The Alias Men

by F. T. Bradley

  “Are you okay?” Savannah asked.

  “Yeah. Just thought I saw someone I recognized.” I had a nagging feeling in my gut. Who was this lady, and what did she want?

  “I owe you an apology,” Savannah said.

  “For what?

  She looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I was so rude to you before, at the trailers this morning? I just . . .”

  “You’ve been working on your acting a long time—I get it. I’m just some kid crashing the party.”

  She sighed. “Now you sound like me. Let me make it up to you—would you come to the Hollywood Bowl tomorrow night? I’m performing at this celebration to commemorate music and cinema for Academy Awards weekend. I’ll get you a good seat.”

  “Sure. I mean, I’d love to.” The Hollywood Bowl is only the coolest place to see a concert in the whole country. And being invited by Savannah made it even better.

  “I got this great costume, totally authentic-looking—Kurt helped me put it together yesterday. And Kate said she’d do my makeup.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Because of an accident on the I-10, the driver took Santa Monica Boulevard. We passed all the usual tourist highlights: the fancy stores, the palm trees, and Beverly Hills, of course. Only it took forever, because we got stuck at every light.

  Not that I cared. Being in a car with Savannah was okay with me: She was pretty nice, and it meant I didn’t have to ride with Ben or in the crepe truck or something.

  Savannah asked, “Do you know anything about cinema history?”

  Um, no. But I didn’t want to seem like I never paid attention in school, even if that was sort of the truth. I said, “I was hoping you might help me with that. What’s The Hollywood Kid even about? Kate tried to explain it to me before, but . . . I guess I’m too much of a new kid on the set to get it.”

  Savannah laughed. She snorted, too, but it was sort of cute. “Have you ever watched any silent movies, like the ones made by Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Harold Lloyd?”

  I shook my head. Might as well be honest, since she seemed to like me better now. “We watch a lot of crime shows at my house.” I told her about Grandpa and his obsession with cops and bad dudes. “And we watch the History Channel when Dad’s around. He loves that, although he usually falls asleep about ten minutes into the show. Otherwise I play video games and hang out with my friends.”

  She actually looked a little envious. “My father is a musical composer for movies and TV shows. My mom is an actress—Ava Stone?”

  “You’re her daughter?” Ava Stone is one of the most famous actresses of all time. “My mom loves her. I bet you’re an expert on movies.”

  She smiled. “Pretty much. I’ve seen all of the silent-movie classics—and I watched them again to prepare for this role. It’s a whole different kind of acting when you can’t use dialogue.”

  “Sure, yeah.” I had no idea what she meant, of course.

  “The Hollywood Kid is all about showing the silent movie in contrast to modern life—isn’t it a brilliant concept?” Savannah seemed super excited about it. “To demonstrate the power of that silence, to show not tell. I love it.”

  “Floyd doesn’t seem too happy about how things are going,” I said. Outside, we passed a cluster of tourists taking pictures of the Beverly Hills sign. “Did he even get any footage at the Chinese Theatre?”

  “Some. Your brother was making it really hard. Ben just doesn’t have any charisma.” Savannah flustered. “I’m sorry, I’m totally being rude.”

  “No worries,” I said. “We don’t exactly get along.”

  “He’s very different from you.” Savannah studied my face, making me feel really uncomfortable. “Like you’re not even related.”

  “So is Floyd always this grumpy?” I asked, hoping to talk about something else.

  Savannah laughed. “He can get much worse. Nigel is just a perfectionist—much like Chaplin, if you think of it.” Her face darkened. “But lately, I don’t know . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nigel seems very stressed out. He can’t seem to focus. . . .” She paused. “I caught a conversation with his assistant director. I think there are some funding issues.”

  So Floyd was broke. This added an interesting angle that might help me with the case. They needed money for this movie. Having the Dangerous Double to steal that drone-system prototype would be like hitting the jackpot.

  Maybe Larry should move to the number one spot as my prime suspect. Or Floyd.

  “We barely shot footage at the theater, and now we’re changing set location in the middle of the day.” Savannah bit her lip. “It’s weird.”

  “How so?”

  “Normally, Floyd does a bunch of different takes—like Chaplin, he’s famous for it. But right now, it’s like he’s not focused.” She shrugged. “Maybe this set will be better.”

  We’d arrived at the parking area near the beach now, and I was sorry I had to get out. It was pretty nice to hang with Savannah, without all the Pandora mission and movie stress, or stupid Ben getting in the way. I lingered, pretending to mess with the straps of my backpack.

  “I just want to stay in the car, don’t you?” Savannah said. “See that wind blow? The water has to be freezing.” She rubbed her arms, imagining the chill. “I’m not looking forward to this scene.”

  “Wait—we have to get into the water?”

  “It’s a vignette featuring Harold Lloyd’s By the Sad Sea Waves—didn’t they tell you?”

  Of course they didn’t. Not that it mattered so much, because I didn’t know what that movie was about anyway.

  Savannah opened the car door, letting in a waft of chilly air. “We don’t just have to get into the water—we have to swim in it.”

  In February, in the freezing Pacific? That was not good.

  “And with Floyd doing thirty, forty takes . . .” Savannah frowned as she looked at the choppy waves. “That’s a few hours in the water, at least.”

  I groaned and got out of the car. The wind felt even colder than earlier. And I was hungry, too, which made me feel even colder.

  A giant wave crashed on the sand. We would freeze to death out there. And with Melais on my tail, who knew what was going to happen?

  I swallowed as I thought of the cold water.

  I should probably mention that I’m not exactly the world’s best swimmer. I know that sounds kind of weird coming from a California kid, but it’s the truth. I had my swimming lessons and did all right, but I was never the guy to feel like going surfing or anything like that. I’m more of a skateboarder, video gamer—you get the idea.

  So now I had to go wade into the Pacific and do whatever Floyd told me to?

  No thanks.

  It looked like they were already setting up to shoot the movie, with trailers in the familiar U shape.

  To make matters worse, I spotted Ben. He’d caught a ride on the crew bus and was getting off. While I’d be floating in the freezing Pacific, he’d find Ethan Melais and the Dangerous Double.

  I groaned.

  Then I had an idea. What if I was the one chasing down that dangerous Chaplin hat and cuffing Ethan Melais for Agent Stark? What if it wasn’t me, but Ben in the water . . . ?

  “Linc Baker!” I heard Floyd call behind me. “Get ready to shoot.”

  I turned and smiled. “Not me, sir. I’m Ben. You want him, over there.”

  Ben looked up, confused. “Me?”

  I said, “He’s the one you want—my brother. Linc Baker.”

  18

  FRIDAY, 1:15 P.M.

  BEN PASSED ME AND WHISPERED, “WHAT are you doing, Baker?”

  “I can’t swim,” I said. Okay, so maybe that was stretching the truth a little. But if Floyd stuck me in the freezing Pacific for hours, I’d never make it. “Can you just go with it?”

  Ben looked toward the set, and I saw his eyes rest on Savannah, who was waiting for directions. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t go causing trouble
, messing up the case.”

  “When have I ever done that?”

  Ben gave me an eye roll, and then took off toward Floyd and the set. I watched Kurt hand him a costume, so at least I didn’t have to change out of mine. Much as I hated to see my overeager look-alike steal the spotlight, I had to focus on the case. Before Ben could catch Melais and get the Dangerous Double. And before someone expected me to do any real acting.

  But first, I had to call home.

  “Are they feeding you lunch over there?” Mom asked. She’s really into nutrition, and usually packs me a lunch with all the food groups represented.

  “Oh yeah,” I lied. “Healthy sandwiches and juice.”

  “Good. Is it fun?”

  “Loads,” I said, lying some more.

  “You sound worried,” Mom said. She had her mom radar going, even through the phone. “Are they being nice to you?”

  I thought of the near miss with that runaway car. “It’s Hollywood, Mom.”

  “Do we need to come get you, Linc?”

  I reminded myself of the mission. The drone-system prototype, and how this Melais dude would sell it to that terrorist group if I didn’t find the Dangerous Double. I had to stay on the case, to keep my family safe. “I can handle myself, Mom.”

  “I know. When are you done with this movie?”

  “By Sunday, at the latest. I’ll be there for the barbecue.” One way or another, by Monday nine a.m. this case would be decided. And we were scheduled to drive back from the reunion on Sunday night. So if I was going to prove Pandora wrong, and show everyone I could do more than just get into trouble, I had to get moving. Catch Melais. Get the Dangerous Double.

  I hung up after promising to be home by dinner. Then I made my way over to the trailers. There was a group of people, and it looked like they were angry about something. One dude was waving a stack of paper, saying something about a contract. Thankfully, they disappeared toward the set.

  Because I spotted the costume trailer. I rushed over and walked up the steps. Tried the door handle. It was unlocked!

  I couldn’t believe my luck. I peered around the door. “Kurt?”

  Nothing. The trailer was deserted. So I snuck inside and closed the door. Kurt had a small sitting area at the front, and racks of clothing on either side in the middle of the trailer. Toward the back, there was a small kitchen with a table and benches across it, and past that a half-open curtain. I imagined people might get dressed back there or something.

  I scoured the sitting area, passed the clothes racks, and focused on the kitchenette next. I opened some cabinets, but it was all plastic cups, crackers, and other random snack-type stuff. I ignored my growling stomach—I was on the clock here. If Kurt came back, I’d be in real trouble.

  Since the kitchenette was a bust, I tried the table behind me. This looked more promising: There were stacks of paper, some that looked like script pages and others like printed memos. But then I spotted a white box, shoved in the corner of the bench. Receipts, it read on the side, and I felt my hopes sink. But it was all I had right now, so I opened it. Looked inside.

  Inside there were—you guessed it—receipts. I riffled through them anyway, feeling like I might be better off eating some of those crackers to shut up my stomach, when I spotted something.

  A boarding pass. It said LAX—I knew that was the airport code for Los Angeles—to FRA. I read the ticket, and saw the destination.

  Frankfurt. Stark had mentioned there had been a Melais theft there. Kurt was Ethan Melais!

  “Yesss,” I said to myself, because this was good news. I caught the bad guy; now I could focus on finding that Chaplin hat.

  Only then I heard the trailer door open.

  I was busted, again.

  19

  FRIDAY, 1:33 P.M.

  “KURT?” KATE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY, and spotted me. She froze. “Linc?”

  “No, it’s Ben. I was looking for Kurt too,” I said, quickly stuffing the boarding pass in my back pocket. I pushed the box back with my knee. “Thought he might be back here taking a nap or something.”

  Kate studied me, like she was making up her mind.

  “Kurt’s not here.” I walked toward her, hoping I could scram already. This trailer was feeling very hot and stuffy all of a sudden.

  “I came to get him for the set, but we must’ve passed each other,” Kate said. “What did you need him for anyway?”

  “Um, Linc had a wardrobe issue, but no biggie.” I was grateful for the cold air.

  “Let’s go to the set,” Kate said. “Tons of touch-up to do with these water scenes.”

  “Sure, yeah.” What I really wanted to do was call Agent Stark about this new lead, but it would just have to wait.

  “So how do you like the work so far?” Kate asked as we walked between two trailers.

  “You mean acting?”

  She laughed. “What else would there be?”

  You have no idea, lady. “It’s okay. I only wish I could be as good as Linc.” I couldn’t help myself, what can I say.

  “Hmmm, yes, he’s quite the character. I imagine you bring your own talents to the table, though,” she added.

  “Not really.” We were getting closer to the beach and the set. One camera was set up on the sand, and one on a boat, a little ways out in the water. I did a double take.

  The boat was sinking.

  I could see Savannah, on the sinking boat. She was soaked, and the camera dude looked totally lost.

  Where was Ben?

  Off in the distance, I spotted him. Or his head anyway. He was bobbing in the water; then he tried to swim to the shore, but was making no headway.

  “Somebody call the coast guard!” Floyd hollered. He looked like he was losing it.

  Larry was busy dialing on his phone, and so were a few other people.

  “Where are the lifeguards?” Floyd asked no one in particular.

  Larry answered, “You sent them away, remember?”

  Floyd looked confused.

  “That boat is the only one we have,” Kate said next to me. She covered her mouth, looking really worried.

  Ben was trying to swim to shore again, but just kept drifting farther back.

  “He’s caught in the current,” I said to Kate. “Don’t they have a backup boat, or a helicopter or something?”

  Kate shook her head. “The budget is blown as it is. We’re cutting corners where we can,” she said, her voice drifting. “Is Linc a good swimmer?”

  Ben was; I knew that from his file. “He’s from California, isn’t he?” I said, like that was an answer.

  Then I felt a wave of panic when I saw Ben’s head bobbing up and down. He was being pushed farther into the Pacific.

  “But it doesn’t matter if he’s a super swimmer or not,” I said. “If he doesn’t know not to fight the current, he’ll die from fatigue soon.”

  I felt my heart freeze inside my chest. Sure, I hated the guy, but not that much.

  And no one was helping him.

  I didn’t hesitate any longer. I kicked off my shoes as I ran on the sand. Pulled my skateboard off my backpack and threw it aside.

  And I dove into the water to save Ben.

  20

  FRIDAY, 1:51 P.M.

  ON THE UPSIDE, THE UNDERCURRENT was doing a great job of pushing me toward Ben. I passed Savannah and the camera guy, who was trying to save his equipment as the boat sank.

  Savannah reached to stop me. “Don’t! You’ll drown out there!”

  “I’ll be fine.” I tried to look confident and heroic as I swam away, but my breaststroke was pretty rusty. I was still a few hundred yards away from Ben, and I already felt the cold water stiffening my muscles. Thankfully, I had Henry’s bubbly backpack to keep me afloat.

  “Come back!” someone called from the beach. I was pretty sure it was Kate. She seemed like the only one with a heart on that set, I swear.

  But I felt the current help me along and push me farther from the beach. Just
a few minutes and I would reach Ben. If only he stopped trying to swim to shore.

  “Ben!” I called, hoping no one on shore heard me, since he was supposed to be me and all. “Don’t swim! Just float.”

  He looked confused, but stopped swimming.

  “Wait for me!” I called. I felt my backpack bob in the water, and hoped it would do some Henry magic. We really, really needed it. The farther away from the shore I swam, the colder the water got.

  “What are you doing?” Ben said, floating in the water.

  “Saving you, dude.” I couldn’t believe it myself. I was close enough to see his pale skin and blue lips now. Ben was hurting. “You’re fighting the current,” I said, keeping myself afloat a dozen feet away. “Doing that, you’ll only get farther from shore—didn’t they teach you this in junior secret agent boot camp?”

  Ben shook his head. His tough agent attitude had washed away with the current.

  I passed him my backpack. “Here. It floats, see?”

  Ben grabbed it, and his arms relaxed a little. “Don’t you need something to help keep yourself afloat?” His jaws chattered.

  “I’m fine,” I lied. My legs were already sore. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

  Ben nodded. I held onto one of the backpack straps and swam parallel to the shore. “How are we getting back this way?” Ben said behind me.

  “We need to swim around the current—parallel to the shore. If you fight the riptide, it’ll only push you farther out into the ocean. You gotta outsmart the current. It’ll take a little while, but we’ll get there.”

  “Makes no sense,” Ben said through chattering teeth.

  “You’re going to argue with me, really?” I glanced back, and saw a miserable twelve-year-old kid. “Just trust me for once.”

  We swam—or mostly I swam, since Ben was pretty much done—for a long while, until I didn’t feel the current tug at my arms and legs anymore. Then we swam to shore and crawled onto the sand.

  We both collapsed on our backs.

  Ben wheezed. “You said . . . you couldn’t . . . swim.” He coughed. “You lied.”

  “I saved you.” I spit some salt water in the sand. “So just drop it, okay?”