Read The 39 Clues: Cahill Files: Silent Night for Free Online Page B

blanket, a rucksack — under the hay, and set out for the river.
    “Let’s go this way,” said the major, steering them left out of the barn. Marie stopped in her tracks and shook her head.
    “Absolument non,”
she said. “That is through the bogs and past the main road. We will be trapped, or caught.
Non
, we go this way.” She pointed to the right.
    “Look, mademoiselle,” said the major. “I know you’re from these parts, but we Tomas know our way around. We are expert navigators. You ever heard of James Cook? Or Blackbeard?”
    “Yes. So if we end up on a boat in the sea, you may be captain then,” said Marie. “But while in France, I will say where to go.”
    And so Marie led the way, much to the obvious embarrassment of Major Thompson. Rupert trailed along uncomfortably. She wound them around through the trees, following a small stream that led into a larger brook, which then made a right into the thick, rushing Lys.
    Rupert looked across the water. That was enemy territory, over there. Strange, how it looked so much like their side.
    They followed the main rush of the Lys for about a mile. Then the sounds of men and machinery began to mingle with the bubbling, rolling sounds of the water.
    On the other side, black and looming against the gray December sky, was a great block of a factory. Chimneys like witch’s fingers reached up toward the white sun and spewed thick gray clouds of smoke.
    “It used to make dyes for our linen and wool. Now it makes the gas,” said Marie, in a voice that made Rupert shiver. He’d heard about the gas. No one on either side had used it yet, but it hung there, like a knife over the heads of every soldier on either side of the war. People said it could turn your skin to blisters and burn your eyes out of your head. If it didn’t kill you when it touched you, if you managed to get away, it would still kill you later. Once you met the gas, there was no escaping it.
    “It looks like it makes soldiers,” said Major Thompson. And that was true. The factory was swarming with men in German uniforms, like workers in an anthill. They patrolled the fence around the building, and the water line; they walked along the top with long-range guns and binoculars. They drove in and out in smoky, sputtering cars and atop commissioned farm horses. They had hundreds of guns between all of them, and if they so much as caught a whiff of Brit or Frenchwoman, they’d shoot to kill.
    Yes, by all means
, thought Rupert.
This is the perfect place to try and invade with an army of three.
    “You can’t be serious about this,” said Rupert. “They’re everywhere! There’s no way we’ll get in here.”
This is what you get
, he thought,
for listening to a Tomas and a Janus
.
    Rupert felt himself shrinking away. They were three people — one a farm girl; one a soldier; and one a brave and handsome and intelligent sort of fellow, but one admittedly lacking in search-and-rescue experience. They were three people to find one person in the midst of an enormous factory guarded by dozens and dozens of other people with frightening weapons.
    He glanced at the others. Marie was chewing on the inside of her cheek, her forehead creased. The major was muttering to himself, counting softly under his breath. They crept a little farther down the water, trying to angle to see the other side of the building. Along the south side was a gated yard, where piles of supplies stood under guard. The west side was against the water, and the north side was nothing but smooth wall with windows along the third floor. They couldn’t see the east side, but Marie said that was where the main entrance was.
    It seemed impossible to Rupert. There were obstacles no matter what way you looked at things.
    “Tonight,” Major Thompson said. “There will be fewer guards. We’ll do it then.”

    That evening, Rupert sat on the old crate in the barn with the lantern lit at his feet. Marie was napping, and the major was hunched