Double Vision (18 page)

“We're not going in through the front door.” John Smith drove away from the White House and didn't say anything for a while.

“You have a helicopter, don't you?” Henry said to Smith from his spot in the back. “We'll rappel down in the White House yard or something. Right?”

“
Rappelling?
” John Smith laughed while he parallel-parked in a space that seemed too small for his truck. “Where'd you pick this kid up?” he asked me.

“He's my gadget guy,” I said, motioning for Henry to shut up. “He gets most of his spy tactics from the movies.” So did I, but I wasn't about to tell Smith that.

“No helicopters.” John Smith got out and waved, telling us to follow. He tossed Nixon a couple of biscuits from his pocket and locked the truck. “No need to come in from up high when we can take the low road.”

“Huh?” Henry said.

I smiled, because I got what John Smith had planned. “We're taking the tunnel, Henry.”

We'd arrived in front of the visitor center. Our outfits got us a few looks from tourists, so we hurried toward the elevator.

“There's a real-life tunnel, going to the White House?” Henry asked as we got on.

“Shhh!” Smith hissed. He glanced around while he used the key around his neck to get us access. “There are cameras and microphones in every elevator.”

“Really?” Henry squinted.

We got off the elevator before my gadget guy would get too carried away looking for surveillance equipment.

“I know the tunnels are a great way to crash the party,” I whispered to Smith to avoid getting shushed. “But don't we need the keys to get in?”

Smith smiled. “I called in a favor from an old friend.”

And that's when I saw Wilson, holding the big metal door open for us. “We have to hurry,” he said. “I'm expected at the ball.”

Henry, Smith, and I rushed down the tunnel. Henry's jaw was practically dragging on the ground. “Dude, this tunnel is awesome!”

Wilson gave him a hurried smile. “I wish I could give you the proper tour, but unfortunately, we have to run.” We did sprint—and it's really hard to run in a Revolutionary War costume, let me tell you. Wilson opened the last few doors, and we rushed up the stairs, where I could already smell some kind of good soup or whatever.

Once we were upstairs, Wilson led us into a small room across from the staff kitchen, where a bunch of chairs were stacked high. “I hope your mission is a success. I wish . . .” He smiled in a sad way.

“You've done enough,” Smith said. “Get out of here, before they miss you.” They shook hands and hugged, like my dad does with my uncles. And I wondered.

Was Wilson part of the Culper Ring?

I turned to Smith, but he shook his head. “Don't say what you're thinking. Just go up to the East Room. Save the first family.”

“Save Amy,” Henry said. He looked really nervous.

“We follow the waitstaff inside,” I said, trying to focus on my sort-of plan. “Make sure Ben sees us and knows we're there. Then we wait for Steve. Take the coat and stuff.” I couldn't get myself to say “bomb.” What if we couldn't stop him?

“He's already here,” Smith said. “He'll want to take time to blend in. People usually aren't late for a White House gala.”

“You think Steve is already at the ball?” Henry asked Smith. He looked stressed to the max. “Right
now
, wearing the Dangerous Double? With a
b-o-m-b
?”

“Chill, Henry.” My friend looked like he was about to bolt, and I couldn't have that. I needed him. “Let's go find Steve.”

Smith nodded. “I have to run.”

“How are you getting out without Wilson?” I asked.

“I'll slip out the staff entrance—this place is hard to get into, but easy enough to leave,” Smith said with a grin.

“Wait—how are we going to get back out the tunnels without you or Wilson?” Henry asked Smith.

I glanced at Smith. We both knew that this mission wouldn't go down like that. There would be no quiet escape. We'd either be heroes or get blown to a gazillion pieces. And I couldn't give Henry that last option, because he'd lose his hot dogs all over the fancy White House carpet.

“We'll figure it out, Henry.” I pulled him along and opened the door. Lucky us: A slew of waiters was just passing with trays of snacks. “Come on,” I whispered. I turned to say bye to Smith, but he was already gone.

Henry and I followed the waiters, careful to hang back far enough not to get noticed. Up the spiral stairs and to the East Room, where the party was hopping. Well, in a grown-up, boring kind of way. On the wall, there was that painting of George Washington. Like we needed reminding of why we were there. The place was crowded, hoopskirts touching, dudes in wigs—they were everywhere.

And to make things worse: I'd already counted a dozen George Washington uniforms.

So which one was the Dangerous Double?

I WAS FEELING SICK TO MY STOMACH.
What if I couldn't find Steve in time? I only had ten minutes!

I took a breath to chill out.
Focus.
Our Dangerous Double had marks from the gunfire that George Washington took when he wore it—so I could spot Steve that way, right? But since the coat made you invincible, those marks were really faint. You had to be up close to see them.

I pulled Henry along so we could roam the crowd and find Steve.

Henry groaned next to me. “Man, I can't take this stress. I don't think fieldwork is for me. I'm the gadget man.” He sounded like he was about to lose it. “Where are Ben and Amy?”

“They're over there, across the room.” I saw Ben Green, scanning the room like the good junior secret agent he was. He stood near Amy and the president. Several Secret Service guys were nearby, dressed in period costume but easy to spot.

“Steve has a real bomb,” Henry whispered. “Right now, in this room?”

“Just be quiet for a second, Henry.” I needed to think. And I needed these people to leave. That was the only way to spot Steve—by how he behaved. He wouldn't want to leave. “Hey, Henry,” I said, leaning close to my friend. “How do we clear the room?”

“Fire alarm?”

I didn't see a red lever nearby, so I shook my head. “I have an idea.” I smiled and moved close to the table that had a bunch of snacks and a big punch bowl on it. I took a breath and yelled, “It's a rat!”

The room quieted, but not completely. Not yet.

“I saw a rat, right over there!” I yelled, and pointed under the table. “Everyone get out now!”

My words traveled around the room like fresh gossip in a middle school cafeteria. People moved, and some groups quickly headed toward the exit. This was good. The more people got to safety, the better. The place was emptying out—fast.

And that's when I spotted the guy across the room, just a few dozen feet away from the first family.

Steve.

THE MARKS ON HIS COAT WERE FAINT
but unmistakable. Steve looked up, and I could tell he was miffed that people were leaving. We locked eyes.

Steve froze. He was about fifty feet away from me. And about the same distance from the president, Amy, and Ben, who were surrounded by Secret Service.

Steve looked back at Ben, who stood half in front of Amy. Then he looked at me, confused by the whole double business.

I had to take advantage of this moment and move.
Now.

“Get down!” I yelled as I charged Steve. I ran into him like a deranged football player, hoping my desperate plan would work.

And I saw Ben run, too.

Our likeness was confusing Steve enough to make him freeze. He stumbled, and Ben and I managed to take him down.

Henry ran up behind us. He sat down on Steve's legs as I put my boot on Steve's left shoulder. Ben rammed his foot into Steve's right arm. Three other Secret Service dudes rushed the president and Amy out of the room.

And then the last two Secret Service guys were all over us. They pushed us aside and lifted Steve up by his armpits. They took the George Washington coat off, and Ben snatched it. We'd recovered the Dangerous Double.

Henry smiled at me. “That was amazing!”

It
was
amazing. Even if I was a little sore from our pileup.

I was about to high-five Henry. But then I saw what the Secret Service guys pulled from Steve's bag.

The bomb.

The two agents got into a frenzy, trying not to mess with the thing as they placed it on the ground.

“We need to call the bomb squad,” Ben said. “Get the professionals in here.”

“Great idea,” I said, pointing at the red numbers counting down. “You think they can get here in three minutes?”

Suddenly, the room was super-quiet. We all stood frozen, watching the numbers tick down.

3:05

3:04

3:03

I couldn't think! Until I remembered my gadget guy and the reason I brought him to the party. “Henry,” I said.

He had his eyes fixed on the timer, looking like he was ready to bolt.

“We need you to dismantle the bomb, buddy.”

TWICE A YEAR, MY SCHOOL HAS A FIRE
drill. Yours probably has one, too. You're supposed to leave the building in an orderly fashion—like that's ever going to happen at a middle school, right? Our class is usually one of the last ones to make it to the football field, and we're always missing Daryl somehow. If there's ever an actual fire at Lompoc Middle School, we're in real trouble.

Let me tell you, my school could learn something about quick evacuation procedures from the White House. By the time Henry crouched on the floor near the ticking bomb, it was just me, Henry, Ben, and a Secret Service guy who had Steve in a gnarly arm lock. The president and Amy had been
taken to a “safe haven” (I figured that was code for anywhere but here). And the party crowd had left the building.

“I got this,” Henry said. His nerves seemed to have cooled now that he could work his tech magic.

“Do you know how to dismantle this bomb?” I asked Henry. We were at 2:21 now and counting down.
Fast.

Henry nodded. “I think so.” He pulled a small pocketknife from his Revolutionary War costume coat and tossed his wig aside. “You're lucky I always carry this.” Henry popped out a teeny screwdriver from the knife's center. Then he began unscrewing the plastic top off the gray box that was the bomb.

2:09

Henry carefully lifted the cover. He smiled when he saw the cluster of red, black, and green wires. “This is easy.”

Steve laughed. “That's what you think? A ten-year-old kid thinks he can dismantle a bomb designed by one of the best explosives experts in the world.”

1:59

“Shut up, Steve,” I said. “Nobody asked for your opinion.” I put myself in between Steve and Henry so Henry wouldn't have to look at the guy.

“And I'm not ten,” Henry muttered as he put his pocketknife down. “I'm twelve. But a ten-year-old could dismantle this, actually.”

1:46. I hoped he was right with all that smack talking.

Henry reached inside the bomb. “Here we go,” he whispered. And he pulled the black wires.

We all looked at the clock. Held our breaths. It stopped at 1:37.

I high-fived Henry. “That was awesome!”

Henry got up and smiled. He wiped his forehead. “The geek saves the day,” he said. “Maybe I'll make the news or something.”

But then something awful happened. The clock did some funky number spin, like it was resetting. And then it stopped.

1:00

“What just happened?” Ben asked Henry.

Henry didn't say anything. His eyes darted to the bomb, watching the numbers change. Then he looked at Steve.

Steve just smiled.

0:51

0:50

The bomb was counting down again.

0:49

0:48

This was not good.

“This bomb has a backup inside,” I said. “It's counting down again!”

Henry crouched down again. He put his head flat against the floor to look at the bomb. “It's a Babushka,” he whispered. “I'd heard of these, but . . .”

“Yeah, it got stolen—didn't Stark or Black tell you?” I asked.

Henry shook his head. “I would've remembered that. Why didn't
you
tell me?”

“I didn't think it mattered,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “A bomb's a bomb, right?”

“Wrong,” Henry whispered.

“What's the deal with the Ba
biba
—whatever?”

0:44

“You know those Russian nesting dolls? They're called babushkas. This bomb is like that. You take off the cover, dismantle the first bomb. And you think you're done, right?” Henry was sweating. “But then the timer resets, because there's another one inside.”

“Are you capable of dismantling it?” Ben asked. He looked seriously stressed, too.

Henry nodded. “I can, but the clock will just reset for the next bomb, hidden inside this one. It's pointless.”

“So it's worse than a double,” I mumbled.

0:32

Ben turned and pulled Steve toward him by his shirt collar. “How do we dismantle this explosive device? Answer me!”

Steve looked pretty scared—Ben was impressive that way, even if he was just a twelve-year-old kid. But everyone (including Steve) knew Steve had the upper hand. “You can't dismantle it,” he said. “It's designed to blow. No matter what.”