The Copernicus Legacy: The Forbidden Stone Read Free Page B

fair-skinned, sandy-haired, and lanky. Darrell was five feet four and a guitarist of strange loud stuff that might be really excellent or might just be loud. Wade was three inches taller and owned an iPod full of Bach, because Bach was not loud, was the most mathematical of composers, and was someone his mother had taught him to love. Darrell was a junior tennis pro. Wade wore sneakers like a junior tennis pro. Darrell was comfortable with just about everyone. Wade felt more comfortable with Darrell than he did with himself. Finally, Darrell was usually smiling, even when he was sleeping, while Wade had invented neurotic worrying.
    And he felt a sudden jolt of worry at exactly that moment.
    While searching for the telescope’s operating manual on the desk, he’d accidentally moved the mouse on his father’s computer. The screen saver flickered away and an email message popped up. Without wanting to, Wade noticed the sender’s name.
    Heinrich Vogel.
    “No kidding?” Wade whispered. “Uncle Henry?”
    “No. The name is Darrell,” said Darrell from the platform. “I thought being my stepbrother for three years you would know that.”
    “No. Dad got an email from Uncle Henry. We were just talking about him. You know he’s not really my uncle, right? He was Dad’s college teacher in Germany. I haven’t seen him since I was seven.”
    Darrell hopped down the stairs and peered over Wade’s shoulder. “Emails are private. Don’t read it. What does it say?”
    Wade tried not to read it, but his eyes strayed.
     
    Lca guygas eamizub zb.
    Bluysna luynaedab odxx sio wands.
    Juilatl lca Hyndblaub xanytq.
    Rdse lca loaxma uaxdtb.
    Qiz yua lca xybl.
     
    Darrell frowned. “Does Dad read German? Or is that Russian?”
    “Neither. It’s got to be some kind of code.”
    “Code. Wait, is our dad a spy? He’s a spy, isn’t he? Of course he’s a spy, he never told me he was, which is exactly what a spy would do. I knew it. It’s that beard. No one really knows what he looks like under there.”
    “Darrell, no.”
    “He’s probably a double agent. That’s the best kind. No one’s a single agent anymore. Or, no, a triple agent. That’s even better. Wait, what is a triple agent—”
    The door squeaked open. “So there you are!”
    Wade shot up from the desk the moment his father entered the observatory. “Nothing!” he said.
    Roald Kaplan had run track in high school, had been a champion long-distance runner in college, and still ran the occasional marathon. He was trim and tall and handsome behind sunglasses and a dark, close-cut beard. “Sara’s safely off on her flight to Bolivia. Thanks for hanging out here, while we did our last-minute zipping around. What are you guys up to?”
    “Well,” Darrell piped in, “I found gum.”
    “And I . . . ,” Wade said, “. . . didn’t?”
    Darrell cleared his throat. “Wade’s odd behavior means he’s worried. Which, I know, is not breaking news, but he found something bizarro on your computer . . .”
    Wade pointed at the computer screen. “Dad, I’m sorry, but it was an accident that I saw the screen at all. I know I shouldn’t have read the email, but I saw it, and . . . what’s going on? It’s from Uncle Henry, but it looks like code.”
    Dr. Kaplan paused for a long moment. His smile faded away. He leaned over Wade and tapped the keyboard. The email printed out on a nearby printer. Then he deleted the message and shut the computer off.
    “Not here. Not now.”

Chapter Four
    “C an you at least tell us why Uncle Henry’s writing to you in code?” Wade asked when they got into the car. “Is he in trouble? Or in danger? Dad, are we in danger?”
    “You worry too much,” said Dr. Kaplan, unconvincingly.
    “Is Uncle Henry a spy?” asked Darrell. “Because if he’s a spy, that’s huge. A spy in the family would actually be terrific and awesomely cool. As you probably already know, I would make a perfect spy—”
    “Boys, please,” Dr.