “I go to other places — my toes. My shoulders. But mostly here.” He tapped his chest and immediately turned red. “I know. It’s stupid.”

  “Not really,” Amy said. “I wish I could do that, too.”

  “It’s not something you do,” Dan said. “I mean, something’s always going on in there whether you want it to or not. You just have to, like, lift up the shades and peek in.”