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it.”
    They spent the rest of the drive in silence.

    They checked into their hotel and headed for their rooms. Amy opened her backpack to make sure the serum flask had survived the crash. She held the flask to the light. The poison-green fluid — undiluted, full-strength — was as deadly as it looked. It imparted awesome power to the person who drank it — for a week. And then it killed them. She shuddered and put the vial back inside her pack.
    She took a shower and changed, then went next door to meet the others in Dan and Atticus’s room. Jake was there, hanging out with the other boys. Dan was losing to Atticus at chess. The TV was on, tuned to an international news channel. Dan’s T-shirt was smudged from the bumpy trip, a big footprint stamped on the front.
    “What’s that footprint on your shirt?” Amy asked.
    Dan glanced down at it. “Must have been from that dirtbag pilot, when I was holding his leg trying to keep him from bailing on us.”
    Amy sighed. “Aren’t you going to take a shower? Or at least change?”
    “Why? Are we meeting with the queen of England or something?” Dan asked.
    “Speaking of the queen . . .” Jake turned up the volume on the TV. The footage showed a handsome man shaking hands with Queen Elizabeth, his airbrushed blond wife curtsying beside him.
    “American media mogul J. Rutherford Pierce met with Queen Elizabeth at a reception yesterday on the last leg of his European tour,” the news announcer reported. “Pierce has been meeting with world leaders in a clear indication that he’s preparing to run for political office. Pundits are expecting him to throw his hat into the ring in the race for US president very soon.”
    “President Pierce,” Dan said. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
    “It does have a sinister ring to it,” Amy agreed.
    “The way Pierce operates, it’s a short step from president to dictator,” Dan said.
    Amy watched Pierce’s wife, Debi Ann, who hovered in the background. The contrast between her and her husband was striking. She looked dull and bleached out next to her vibrant, glowing husband, almost like a different species of human.
    Because he’s taking the serum , Amy realized. And Debi Ann isn’t.
    Pierce took a modified version of the serum, a very weak, diluted dose. Enough to enhance his power, but not enough to kill him. “What do we know about his wife?” she asked Jake.
    “Not much. Wait — they’re cutting to an interview with the two of them now.”
    The news showed a clip from an interview taped in the Pierces’ elegant home in Boston. Debi Ann sat beside Pierce on a blue silk sofa, smiling and nodding mechanically. “What about you, Debi Ann?” the interviewer asked. “I read that you grew up in a family of scientists. What was that like?”
    Debi Ann nodded. “We had a chemistry lab in the basement.” She smiled at the memory. “That was our playroom. We Starlings were all talented scientists.”
    Dan and Amy jumped at the same time. “Starling?” Amy gasped. “Did she say Starling ?”
    “Did you see the look on Pierce’s face when she mentioned it?” Dan said. “He was furious!”
    Amy had noticed a flash of anger cross Pierce’s serenely tanned face at the mention of the name Starling. Although it’d mean nothing to 99 percent of the audience, he clearly didn’t want Debi Ann to mention that very important fact. The Starlings were related to Amy and Dan. If Debi Ann was a Starling , it could only mean one thing. She was a Cahill, too.
    “She’s Pierce’s link to the serum!” Dan exclaimed.
    “He must know all about the family, the branches, and everything, through his wife,” Jake said.
    “But I researched her,” Amy protested. “Both her and Pierce, relentlessly. I scoured the Internet and no Cahill connection ever came up. How could that be?”
    “Ask Pony,” Dan said. He dialed Attleboro, putting his phone on speaker.
    A smooth British voice answered. “Dan? You made it to