The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 2: A King's Ransom by Jude Watson

of Prague, with its old, graceful buildings, its hills and steeples, spread out around them. They could see the Vltava River and Prague Castle. But Amy couldn’t take it in. She could almost feel time passing, like the wind that blew her hair back and scattered the leaves at her feet.
    “I don’t know what to do now,” she said. “But it was a good idea to bring up Atticus’s father.”
    “It still didn’t get us in. And it’s not like we can call him. Jake probably told him that we’re thieves.”
    Amy remembered the look on Jake’s face, the contempt when he knew what they were planning. “We’ll have to put out a Cahill alert,” she decided. “Someone will come through. In the meantime we can focus on getting a good translation of the epilogue of
Il Milione
. It has to tie in with everything else somehow.”
    “Pliny the Younger, Marco Polo, Caravaggio, Johannes Kepler, and a Nazi,” Dan said, ticking off the names on his fingers. “They’re all centuries apart, and they’re connected?”
    “They’ve got to be,” Amy said. “Let’s head back to the hotel.”
    They had checked in to a small hotel tucked away on a side street upon their arrival that morning. The room hadn’t been ready, and they were carrying around their packs, which were starting to feel heavy. Jonah and Hamilton had gone to a four-star American hotel. They had agreed it would be safer to split up.
    As they trudged the blocks to the hotel, Dan could feel the weight of discouragement even more than the drag of the pack on his shoulders. He pictured Hamilton and Jonah sitting around their hotel room in plush robes, nibbling at a complimentary fruit basket.
    As they entered the hotel, the clerk came around the desk to speak to them. “My apologies. Your room isn’t ready,” he said. “May I suggest a snack in the
kavarna
— the café. Complimentary, of course.”
    “Dude,” Dan said. “You just said the magic word.”
    They were tired of walking. Tired of thinking. A little pastry sugar rush would do them good.
    They headed for the café adjoining the lobby, where they sat down at a table and ordered hot chocolate and
vdolek
, a pastry with jam and whipped cream.
    Dan was just about to dip his spoon into the pastry when Amy stiffened. The same hawk-nosed man who’d been on the train to Lucerne pushed through the door of the hotel.
    “Dan!”
    Dan licked his lips as he regarded his pastry. “This looks like a cloud of paradise.”
    The man went directly to the desk.
    Interpol.
    Amy ducked behind the broad back of a patron enjoying a large plate of pastries.
    Don’t tell him where we are. Don’t tell him don’t tell him don’t tell him.
    The clerk looked at the paper the man held out. He pointed to the café.

“We have to get out of here.” Amy stood. “Now.”
    “Wait! My
vdolek
!” Dan protested, reaching for it.
    She yanked on his arm just as he grabbed for it. Dan went facedown in the whipped cream.
    She bent over as though to pick up a purse. In the mirror over the counter she could clearly see the Interpol detective trying to peer into the café. All he saw was a boy with a faceful of whipped cream.
    Dan reached for a napkin, but she shoved the pastry up against his face again.
    “Mmff!”
Dan protested around a mouthful of cream.
    Keeping his back to the lobby, she steered them through the door. Outside, she pushed Dan forward until they were swallowed by a crowd of tourists.
    Dan swiped at the whipped cream on his face and licked his fingers as they weaved through the crowd. “Escape was never so sweet,” he crowed.
    Attleboro, Massachusetts
    The package arrived that afternoon. Sinead had immediately taken it upstairs to the comm. center. Cheyenne’s phone had certainly been wiped clean, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t get some information out of it. She got to work.
    Ian researched the videocam Cheyenne had stuck on the car fender. It was so micro and advanced that, like the DeOssie smartphone,