Countdown (19 page)

Time is running out for Amy Cahill. If she
doesn't find the remaining ingredients, the
serum will kill her. And if she doesn't rescue
Dan, the Pierces will kill him. Will the Cahills
find a way to beat the impossible odds?

Find out in the explosive conclusion to
The 39 Clues: Unstoppable:
Flashpoint
by
Gordon Korman. Turn the page for a sneak
peek!

The Jeep hit an exposed root, jouncing eighteen inches straight up and nearly launching the four occupants into the jungle underbrush.

Instead of slowing down, Amy Cahill stomped on the gas, coaxing even more speed out of the rickety four-wheeler.

“Everybody okay?” called Jake Rosenbloom from the passenger seat, hanging on to the roll bar.

“Barely,” groaned Ian Kabra. “I nearly lost my computer, not to mention my lunch.”

“Ponyrific,” Jake replied soberly, using Pony's nickname for his custom laptop. “It's all we have left of — him.”

The brilliant Pony had built the machine himself, using components from some of the best computers anywhere. It was a magnificent machine, but it could never replace the magnificent friend who'd been taken from them.

Another bump sent passengers bouncing around the Jeep.

“I thought the rental agent said this was a good road,” Ian complained in his clipped British accent.

“In actuality,” put in Atticus Rosenbloom, Jake's younger brother, “she never said it was
good
. She just said it was better than the roads in Honduras.”

“You asked me to research the Tonle Sap water snake,” Ian persisted. “With all this tossing about, I can't find the T key. Not even Pony could work under these conditions. Do slow down, Amy!”

Amy let up a little on the accelerator. Thanks to her serum-boosted acuity of vision, she had actually watched Pony's grip on the chopper's skid fail, sending him plunging to his death. Loyal Pony — who wasn't even a Cahill — had offered his digital cowboy skills to their quest. And the cost had been his life.

Amy's grip tightened on the steering wheel. That was the helicopter that had flown off with Dan. For all she knew, at this very moment, her younger brother was being tortured.

For all she knew, he was as dead as Pony.

To keep from screaming, she pressed harder on the accelerator, and the Jeep leaped forward, rattling and rocking along the dirt road.

“As much as I hate to agree with Ian,” Jake ventured, “this is crazy driving. We're not going to be able to help anybody if we hit a tree.”

“We're not going to hit a tree,” returned Amy through clenched teeth. “I'm in total control of this car.”

“Good to know,” Ian said smoothly, “because I left my spleen about twelve kilometers back.”

“But, Amy,” Jake persisted, “We need to talk about
why
you're in total control of this car —
why
you can drive like a NASCAR champion on a road meant for ox carts.”

“There's nothing to talk about,” Amy snapped. “I took the serum. Stop worrying. I'm fine!”

She
was
fine. Better than fine, and not just because the serum was making her faster and stronger with every passing hour. Her thinking was clear. She could plan strategic moves and countermoves almost to infinity. Her eyesight was amazing, her hearing acute, her reaction time virtually instantaneous. She had no superpowers — she couldn't lift locomotives or fly through the air. Yet her natural capabilities were enhanced to the
n
th degree.

No sooner had this thought crossed her soaring mind than the pinkie of her left hand began to twitch slightly against the wheel. Under normal circumstances, she would not even have noticed it. But in her heightened state of acuity, she understood that this tiny spasm represented the beginning of the end. It was Amy's future — the loss of control; the organ failure; the terrible, painful conclusion. The serum was glorious — until it wasn't. And that, apparently, happened very quickly. The stuff could burn out a human being inside of a week. Amy would suffer the same fate if they couldn't come up with the antidote.

How crazy was that? She'd never felt better in her life — and she was dying.

Suddenly, an enormous logging truck roared out of the trees, looming above, almost upon them, its broad cab hogging most of the road. Before any of them could shout, “Amy, look out!” she was on it. Her reaction was lightning fast — the instant her eyes identified the danger, her hands were moving the steering wheel. She found the path that hadn't been there milliseconds earlier, squeezing through an impossible gap with mere inches to spare. Then they were back on the road, full speed ahead, as if nothing had happened.

For a few breathless seconds, no one spoke. Before, there hadn't been enough time to scream; now it was no longer necessary.

“Don't take this the wrong way, Amy,” Ian managed at last. “But at the moment, I'm really glad you swallowed that serum.”

No normal driver could have avoided that truck. Gideon's formula may have been a death sentence, but it had just saved all their lives.

At that moment, the Jeep suffered one tremendous jolt before the ride leveled off, becoming not only smoother but quieter as well.

Jake was instantly alert. “What happened? What did we hit?”

“Pavement,” supplied Atticus, daring to look over the side. “We must be getting close to Guatemala City.”

With the better road conditions, Ian was able to return to his research on Pony's laptop. “The Tonle Sap water snake,” he reported. “Scientific name:
Enhydris longicauda
. A slightly venomous colubrid snake native to the Tonle Sap, Cambodia's Great Lake. It's a close relative of the sea leopard snake, the rice paddy snake, and the Kapuas mud snake.”

“‘Slightly venomous'?” Atticus repeated. “What does that mean — when it bites you, you only get a little bit dead?”

“If you think about it,” mused Amy, “the venom can't be deadly or it wouldn't work as part of the antidote. It's not much of a cure if it kills everybody who takes it.”

“All the colubrid snakes are slightly venomous,” Ian continued his report. “There are nearly two thousand different species of them. And — uh-oh —”

“What is it?” asked Jake.

“The Red List of Threatened Species lists ours as vulnerable. That's only one step better than endangered. Apparently, this part of Cambodia is big on crocodile farming, and the Tonle Sap water snake was a widely used crocodile food. The only problem is the crocs can eat them faster than the snakes can reproduce.”

Amy frowned. “Five hundred years ago, when the antidote was created, they were probably all over the place.”

“That won't help us
now
,” Jake put in nervously. “We need that venom!”

“Relax.” Amy's reply sounded more like an order. “We got whiskers from an extinct leopard; we can find venom from a threatened snake.” She glanced in the rearview mirror to find a quizzical expression on Ian's fine features. “What's the problem?”

“I think Pony's computer is trying to tell me something,” Ian replied. He swiveled the screen toward Atticus. “You see that? ‘Code A'? What do you think it means?”

Atticus shrugged. He was an eleven-year-old genius, but his area of expertise was dead languages and ancient civilizations. Computer technology was several centuries too recent for him.

All at once, Amy stomped on the brake with every ounce of power in her serum-enhanced muscles. The other three were nearly pitched out of the vehicle as the Jeep lurched to a halt behind a stopped bus. Amy stared in amazement. Less than an hour ago, they had been traveling through isolated rain forest terrain. Now the buildings of Guatemala City were clearly visible in the distance, and the Cahill team was stalled in the largest traffic jam any of them had ever seen.

Thousands of screaming fans packed the broad Aven­ida Simón Bolívar. The mayor was in attendance, along with a gaggle of local VIPs, most of them with their young daughters in tow. Camera phones waved and flashed. So great was the demand to upload pictures that the Guatemalan servers for Facebook and Twitter crashed. The line for autographs measured in kilometers. The crowd noise was an uninterrupted roar, punctuated by applause. It was an absolute mob scene.

Or, in the life of pop star Jonah Wizard, just another day.

“Wassup, yo?” Jonah greeted the next girl in line, an adoring preteen who didn't seem to speak a word of English. Wielding a fat Sharpie, he scribbled a quick signature on her CD, and another on her arm when she held it out to him. “Thanks for coming out. 'Preciate the support!”

Standing behind the autographing table, Broderick Wizard, Jonah's father, wore a scowl as he texted on his BlackBerry. “I have to tell you, Jonah, I don't get it. When you said you had to drop out of the public eye, I was okay with that. Then, six months in, when you told me to set up an appearance, I never asked why. I just made it happen. But I'm asking you now — why did it have be
here
?”

Jonah motioned to the legions of fans, which only made them scream louder. “Look around, Pops. Can't you feel the
love
?”

His father was unconvinced. “You get love in New York. Also London, Paris, Tokyo, anywhere. But you said it had to be Guatemala and it had to be today. Why?”

Jonah had an excellent answer to this question — although not one he could give to his father. The Cahill team had to get to Jonah's private jet, but Pierce had substantial assets hunting for them. A group of kids could stay hidden, but not a Gulfstream G6 parked on a runway. The goons would stake out the airport and open fire on anybody who approached the plane.

There was only one solution. Pierce didn't dare attack when there were people around. And drawing a crowd happened to be Jonah's specialty.

He surveyed the street up and down, his famous eyes coming to focus on an open Jeep stalled in the traffic snarl. He might have failed to notice the three young passengers, but the driver was something else. She fairly glowed with strength and vitality. It was natural to pick her out of a crowd of thousands. He felt a stab of dread as he remembered what it was that made his cousin Amy stand out.

He got up from his chair and took a flying leap off the stage.

“Jonah!”
his father howled in dismay.

There was never any danger. Jonah knew that his sea of admirers would catch him before he hit the pavement.

Broderick Wizard was at the edge of the platform, gawking at his son. “What are you doing?”

“It's all good, Pops!” Jonah called back at him. “But you're going to have to fly home commercial! I need the jet!”

By that time, the Guatemala City police had reached him and were clearing a path through the throng. High-fiving and
wassup
-ing all the way, Jonah led them to the Jeep and swung himself aboard. “Good timing,” he approved. “The Wiz was getting writer's cramp.”

“Real smart, Jonah,” Jake scolded. “Who knows how long we'll be stuck here. Pierce will have time to see us on TMZ and send half his army after us.”

Jonah addressed his police escort. “Need you homeys to get us to the airport. You know,
el runway-o
 —”

“Aeropuerto,”
supplied Atticus.

Nodding their understanding, the police officers organized themselves into two lines, opening up a path for the Jeep. Just outside the throng, a cavalcade of motorcycle cops surrounded the Cahills for their ride.

“Those goons are going to have a heart attack when we drive up to the plane with half the Guatemalan police force!” Atticus crowed.

“That's how I do,” Jonah acknowledged modestly.

His fans cheered, waved, and threw flowers as he passed among them, perched on the tailgate.

“Later, Guatemala City!” bellowed the famous voice. “Gotta hop!
Adiós
, yo!” He grinned down at his cowed Jeep-mates. “Anybody need a lift to Cambodia?”