Double Vision (6 page)

INTERNATIONAL SPY MUSEUM

“They really don't want you to miss it, huh?” I followed Amy into the museum lobby and to the ticket booth.

“Is Andrea here?” Amy asked the lady behind the counter.

The lady nodded and picked up the phone to call her.

“I'm a member here. You can be my guest,” Amy said to me. She bounced on her heels, and I saw that both her shoes were untied.

“Your laces.” I didn't want her taking a dive if we had to make a run for it.

Amy sighed and knelt down to fix them while Steve found a spot to sit on a bench near the gift shop to the left of the lobby. The store had a retro vibe with the old spy photos and books—Grandpa would love it.

“Well, look who's here,” I heard behind me. A woman with super-short black hair in a black suit and a red shirt walked up to meet us. “Amy,” she said.

“Hey, Andrea.”

They hugged, then Andrea looked at Amy, holding her by the shoulders. “Wait—shouldn't you be in school right now?”

“I have the afternoon off. So relax,” Amy said, pulling away from her grip.

“If you're sure,” Andrea said with a frown. “The last time I had you here during school hours, I ended up being called in by your mother. And I don't like to get on the US president's bad side. If you're cutting school—”

“I'm not.” She pointed to Steve on the bench, who was studying a museum brochure. “See, I have my babysitter along and everything.” Amy poked me with her elbow. “Introduce yourself.”

“Benjamin Green,” I said, remembering my cover. I shook the woman's hand. “I'm supposed to be in school, but the CIA gave me a note.”

That got me a laugh from Andrea. “Let's walk.” We followed her past the booth down a narrow hall. We went left, and I immediately felt like I was in a time warp. There was an old car and a phone booth to our left and a café exhibit to our right. “That's the Berlin Café,” Andrea said when she saw me looking around. “This part of the museum covers the Cold War—but I don't think you came here for a tour, did you?”

“You're right. We need your help. Well, my friend Ben does,” Amy said.

“I'm looking for something that used to belong to George Washington,” I said. This top secret business was really annoying sometimes. I didn't know how much I should tell her.

“The first American spy,” Andrea said with a smile to Amy. “You came to the right place. I've done a lot of research on his spy operation.”

“Washington's organization was called the Culper Ring,” Amy said. “Its members would collect information on British movements and then pass it to the right people. The intelligence gathered by the Culper Ring spies kept the British from taking West Point during the Revolutionary War and took down Benedict Arnold—right, Andrea?”

Andrea nodded. “Let's find a quiet spot,” she said, eyeing a tour group that came in behind us. She led us down a tunnel that looked a little like the White House passage to the clubhouse, only smaller. There were planks on the floor and sandbags stacked against the walls.

“So who were these Culper Ring spies anyway?” I asked.

“The man who ran the operation was Benjamin Tallmadge,” Andrea said. The dim light in the tunnel cast shadows across her face. “He recruited ordinary citizens to deliver messages. We've identified almost all the members. And then there was George Washington, of course. He ordered the Culper Ring into existence. But the members of the ring didn't know each other's names—they all had numbers instead.”

“To keep them safe, right?” Amy asked. You could tell she was really into all that spy stuff.

“Tallmadge kept a code dictionary to send messages,” Andrea said. “It also identified the members of the ring. George Washington was code-named Seven-Eleven.”

I remembered from my meeting with the president that Tallmadge helped Washington hide the Dangerous Double. “So they were friends.”

Andrea nodded.

“If Washington had to hide something, a dangerous secret,” Amy said, glancing at me, “would he use the Culper Ring?”

Andrea thought about that for a moment. “Yes, without a doubt.” She hesitated and then motioned for us to move closer. There was an older couple moving past us in the tunnel, but they didn't seem to care what we were up to.

“Only one member of the Culper Ring remained unidentified,” Andrea continued. “This spy was known only as Three-Five-Five. The book called her simply ‘Lady.' It's thought that Agent Three-Five-Five held something important of Washington's. Something he needed to keep from the public.”

“But that was a couple hundred years ago. So who has this, um, secret
now
?” I asked Andrea. Two museum visitors came into the tunnel, so we moved back to the Berlin Café.

“No one knows,” Andrea said. “There's been talk that the Culper Ring didn't dissolve after the Revolutionary War. That with the unidentified Agent Three-Five-Five, the spy ring continued down the generations.”

“That's it,” I said. “We need to find this new Culper Ring.”

“IT'S JUST CIA FOLKLORE
,” ANDREA ADDED,
straightening a little. “But if I was looking for a secret George Washington hid, I would look for the Culper Ring.”

“And where would we look?” I asked.

“Deep,
deep
undercover,” Andrea whispered, like that was the only logical answer.

I was getting antsy and practically shouted, “There are lives on the line here. Amy's, for one. We need to contact this Culper Ring now!”

Andrea could tell I wasn't kidding, and she said, “Okay. I wouldn't give you this if it wasn't for Amy. And President Griffin.” She opened her wallet and pulled out a dollar bill.

I took the dollar and then saw that it was cut in
half—deliberately, from the looks of it, and in a zigzag pattern. “What's this?”

“It's an old spy trick.” Amy pulled the bill from my hand and held it up.

Quickly glancing around the Berlin Café exhibit, Andrea pushed Amy's arm down. “Keep that out of sight!”

“It's a way to show someone you're legit,” Amy whispered to me. “We connect this part of the dollar to the other half. . . .”

“That way, my contact knows I sent you. He'll be able to get you in touch with the next link in the chain. This is deep cover we're talking about.” Andrea pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and scribbled something down. “Go to this address. Order a dozen and an extra for the cat—say it
exactly
like that,” she said with an urgent sound to her voice. “That's our code.”

I took the paper and the cut-up dollar bill. Seeing Washington on it reminded me of the coat, and how dangerous its invincibility power could be if it fell into the wrong hands. I felt the pressure to hurry up and find the Dangerous Double.

We walked back to the museum lobby. I was a little sorry I wouldn't get to see the rest of the place—for a museum, it looked pretty cool. But I was on a mission here. No time for sightseeing.

“I hope you're ready for the world of deep-cover spies, Benjamin,” Andrea said to me before walking us out. “It can drive you crazy with paranoia just to figure out who to trust.”

“This isn't my first case,” I said. Technically, it was only
my second, but there was no need to point that out.

“Good luck,” Andrea added with a little wave, and she left us near the gift shop, where Steve was napping on the bench, his chin resting on his chest.

“Should we wake him up?” I asked Amy.

She shook her head. “He'll catch up with us. Steve always tracks me by my phone's signal. Where are we going anyway?”

I opened the piece of paper.

“‘Frank: 1100 Maine Ave. SW.'”

“Really?” Amy turned around and cocked her head, like she didn't believe me.

I waved the piece of paper. “What's so special about 1100 Maine Avenue?”

“It's a fish market. Also known as the Fish Wharf.” Amy smiled. “I hope you're hungry.”

THE FISH WHARF WAS ON THE POTOMAC,
the river that runs right through Washington, DC. We walked for almost half an hour to get there—so yes, I was ready for some food. The smell of fish was strong but in a good, smoky way.

I glanced around the packed market. When I looked closer, I saw that it was actually a pier. The vendors were barges that wrapped around it. At the far end, the biggest fish shop had a giant image of a fisherman on the roof that looked a lot like a cartoon. There were about ten fish vendors with clusters of people in front of each one.

“So now what?” I asked.

Amy looked at the piece of paper again. “We're looking for someone named Frank.”

There was no easy way to do this. We'd have to brave the crowd. “Let's just ask at each stand, okay?”

We found one Frank and ordered a dozen and an extra for the cat—as it turns out, we were buying crabs. Frank put them in a large paper bag, like the kind you'd get your groceries in, and tossed them with a cup of seasoning. Then he steamed the food, bag and all. I paid, and that was it.

“Okay, so maybe that wasn't our Frank,” Amy said as we walked away with our bag of crabs. “Frank is a common name, right? Let's try again at another stand.”

We waited in line for fifteen minutes—no Frank. Then another twenty minutes at different vendors, which netted us an annoyed John, a cranky Wanda, and finally, we hit pay dirt and found another Frank. Frank Two gave us our second bag of crabs. He showed no sign of getting our coded message, so all this visit had gotten us was a fishy lunch.

“I'm too hungry to think,” I said, ready for a break. “Let's just eat, and then we'll go back and try again.”

We walked to the left of the Fish Warf, to an area along the Potomac with picnic tables. There was a long bar-like counter made out of two-by-four planks. The counter ran parallel to the river, and there were some people standing, eating their lunch. It was pretty scenic, I have to admit.

And I got why the people of Washington, DC, like their crabs. First, you get to whack the heck out of the shells inside your paper bag with this little hammer—perfect if you've had a long day dealing with weird spy stuff. Then you open the
bag and get to eat with your hands. And the crabs are plain awesome.

“Good, huh?” Amy said as she ripped her paper bag a little more. “Best in the city, if you ask me.”

I was about to tell her that there was a piece of crab hanging from her lip when a big shadow fell over us. It was Frank Two.

“An extra for the cat, huh?” Frank said, leaning on the counter. He was huge, three hundred pounds of heft at least, and at least six-four tall. The guy could take me down in a heartbeat. He sized me up, thinking pretty much the same thing. “I never expected kids.”

“Why not?” Amy piped up behind me. Way to go, Amy, messing with the giant and using me as a shield. “Maybe that's exactly why we make good spies.”

“Shhh!” Frank Two tossed her the evilest of glares. “You don't ever say the
s
word in this city unless you're looking to get in trouble.”

“Whatever.” I couldn't see Amy, but I imagined she rolled her eyes.

Frank Two glanced around. “Did you bring the president?”

“Why would we do that?” Amy said. “She's got stuff to do, you know.”

“He's not talking about
that
president.” I dug into my pocket and pulled out my half of the dollar bill. “He's talking about
this
one.” I placed the bill on the counter so it was hidden by a pile of crab legs.

Frank Two exhaled and pulled another half from his
wallet. He put it next to my half, until you couldn't tell where the zigzag split was.

“This is all really exciting,” I said, careful to keep my voice down, “but how will it help us find what we're looking for?”

Frank laughed, rough and burly, like a guy who's been smoking three packs of cigarettes a day his whole life. “I know who sent you, that's how. This was just a test. I'm step one. Just the beginning, you hear me?”

“So can you tell us where we can find members of the Culper Ring?” I whispered, careful not to use the
s
word.

Frank Two pulled a pen from his breast pocket. Then he leaned over and grabbed a folded newspaper someone had left behind. “You call the classified section of the
Washington Herald
. You place an ad and make sure it's worded
exactly
like this.” He scribbled something on my brown bag, ripped it off, and folded it before I could see what it was. He tucked it in my coat pocket. Thanks to Frank, I would smell like fish for days.

“Then what?” I asked.

“You wait for a message to come.”

“How?” Amy asked.

Frank got all irritated. “You'll know it when it comes, okay?” He leaned close and added in a ticked-off whisper, “Did you think you would just buy some crabs and find a deep-cover spy ring?”

I kind of did, but I figured keeping my mouth shut was the best move around Frank Two.

He shook his head. “You're a disaster. Exposing me, right in my own yard.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, glancing around.

Frank Two dug his fingers into my left arm. “Don't.
Look.
”

“Did someone follow us? No way.”

Frank Two laughed again and kept going until it turned into a cough fest. “You're not from here, are you? Let me guess—California.” He glanced at me. “Somewhere away from the city, but not too remote. Near the beach, but not with your toes in the sand. Central coast, I bet.”

“I'm from Lompoc,” I said, realizing too late I'd let my Ben cover slip. This guy was like a mind reader or something. “How did you know?”