The Doublecross (11 page)

Oleander looked pleased. She rapped her nails on the desk a bit and then spoke. “All right, Hale—what sort of
missions are you on right now? What we need is to get you assigned to Project Groundcover, but we'll need to know—”

I lifted my eyebrows, halting her. “I don't go on missions.”

“I'm sorry?”

“I don't go on missions,” I repeated. “I can't pass the physical exam, so I'm not a junior agent.”

Clatterbuck and Oleander gave each other wary looks. “Are you . . . close to passing it?” Clatterbuck asked hesitantly.

“No,” I answered. “Look, I'll do what you want—but there's no way they're going to start sending me on missions.”

Oleander frowned. “Well. Huh. Clatterbuck? Any ideas? What would you have done back in your mission days?”

“We would've sent in a different agent,” Clatterbuck said uselessly. “How is a kid able to break into
and
out of League headquarters not a junior agent?”

“Your security isn't very good,” I muttered. Clatterbuck looked offended, but Oleander sort of nodded in agreement and then sighed.

“Hale, why don't you head to the cafeteria and grab some dinner while we sort this out?”

“All right,” I said. “But I've got to be back at SRS before lockdown at seven, or they'll miss me.” I trudged down to the cafeteria, hands slung in my pockets.

I wasn't quite sure why The League called this a
cafeteria—it was really a wall of vending machines and a basket of sandwiches made from questionable-looking cheeses. There wasn't an attendant, but there was a jarful of coins and a sign that said HONOR SYSTEM. I didn't have any money, and I didn't think it'd bode well for me to take one without paying—after all, that would mean my first act at The League was to flood the place, and my second was to steal. There was a little bowl of candy on one of the chipped-up tables, though, so I slumped down into one of the closest chairs and ate one.

“Hale!” someone said cheerily. I looked up to see Ben walking into the room, followed by Beatrix. “You came back!”

“I did,” I answered.

“Did you sneak in? Did you use another disguise?” Beatrix asked excitedly. “Ben and I were talking about that Campfire Scout uniform—well, actually, everyone was talking about it. That was genius.
Genius.
”

“It was just some cut-up pants,” I said, though I did feel myself swell a little. That outfit was pretty clever, and I knew it. “But no, I didn't sneak in. I came to talk to Oleander. She was right. SRS has my parents marked In the Weeds. I snuck into the HITS room and looked up their files. But now they want me to go rogue and be a double agent—” I stopped, because I realized Ben and Beatrix were staring at me, wide-eyed.

I really had no idea how to talk to kids who weren't spies.

Ben sat down on the tabletop, swinging his legs off the edge. Beatrix took the spot across from me.

“So, is it like in the movies? Do you know karate? I took karate once, but I wasn't very good,” Ben said. I opened my mouth to answer, but he kept on going. “I bet it's
just
like the movies. Do you walk away from a lot of explosions?”

“What?” I asked.

“You know. Something explodes and you just walk away. Because you don't even care. You're that cool.
Walk away.
”

“Uh, no. I don't think I've ever walked away from an explosion,” I said.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Beatrix asked hesitantly.

“What? No. We're spies, not assassins!” I answered.

Ben changed the subject, sort of, which I appreciated. “So you're going to be a double agent? You're going to spy on SRS?”

“I
was
going to. But Clatterbuck and Oleander's plans all revolve around me getting sent on missions, and I'm not a junior agent.”

I reached forward to take another candy out of the bowl. They were purple, so I imagined they were supposed to be grape, but they tasted a little strange. Beatrix made a yelping noise and dived for my hand.

“Have you been eating those?” Ben said, and his tone was urgent. Urgent enough that I realized we were talking about something more serious than a broken honor system.

“Yes—well, I ate one,” I said, lifting my eyes. Beatrix,
who was clutching my forearm halfway to the candy dish, made a whistling sound through her teeth.

“That's not good,” Ben said.

“What? Wait, is it poison?
Why is it out in the open?
No, never mind that—
antidote
. Get me the antidote, and hurry,” I said through pursed lips. I wanted to shout that, of course, but I knew from Intro to Chemical Compounds that panicking would make my heart race, which would just get the poison into my system even faster. I took a deep breath.

“It's not poison,” Ben said. “Don't worry. It's one of my inventions.”

I let the breath out. “You invented hard candies?”

“Not
all
the hard candies. Just these specifically. They're called JellyBENs.”

“JellyBENs?”

“I put my name in everything I invent. That way no one can rip me off. Ever heard of Nikola Tesla?”

“I think so . . . ,” I said.

“Well, he invented the radio, but who got credit for it? Marconi. All he did was steal the idea, and suddenly, oh, thanks, Marconi, your invention is totally revolutionizing communication! Tesla should've gotten that award. And don't even get me started on Niagara Falls—did you know that Edison totally ripped Tesla off? He promised to pay him . . .” Ben ranted, throwing his hands around.

Beatrix gave me a sympathetic look. “Ben gets very upset about Tesla.”

“Clearly,” I said. “So what do JellyBENs do, exactly?”

“Well,” Ben said, frowning. “They're
supposed
to have a side effect. But . . . Beatrix, shouldn't it have happened by now?”

“That's what my notes say,” Beatrix answered, looking down at her Right Hand. “Hang on—no! We have to account for his height and weight—”

“There!” Ben said, pointing enthusiastically at me.

I frowned and looked at my hands. Nothing was happening. Beatrix finally pressed a few buttons on her Right Hand and held the screen up to me. She'd flipped the camera so I could see myself on the screen—my entire face was purple.

Not like, oh-is-he-choking? purple. Really, really purple—the sort of color you'd expect to see on rare Amazonian frogs. The color of the kittens on the walls in Kennedy's bedroom. Bright, obnoxious purple.

“Ben, Beatrix,” I said calmly. “Why is my head purple?”

“Oh, it's not just your head,” Ben said. “It'll spread to your chest—Oh, I think it already has! Wait, is your butt purple yet?”

“I haven't checked,” I said. “How long will this last? Because I have to go back to SRS tonight.”

Beatrix shrugged. “Since you only ate one, the color should fade in an hour or so. Now, if you'd eaten
all
of them, you'd be purple till . . . I'd say next Thursday?”

“At least,” Ben agreed. “Beatrix was purple for almost
three days, but you weigh more than she does, so you'll burn the chemicals off faster.”

I exhaled. Somehow the inside of my mouth tasted purple. “All right, all right. How'd you learn to do this, anyway? Does The League teach classes like SRS does?”

“Classes? No—Beatrix and I are homeschooled through the Internet. But I didn't exactly
learn
how to do this—I found some leftover chemicals in dry storage and started inventing things.”

“So . . . that's what you do all day? You mix chemicals?”

“No! Of course not. Some days we just rewire things,” Beatrix said, looking offended. “Sometimes it's just for fun, but the JellyBENs . . . We thought maybe someone would like them for April Fools'. You know, ‘Turn all your friends purple!' and—”

“That's it!” I cut her off. I looked at the bowl of JellyBENs, then back up at them. I grinned.

“Oh, his teeth are purple too!” Beatrix exclaimed, and typed this into her Right Hand.

“Guys,” I said, “I've got an idea for these, and it has nothing to do with April Fools'.”

I un-purpled a little bit later and left The League with my pockets jammed full of JellyBENs. I thought about explaining the plan to Clatterbuck and Oleander, but I ended up keeping my mouth shut since, for one, I figured Ben probably wasn't supposed to be playing around with expired chemicals and second, if the whole plan failed miserably, I didn't want them losing even more hope in my doubleagent abilities.

“Don't worry, Hale,” Clatterbuck told me as we drove back toward SRS. I was in the backseat of a beat-up Chevy, hunched down under a blanket just in case someone from SRS happened to glance into the car. “Oleander and I will figure something out. I've just got to get back into the agent mindset, you know? Make my mind all steely again.” He
thumped his temple as he said that. “I tell you, Hale, I was one of the elite back in the day. Where should I drop you?”

“The dry cleaning place, if you don't mind—have to get Agent Otter's jackets. Do you have five dollars? I spent the money they gave me for dry cleaning on train fare.”

“I'm sure I've got something. The train isn't going to work forever though—what if you need to come to see us and there's not a train leaving anytime soon?”

“True,” I said. “Plus, that sort of regularity is risky. We need to mix it up. Maybe you could drive a different car and come get me, next time?”

Clatterbuck's face lit up, and I couldn't exactly figure out why. “Yes! Yes, I can do that. You know, I was just about to start doing international field work, but then, well . . . then I sorta had to take in Beatrix and Ben, which meant retiring . . .”

I frowned. “Why'd you take them in? Where are their parents?”

Clatterbuck sort of shifted in his seat. “They were field agents too. Beatrix and Ben were only three. They don't remember much, fortunately.”

I lay very still, though my stomach was flipping over and over in my gut. I wanted to know how, when,
why
, but all the questions in my head sounded prying. I was grateful when Clatterbuck finally eased the car to a stop and turned around to face me. I pulled the blanket off my head but stayed down low.

Clatterbuck smiled, shaking off at least the most obvious bits of sadness over Ben and Beatrix's parents. “Right, here you go—four dollars and sixty-seven cents is all the cash I have on me. But I do have
this
for you,” he said, and extended his closed fist with a grin. He stuck his hand right under my nose and then opened his palm dramatically, revealing a thick gold bangle with a large ruby in the center.

“You got me a pretty bracelet?”

“It's a communication unit!” Clatterbuck said brightly.

“Is it?” I didn't mean to sound doubtful. It was just that the thing was massive compared to the coms we used at SRS. Plus? It was all . . . sparkly.

“Oh, come on, just hide it under your sleeve,” Clatterbuck said, reaching forward and slipping the bracelet—I meant, com unit—over my wrist. I sighed. At least if Walter and his friends saw it, they'd be too busy laughing to realize I was double-crossing SRS. Clatterbuck continued, “That's just the microphone—it doesn't have great range, but we can pick up conversations within a few feet. The earpiece . . . Well . . . you don't have to
wear
it all the time. Just put it on when you want to talk with us.” He reached into his vest pocket and removed a heavy-looking ruby earring. The clip-on kind, the sort that was too fancy and overdone to possibly be a real jewel.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Now, come on, Hale. This is the only com unit we have that'll work from underground. Actually, it's the only one
we have that still works, period. All the others had dead batteries and I couldn't figure out how to change them out. Only one earring is an earpiece, but there's a second—hang on, it's down deep in my pocket . . . Oh, there it is. Anyway, there's a second so they look like a set of earrings. You'd look stupid just wearing one earring, after all.”

“And I definitely wouldn't want to look stupid,” I muttered, plucking the earrings from his fingers.

“I've got a set too, only mine are emeralds. I promise you, Hale, I'll be wearing them all the time just in case you need us. All the time.”

“Even in the shower?” I said, grimacing. I didn't like to think of talking to Clatterbuck in the shower. I liked the idea much less when I realized he'd not only be in the shower, but wearing ladies' jewelry.

“Well, no. They aren't waterproof. I know! I won't shower until I hear from you!” He nodded at me sincerely.

“Thanks,” I said, and weirdly enough, I was grateful. It wasn't every day I saw someone so dedicated to talking with me. I jumped out of the car and cut around the back of the building. It took only a few moments to grab Otter's dry cleaning and slide back into SRS headquarters.

“You missed it!” Kennedy said when I walked into our apartment. Her volume told me that Ms. Elma wasn't around, which was a relief. She was still pretty mad at me over the lack of Present-Palooza a few weeks back.

“Missed what?” I asked.

“We did a field exam today,” Kennedy said, hopping from one foot to the other. “And my teacher says I can maybe test for junior agent later this month!”

My mouth dropped. All I could see were our parents' names beside the status “In the Weeds.” How could Kennedy still be excited about being an agent for SRS?

Because she didn't know.

I didn't feel good about it, but I lied to Kennedy. After I got back from the HITS lab, I told her I couldn't find anything. I told myself this was because I was worried she couldn't keep it a secret, but really, it was because I just couldn't handle telling my sister that our home, our school, our
world
wanted our parents killed. It was just too much. She was only nine, after all.