39 Clues 11 - Vespers Rising by Rick Riordan

Author:Rick Riordan [Riordan, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780545339797
Published: 2011-04-04T16:00:00+00:00

ANCIENNE MEDINA

She recalled from Madame Fourchette’s French lessons that this meant the old Arab quarter, or casbah.

Her heart began to pound. Ancienne Medina — AM!

So it doesn’t mean morning. When the message said White House AM, it was a reference to Casablanca’s old casbah!

She had to inform the general!

“I’m sorry, Miss Grace,” said Patton’s aide. “He’s tied up with military matters. I don’t know when he’ll be available again.”

She returned to her room, growing more restless by the second. The Morse code pointed to the Ancienne Medina, but Patton didn’t know that. And by the time she had a chance to tell him, it might be too late. There could be a Vesper in town at this very moment. And the Vespers knew about the bull’s-eye, which was a lot more than Grace could say for herself. How could she be certain of what bull’s-eye might mean in the middle of a shooting war fought with weapon scopes, rifle sights, crosshairs, and targeting systems?

She was positive that the answer lay somewhere in the casbah.

But the general had said her part was over….

Well, that was then; this is now.

She could not stand idly by, giving their rivals a chance to find the bull’s-eye first while Patton was distracted by military matters. She had to help. She owed it to the general; she owed it to her family; and she especially owed it to Drago, who had lost his life getting her here. Somehow, she had to make that meaningful.

She’d never be able to explain this to the sentries stationed about the mansion. Luckily, Grace was an expert at sneaking in and out of places — training from her role as the younger sister of tattletale Beatrice.

She opened the shutters and eased herself over the windowsill, contemplating the eight-foot drop. Hanging on with her good hand, she lowered herself as far as she could and then jumped the remaining distance to the ground. Keeping to the shrubbery, she sneaked across the property and vaulted a low wall.

For a place that had just been seized by foreign invaders, Casablanca seemed very much business-as-usual. The streets were bustling with veiled women, turbaned and white-robed men, and visitors of a wide variety of nationalities. With war raging on the continent to the north, this part of Africa had been the first stop for many civilians trying to escape the conflict. People went about their business, heads down, never making eye contact. It was perfect for Grace’s purposes — nobody looked at her. But it contributed to an overall sense that something secret was going on.

She had memorized the route between headquarters and the Ancienne Medina, although she questioned her navigation skills more than once along the way. The roads did not appear to be laid out on any kind of grid. They twisted and turned, and the exotic arabesque architecture, with its elaborate designs, made it impossible to fix on any landmarks.

She was relieved when at last she arrived at the stone wall, weathered by centuries of sand and dust storms, surrounding the Ancienne Medina.

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