The 39 Clues: Unstoppable: Nowhere to Run Read Online Free PDF

observed, putting it on.
    They stood in the hall, wondering which way to go. The building had girders and beams and drywall that marked a few rooms. Stacks of wood and glass littered the space, along with rolls of insulation and long snakelike bundles of rebar. Plastic buckets held empty coffee cups and scraps of metal and wood. Spray-painted in orange on the walls were mysterious letters and numbers. Large concrete columns marched down the space, and the dust spiraled in the air through the beams of light.
    “I smell something,” Dan said.
    “Danger?” Amy asked.
    “Does danger smell like cookies?”
    Amy sniffed the air. “And coffee.”
    “If there’s a tour, there might be coffee for the press,” Dan said. “Maybe we can mingle and we won’t get noticed.”
    Following their noses, they moved toward the front of the building. Soon they could hear murmuring voices.
    “These are stale,” someone said.
    “Hey, they’re free. Coffee’s not bad.”
    Amy and Dan peered around the wall. About a dozen reporters stood scarfing down cookies and gulping coffee out of paper mugs.
    They sidled in and lingered at the edge of the group.
    “Where are you from?” one of the reporters asked Dan. He had spiky red hair and looked almost as young as they did.
    “Uh . . . a national kids’ magazine,” he answered. “
Homeschooling Monthly.
”
    The guy nodded. “Sounds cool. Wish I’d been homeschooled. Just not with, you know, my own parents. I’m with the web ’zine
Celebrity Dish.
”
    “Isn’t that owned by Founders Media?” Amy asked. “So, Mr. Pierce is kind of your boss?”
    He shrugged. “We’re all part of the company. Your magazine, too — you just don’t know it. You think this guy wants bad press? He’s already got a stack of violations on this building. He’s throwing shade on a community garden — did you see the protestors? And some poor construction guy got killed last month. They’re putting this up so fast they’ve got safety inspectors breathing down their necks . . . but then they mysteriously go away. Hey, do you have your question ready? We’re only allowed one each, you know. I’m going to ask what color pajamas he wears.”
    “You’re going to ask about
pajamas
?” Dan blurted.
    “I’m not going for a Pulitzer here, buddy. I just want to keep my job. If Pierce says polka dots, I’ve got a headline.”
    “Love that hard-hitting news,” Dan muttered.
    A trim young woman in a red suit entered the space, her high heels clicking. She was wearing, Dan noticed, a small headset tucked under her hair, a slender silver wire hovering near the corner of her mouth.
    “Hi, guys! I’m Arabella Kessler. I’m Mr. Pierce’s personal assistant, and I’ll be escorting you from the hospitality suite to the reception suite.” She waved her yellow hard hat. “Let’s all put on our hats! Now follow me to the sixty-fifth floor!”
    They followed Arabella Kessler and her clicking heels to a large cage elevator on the side of the building. The reporters filed inside. The cage rose up, up, high over the city. A gust of wind shook the wire mesh cage. Some of the reporters turned green. “Best view in Boston,” Arabella said, and pushed open the door.
    They filed out into a space similar to the ground floor. Concrete, piles of stacked glass, machinery lying idle. Wires hung down from the grid of the ceiling, coiled like snakes about to strike.
    A room had been framed out with metal columns. At one end a podium had been set up, with red drapes hung behind it. The wind blew through the open space. Even though they were nowhere near the edge, Amy shivered. The reporters clustered together nervously. Everyone felt exposed, so high above the city, with no walls for protection.
    Arabella Kessler stood behind the podium and spoke into the microphone. Her voice echoed and bounced from one concrete pillar to another.
    “Welcome to the sixty-fifth floor of the new headquarters of Founders Media, the