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Authors: F. T. Bradley

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BOOK: Double Vision
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The receptionist was right: It really didn't make any sense. At all. I wrote the message down anyway.

After I hung up the phone, I showed the notepad to Henry.

“Are you buying a car?” he asked.

“No.” I explained the ad I put in the newspaper.

“That's very old-school spy. Nowadays, we use the Internet for everything.”

“So what does this message mean?”

“Lincoln—maybe that's you,” Henry said as he looked at the Thrifty Suites Motel notepad.

“So I'm just a thousand bucks? That's a deal.” Then I thought of something. “But I gave Ben's name, so that makes no sense. Abraham Lincoln was a president—maybe that's the White House or something?”

Henry shoved me in the shoulder. “The Lincoln Memorial!”

“Ouch.” I rubbed my arm. Henry had a good punch for a scrawny kid. “That's right here in Washington, DC, so that
makes sense. What about the rest?”


Lincoln is still for sale, but won't last.
That probably means this spy isn't going to wait for you.” Henry pointed at the price. “Are you supposed to bring money? I mean, that's a lot.”

“I don't know.” I stared at the thousand dollars I'd written on the notepad. What twelve-year-old has that kind of cash? “What if it's not money? We have the place of the meeting—what if that's the time?”

“Ten o'clock!” Henry yelled really loud.

“Shhh! You know, you'd make a terrible spy,” I said, but I was kind of excited, too. We'd cracked the message code.

“I'm the gadget guy for a reason.” Henry pointed at the clock, which told me it was almost nine o'clock. “You might want to hustle.”

“That Lincoln won't last.”

21
WEDNESDAY, 9 A.M.
34 HOURS UNTIL THE BOMB

THIS LINCOLN WAS IN DESPERATE NEED
of a shower, so I rushed to clean up and change. I headed out of Henry's room, passing room 512 on the way. The door was closed, with no sign of the mess inside.

I took the stairs and rushed through the lobby—so fast that I almost ran someone down. “Amy?”

She smiled, looking all fresh and rested and wearing her red wig again. “In the flesh. It took you long enough to get going.” Amy gave me a frown. “You know I've been waiting almost half an hour?”

“You're not supposed to be here,” I said before I could think. “Where's Steve anyway?”

“Outside.” She pointed to the revolving door, where you could see glimpses of Steve's dark suit. “I told him I was showing my friend Ben around the city, which is sort of true. He offered to drive, but I figured walking is better. Easier to lose him, you know?” Amy grinned.

“Right.” I tried to think of a way to lose her but couldn't come up with anything. I was about to meet some super-secret deep-cover spy, and I had the first daughter tagging along.

This was not good.

“Your shoes are untied again,” I said.

Amy crouched down to fix the problem, looking kind of embarrassed.

“Your mom will be mad if she finds out you're coming along on the mission,” I said. Lame argument, I know. But the girl was like Velcro.

“Mom thinks I'm just going to hang around the White House and study for four years—maybe even eight if she gets elected for a second term. I don't think so.”

I didn't know what to say about that, so I let her walk outside with me.

“How'd you even know where I was staying?”

“Remember how Steve picked you up for dinner yesterday?” She shrugged. “I just asked him to take me to get you.” Steve was still hanging back near the revolving door, looking like a doorman. “Now tell me where we're going.”

As we walked away from the Thrifty Suites, I told her about the Lincoln Memorial and how Henry and I cracked
the code. “So now we have to hurry.”

“Before Ben gets wind of it.” She was reading my mind—Ben could easily steal my plan, just like I'd stolen his package.

I stopped at the corner of the motel building. Steve stopped, too, standing about twenty feet behind us. “I need to figure out a way to slow Ben down,” I said to Amy. A guy in a tracksuit passed us, talking on his cell phone.

Amy nodded. “Get him busted or something.”

The guy with the phone gave me an idea. Something that worked for me in the past, something I'd done with Daryl and Sam when Sam's mom took away his Xbox and we were bored out of our minds. “Do you have a phone?”

“Of course.” Amy dug into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone.

“Is your number traceable? Like with caller ID?”

“No. Secret Service set it up that way,” Amy said, confirming what I'd hoped.

I pulled the piece of paper from my pocket, the one with everyone's phone number on it. I cleared my throat. Dialed Ben's number. But then my own phone rang in my pocket.

Huh?

I took a second to process how I could've called myself.

Ben and I had accidentally swapped phones.

It must've happened down in the clubhouse, when Wilson made all of us put our phones in the basket. That's why I got the call about the package—Ben had given the delivery company his number. I wasn't sure what to do with this information but figured I'd deal with it later.

“What's wrong?” Amy asked.

“Don't worry about it.” I dialed my own number. And waited, one ring, two, three—

“Yes.” Ben's voice was gruff, like he was just way too busy to answer the phone or something.

“Agent Green?” I asked in my lowest voice. Hoping he would fall for it. “This is the United States Secret Service.”

Ben hesitated, like maybe he wasn't buying it. But then he answered, “Yessir. Please identify.”

What was I supposed to say to that? “This is Agent, um, Steve. We need you to report to the White House immediately. Something has come up with the presidential mission.”

“POTUS. Copy that, sir.” Ben seemed to hesitate. “Have you notified other agents?” I almost cracked up. He was worried that I'd been called in, too.

“Negative,” I said in my darkest tone of voice. “This notification is for you alone, Agent Green. Top secret. Wait in the White House staff kitchen until you are called in by, um, POTUS. Strictly confidential, eyes only.” I might've overdone it with that last part.

But Ben bought it. “Copy, sir,” he said in a fake deep and confident voice. “I will be there in thirty.”

I hung up, because I couldn't keep from laughing any longer. And neither could Amy.

“Ben will be stuck there forever before he figures out he's been had,” she said as we walked to the Lincoln Memorial. I hoped Amy was right about my phone call to Ben. “That was fun. I haven't made prank calls in a long time.”

We zigzagged from street to street, passing one important-looking building after another. I was glad I had Amy with me. I had no idea where we were.

“We're here.”

There was a big open plaza in front of the Lincoln Memorial, with small steps leading up to another level. Amy almost tripped over one as we walked up. The place looked like a Greek monument or something: white, with giant pillars at the entry. A wide stairway made it feel even more impressive. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw the Washington Monument off in the distance, with the Reflecting Pool stretching in front.

“Do you know what your contact looks like?” Amy asked, scanning the crowd.

“No clue,” I answered. Tourists were everywhere, taking pictures of the Lincoln Memorial. Steve hung back, talking on his cell phone. It sounded like he was arguing with his girlfriend or something.

I followed Amy up the stairs, mostly because I didn't have a better idea. An old dude with a POW baseball cap sat on the third step. At the top, there was a giant stone chair with Abraham Lincoln sitting in it. “Whoa, someone really super-sized the guy.” My voice echoed off all the stone.

“Lincoln was a great president,” a man said behind me. “Maybe the greatest that ever was. Or maybe that was Washington.”

I turned around to look at the old man I saw on my way in. Up close, you could really see the wrinkles, the bushy
gray hair. And I had a gut feeling.

This was the spy.

“I kind of like our current president,” Amy said, jutting her chin. “Sometimes, a lady can do a better job, you know.”

“History will tell,” the spy dude grumbled. His eyes darted—to the stairs and the people that roamed the memorial. “You brought them.” He cursed under his breath.

“Who?” Amy was annoyed. She still didn't get that this was our contact.

“One o'clock.” Spy Guy glanced across the giant plaza in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

“That old lady?” Amy gave me a look.

“She's not old,” Spy Guy said. “I'm guessing about thirty-five. Just a good disguise.”

I squinted but didn't see how an old lady in a blue shirt with a quilted bird on it could be an agent in disguise.

“And at ten o'clock—that African American couple.” Spy Guy huffed. “You brought them, too, didn't you?” He started to get super-stressed now. “This is a trap—I knew it!”

“Dude, calm down.” I looked at Amy, but she was still trying to figure out how the African American couple in their jeans and wool coats could be spies. They acted like your usual tourists. “I think you're being paranoid,” I told Spy Guy.

That got me the wickedest death ray of all time. He shoved me and started rushing down the stairs.

“Hey, wait!” Amy called.

Big mistake. People looked up. And that old lady, and the African American couple? They started moving. Following
our man. He was right: They really were agents.

Spy Guy was running now, sending his POW cap flying. He was my only lead to the Dangerous Double—and he was getting away!

Without him, I had nothing.

So I ran after him.

22
WEDNESDAY, 10:14 A.M.

“COME ON!” I PULLED AMY ALONG. WE
raced after our spy, but he was pretty fast for an old guy. And since I had Amy with me, I couldn't use my skateboard.

We ran to the street behind the Lincoln Memorial. Steve was nowhere in sight. By the time we caught up with our guy, he was already in an old beat-up truck, ready to drive away.

Amy and I didn't stop until we reached the truck. I looked over my shoulder but didn't see the people who'd been following us. Not yet, anyway. I tapped the passenger-side window.

Spy Guy shook his head.

I moved in front of the truck and gave him my best death-ray stare as I leaned on the rusty hood. I wasn't about to let my only lead get away. And I really hoped he wasn't into running
down twelve-year-old kids.

Spy Guy looked miffed but then waved for us to get inside. Once we got in the backseat, he barked, “Get down!”

His truck smelled like old socks and wet dog. Newspapers littered the floor and the seats.

“Cover up.” Spy Guy tossed a hairy blanket over us, and I thought I was going to gag. It was a good thing Amy's hair smelled like apples, because otherwise, I think I might've just taken off. This truck was seriously gross. Spy Guy started the engine, and it made a roaring noise as he pushed the gas. He cursed.

“What's wrong?” I called from under the blanket.

“They got themselves a car,” Spy Guy said. “Hold on. This is gonna get bumpy.” I was expecting him to speed, but he just puttered down the street, leaving a black plume as his only trail.

With the blanket over my head, I snuck a peek out the rear window. Traffic was light enough for me to spot the African American couple in a sedan, just a few cars behind the truck.

“Hang tight,” Spy Guy said over his shoulder.

Suddenly, he turned right—
hard
. Sending me and Amy flying in the back. A sharp left threw us to the other side. And just as I tried to look out the back again, he slammed the brakes, so my head jerked back.

We'd stopped in some sort of alleyway, behind a Dumpster.

“Did you lose them?” I asked, rubbing my forehead.

“Think so. We'll hang here another minute, to be safe.”
Spy Guy pulled at his hair and took off a wig, revealing a gray-haired crew cut. Then he peeled back a layer of wrinkly skin and looked a whole lot younger. He still looked old—fifty or sixty, but no longer ancient.

“Who are you?” Amy asked. She straightened her wig, tucking a blond curl back under it. “You don't look like a spy.”

“That's the idea,” he said. “I'm John Smith.” Sounded like a fake name, but okay.

“Benjamin Green,” I said.

John Smith laughed. “No, you're not. You're his look-alike, Lincoln Baker.”

He knew.
I didn't know what to say, plus the stink in the truck was overwhelming. I tried to crack the window open, but the handle was gone.

“The auto mechanic's son,” John Smith said with a nod. He started the truck back up, and we drove out of the alley. “Should be safe now.”

“How do you know about Ben and me being look-alikes and about my dad's shop?” I asked Smith.

“I still have my contacts, and I like to keep an eye on Pandora. But don't worry—your double status is still a well-kept secret.” We'd now left the city and were driving on a highway lined with trees. “So you're on a new mission, huh?”

“It's fun,” Amy said cheerfully.

Smith gave her a sharp look in the rearview. “This isn't some game,
missy
. These agents you're toying with wouldn't hesitate to come to your house and kill you in your sleep—heck, they can make it so you never even existed.”

Amy looked like someone had just slapped her in the face.

“Take it easy, man,” I said.

Smith clutched the steering wheel. “You kids have no idea who you're dealing with.” He took a deep breath to calm down. “You don't know what it's like, always looking over your shoulder.”

BOOK: Double Vision
12.71Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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