“Not me. We just met on the Sterling Studio lot when I was taking a tour, and Floyd talked me into the job.”
Savannah made a face like she just ate a sour piece of candy. “You’re kidding. Have you ever even been in front of a camera?”
“Only when Mom pulls out the home recorder for my birthday,” I joked, and realized I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Savannah was practically exploding. She took a step back, but ended up against the balcony railing. “You’re an amateur. Do you even know how hard the rest of us have to work to—never mind.” She pushed past me.
“Wait,” I mumbled, but I knew it was useless. I’d messed up, and it wasn’t even my fault. How could I help it that Floyd picked me?
I turned and looked over the balcony, hoping to see Melais down below. And that’s when he looked up: Benjamin Green. Looking angry.
He pointed at me, as if to say, Stay there.
I don’t think so. I moved away from the balcony and decided to take my chances down the hall to the right. I passed a giant home-theater room, a den or something like it, and a huge office—this Floyd dude was seriously loaded. At the end of the hall, there was a closed door. I reached for the handle and opened the door. I slipped inside the dark room and quickly closed it behind me.
That should save me from Ben for the moment, I thought. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. I blinked, realizing I was in a bedroom of some kind. And in the back, there was a moving light.
A flashlight. There was someone else here.
11
THURSDAY, 7:55 P.M.
I FROZE. I REACHED BEHIND ME, LOWERING the door handle. I opened the door, but by then the flashlight was pointed right into my eyes.
I raised my hands to block out the light but was blinded all the same. I was about to speak up, when whoever wielded the flashlight shoved me out of the way and ran.
I blinked, but all I saw was a flash of someone’s black loafers. There was a smell—like toothpaste—and I turned to follow, rubbing my eyes. “Wait up!” I called, knowing it was useless. I rushed past the theater room and the office, seeing spots the whole way.
Then I ran smack into Ben, who was beet red, he was so mad.
“Baker!” he hissed. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on the case!” I pointed past him. “And this bad burglar dude just got away.”
Ben looked where I pointed. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind!” I rushed to the balcony and looked down. But it was no use. There were so many people, and I couldn’t tell if any of them were wearing loafers—if that was even what I’d seen in my half-blind state.
Ben came up behind me. “You are not supposed to be here. You’re compromising my cover!”
“I could say the same for you,” I said, pointing at his bright shorts and I Love LA T-shirt. “You’re like a glaring neon sign.”
Ben clenched his jaw. “You must leave now. Albert Black said—”
“I don’t care,” I said, looking down below. A waiter was refilling the table of snacks. And that’s when I saw a guy in black loafers. “Right there!” I called and pointed. “That’s him.” I looked over my shoulder at Ben, then at the long hallway that led to the stairs. If I went that way, I’d lose the bad dude again for sure.
I glanced over the balcony. Saw the chains, the ones that held up the table with snacks. My bad guy was just a few feet away from the buffet.
So I swung my right leg over the banister.
“Oh no you’re not,” Ben called behind me.
“Watch me,” I said as I swung my left leg. From my spot on the banister, I could reach the chain.
So I grabbed the cold metal with both hands.
And jumped.
I slid down the chain, feeling my palms burn as I landed on the table. And Ben followed on the chain at the other side of the table. He flew down with a terrified look on his face.
We both landed on our butts, me on some crackers with cheese, Ben on a bowl of egg salad. Needless to say, I got the better landing spot.
Not that I cared. I was chasing my bad dude in the loafers—Ethan Melais, I figured. But where did he go? A crowd of people gathered around us, looking shocked, a few laughing as Ben tried to wipe the egg salad from his pants. But as much as I enjoyed some Ben humiliation, I had a mission to accomplish.
I hopped off the table and pushed past the party guests, rushing toward the door—I even looked up toward the balcony again, to see if maybe he’d gone back up. But I just saw beautiful Savannah, shaking her head at the big mess downstairs.
My bad dude was gone.
“What’s all this then?” Floyd sounded seriously miffed. I could see why: We’d just crashed his fancy party—literally. Behind Floyd stood a guy with slicked-down hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He had an earpiece and carried a tablet. Maybe his assistant or something.
I turned to look at Ben, who was giving me the stink eye. Me, I just wanted to find some napkins to wipe the cheese off my jeans. “Um . . . I’m sorry,” I said. “I was leaning over your balcony and fell down.”
“And who’s this bloke?” Floyd pointed a chubby finger at Ben. Then he broke out in a huge grin. “Wait a minute . . . you’ve got a twin, and you didn’t tell me.” He laughed, and the party crowd fake-laughed with him.
This wasn’t funny at all.
“He’s not my twin,” Ben snapped. He’d given up on getting his pants clean and was now standing in his trademark pose: legs shoulder-width apart, arms crossed.
I wanted Ben to shut up. This twin idea was obviously something Floyd liked. Why not roll with it? We’d just ruined the guy’s egg salad, so we might as well keep ourselves out of trouble by pretending.
“Ben here doesn’t like to be twins,” I said, throwing my double a death-ray stare. Hoping he got the hint. “It makes him feel inferior, standing in my shadow,” I added with a grin.
“I’m sure it does, Linc.” Floyd nodded and looked over his shoulder at the guy with the tablet. “This is my assistant director, Larry.”
The dude nodded.
Floyd said, “Don’t you think this twin situation is brilliant, Larry?”
“Absolutely,” Larry said, never taking his eyes off the tablet. “We can shoot longer days.”
“Huh?”
“The movie, kid.” Larry gave me an irritated look over his glasses. “Using twins gets us around child labor laws.”
Floyd clapped his hands with glee. “It’s settled. We’ll see you two tomorrow on the set.”
Of course, it wasn’t exactly settled. Not at all. After getting contracts from Larry and a nine a.m. call time, Ben and I left the mess at Floyd’s party, both smelling like funky food, and pretended to exit the mansion together.
But once we made it past the metal gate, we sprinted toward the van. I had to be first to explain this new development to Black and Stark—Ben would just blame it all on me. Even if it was sort of my fault.
As it turned out, Ben was still in much better shape than I was. He was already a dozen feet ahead of me, pulling at the van’s sliding door, when I slowed down. By the time I caught up, I could hear him yelling at Stark.
“Amateur . . . disaster . . . chicken salad on my pants!” Ben’s voice sounded kind of squeaky because he was so upset.
“It was my case first, you know,” I said as I got into the van. “And you didn’t have to jump off the balcony.”
Black took a deep breath, the kind adults take when they’re trying not to blow their top over something I did. I know this deep-breath thing well. “Didn’t I kick you off the case?” Black hissed.
“Floyd showed up, offered to give me a ride to the party,” I said, and shrugged. “What was I supposed to do?” I looked for a window to open, since Ben and I smelled kind of ripe. But the van’s sliding door was it, and I wasn’t about to open that one back up. Someone might just push me out. “And he was pretty happy about Ben and me looking alike.” I told Bla
ck and Stark about me chasing that guy who had blinded me with the flashlight, and taking a jump off the balcony.
“Wait—back up a second,” Stark said from the passenger seat. “You caught a guy breaking into one of Floyd’s bedrooms?”
I nodded. “Yeah. But I couldn’t really tell what he was doing—he had that flashlight in my face almost the whole time.”
Stark inhaled sharply. “What did he look like?”
“I don’t know, it was just some guy. Maybe it was Melais.” I shrugged. “I almost caught him.”
“Almost being the operative word,” Ben said. “Instead, we’re both wearing hors d’oeuvres.”
“Orr—what?”
“Appetizers,” Stark said.
“Oh,” I said, feeling kind of dumb. “Well, at least I was on the job. And you guys were all ready to give the mission to by-the-book Ben here,” I added, pointing at my look-alike.
“So how did you two get away after blowing your cover?” Black asked.
I told him about the twin stuff.
“That settles it.” Black clapped his hands. “You’re twins.”
Ben and I started arguing at the same time.
“Silence—both of you!” Black put the van in drive. “Tomorrow, bright and early, you can get back to work. Find Ethan Melais. And get me that Dangerous Double.”
12
PLACE: AUNT JENNY AND UNCLE TIM’S HOUSE
TIME: FRIDAY, 7:29 A.M.
STATUS: ASLEEP
“LINC!”
I made a moaning noise. Mornings are not my best time. And someone was slapping my face—gently, but still. Who wants to start the day that way?
“Wake up, kid.”
“Huh!” I sat up, and took a split second to remember where I was. My aunt and uncle’s place, sleeping on a foldaway bed. Bunking with Grandpa.
“Good, you’re awake,” Grandpa said. He was sitting on his bed, which was just a few inches away from mine. He smelled like old-dude cologne, and had his hair neatly brushed back in his usual fifties style. Grandpa is an early bird, unlike yours truly. He likes to be in and out of the shower, ready for breakfast and his crossword by seven a.m., even on weekends.
“What time is it, anyway?” I looked around for a clock, but there wasn’t one. Just the usual small guest room, with framed posters of cars all around. Grandpa had opened the curtain, so bright sunlight was hurting my still-sleepy eyes.
“It’s seven thirty—what does it matter!” Grandpa looked kind of panicky. He leaned close. “There’s an enemy at the gates.”
“What are you talking about?”
Now, Grandpa isn’t going nuts or anything, in case that’s what you’re thinking. He can just be a little . . . paranoid. He thinks life is one big episode of the crime shows he likes. Last month, he thought the checkout girl at the supermarket was an undercover cop. He had this whole weird conversation with her, and gave her a detailed description of the poor produce guy, who Grandpa thought was a criminal.
“Grandpa,” I moaned, and dropped back on my flimsy mattress. A coil poked at the bottom of my spine, so I sat up again.
Grandpa pointed out the window. “Out there, go see! There’s a sinister woman watching the house.”
That got my attention. What if it was that suspicious lady from yesterday, studying her map again?
I walked to the window and looked outside. There was a parked sedan, dark blue, obviously a rental. There was a woman in a black suit behind the wheel. Though I could only see part of her face, I knew it was Agent Stark. Probably waiting to give me a ride, or drop off a case file or whatever. “That’s no enemy, Grandpa.”
“7TRZ211,” he said, reciting the plate, looking smug. “I have her details.” He waved his notebook, the one where I knew he wrote down license plates and descriptions of dubious characters.
I looked outside and caught a glimpse of the back of her car. “That’s not even the right plate, Grandpa. And this lady is just here to give me a ride to the movie lot.”
Grandpa pushed me aside and peered out the window. “Oh, I thought I saw a different car,” he muttered, sounding disappointed. He took off his glasses, rubbed them on his vest, and put them on again. “Never mind, then.”
“No one messes with the Bakers, Grandpa.” I got up. “I’m gonna take a shower, okay? She’s one of the good guys.”
After I got dressed, I grabbed my backpack and attached my skateboard with the Velcro straps. Then I went down to the kitchen for some breakfast to go, so I could catch up with Agent Stark before she got too cranky about having to wait for me. Fortunately, it was only Mom in the kitchen. Unfortunately, she was chopping onions, making the place reek like a middle-school gym right after PE.
“Off to the set already?” Mom asked. She was peeling another onion, making my stomach turn. It was eight o’clock—a little early for anything but cereal or eggs.
“The movie people sent a car.”
“I’d prefer it if Mike drives you next time,” Mom said, wiping her eyes. “And I really want to meet that director guy, once I get a handle on things here . . .”
“Why the onions in the morning?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Macaroni salad.” She shook her head in frustration. “I can’t seem to get the balance right on the dressing.”
“Good luck with that.” I rummaged inside the large pantry and found a breakfast bar for the road. “Oh, Grandpa needs new glasses.”
“Again already?”
“Yeah. I think he’s seeing things.” I told her about the whole license-plate situation that morning.
Mom nodded. “We’ll look into it next week. Go be a movie star.”
“It’s only a small part,” I said. That was kind of true, since I had no plans to stick around once I got the hat and Melais.
“I left the signed contract over there.” Mom pointed to the other side of the kitchen counter. “Call me at lunch, so I know where you are.”
I grabbed my paperwork and rushed out the door before she could start asking questions. Thank goodness for her obsession with making the perfect macaroni salad for the reunion picnic. Outside, Dad and Aunt Jenny had their heads stuck under the rusty car’s hood.
“How’s it going?” I asked Uncle Tim, who stood at a distance on the lawn.
He made a face that told me things weren’t looking so good. “We’ll have to see.”
Enough said. I felt guilty about taking off, but knew I had to get to the mission. I waved good-bye and made my way to the dark-blue rental car.
Agent Stark didn’t seem mad at all—surprising, considering she’d been sitting there waiting.
“I didn’t know you were driving me,” I said, buckling my seat belt.
“I thought you might need a ride.” Stark put the car in drive and pulled into the street. Why was she being so nice?
“I could’ve had Mike drive me to the studio.”
“Didn’t you look at your call sheet?”
Not that closely. But I wasn’t about to admit that.
“Apparently, you’re filming on location, at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre.” That was about half an hour from my aunt and uncle’s place, depending on traffic. “Call time is nine a.m.”
“I remembered that.” I knew Stark was the quiet type, so I turned on the radio, hoping to break the silence.
But after we got onto the highway, Stark turned off the radio. “Did I ever tell you how I came to join Pandora?” She glanced over at me.
“No.” Was Agent Stark about to spill her guts? This was weird. “You only told me that you were let go or something, right?”
“More like reassigned—only I didn’t know it at the time.” She exhaled, gripping the steering wheel. “There was a case. The CIA sent me to Italy, to chase down a suspected information broker. A freelance spy.”
“Ethan Melais.”
“Exactly.” Stark paused, like maybe she was trying to figure out how to tell the story.
“You were sent to Italy to cat
ch Melais.”
Stark nodded. “That photograph was of a hotel where several high-powered executives were meeting. Somehow, Melais managed to get inside. We got that image off the security cameras.” Stark gripped the steering wheel even tighter. “I was outside the room, posing as hotel security, waiting for him to show up.”
“But you didn’t catch him.”
Stark shook her head. “He managed to slip inside that meeting room, and . . .” She clenched her jaw.
“What did this Melais dude do?”
“He stole the plans to a top secret hideout for . . . never mind, it’s not important. But afterward, he slipped his calling card inside my jacket pocket.” Stark reached inside her jacket and handed me a black business card.
Ethan Melais was all it said, in fancy cream letters.
“Yikes,” I mumbled. That was like sticking your tongue in someone’s face. I handed the card back.
“Needless to say, my career with the CIA was over.” Stark glanced at me. “But then I was reassigned to a black-ops team that was just getting started—so in a way, Pandora and Albert Black saved me. It’s really important to me to catch the guy. For him to see my face when I cuff him.”
“You want to get revenge,” I said. I got it: Agent Stark had a score to settle.
“Not revenge, exactly. More like . . .” She was searching for the right words; I could tell by the wrinkles on her forehead.
“Set things right.”
“Exactly!” Agent Stark gave me a crooked, worried smile. “So what I need you to do is call me first. If you catch him.”
“When I catch him, you mean.”
“Sure, when you catch him. Or if Ben does . . .” Her voice trailed. “I have faith in you.” She forced a smile, which with Stark was never a pretty sight.
“It’ll be me catching this Ethan Melais, you know.” I realized I sounded like a cranky toddler, but I didn’t care. “Ben’s on my turf now. He won’t make it in California. I’ll show him who the real junior secret agent is.”
I had my own score to settle, like Agent Stark. “I’ll get Ethan Melais and the Dangerous Double. Just watch.”
The Alias Men Page 5
