Double Vision (3 page)

“Away from the entry.” She waved to the side of the tall brick building. “We need to keep a low profile.” That explained the Thrifty Suites accommodations. But as much of a bummer as the motel was, our ride was impressive: a black SUV, chrome wheels, tinted windows. I stopped on the sidewalk to admire how shiny and cool it was.

“Now this is more like it,” I said to Agent Stark.

“Get in. You're drawing attention,” she said, glancing up and down the street. But nobody was noticing us—they were all too busy getting to work, or wherever it was they were off to.

I got in and sat on the shiny black leather upholstery. I used my teeth to open the pastry packaging and looked down at the spotless floor mats. “Are you sure I can eat in here?” I asked Agent Stark.

“Someone will clean up after you.” She got in. “Now remember: You're checked in as Benjamin Green.”

“Sure, yeah. You know, you match the car,” I joked as I took a bite of the cardboard roll, pointing at Agent Stark's black suit. “If you paint your face black, no one would ever know you were here. You could be a ninja.”

Agent Stark ignored me, but I was pretty sure I caught a hint of a smile. She tapped the dark glass window that connected to the driver's portion of the SUV. “Let's go.” Once the SUV moved, she handed me a cell phone. “Here's your Pandora phone for this mission. We all have the same kind—please don't use it for personal calls.”

I took the phone. “How about my parents—can I call them?”

Stark hesitated. “Just keep it short. You need to be reachable at all times.”

I tucked the phone in my pocket. “So what is the mission, exactly?”

“I don't know yet.” Stark looked uneasy. “I haven't spoken to Black in two days. He's not picking up his phone.” She sounded panicked, which was very much unlike Stark.

“Why not?”

“Never mind,” Stark said, composing herself. “We'll simply go to the White House. I'm sure it'll all be clear once we get there,” she added, not sounding sure at all.

So I just sat back and looked outside, watching the cars zoom the opposite way. And with each passing car and building, I felt more uneasy. Even Agent Stark didn't know what was going on. That couldn't be good.

Because Black was hiding something. My gut knew it. That, or those plastic cinnamon rolls were talking.

Agent Stark seemed to sense I wasn't feeling the assignment. She tried a smile and said, “It'll be fine, Linc,” then looked away. For a secret agent, she sure was a lousy liar.

The SUV pulled up to a black metal gate. It opened like magic, and the driver followed an asphalt driveway. A couple of squirrels chased each other up a tree. I saw a white building up ahead, but it looked nothing like the White House.

“Where are we?” I asked Stark.

“At the White House.” When she saw my confusion, she added, “We go in at the West Wing entrance. That's where most of the day-to-day business gets done and where the staff meets.”

The driver stopped at a tiny guard building, where he showed his badge to a lady. We then drove on to an overhang in front of the white building.

Agent Stark reached for the door handle but stopped herself. “Remember: You're not some tourist here.” She leaned closer, and I could smell the overly sweet motel pastry on her breath. “So please,
act like an agent
.”

“I know.” She didn't have to be so cranky about it.

“Let's go,” Stark said, getting out of the SUV.

I followed, leaving a trail of crumbs on the upholstery. There was a reason Dad never let me eat in the car.

Stark was already walking up to the entrance, but I took a moment to look around instead. And between the trees, there were those giant white pillars you always see on TV. The ginormous porch that I knew overlooked the lawn, even if I couldn't see it. I had to blink a few times to make sure what I saw was real.

I was at the White House!

“LINC, COME ON!” AGENT STARK CALLED.

I followed her through the glass-paned double doors, inside the West Wing, where two guys in suits used metal detector wands to check us. A gum wrapper in my pocket made it go off, which set us back almost ten minutes—they were really serious about security.

Once we made it past those guys, a short-haired lady in a blue suit motioned for us to follow her.

We came into a room with old oil paintings in gilded frames on the wall. There were several sitting areas with antique red chairs and cherrywood coffee tables—not that we were invited to sit down or anything.

“Can you state your purpose, please?” the lady in the blue suit asked Stark.

“I'm here to see Albert Black,” Agent Stark said, sounding nervous. “He's with the CIA.”

The lady gave her a terse smile. “Can I see your identification, please?”

Agent Stark looked confused as she handed over her badge. She was about to say something when her phone rang. “Black! I've been trying to get hold of you for days,” she hissed, turning away. Stark listened for a minute, then hung up without saying good-bye or anything. She turned around and said, “Gregory Wilson is expecting us.”

The lady nodded and took off for a minute. When she came back, she motioned for us to follow her. We went right, through a door and down a hall lined with more old oil paintings, portraits of historical people and battle scenes. Then we got to another door and took a left down yet another hall. We passed doors along the way, but all of them were closed.

Once down that hall, we went right, where the lady took us outside. We walked down a portico with white pillars to our right and a fancy-looking rose garden beyond. I was pretty sure I'd seen the president stroll this way on TV—too cool, huh?

“Follow along, please,” the lady said when she realized I was trailing.

“Stay close,” Stark hissed in my ear.

Like I was going to go anywhere—there was some tall guy in a suit with one of those earpieces, following close behind. As if bad dudes were going to pop up at any second.

At the end of the portico, we went inside again. And in
that hallway, we were met by a bald guy with a friendly smile.

The lady in the suit gave him a nod and went back the way she came, along with the tall agent.

The guy extended his hand. “I'm Gregory Wilson, the chief usher. But you can call me Wilson; everyone else does.” He shook Stark's hand first, and she introduced herself.

“I'm Linc Baker.”

“It's a pleasure.” The guy had a monster grip. “I wish I had time to give you a tour.” Wilson turned to Agent Stark. “But there's been a development, so you both need to come with me for a meeting. And we have to move fast.”

We followed the guy through the doorway behind him and down a big hall. Then we took a quick left, toward the kitchen. Or at least I assumed that's where we were going, because there was the smell of fresh bread and something sweet baking, like cake.

“So who are we meeting?” I asked.

Wilson gave me a quizzical look, like I was supposed to know. “Why, the president, of course.”

I WAS GOING TO MEET THE PRESIDENT OF
the United States! I felt a little clammy all of a sudden. And I secretly wished Benjamin Green could see me on this awesome mission.

“Where are you taking us?” Agent Stark asked Wilson as we followed him down a flight of stairs and into the basement. The ceilings were low. There was no art or anything on the walls this time. “Seems like we're leaving.”

We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, tucked away to the right of the stairway.

And Wilson said, “We're heading to what's called the clubhouse.”

“A clubhouse, seriously?” I said.

Wilson smiled. “I think it might've been John F. Kennedy who named it, but who knows? The clubhouse is a meeting place the president uses when he or she doesn't want any eyes or ears. You're about to see one of the White House's best-kept secrets.” He opened the wooden door with a key.

There was a smaller stairway that smelled a little like wet dirt. It led to a landing and another door. Wilson pulled out an old key that looked a lot like the one Grandpa uses to lock his old behemoth of a desk back home.

Pausing before it, Wilson turned to face us. “You can't tell anyone about this place, ever. Agreed?”

Agent Stark and I both nodded.

Wilson unlocked the door and said, “Welcome to the White House tunnel.”

I blinked to adjust to the lights along the walls while Wilson locked up behind us. “A secret tunnel? No way!” I laughed.

“This passage goes back to when the mansion was rebuilt after the fire of 1814,” Wilson told us as he led the way. “Over the years, our presidents have used it to move in secret. It's a bit of a walk to the clubhouse, I'm afraid.”

About ten minutes later we got to a heavy metal door. “We're right under the Herbert C. Hoover Building,” Wilson said, using another key to unlock it.

“That's it?” I said. “No infrared laser-beam security system that scans your eyeballs?”

Wilson shook his head as he opened the door. “Sometimes, simple is best.”

Beyond the door was a hallway and to the right, a metal door with an exit sign on it. Straight ahead, I saw an elevator. To the left, there was an open door. We walked into a stone-walled, windowless sitting area. President Griffin sat in a comfortable-looking club chair at the far right of the room, next to Albert Black.

And standing near the wall, arms crossed, looking all smug, was the guy I hated most: Benjamin Green. My blood boiled in an instant. This was supposed to be
my
case! I felt like going over there and smacking him with my skateboard—not very nice, but I couldn't stand the guy.

Why was he here? I glanced at Stark, but she didn't even look my way.

Ben gave me a death-ray stare. The only upside? He seemed to be as mad as I was. “Baker?” he said, spitting the words. “What are you doing in DC?”

“I could ask you the same thing—you're crashing
my
case!” I was ready to get up in his face, but then remembered: The president of the United States was right in the same room. I had to be cool.

“If I had told you he'd be here, you wouldn't have come,” Stark whispered. She pulled me back with her left hand and extended her right. “I'm Agent Angela Stark.” She shook President Griffin's hand. “This is Lincoln Baker.”

I shook her hand, feeling kind of weird. I mean, she was the president! Of the United States! You had to be impressed by that.

But I couldn't focus on how amazing it was that I was
meeting President Griffin. I felt Ben's annoying presence, and I had to bite my lip to keep from exploding.

“Are you twins?” President Griffin asked, her eyes moving from me to Ben and back to me again.

“No!” Ben and I said at the same time.

“We're not even friends,” I said before I could think.

“The resemblance is really remarkable,” President Griffin said to Albert Black.

“None of the other government or spy agencies know about these look-alikes,” Black said. “They're our best-kept secret—a major asset on this mission.”

“I imagine so,” President Griffin said.

Benjamin Green, an asset? My foot. But I knew better than to argue with the president.

We got settled in on a chunky sofa that practically swallowed me whole. Ben sat on the edge, like he was ready to go into action any second. On the stone walls there were old paintings of landscapes and portraits of people I didn't recognize. The White House sure liked its old art.

“Let's get started,” Albert Black said. But before we could, Wilson had us turn off our Pandora cell phones and put them in a basket. I guess they were worried we'd take pictures or record the conversation or something.

“Yes, let's begin.” President Griffin smiled, but she had that same worried look Mom gets when I'm in big trouble. Worried, and a little scared. “Before we start, I need the assurance of everyone in this room that what is discussed will not go anywhere.” She looked at Albert Black.

Like I told you already, Black is the head honcho at Pandora. He's a big guy with a voice that sounds like an avalanche. He likes to wear loud shirts, and I never know if he's going to give me a pat on the back or lay into me for something I did. “Pandora is as secure as any team gets,” Black said.

President Griffin glanced at Wilson. “You came highly recommended. But I still would like each of you to confirm your utmost discretion.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Ben Green said, saluting like the president was his drill sergeant.

“You have my word,” Agent Stark added.

All eyes were on me. “What?” I was still trying hard not to be mad about Ben being there.

“You need to tell the lady that you'll keep your mouth shut,” Albert Black said, giving me a dark look.

“Who am I going to tell? Nobody would believe me anyway.” But then I said, with two fingers in the air, “I won't tell anyone I was here, scout's honor and stuff.”

That got me a little laugh from the president. “I know how you feel, Lincoln. Sometimes all this security feels a little silly.” Then her face got all serious. “Unfortunately, secrecy is my only hope now. There's been a new threat.” President Griffin handed Agent Stark a piece of paper.

Stark gasped—only for a second, but it was obvious that whatever was on the paper shocked her. “Was the note mailed in?”

“I found it on my desk an hour ago,” Wilson said softly. “Whoever wrote this was able to get inside the White House
and inside my office.”

Stark handed me the paper, and I quickly read the note: