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Read Online 39 Clues _ Cahills vs. Vespers [03] The Dead of Night by Peter Lerangis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Lerangis
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cell was unlit, the only illumination coming from a buzzing, greenish fluorescent light in the hallway. There were two bedlike structures, cement benches with thin mattresses thrown on top. “You can’t mean this,” he said.
He felt the guard’s hand shoving him inside. Amy stumbled in beside him.
“We’re entitled to a phone call!” Amy said.
“Ah, the phone call.” Vanek shook his head sadly. “American demands. Just like the movies. Tell me something. You steal artwork of highest refinement . . . Renaissance treasures. Is it a game for you? Why? You intend to sell the Caravaggio on eBay?”
“We don’t have the Caravaggio!” Dan said. “Someone took it from us!”
“Ah,” Vanek said, leaning against the bars. “Who?”
“A trapeze artist,” Dan explained. “But she was killed. And someone took it from her.”
Amy shot him a look.
“I see.” Vanek’s eyes went dead. “You continue to believe that mockery is a sound strategy. Ah, well. In the morning, we will consult with officials in Turkey. They will consult with officials in Italy. They will consult with officials in United States. They will consult with Interpol. They will consult again with Turkey. Maybe in a week, maybe three, we will schedule a hearing.”
As he turned to go, Amy shouted, “Three weeks? We have to make our flight tomorrow morning!”
“Someone smart enough to steal a Caravaggio can rebook a plane flight,” Vanek said, without turning around. “Good night. Enjoy your accommodations.”
Amy sank onto the bench bed. As the wails of the prisoner next door reached an intolerable pitch, she shoved her arms against her ears.
But Dan couldn’t move.
All he could think about was another jail cell in another place. Three days from now. He was picturing that cell’s door opening.
And the look of utter horror on Uncle Alistair’s face.
The dumbwaiter began to rattle.
Phoenix Wizard shook like a mouse in an ice bucket. He wasn’t built to be a hero.
Reagan Holt had managed to pry loose two sturdy metal bars from a rickety bed frame. The poles were hidden in the shadows in another room. Nellie was throwing Reagan a thumbs-up. Everyone was trying to be upbeat.
Phoenix blew his nose and added his wet tissue to a pile on the floor.
This part is my idea. I don’t HAVE ideas!
What if this failed? What if — ?
A hand landed softly on his arm. Phoenix turned.
Nellie was grinning widely at him.
Love ya
, she mouthed.
As the dumbwaiter neared bottom, Natalie emerged from the other room. From under her prison garb, she pulled out the metal bars and gave them to Reagan.
The door opened, revealing a plate of stale bread and a plastic container of warm water.
Now.
Phoenix swept the contents onto the floor. “The eyes!” he shouted.
Fiske and Uncle Alistair both scooped up the wet tissues and began flinging them up at the surveillance camera. Their aim wasn’t bad. One by one, the tissues stuck solidly to the lenses, blocking the view.
“The mouth!” Phoenix said.
Reagan and Nellie dragged a heavy bed across the cement floor. Phoenix pushed off the mattress, leaving a naked metal frame, which they shoved into the dumbwaiter sideways, jamming the door open.
The machinery groaned as it struggled to raise the contraption.
“The guts!”
This was the trickiest part. Phoenix joined Reagan and Ted, who were lifting the bed frame up, using it as a lever. The front of the bed frame pushed against the dumbwaiter floor, forcing it down.
Phoenix had figured there must be some clearance, some room in the shaft
below
the dumbwaiter. They needed the floor to sink about a foot and a half.
As the dumbwaiter floor slowly sank, he watched the roof. Above it now was a growing black space of about four inches . . . six . . . ten. . . .
“Now!” Phoenix shouted through gritted teeth.
Uncle Alistair shoved one of the bed-frame bars into the gap between the dumbwaiter roof and the frame of the wall opening. “Not . . . sure
He felt the guard’s hand shoving him inside. Amy stumbled in beside him.
“We’re entitled to a phone call!” Amy said.
“Ah, the phone call.” Vanek shook his head sadly. “American demands. Just like the movies. Tell me something. You steal artwork of highest refinement . . . Renaissance treasures. Is it a game for you? Why? You intend to sell the Caravaggio on eBay?”
“We don’t have the Caravaggio!” Dan said. “Someone took it from us!”
“Ah,” Vanek said, leaning against the bars. “Who?”
“A trapeze artist,” Dan explained. “But she was killed. And someone took it from her.”
Amy shot him a look.
“I see.” Vanek’s eyes went dead. “You continue to believe that mockery is a sound strategy. Ah, well. In the morning, we will consult with officials in Turkey. They will consult with officials in Italy. They will consult with officials in United States. They will consult with Interpol. They will consult again with Turkey. Maybe in a week, maybe three, we will schedule a hearing.”
As he turned to go, Amy shouted, “Three weeks? We have to make our flight tomorrow morning!”
“Someone smart enough to steal a Caravaggio can rebook a plane flight,” Vanek said, without turning around. “Good night. Enjoy your accommodations.”
Amy sank onto the bench bed. As the wails of the prisoner next door reached an intolerable pitch, she shoved her arms against her ears.
But Dan couldn’t move.
All he could think about was another jail cell in another place. Three days from now. He was picturing that cell’s door opening.
And the look of utter horror on Uncle Alistair’s face.
The dumbwaiter began to rattle.
Phoenix Wizard shook like a mouse in an ice bucket. He wasn’t built to be a hero.
Reagan Holt had managed to pry loose two sturdy metal bars from a rickety bed frame. The poles were hidden in the shadows in another room. Nellie was throwing Reagan a thumbs-up. Everyone was trying to be upbeat.
Phoenix blew his nose and added his wet tissue to a pile on the floor.
This part is my idea. I don’t HAVE ideas!
What if this failed? What if — ?
A hand landed softly on his arm. Phoenix turned.
Nellie was grinning widely at him.
Love ya
, she mouthed.
As the dumbwaiter neared bottom, Natalie emerged from the other room. From under her prison garb, she pulled out the metal bars and gave them to Reagan.
The door opened, revealing a plate of stale bread and a plastic container of warm water.
Now.
Phoenix swept the contents onto the floor. “The eyes!” he shouted.
Fiske and Uncle Alistair both scooped up the wet tissues and began flinging them up at the surveillance camera. Their aim wasn’t bad. One by one, the tissues stuck solidly to the lenses, blocking the view.
“The mouth!” Phoenix said.
Reagan and Nellie dragged a heavy bed across the cement floor. Phoenix pushed off the mattress, leaving a naked metal frame, which they shoved into the dumbwaiter sideways, jamming the door open.
The machinery groaned as it struggled to raise the contraption.
“The guts!”
This was the trickiest part. Phoenix joined Reagan and Ted, who were lifting the bed frame up, using it as a lever. The front of the bed frame pushed against the dumbwaiter floor, forcing it down.
Phoenix had figured there must be some clearance, some room in the shaft
below
the dumbwaiter. They needed the floor to sink about a foot and a half.
As the dumbwaiter floor slowly sank, he watched the roof. Above it now was a growing black space of about four inches . . . six . . . ten. . . .
“Now!” Phoenix shouted through gritted teeth.
Uncle Alistair shoved one of the bed-frame bars into the gap between the dumbwaiter roof and the frame of the wall opening. “Not . . . sure
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