(Author's Note: Ahm... long time no update, no? I'm sorry! School's been really busy and I have fallen into a state of utmost laziness. Please, oh, please don't destroy me! Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues... sad face... :'( Please read and review, oh lovely ones!)

Chapter 13

Tracked

"Fiske, we have a problem," William Mr. McIntyre beckoned to his partner to join him at his computer. Fiske Cahill soon joined the old lawyer as he peered at the computer screen. The screen was filled with red, green, yellow, blue, and white flashing dots, not unlike a certain Grace Cahill's map that had perished in the burning of her secret library. A clump of about six blue dots stood out on the apparent map of the world.

"What is it?" Fiske asked.

"They're different," William indicated to a yellow flashing dot among two other yellows on the computer, and then to a device with a much smaller screen in his hand.

"How is that possible?" Fiske asked, taking the device in his hand to get a closer look.

"Apparently, Ms. Starling no longer is the possessor of her cell phone," William muttered as he compared the two screens' yellow dots. Fiske was silent as he continued to squint at both screens.

"See here," William explained, prodding a specific yellow dot on the computer screen," Sinead Starling is here, at the hospital." He scrolled along the map until he reached three flashing white dots halfway across the screen. "This is Paris, France, where Sinead's cell phone resides now," he tapped importantly on the white dots.

"But," Fiske started," that's where…" he didn't finish his sentence as he pulled out a device of his own from within his black suit's pocket and began examining it.

Fiske frowned when he saw identical flashing black dots in his tracking device. "You're tracking the informant as well?" He inquired.

"Better safe than sorry," William muttered in response.

Fiske huffed and walked back over to the project he had been working on prior to when William had called him. He stared worriedly at the map as he updated its colored push-pins. He was sure to leave three yellow dots where all of the other colored dots had just been together: Boston, Massachusetts.

"How could you let him get away? Explain this to me, as clearly as you can, Ian," Isabel Kabra seethed as she towered over her panic-stricken son.

"Well, Mum, the Holts-"Ian began, his voice barely audible. His mother cut him off quickly.

"Holts? Holts? Don't tell me that you lost track of the book due to those barbaric excuses for Cahills!" Isabel shrieked.

"Well, actually-"Natalie began as softly as possible.

"No, Natalie, no! I don't want to hear it!" Isabel raged. Natalie slumped in her chair, something she normally wouldn't dare do; it was very bad for her posture.

"Natalie!" Her mother yelled sharply. Apparently, Natalie's slouch had not gone unnoticed. At their mother's exclamation, both Kabra children sat up straight, not wanting to make Isabel's anger rise.

"Why must everything go wrong?" Isabel questioned. "Why," she continued expressionlessly, "must I have such failures for children?"

That ending word from their mother did not help the siblings' postures, as they slid lower into their expensive seats.

Eisenhower Holt massaged his knuckle menacingly as he and his family gathered over the small book. Despite his sure-fire ability to know how to pack a punch, his fist still hurt from its connection with Alistair Oh's face.

"Wow, look at all this writing!" Reagan gushed, tracing the purple ink. "This is a treasure-trove of info!" she announced.

"Boo-yah, we hit the jackpot this time, dad! Go, Team Holt!" Madison hugged her father's immense form.

"Yeah, I guess we did, sweetie," he smiled gruffly as he plunked himself down on the motel room couch.

"Reagan, can you read any of this? The handwriting is so loopy," Madison asked her sister. "Like yours," she added smugly. Reagan punched her sister's shoulder affectionately before turning her attention to the Poor Richard's Almanac.

"Flow? No. Fellow? Negative. Fallen? Oh, wait, follow! The first word is follow!" Reagan announced as her family cheered.

"What's next, Reah?" Hamilton asked. Reagan squinted at the elegant writing again.

"Frank-something? Wait, there's more, it's just too loopy," Reagan sighed, defeated.

"Frankenstein?" Madison suggested.

"We're not gonna follow Frankenstein, Mad! Seriously!" Hamilton joked. Reagan stared dumbly at the cursive, stumped.

"Oh, hello, it's Franklin!" She smiled in spite of herself.

"Oh, yeah, I knew that! Franklin museum, Franklin site! I knew that!" Madison grinned.

"Okay, so, we've got 'Follow Franklin' so far. Is that it?" Eisenhower scratched his head in confusion.

"No, dear, I don't think the sentence is over yet," Mary-Todd commented as, glancing at the historical book from an upside-down perspective, due to the limited space.

"Let's see…" Reagan mumbled. "'Follow Franklin… first clue… Maze of Bones'?"

"A mace made out of bones? No, way! I want one!" Madison blurted, unable to contain herself.

"Not mace, maze," Hamilton corrected. Madison groaned in disappointment.

"No worries, hun. Winning this will buy you all the maces we want!" Eisenhower put in.

The whole family cheered, their dog, Arnold, included. Anyone who might've walked outside the motel room might have thought that a nuclear bomb had hit, and when it considered the Holts, a nuclear war could quite possibly be on their minds. They had a lot on their minds considering the hunt for the Clues, despite how small everyone thought their brains were.

In fact, someone had been walking outside the Holt's motel room, number 203. She did so very openly. Now, if one was to take to account the newest additions to the quest for the 39 Clues, that person might guess that this mysterious person was none other than Miss Aryavare Anne Berkelley. However, this black-clothed girl did not wear gloves at all. On the contrary, her arms and hands were shown very clearly, and the girl did most certainly not have a scowl on her face, which was customary for her cousin. This girl strolled along the motel block, whistling as she went. Not until she rounded the corner did she give her silence as she waited for a status report.

"They have it?" The girl's cousin cracked her knuckles expectantly.

"Bingo," Caller smiled cheerfully. Her cousin scowled.

"Why are you so happy? They have the book, not us!" She stressed.

Caller shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Please, Arya. Do you really think that they will keep possession of the book? Especially with you around?" she challenged.

Aryavare mulled this over in her mind. "Good point." Was her reply. Caller smiled again, which brought about another scowl from Aryavare.

"Where is Hayden?" Aryavare hissed.

Caller spun on her metallic heel, which Aryavare vaguely thought was entertaining to watch, and pointed toward room 203, where her brother had appeared. Aryavare let loose a low bird-call, acknowledging his presence. Hayden winked at the two girls, acknowledging theirs'.

Hayden knocked sharply on number 203, clearing his throat as he did so. Eisenhower Holt answered the door readily, his face as red as usual.

"Hello, sir. I'm looking for an Eisenhower Dolt," he said robotically.

"That's Holt to you, kid," Eisenhower cracked his knuckles.

"Oh." Hayden thought this piece of information over briefly. Eisenhower watched him with beady eyes.

"Too bad." Hayden sucker-punched Eisenhower's large stomach, causing the buff man to double over in surprise. Caller and Aryavare quickly joined Hayden with gas masks. The girls threw sleeping gas into the motel room before any other member of the Holt clan could react to Hayden's assault.

Soon, even Arnold the pit bull was knocked out due to the gas's drowsy effects. At that second, Team Eight entered the motel room, their thoughts set on Benjamin Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanack.

(Author's Note: Hope you liked! Please review, my friends! I hope to update soon! ;D)