The dead of the night pdf free

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For more information about the German court case, and the reason for blocking all of Germany rather than single items, visit PGLAF's information page about the German lawsuit. All IP addresses in Germany are blocked. This block will remain in place until legal guidance changes. Great book, The Dead of Night pdf is enough to raise the goose bumps alone. Add a review Your Rating: Your Comment:. Hot wtf by Peter Lerangis by Peter Lerangis. Dead of Night by Chris Collett. The Dead of Night by Peter Lerangis.

Now all Amy wanted to do was throw her shoe at the screen. She hated him. She hated his tone of voice. She hated that he was right. And now Atticus was gone. What kind of family leader lets those kinds of things happen? Not Dan. I should have seen this coming. Her red hair was pulled back with a rubber band, her delicate features taut with urgency. Nothing yet.

Short flight, no conspicuous-looking fuel drain. Some family you have — thieves and cowards. She wished she could have called the authorities. Jake himself had turned them in to Interpol. Police were the last people they could afford to see now.

We have the resources. He looked up from his smartphone, his eyes streaked with tears. On his screen was an image of a skinny kid with dreads and a goofball smile. Amy ached for her brother. What other kid could relate to that? Atticus could. He let out an explosive moan, more animal than human.

A sound impossible to hear without becoming physically ill. She had been lucky. Dan was alive. Your punishment this time: A Guardian goes down.

Because she and Dan had been making a drop, and drops were always safe. I should have been watching Atticus like a hawk. How could I have been so stupid? Jake was a powder keg. If he did it again, it meant jail time. Which meant death to the hostages. And no hope for Atticus. My stepmother must have guarded something, too. Tell me, what was it? And what was Att supposed to be guarding? Am I right? So these Vespers. Stupid, cold, awful, cruel logic.

Stop it! They said they would kill a hostage, too. Former Tomas territory. Atticus could be there. So could the hostages. I will find my brother if it kills me. And if it does, I will take you all down with me. Despite the fact that the image was mostly cap, sunglasses, chains, and radiant smile, there was no mistaking the face of world-famous rap artist Jonah Wizard. Do you know how hard it is to hide from fans in a country where my sales are through the roof?

He turned briefly to the screen, giving Amy just enough time to dart between him and the door. On-screen, someone was bumping Jonah from the side. Despite his muscle-packed, two-hundred-pound physique, Hamilton Holt had a hard time jostling Jonah for screen time. My man, Mac and Cheese? Anything happens to Atticus, I will get him to sue you blind. McIntyre was their confidant and friend, the man who set the hunt for the 39 Clues in motion. He had been there in the background, watching over them, like the eyes and ears of their late grandmother Grace.

He was also the last person who would ever sue Dan and Amy. No more noise. Enough thinking about what happened to Atticus. One more moment and he would split apart. He needed hope. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his most recent text: Suspend judgment. The whole story is always more complex than its parts. AJT The words made his blood race. The sight of those initials: AJT. The initials of his long-dead father.

Arthur Josiah Trent. Dan had only known him by the stories Amy told. AJT had died in a fire nine years ago. When this message came in, Amy had scoffed. It could be anyone. Which was logical. But life was not ruled by logic. If the 39 Clues had taught Dan one thing, that was it.

Sometimes good was bad, sometimes dead was alive. Dan poised his thumbs over the keypad. There were so many questions he could ask to prove the ID. Then, if AJT did prove to be real, Dan could ask him. That Dad had renounced them, married Mom, and become a Cahill. He could find out how Dad had miraculously survived the fire. The truth terrified him. Either way.

But if he was, how could Dan adjust to his father coming back to life? Could he forgive the lack of contact? What kind of man would let his own son think he was dead for nine years?

And how could Dan deal with a father who was a Vesper? Suspend judgment. Images raced through his mind — helicopter blades cutting the cable of the gondola in Zermatt.

The sight of Nellie, bloody and pale. The boat chase that had nearly killed them on Lake Como, and the halon gas in the library in Prague. He tossed the phone into a corner.

It bounced harmlessly on the rug. That was exactly how he felt — harmless. He was tired of being the helpless kid. The victim. The chased. The lackey for a voiceless Vesper. When would it stop? Why could they never be on top — why was it that he never scared anyone? Numbers and symbols spilled from his memory — a complex set of ingredients and precise formulas.

A formula thought to have been destroyed in , discovered in a cave in Ireland, and now known only by Dan. It granted superhuman abilities.

Strength to overcome any attack. Speed to move great distances. Intelligence to outthink an army. With it, every decision was clear. Every enemy was doomed. Every mystery yielded to utter clarity. The mystery of AJT would be resolved. He would know. He would know whether he was the one thing he wanted to be, more than anything else. A son. A son to the most detestable man in the world. Twenty-six more ingredients. He had thirteen of the difficult ones already — myrrh from a Chinese herbalist, iron solute and a solution containing tungsten ions from a machine shop, amber from a jeweler, iodine from a pharmacy, and a bunch of stuff from various chemical suppliers: mercury, liquid gold, zinc, magnesium, phosphorus, sulfur, calcium carbonate, and soluble silver in the form of silver nitrate.

Some of the others, like water, clover, salt, and cocoa, would be easy. Dan jumped. Its screen glowed with the text from AJT. She sighed. Dan scowled. Through and through. I wish you could remember his eyes. His life was not a lie. He would have led it.

They could have been anybody. Uncle Alistair survived a cave collapse, Amy! Cahills do things like that. And if Dad tried to save Mom, then watched her burn to death — in a fire set by her own family? Because Isabel Kabra thought they were hiding one of the thirty-nine clues?

Isabel set the fire, and no one helped out — the Holts, Uncle Alistair, none of them. He reeled in shock. They both froze. Dan stooped to pick up the phone and noticed a blinking icon across the top of the screen. A GPS signal. He opened the app and saw a signal moving across a map of western Europe. It was moving east. Along the bottom was the name A. He blinked. On the plane, hours earlier, he had lined up his worst fears — torture, plane crash, poisoning, being shoved out at thirty thousand feet.

Awestruck, he stared into a scene of lopsided, cone-shaped mountains, like giant castles made of dripping wet sand. Atticus stumbled forward, his sleepy eyes focusing. His brain suddenly connected with something that had been dulled by sleep. His terror. Bread truck. It all rushed back. They had knocked him out on the plane. Cheyenne insisted on it. He glanced around for a way to escape. He was no longer handcuffed, but there was nowhere to run.

It looked as if they were in a vast moonscape, the monstrous rock formations casting deep shadows in the afternoon sun. They were heading toward the largest rock, shaped like a sinking ship. At its base, an ominous- looking sign had been tied to a trash can: Atticus rubbed his eyes, recalling his years of online language tutorials.

She shoved him in before he could protest. He hit his head and had to duck low to fit through. His ankle twisted as it landed between two wooden planks, rotted and termite-eaten. Cheyenne scampered on ahead, waving a flashlight. All the convenience of home. She gestured into a corner of the cave, sweeping aside a thick spiderweb. The cave seemed to end there, a tiny, dank chamber big enough for one person. Nothing beyond. Just a cranny in a cave where a dead body could rot and no one would ever see it.

Cheyenne pushed him in. As his back hit the cragged wall, she and her brother crowded close to him. A light blinked on above, bathing them all in a greenish white glow. With a loud scraping noise, the floor beneath their feet began to move.

They were on a circular platform, slowly sinking. Bright lights flickered on below their feet, and soon the cramped, stinking cave gave way to a vast underground chamber. The place was freezing. Enormous maps spanned the walls. A news ticker scrolled headlines near the ceiling. A bank of clocks ticked in unison, telling time in different parts of the world to the thousandth of a second.

Brushed-steel cabinets lined the walls near empty computer workstations, their black, webbed chairs gathering dust. The platform reached the chamber floor with a dull thump. Casper grabbed a chair. His throat was dry. He had to swallow twice before he could eke out a sound. The twins sat. Cheyenne glanced at her brother, rolling her eyes. Atticus screamed. His leg dug reflexively into the floor, propelling the chair backward.

He crashed against a computer table, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Casper cracked up. No one knows where you are. You will not leave until you answer.

My mom was dying. She said I was a Guardian. She said we were enemies of you guys. The Vespers. She said you were after some secret. It was all in fragments — I can barely remember. He stood slowly and sauntered to the wall. There, he opened a cabinet door.

Inside were a series of long knives. Casper pulled one out, a thin blade that made a high-pitched shhhhink. Atticus felt the blood rush from his head. For a moment he could see only white spots.

The room around him seemed to shrink, its frigid temperature warming, the walls rushing in, everything decaying into a tiny trap. His brain flashed an image of the tiny room at the airport. A tiny can. Germ Away. In my head. But I have it. All of it. Slow down. Casper came closer, casually sliding the blade along his fingernail and shaving off a thin slice as if it were butter. And torture. And truth serums.

So we can decrypt it. Is it. That you decrypt? Cheyenne looked dismayed. Hidden on my key chain. He lifted the blade carefully over his head. Then, with gritted teeth, he hurled the knife at Atticus. Atticus screamed and ducked. The blade tore through the fabric of the seat and impaled itself into the table behind. It was ruining the hang of my pants. In a half hour, at seven thirty-two, they will be running for the school bus.

And you, halfway across the world, will have decrypted your flash drive and given us all your supposed information. A half hour? Even if he could make contact — with anyone — a half hour was not enough time. She yanked it out and held it toward the light. As in deltoid muscles. She turned and banged on the cell door. Hello — wherever you wretched people are?

A little sushi down here? Look at me! She had been looking at Natalie way too much. All of the rest of them, too. They were getting sick, too. All it took was one cold, and they were all infected. Only germs could thrive in a place like this. To clear the sinuses. Everything above the neck hurt whenever she spoke. Being shot in the shoulder was the Number One worst event in her entire twenty-two years.

Followed close by Numbers Two through Four: being away from gourmet cooking, giving up her iPod cold turkey, and enduring Natalie Kabra. Natalie glared at her. Even though mockery is awfully inconsiderate toward someone who saved your life. Her precisely plucked eyebrows made her the hostage with the most tweezer expertise. And Natalie had been been fishing for compliments ever since. Next to him, a thin, silver-haired Fiske Cahill also hit the floor.

We deed rest. Or Michael Phelps? Or Neil Armstrong? Come on, guys — what are we? Reagan was about to launch into another pep talk when Ted held up his hand. Nellie adored Ted. Now he was sitting bolt upright. Instead of answering, Ted fell to all fours.

Cringing at the pain, Nellie dropped beside him. She eyed the ceiling cameras. Dead of Night by Chris Collett. The Book of Tomorrow by Cecelia Ahern. Dead Tomorrow by Peter James. The Dead of Night by Peter Lerangis.