The Doublecross (10 page)

Mission: Find out who's the hero
(and who's the villain)
Step 1: Get onto the control deck

“Hale!” one of the HITS called out. He waved to me, his fingers thick with dust from a tub of cheese puffs. “So, man. Yesterday.”

“Yeah.” I sighed, stepping into the doorway. “I dunno. It was just—”

Another HITS shook his head at me. “Hey, man, your parents are missing. It happens. They gave you janitorial duty?”

I smiled a little and nodded. I hated the fact that I didn't want to become a HITS guy—they were a thousand times nicer than Walter and four thousand times less sweaty.

“Want to take a break?” the first HITS guy said a little slyly. “Play a round of Starfighter?”

I grinned, then set my broom and dustbin by the door and walked over to one of the HITS guy's desks. He hurriedly closed a few windows on his screen, switched the settings over so I couldn't open any files, and then offered me his chair.

“All right,” one of them said, clicking something; suddenly the giant world map was replaced by the Starfighter opening sequence. I wasn't really good at the game, but they were, and I think they fully believed that one day I would give up and join them. And when that day came, I guess they wanted me to already be good at their favorite game.

“We got the expansion pack,” one of the HITS guys explained.

“I thought you said it didn't come out for another few months?”

“It doesn't,” he said with a wicked smile. “Come on, Hale. We're the tech guys at an elite spy organization, and you don't think we can break into Starfighter's servers?”

I laughed and forced myself to slouch and relax as we started up a game. I stole a glance at the clock every time we paused the game so they could take long swigs from their energy drinks/coffees. One fifty-three.
Come on, Kennedy
. I felt dumb worrying—this was the nine-year-old who broke into League headquarters. Surely she could handle sneaking out of class for
this
.

One fifty-seven. We started up another game and I began to lose faith—what if she'd been caught? She'd get punished again, and it would be my fault.

The intercom by the center computer beeped loudly, a light at the top flashing red. The HITS guys froze the game, the team leader cleared his throat, and the others sank down into their desks—throwing me out of my chair—like one big choreographed motion. They might be the HITS, but they were still trained by the SRS.

“HITS, how can we help?” the agent said quickly. The others were at their stations, poised and ready to act.

“Hi—can you guys come help me? I'm in the computer lab on level four and the whole thing is acting weird.” My sister's voice was loud and so high-pitched, it made the speaker crackle.

Step 2: Create a diversion the HITS can't ignore

“Have you tried restarting?” the agent said as the others relaxed. They used the lull to ball up their empty chip bags and toss them toward the trash can. They all missed.

“Yeah, but it's just—okay, so I'm making a project on hypnosis for class with Agent Farley, and I wanted to make it pretty, so I downloaded all these free fonts off a website. And then this thing popped up that said I'd won a laptop, and I clicked it, and then—”

Again, like a dance number, the HITS jumped to their
feet. They sprinted for the door, their footsteps slapping down the hall so loudly, they sounded like a stampede. I heard them round the outside corner, shouting about virus protection and secure networks. It wouldn't take long before they sent someone back to watch the deck while the others performed software surgery on Kennedy's computer. I rushed across the eerily silent control deck and slid into the center computer desk—it was the one most likely to have full security clearance.

Step 3: Gather intel

First, Project Groundcover. It didn't take me long to figure out how to open case files—after all, I'd seen the HITS guys do it dozens of times.

Project Name: Groundcover
Status: Gold Level Classified

I groaned, louder than I'd intended—Gold Level meant only Dr. Fishburn could access it from his office computer. Still, I scrolled down. Most of the mission details were grayed out and unclickable. At the bottom, however, was a category that, while unclickable, still provided information that made me freeze for a dangerously long time.

Active Agents:
Katie Jordan (Role: RETINA SCAN REQUIRED TO ACCESS)
Joseph Jordan (Role: RETINA SCAN REQUIRED TO ACCESS)

There were other agents listed as well. A few were junior agents, but most were names I didn't recognize—I guessed they were probably from other SRS facilities. One was Alex Creevy, a name I vaguely remembered Clatterbuck mentioning back at The League—
Everything on Creevy was locked up ages ago.
I clicked on all the names uselessly, hoping to reveal more information, but finally the computer beeped angrily at me. If I kept this up, the entire thing might shut down—I had to keep moving. I closed the window, opened the index of SRS agents, and typed frantically.

Katie Jordan.
Mom's file popped up, the borders of the window bright red to indicate the security clearance needed to access it. I heard something in the hall—maybe just the AC kicking on, maybe footsteps, but I didn't have time to pause and dwell on it. The computer slowed as the system struggled to pull up the hundreds of missions she'd participated in, Project Groundcover included. Meanwhile Dad's face appeared slightly smaller beneath hers, under the heading “Current Partner.” Finally the computer caught up, and I scrolled down frantically. Status, status, I just needed to see her status. If SRS was telling the truth, she'd be listed as “missing in the field.”

I froze, staring at the screen. Blinking, angry letters smashed through my eyes all the way to my brain, rummaged around, and tore up everything I thought was real.

Status: In the Weeds

Mom and Dad were marked to be eliminated on sight. By SRS.

You know that feeling when you're in the car, and you go over some little dip in the road, and your stomach goes up for just a second? At the moment you're a little scared because you feel all off balance, but once it's over, you realize it was pretty fun, and want to go over it again. But then the supervising agent driving you to the dentist is like,
No, we don't have time to go over bumps just for fun, Hale, now be quiet
?

Maybe that last part is just me.

But anyway, that feeling—like the world was dropping out from under you suddenly—that was what reading about my parents being In the Weeds felt like. The world fell away, and I kept waiting for that moment, the moment where someone revealed that this was all just a joke or a training mission or some sort of twisted test. I'd be embarrassed
that I'd fallen for it, and my parents would come out and remind me that I should have kept my cool, and hug me, and then we'd go home and I'd complain about my uniform and we'd talk about blast-door-wiring schematics over dinner, like normal.

That didn't happen.

I printed the screen about my parents and kept the paper folded up in my pocket. Each time I took it out, I hoped it would read differently. Each time, I was more sure about what I had to do next: I had to
trust
The League. They'd told me the truth about my parents, so there was no reason to think they were lying about everything else. They were the heroes.

I had to go back. I had to become a hero too—for my parents' sakes.

For the next week I very, very carefully rebuilt my reputation—which is to say, I went back to being Fail Hale. There was too much attention on me, and I'd never be able to sneak away so long as that was the case. So, I went to class. I lost the race at the end. I avoided Walter and the Foreheads—who, given that I'd revealed their favorite kitchen escape route, were now especially Walter-y. I ignored Kennedy's concerned looks and Ms. Elma's attempts to convince us that she'd actually cooked dinner, even when we recognized the food from the cafeteria's lunch menu.

It paid off—the following Friday, Otter handed me his dry cleaning ticket and waved me off while Walter and the
other junior agents headed to the firing range to practice defensive archery. I breezed past the receptionist, as per usual, but then instead of heading to the dry cleaner's, I boarded the first train to Fairview.

“Mr. Jordan! Dr. Oleander told me you might be back!” the guy at the reception desk said when I walked into League headquarters, and his voice was all flat—like he hadn't been
told
, but rather,
warned
. He kept an eye on me as he lifted his phone and pressed a few buttons, then spoke quickly into the receiver. A few moments later Oleander appeared at the end of the hallway, walking toward me quickly, pantsuit crisp and rustling.

“Mr. Jordan,” Oleander said kindly, then held out a well-manicured hand. “I assume we have a lot to talk about.”

I shook her hand, suddenly aware of how clammy my own was. “We do.”

Oleander led me back to her office, where Clatterbuck joined us. I withdrew the printout on my parents and handed it to her.

“I broke into the control deck and saw that,” I said quietly. “Katie Jordan and Joseph Jordan. Those are the two agents I thought The League kidnapped.”

“
Jordan
—they're your parents, aren't they?” Oleander said, and I got the impression she wasn't entirely surprised.

I nodded. “I think they knew. About everything, I mean—I think that's why they were marked In the Weeds. They figured out that SRS were the bad guys.”

Oleander exhaled. “Well, Hale, the news could be worse. They're In the Weeds, not Contained. That means they're on the run. SRS doesn't have them. And I'm guessing that also means that when you were here last time, you lied about being on a mission for Project Groundcover. You came on your own to rescue them, didn't you?”

I nodded again.

Oleander smiled a little. “That was very brave of you.”

I didn't know how to answer, both because thanks seemed like a stupid thing to say, and because my chest felt like it was defrosting from how good it felt to hear someone say that. I waited a few moments before taking a breath and continuing. “I'm sorry I lied about Groundcover—but my parents really
were
working on that mission, whatever it is—that's what they were out on when they went missing. I'm sure if we can find them or make it safe for them to come to us, they'll tell you what they know. And in the meantime, I figure I can draw up blueprints of the SRS facility. I know you're low on people here, but I think with my blueprints, a fifteen-man team could get in there and cause enough damage to set them back. To really take them out, you'll need at least fifty people, and I don't . . . Well . . . I don't think we should hurt any of them. They're all probably just like me—they have no idea they're fighting for the bad guys. So we go back, get my sister, and then . . . I don't know, I guess we live here with you guys?”

“Mr. Jordan, that won't work,” Oleander said delicately.

I stared. “Where are we going to live then?”

“Oh, no, I don't mean that—you're welcome to live in our dorms here, though everyone at The League actually lives off campus—Clatterbuck and the twins live in that beige apartment complex across the street? Never mind, that's not the point. What I meant was, we can't go into SRS at all. Not with fifty men, not with fifteen. Literally, we can't—we don't have the resources for a mission like that. We barely have the resources to keep the lights on. You're talking about putting our middle-age former field agents up against SRS's flawlessly trained army of . . . of . . .”

“Hard bodies,” Clatterbuck offered, looking down at his belly mournfully.

Oleander looked annoyed, but she nodded. “Against SRS's very fit, very fast, very smart, very well-supplied agents. Hale, Groundcover is the pin in the middle of all this—I don't think it's just what your parents were working on when they went missing. I think Groundcover is
why
your parents went missing—or at the very least, it had to be what tipped them off about what sort of organization SRS really is. We have to know more.”

I paused, trying not to be too bothered that there was someone else telling me to “think of the mission” instead of my parents. I guess directors of spy agencies are just mission-focused by nature. I said, “I don't know anything else. Groundcover is a highly classified mission. I can't access
any information on it, and it doesn't sound like The League can either.”

“But maybe together, we could,” Oleander said.

“What do you mean?”

Oleander took a deep breath and glanced at Clatterbuck before responding. “We'd like you to go back to SRS. We'd like you to be a double agent. Keep working for SRS while really working for The League. If we figure out and stop Groundcover, not only have we kept SRS from becoming more powerful, but I think we're a lot closer to making it safe for your parents to come home.”

Now it was my turn to take a deep breath. “Things don't work out well at SRS for double agents,” I finally said grimly. I said agent
s
, but I'd actually only ever heard of one double agent—it was supposed to be a secret, so naturally, everyone knew about it by the time we were seven. I'll spare you the finer points of what SRS did when they realized they had a traitor in-house. Let's just say that Kennedy swore she'd seen his ghost once.

“We know,” Oleander said. “Don't think I'm oblivious as to what this would mean, Hale. But without an inside man, we're left exactly where we were before you broke in—”

“I didn't say I won't do it,” I cut her off. “Just that things don't work out well for them. But yes—I'm in. I'll be a double agent.”