Double Vision (18 page)

“Who is there?” Françoise's grandma called. Every muscle in my body tensed up. If this creep Drake would hurt her—his own mother—I might just have to take him out, even if he did have a gun.

“It's me, Mom. Your favorite son.” Jules Drake smiled as he walked into the bakery kitchen and spread his arms like he was ready to hug his mother.

“Jules?” Grandma held a stick, which looked suspiciously like the one Françoise had almost killed me with when we first met. “Is that you, Jules?” Then she looked past us and saw the broken glass.

Quietly, Françoise came up behind her. She was in her same faded jeans, with a big black sweatshirt that looked like it belonged to someone much larger. No stick, just her temper to arm her. “You,” she said to her uncle. “I should have known you were the one. Papa always said—”

“Your father is a fool. Hiding away this valuable Leonardo da Vinci collection, our family's property, like only he owns it,” Drake said, spitting the words. “And now he has you running all over Paris—his own daughter—to find this evil
Mona Lisa
. Why?”

Françoise spat back, “He's keeping it safe from criminals like you.”

“Says who?” Drake picked up the delivery book from the counter and threw it across the bakery. Grandma flinched. “It's time we stopped living like paupers. Time we cashed in on our family's investments. I have a buyer ready to hand over a fortune for the power of the Dangerous Double. Nevermind what the da Vinci collection could bring in.”

“But why are you here? The Vault is empty.” Françoise motioned to the door that led to the Vault. “Papa knew that once you came back, the Dangerous Double wouldn't be safe.”

“The cipher,” Drake said. “It said ‘home sweet home,' which has to be here.”

Françoise laughed. “Your cipher is wrong—there's nothing here. Where did you find it anyway?”

“It was on the Moulin de la Galette menu,” I said, watching her smile fade.

“And you figured you'd help my uncle find it?”

“It's more complicated than that, I was told to go, and—”

Françoise crossed her arms. “You were
told
, right. Your mission to find the evil
Mona Lisa
. I forgot. Who cares what happens to my family?”

Meanwhile, Agent Fullerton and his sidekick had shown up, and they started to toss stuff around. Cake pans fell to the floor with a clang, followed by cookbooks, papers, and bread baskets. They used a stool from behind the counter to smash the other windows.

“There's nothing to find!” Françoise yelled at Drake, shielding her grandma, who looked terrified. “Do you really think Papa would leave anything here, knowing you could find it?”

Drake stopped in the hallway, where the dozens of family photos were on display. He grabbed one and pushed it into Françoise's face. “Where is this?”

She took it and shrugged. It was difficult for me to see, but it looked like a family get-together—dinner in front of a small house with lots of trees all around. Françoise hesitated.

Drake snatched the frame, then pushed it until it was just an inch from Françoise's face. “
WHERE
?!?”

She stepped back and whispered something to her grandma. Then Françoise turned to her uncle. “You let Grandma go, and I'll tell you.”

Drake waved his mother off.

“Go,” Françoise said softly.

Grandma waved her stick at Drake, tears streaming down her face, then disappeared down the hall.

Françoise sighed and crossed her arms. “It's a vacation cottage Papa inherited a few years ago. Near Toulouse. Papa loves it there, so that's probably the home he was talking about in the cipher.”

Drake nodded. “Let's go.” He pulled my arm and motioned his men to join him. “The girl might be lying.”

“So what do we do with her?” Agent Fullerton asked.

“Simple.” Drake flashed a wide grin. “We take her with us.”

THE UPSIDE: THEY DIDN'T HIT US IN THE
head. Considering that I already had three sizable bumps at various points on my scalp, that was a huge plus. Downside: I got to sit next to Françoise, who kept kicking me in the shins with her heels. Drake took off in his fancy car, leaving us with a small rental.

“You helped him?” She shook her head and looked at me with such hate in her eyes, I thought she might actually light me on fire. “Do you know who he is?”

“Your uncle, apparently.” We were in the back of the red car that had followed me from the airport, with Agent Fullerton driving and French Bad Guy riding shotgun. I think the only reason they didn't toss us both in the trunk was because it was a compact, and there wasn't room for two. “Drake is American?”

“By choice, yes.” Françoise sighed. “He and Papa went to America for one of those college foreign exchange programs. Only Jules never came back to France. Papa told me they had a fight over what to do with the Vault, and then they lost touch. Until he came over for dinner last week.

“Uncle Jules changed his last name to Drake, so he would sound more American—and he basically abandoned the Mégère family.” Françoise shook her head in anger. “And now he's back. I should have known it was him. All he wants is money.”

“He's the one who kidnapped your father, you know,” I whispered. “He told me earlier, when he still thought I was Ben.”

Françoise clenched her fists.

“We'll get him back,” I said.

The car came to an abrupt stop, and I realized I hadn't been paying attention to see where we were going. Agent Fullerton turned around and gave us both a glare. “Get out, and no running. You run, you die—got it?”

We both nodded. When I got out, I realized we were at the Charles de Gaulle airport rental car drop-off.

Agent Fullerton went inside the office to return the key while French Bad Guy waited outside with us.

“How are you going to fly us out like this?” I lifted my tied hands.

“We've got a private jet.” French Bad Guy kept looking around, like someone might jump him at any moment.

“He can afford a private jet, and you're driving a compact rental car?” I fake laughed to Françoise, who just looked away. She'd obviously never talked her way out of a jam before. “The boss gets a Mercedes,” I went on to the French dude, “and you get a … what?”

“A compact rental,” the guy said, but I'd gotten his attention.

“What's your name?”

The guy squinted, and then he smiled. “You can call me Bob.”

“Bob, okay. You're Drake's right-hand man, aren't you?” I stepped a little closer, and nodded toward the rental office. “I mean, your partner, Agent Fullerton, isn't a bad guy, but he's obviously not the brains of the operation. Right?”

Bob straightened his shoulders. “Right.”

“And let's face it: it's only a matter of time before he stabs you in the back.”

“You should be quiet,” Bob said, but he didn't mean it, I could tell.

“A rental car is for small-timers. That's not you.” I shrugged. “I'm just saying.”

I was glad Bob didn't see Françoise roll her eyes. Agent Fullerton came out of the rental car building and folded some euros into his back pocket. “Let's go.”

They had us each walk between them, so there was no way we could run. Not that I would. I had to save Françoise and her dad. We navigated the Parisian airport, rushing until we came to a gate marked
Privé
.

There were about four small planes outside on the brightly lit tarmac. Where were Agent Stark and Albert Black? Wasn't anyone missing one twelve-year-old Benjamin Green lookalike, also known as Chicken Boy?

“This way!” Agent Fullerton pulled Françoise roughly by her sleeve. I followed past the pretty, shiny white airplanes until we saw Drake's Mercedes in front of a rusted old plane that had a faded picture of the Eiffel Tower on it. Drake was on his phone, looking like he was about to blow up. “This is unacceptable! I reserved a private plane, not a rust bucket. What do you mean my second payment didn't go through? Check again!” Then after a pause, to his bad guys, “Get them on the plane!”

We walked the rickety little ladder and ducked our heads to get inside. “Get in the back.” Bob pushed his fingers hard into my backpack, so hard I could feel it ram into my spine. The plane was very dimly lit. I walked slowly so I wouldn't trip over any of the seats.

But then Françoise pushed me aside and rushed toward the back of the plane. “Papa!”

Jacques Mégère looked tired and his hair was sticking up even more than in the picture Agent Stark had shown me. He kept hugging Françoise, and it wasn't until I sat down in the seat across from them that she let go and wiped her eyes.

“Are you all right, Papa?” Françoise studied his face and all the rest of him anxiously. “Did they hurt you?”

Jacques shook his head and gave her a tired smile. “I'm fine, my sweetie pie. Jules is still my brother. He won't hurt me.”

“Lousy brother if you ask me,” Françoise muttered. “Does he really expect you to reveal the location of the da Vinci collection? The Dangerous Double?”

“He says all he wants is the evil
Mona Lisa
. I say no.” Another tired smile. “But now he has found you and … this boy.” Jacques turned his attention to me. “He looks like Benjamin, the boy from the bakery who brought me here.”

“His name is Linc,” Françoise said, and then she surprised me by adding, “He's a friend.”

Jacques touched Françoise's face. “Why are you here?”

Françoise went on to tell him about us following his codes and ciphers, how Drake was right on our tail, and how his guys had come to the bakery. Meanwhile, I looked around for our bad guy duo, hoping that maybe we'd have a chance to escape. But they stood near the open door. I could faintly hear Drake yelling outside, still trying to get a better plane.

“Mom,” Jacques muttered. “Jules wouldn't hurt her, would he? Is she all right?”

“Grandma is fine, don't worry.” Françoise smiled. “I thought she was going to smack Uncle Jules with a stick.”

Jacques laughed, but his smile quickly faded. “I should have known this day would come. Jules wants his piece of the pie. He already has several potential buyers for the painting, you know. Terrorists.”

“Doesn't Uncle Jules care that they'll use the painting's powers to kill?”

Jacques just gave her a sad smile and a little shrug. “Money,” he said. “Jules always wanted a fortune, and soon he'll have it.”

Jacques was about to say more, but Drake stepped onto the plane. “Well, little brother, I guess this is the moment of truth. I found your secret hiding place—did you think I wouldn't be able to?”

Jacques looked confused.

“The vacation home in Toulouse,” Françoise said, giving her father an urgent stare. “Uncle Jules figured out that you were talking about that home in your cipher on the Moulin de la Galette menu.”

“Ah,” Jacques said in a sad tone. “You have outsmarted me, Jules.”

Drake looked smug. “And once I have the evil
Mona Lisa
, I will have no need for these two annoying little kids. Or you,” he said to Jacques, waving his gun.

Jacques slumped in his seat.

“It's time for the secret Vault collection to be out for the world to enjoy. And for me to profit.”

DRAKE MADE ANOTHER CALL. AFTER
yelling to the poor person on the other end, he threw his phone across the plane. Then he took a deep breath. “Let's
GO
!” he yelled at his bad guys in the back.

Bob gave Agent Fullerton a dirty look, but then settled into the seat near us.

“You, go find my phone,” Drake said to Bob. “I think I tossed it somewhere over there.” He motioned toward the middle of the plane, under some seats. The plane began to rumble, and the engines made a very high-pitched sound, one that couldn't be healthy in my opinion.

Bob was scrambling on the floor for Drake's phone, when the plane moved and made a sharp right turn. He cursed in French as he whacked his head against one of the seats. Vindication, I thought as I touched my head where the big bumps were throbbing. As Bob got up, clutching Drake's phone, I mouthed the words:
compact rental car
.

The plane picked up speed, and sent Bob flying. The phone jumped from his hand, disappearing between the seats again.

Agent Fullerton laughed. “Sit, you fool.”

But Bob was scrambling for the phone, cursing louder now, and pointing at Agent Fullerton.

I sat back, holding tight during takeoff. My backpack was by my feet. The stickers—without the tracking device, they were no use, but I figured they might help us if Henry could build a new tracker. Jacques's jacket was draped over the chair next to me. While everyone was focused on Bob's angry tirade, I pulled an I Love Paris sticker from my backpack. And slapped it onto Jacques's inside pocket.