Double Vision (7 page)

“Let's just say reading people used to be my job.” Frank Two stared out onto the Potomac, then up to the bridge. “You're in Washington, DC, now, kids. Home of the CIA, NSA, Secret Service—you name anything that involves secrets, it starts and ends here. This city is full of spies, wannabes, and used-to-bes.”

I felt like there were crabs walking up my spine, and I couldn't move. “They're here?”

“Oh yeah.” Frank Two sniffed. “That mom, pushing the baby stroller? There's no baby in there. She's CIA. Deep cover, probably. Those German tourists are new agents on the job—just look at the stupid getups.”

“But we're with the CIA,” I said.

“You sure about that?” Frank Two gave me a knowing smile. “Because they're tailing you like you're the enemy.”

“Maybe it's because we're deep undercover and all.”

“How many are here, right now?” Amy asked, glancing around.

“Six. Seven if you count Wanda over there, but she's
retired, like me.” Frank Two gave Amy a grin. It looked sort of creepy, if you want to know the truth. I was wondering if he had eyes in the back of his head. Maybe those were standard issue for secret agents, like they are for moms.

“How's that even possible? I didn't see anyone follow me,” I said. I may not be a Ben Green, but I was pretty sure I could spot a tail by now.

“It's their job to go unnoticed by civilians. You'll need some distraction if you want to get out of here, kids,” Frank Two said.

I thought
Ruckus on a Roll
right away. But these were government agents, not all-out bad dudes—they probably wouldn't run if I set off the fake police siren.

But then I had an idea. A tried-and-true distraction that went back to the beginning of time—and it would be even better with Henry's invention. My idea wouldn't be pretty and might even get me arrested, but it could work.

I opened my backpack and handed Amy a Sure Shot. “Can you follow my lead?”

Amy nodded.

I dug my hand inside the paper bag of gooey, fishy mess, and I stuck a piece of crab on the Sure Shot.

I aimed. Took a breath.

And started slinging seafood.

I SHOT MY LEFTOVERS AT THE GERMAN
tourists first (they were easy to spot with their fake mustaches and I ♥ DC shirts), but then just shot crab parts at everyone. Initially, there was shock, irritation, and yelling—stage one of a food fight. You'll know this if you've ever been in one.

But once Amy joined in, it got crazy. Stage two exploded like a bomb. Kids began tossing food around, laughing. Let's face it: It's hard to pass up a food fight—and this was a good one. Vendors got upset; people were yelling and shoving. It was a big hot mess.

Distraction aplenty.

Not that Amy and I stuck around too long. We bolted, with me following Amy as she navigated the streets of
DC. After about fifteen minutes or so of sprinting, cutting through traffic, taking shortcuts through alleyways, she finally slowed down.

“Wow, who would have thought a food fight could outwit a bunch of government agents, huh?” Amy laughed, her cheeks red from the cold wind and our sprint across the city.

“Food fights are a powerful weapon. Not to be used unless absolutely necessary,” I joked, relieved that Amy was safe.

“So now what?” she asked, once we were sure no one had followed us.

I took the folded piece of brown paper from my pocket. “Now we see what the ad in the paper is about.” I unfolded the paper.

Wanted ASAP: 1980 Ford pickup.

“That's it?” Amy frowned.

“How is the Culper Ring supposed to know how to contact me?” I mumbled. This made no sense at all.

“Maybe they have their ways of finding you.” Amy shrugged. “Nothing surprises me much after living around Secret Service agents. These spy types know everything.”

“I hope you're right.” I tucked the paper back in my pocket. “Maybe I'll put in Ben's name and my motel room, just in case.”

“I haven't had this much fun since I moved here.” Amy practically bounced when she walked. “It's been pretty hard to make friends, being the first daughter.”

“I can't even imagine.” I'd lived in Lompoc all my life, same house, same friends. “So what do you do for fun, besides borrowing things?”

She smiled. “I get out and see the city whenever I can.”

We were getting close to the International Spy Museum now, and I saw a guy in a suit running our way, waving both his arms.

“Steve?” Amy stopped.

Steve looked all sweaty and confused as he slowed his pace. “Where did you go?” he asked Amy, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. “I only nodded off for a second—I had a late night. When I woke up, Andrea said you'd left.”

Amy gave him her best I'm-so-sorry smile. “You looked so peaceful, and I know how hard you work. I didn't want to wake you.”

“We went to catch some lunch,” I added.

“And we threw it, too,” Amy joked. Then she remembered she was supposed to be serious. “I'm so,
so
sorry, Steve.”

Steve still looked confused, but her apology seemed to have mellowed him out. “We need to get you back home now. This isn't safe. If your mother and my boss hear you were out of my sight, they'll kill me.”

Amy looped her arm in Steve's. “I won't tell them if you won't.”

Steve gave her a relieved smile. “But we need to hurry back now.”

We made our way back to the motel. Amy waved good-bye to me, and she and Steve took off to get his car.

Me, I had a strange feeling in my gut, and it wasn't the crab talking. I felt guilty. Even though Amy was great help, I knew that her coming with me on the mission was a very bad idea. Dagger was out to kill the president and her family—that
included first daughter Amy. As much fun as it was to have a friend and sidekick out here, I put Amy in danger.

I had to do this on my own.

By the time I made it up to my room, the adrenaline from our crabby food fight had worn off. I was hungry, tired, cold, and reeked of fish.

I called and placed the ad in the paper. The guy who took my message didn't seem at all surprised I was in search of a Ford pickup. It took only a few minutes, and when I hung up, it was just me and my silent room.

And I wasn't so confident about beating Benjamin Green anymore. What if this was a dead end? It was after five o'clock, which meant I had less than fifty hours until the ball—what if Frank's lead was a total dud? What if the new Culper Ring was just a legend?

Even a hot shower and a little cartoon watching didn't make me feel any better. So I did what every twelve-year-old secret agent double does when the chips are down.

I called home.

The phone rang about half-a-dozen times. I did some quick math, and I calculated that since it was six o'clock in DC, it was three in the afternoon in California. But no one answered. So I left a message, telling everyone I was fine and that I'd try to call again tomorrow. I hung up, feeling kind of down.

Then my phone rang, startling me from this feeling-sorry-for-myself moment. I checked my little caller ID screen.
Unknown Caller.
Could it be my next lead? But the newspaper wouldn't be out until morning.

I answered anyway. “Yes?”

“Agent Green.”

“Um, affirmative,” I said, deciding it was probably safest just to play along.

“This is Hans. I have your package.”

BENJAMIN GREEN WAS GETTING A PACKAGE
. Actually,
I
was the one getting a package. This was great!

“Okay. I mean, that's good.”

“Pick it up at 14th and G. Be here by nine thirty.” And this Hans guy hung up.

My heart was racing as I reached for a notepad to write the information down. I'd just gotten a freebie lead. This was awesome!

I smiled as I folded the piece of paper. Who knew, maybe Ben really had beaten me—maybe the coat was in the package! I could swoop in and steal the victory right from under his nose.

Then I jumped as my phone rang again.
Unknown Caller.
What if Hans figured out he wasn't calling Ben but really me?

I hesitated for a second. But answered anyway. “Hello?”

“Linc! It's Amy.” She sounded so excited.

“Amy. How did you even get this number?”

“Jeez, nice to talk to you, too. Earlier today, I took your phone and looked.”

“You stole my phone?”

“
Bor-rowed.
And only long enough to get your number,” she went on, like swiping a friend's phone was no big deal. “Did you wash the crab stink off?” she asked.

“Sort of.” Not really, to tell you the truth.

“You wanna come for dinner?”

“At the White House?”

Amy laughed. “Yeah. We do eat here, you know. And it's Tuesday,” she said, like that explained everything.

“What happens on Tuesday?”

“You'll see. Will you come?”

Since I'm always up for a free meal, I agreed. “Dinner at the White House. Sounds awesome.” But then I remembered Ben's package. Nine thirty—I should be done with dinner by then, no sweat.

“I'll have them send a car to pick you up,” Amy said.

After I put on my least wrinkly shirt, I hurried down to the lobby, not paying much attention to anything.

But I do remember feeling those goose bumps, the kind you get when someone's watching you. And I saw a cleaning lady wearing a hairnet, getting on the elevator just as I got off. I should have looked closer. Looked at her face. Spotted the
loose strand of brown hair. I might've made the connection.

But I saw the big black SUV out front waiting for me. So I buttoned up my coat and forgot about that tiny alarm bell going off inside my head.

I mean, I was having dinner at the White House. Who had time to be paranoid?

STEVE PICKED ME UP, WHICH WAS PRETTY
awkward. For most of the drive, he kept rambling on about how hard it was to be on Amy's detail.

“She keeps disappearing, and then when I find her, she acts like it was
my
fault.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If Amy tells the story her way to her mom, I'm out of a job.” He continued talking, but I tuned him out after a few minutes. I couldn't stop thinking about what was inside Ben's box. What if it was the coat? Or maybe it was a piece of the puzzle I could use to beat him to the coat. I could almost imagine holding the Dangerous Double and handing it to the president. She would thank me, and maybe I'd get that
Presidential Medal of Freedom. . . .

“Ben! We're here,” Steve said, stirring me from my thoughts. He'd pulled up at the north end of the White House, under the portico I'd seen from the West Wing that morning.

“I guess I get the royal treatment for dinner, huh?” I joked, but Steve just gave me a blank stare. The guy had no sense of humor.

Amy was waiting by the door when I got out. No red wig this time—just her own mop of blond curls, which looked much better on her. “Thanks for coming!” she said over her shoulder. I followed her inside as Steve went to park the car. “You're lucky that it's Tuesday.”

“Why's that?”

“Taco Tuesday, of course!” Amy acted like I was so dumb for not getting that.

“I know about Taco Tuesday. I just didn't picture your family, you know, eating normal food.” This was the president we're talking about, come on. Tacos were more for the Baker family.

“This is the Entrance Hall,” Amy said with pride. “We're on the state floor now.” We were in a big reception hall, with tall ceilings, a fancy glass chandelier, and white-and-tan-checked marble floors. I felt totally out of place in my jeans and sneakers but tried not to show it.

“Cool, huh?” Amy said next to me. “This is the official entrance for visitors. We have a few minutes before dinner. Come on, I'll show you where the ball is going to be.”

I followed her between these white columns, and we took a left.

“This is the Cross Hall. And over there are the Red, Blue, and Green Rooms.” Amy waved to the right as we walked. When the hall ended at a doorway, Amy said, “This is the East Room.”

It was roped off, so we had to look from the doorway. I saw tall ceilings, fancy cream curtains, and several sparkly chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A grand piano sat near the back wall. There were five guys in black pants and white shirts, setting up tables and unrolling a giant rug.

“This is where the costume ball will be?” I asked.

Amy nodded. “If there's a party at the White House, it's usually held in here. You know, when we first moved in, Wilson told me that Theodore Roosevelt's kids roller-skated in here,” she added.

I looked at the zigzagged wooden floor and how big the room was. “It would be awesome to skateboard in here.”

“The staff would have a cow if you did that,” Amy said with a grin.

George Washington gave me a stern look from an oil painting on the wall, reminding me of the mission.

Amy looked at her watch. “Dinner's at seven, so we should head to the kitchen.”

“Okay.” Then I remembered my Ben package pickup later that night. “I just have to leave at nine.”

“Why?”

“Sleep,” I lied. “I need to rest up for tomorrow.”

“That's right—we're on a mission,” Amy whispered so Steve wouldn't hear us. We turned away from the East Room and then took a right up a stairway.

“Doesn't Steve come along?” I asked as we made our way up the stairs.

Amy shook her head. “Nope. Family quarters upstairs. It's the one place Secret Service leaves us alone.”