Vespers Rising (The 39 Clues #11)(41)

Empty.

Don’t panic. It stands to reason he’d keep it close….

She glided into the bedchamber, the rich rug absorbing any sound she might have made. She scrutinized the nightstand. There was a pitcher of water and a half-full glass. Holding her breath, she slid open the drawer. A gold watch, nothing more.

Leaning over the bed, she tried to see his hands. Oh, what would she do if he was wearing it? But his fingers were bare.

Her eyes fell on a wooden valet, which held his clothing for the morning — a dress uniform with a chest full of decorations. He certainly wanted everyone to see the evidence of his heroic career. Those medals were more important to him than anything — except maybe the ring.

Grace’s eyes narrowed, and she moved in for a closer look. What better place to hide a piece of jewelry than amid all that brass and gold?

She stared. There it was, between a French Croix de Guerre and his Purple Heart. It was fastened to a red-white-and-blue ribbon and pinned to the jacket — just one award among dozens.

The ring.

She removed it, taking another medal from the end and filling in the empty space. Pocketing her prize, she quickly and silently flitted back out the window and returned to her room via the ledge. At last, she examined the focus of so much attention from both Cahills and Vespers.

It was about the size of a man’s class ring, yellow gold. Around the band was a peculiar design of embossed ridges and tiny slots. It wasn’t much to look at, so it must have had some hidden function or meaning.

Never mind what it is. The important thing is you have it, and Patton doesn’t….

Now the trick would be to sneak it out of Casablanca before the general realized it was missing.

She stepped out into the hall, where she was immediately challenged by the sentry at Patton’s door.

“Sorry, miss. I’m not supposed to let you leave.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving,” Grace replied airily. “I’m just going down to the dispensary for an aspirin.” She hefted her cast. “My arm is very sore.”

The soldier nodded sympathetically and waved her on.

She breezed down the stairs and into the room where the doctor had set her arm. From an instrument tray, she found a scalpel and began to dig a trench in the hard plaster on the underside of her cast. She worked furiously. If this took too long, the sentry would come looking for her. When the hole was big enough, she jammed the ring inside and wet a length of plaster bandage. She wrapped it over the ring, shaping and smoothing it so it would blend in with the rest of her cast. Tidying as best she could, she returned just as the sentry was beginning to descend the stairs in search of her.

“Find your aspirin, miss?”

“Yes, thanks. I had a hard time getting the cap off with just one hand.”

The hall clock said 3:30. Two and a half hours to her flight.

Sleep tight, General. Sweet dreams.

The first thing General Patton noticed the next morning was that his Bronze Star was in the wrong place.

Unacceptable. Even the lowliest buck private in the Western Task Force knew better than to mess with a commander’s medals.

He bellowed for his aide, but before the first syllable had passed his lips, he knew. The ring was gone.

It was the girl, of course. She was really something.

Still, she wasn’t going to get away with it.

His aide burst into the room. “Yes, General!”

“Call the airfield! Grace Cahill’s plane is not to take off from Casablanca!”

The man blanched. “It’s already gone, sir. Miss Grace was anxious to get moving, so we took her to the airfield early. She was the only passenger and —”

“I want that plane turned around and the little witch brought to me in chains!” the general howled.

The aide winced. “She has already landed in Lisbon — under Portuguese jurisdiction. I’m sorry, General. There’s nothing we can do.”

“Get out!” Patton rasped, and the officer ran for his life.

Beaten — and by a thirteen-year-old girl!

Those Cahills! They had been a thorn in the side of the Vesper organization for more than four centuries.

He was about to go up against the entire German army, but he feared it less than that cursed family!

They had regained control of Gideon Cahill’s ring. And now they had a new champion — a girl with the courage and guile to outflank George S. Patton.

At the airfield outside London, Grace hugged baby Fiske and tried to smile at Beatrice. Her sister wasn’t buying any of it. “What do you have to say for yourself, Grace? Where have you been? What happened to your arm?”

Grace gazed at the spot on her cast where the new plaster covered the precious ring. “This? It hurt for a while, but now it feels fine.”

Beatrice was beside herself. “That’s not what I asked! How dare you run off on us in the middle of a war? Who do you think you are?”

Grace took a deep breath. The past two days had been the most difficult of her life, and she knew that there were many others ahead. She felt the weight of her wonderful and terrible family settling on her slim shoulders, and the answer to her sister’s angry question suddenly became obvious.

“I know exactly who I am. I’m Grace Cahill.”

AMY and DAN CAHILL PRESENT

Jude Watson


Windchill stuck at zero.