The 39 Clues Book 7: The Viper's Nest Read Online Free PDF Page A

his own nephew?" he said. "You know I didn't set the fire, and you will never make that charge stick."
    Opening his overcoat, Bae patted a thick leather wallet that jutted from an inner pocket. "I have ways of influencing what sticks and what does not. And I can be persuaded to use that influence to your benefit."
    Alistair laughed. "Lies and bribes, as always--"
    "Unlike you, Alistair, I value the truth," Bae said. "You are an Ekaterina. And yet you withhold the truth from me, your erstwhile guardian and branch leader. All you need do is give what you owe me -- the truth about what happened on that island, and all you have learned about Robert Cahill Henderson's discoveries."
    "I... will... never ..."
    "Watch that blood pressure, my son," Bae said. "Your years as a failed junk-food magnate have taken their toll. Too many cheese burritos weaken the heart."
    Alistair closed his eyes briefly and remembered
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    something his father told him, a phrase he had never understood as a child: Silence is strength. He breathed deep and then stared calmly at Bae Oh. "Well?" Bae asked.
    Alistair suddenly lurched back in the seat. His body convulsed once, twice. He gasped for air, flailing wildly, yanking the handcuffed arm of the cop.
    The car was swerving now, toward the side of the road. The tires screeched. As the backseat cop tried to hold Alistair still, the driver swerved around.
    "Keep going!" Bae shouted. "We have no time!"
    "ARGGHH ... GLLLLURGHHH!" Alistair sputtered. With a violent jolt of his upper body, he felt his head hit the roof and then collapsed, lifeless, on the backseat.
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    CHAPTER 6
    Mildew. Rotting paper. Amy smiled. There was nothing more intoxicating than the aroma of old books.
    In a small air-conditioned library room in Java, she set down a stack of music books from the library archives. The books were heavy, and they made a comforting thump on her table. Amy's backpack sat in a small puddle on the floor, and a young librarian rushed over with a towel to protect the cloth seats from Amy's wet clothes. She frowned, scolding Amy softly in Indonesian.
    "Thanks," Amy said. "S-s-sorry."
    Sheepishly she concentrated on the books, opening the top one first: Glees, Shanties, Fight Songs, Madrigals, and Motets. Just inside the cover was a stamp -- the book had been donated by a local Harvard graduate.
    As she opened the book, she heard a commotion by the door. The librarian and Nellie were chasing Saladin around the room. Dan skulked behind them. He shrugged at Amy. "Sorrrrry ... I took him out for dinner and a cleaning. Now he's frisky."
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    "Got 'im!" Nellie said, snatching Saladin by the collar.
    As Nellie scooted outside, Amy turned to her brother. "How is Saladin feeling?"
    "Angry," Dan said. "After the bath, we found an Internet cafe. I checked a Mau-lovers' listserv? Oops, no red snapper in this area. He had to eat tuna."
    But Amy didn't hear a word. She was too busy staring at a song title on page 47.
    * * *
    Fewer than a hundred miles away, on a highway outside the airport, Bae Oh watched his nephew in the throes of heart failure.
    "Eccckkkk... Unc... Uncle... "Alistair cried out.
    The driver was kneeling over Alistair, urgently talking on a cell phone while trying to hold his nephew still. The officer who had been cuffed to Alistair was fumbling with the keys to the cuffs.
    "Good grief, men, do something!" Bae shouted.
    Alistair reached up with trembling hands. He was gagging, his body contorted. Seeing him this way shocked Bae. Alistair had always carried himself with dignity. He had survived deadly explosions and massive collapses with nary a hair out of place.
    How ironic that his own heart would do him in.
    And nothing to show for it, Bae thought, but a life frittered away. College, business, and now health--Alistair had failed in everything. If only he hadn't been so
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    soft. So ignorant of the uses of power. So willing to put others first. College is needlessly competitive, Uncle ... I want my own