Double Vision (15 page)

“Henry.”

He turned around and held the door for me. “What?”

“My backpack. I left it at the CIA. All my stuff is in there.” I groaned. “The gadgets, my skateboard, my money.”

“We can go back,” Henry said. I couldn't believe my gadget guy. He was ready to walk out the door to break in all over again.

“What are you going to do: eat another half-a-dozen hot dogs?”

Henry jutted his chin. “If that's what it takes to get the mission done.”

And I knew he would, but I also knew it was hopeless. “They probably already found my backpack. Or they will soon enough anyway. We'd only risk getting busted. At least now, we're out of CIA range.” I plopped down on my bed and sighed, knowing my backpack was gone. But it was more important to finish the mission. Save the president and Amy. Find the Dangerous Double before this mysterious bad dude would. And before Ben.

Ben.
I smiled. “You know, this may not be so bad after all.”

Henry gave me a confused look.

“The passport inside my backpack? It's Benjamin Green's.”

HENRY WAS GONE BY THE TIME I WOKE
up, since he was working with Stark and Black to find the mole. So I took my time getting dressed. The thought of Ben getting busted by the CIA made me smile.

I mean, I set the guy up without even trying. This was awesome, right?

But I couldn't enjoy it. The mole had the bomb, and Black and Stark still hadn't identified him or her yet. I was feeling the heat. Amy and I were supposed to meet at eight thirty, to get to Mount Vernon the minute it opened at nine. We needed that Dangerous Double—as soon as possible. And I wished I had my backpack.

Henry left me with chalky hot cocoa and a couple of plastic-wrapped pastries for breakfast. I ate them anyway and opened the blue files I'd stolen from the CIA to distract myself from the awful taste.

I started with the Pandora file, since it was the thinnest. Half the forms were mumbo jumbo, but I got some of the reports made by agents.

Unidentified source.

Dead end.

No link to government operations.

It confirmed what I figured out after being followed by all these secret agents: Pandora wasn't CIA at all. So what was it? The CIA didn't seem to know.

Albert Black's file was pretty thick. After half-a-dozen snooze-worthy pages, there was a knock at the door. It couldn't be Henry—he had his own key.

I walked to the door. “Who is it?”

“Agent Stark. Open up.” She looked crankier than ever, if that's possible. As she kicked the door closed behind her, Agent Stark pushed something into my chest.

My backpack.
The skateboard slammed against my nose, and Dad's compass thumped my arm. I held my backpack and tried to think of what to say.

“You broke into the CIA!?!” Stark gritted her teeth. “I knew you were reckless, but this tops anything I thought you were capable of.”

“Thanks,” I said before I could think.

That got me the darkest death-ray stare. “That was not a compliment. Did you do this on purpose?”

I shook my head. I wish I'd been smart enough to think of it, though, but I wasn't about to tell Agent Stark that.

She was seriously miffed and started pacing the room. It was kind of scary, so I clutched my backpack like a shield. “What did you take, exactly?”

“I took the Culper Ring book—you know, the new Culper Ring of spies.” I told her about our search, leaving out the food fight and our trip to John Smith's campground spot. I figured since Pandora wasn't telling me everything, I could keep a few secrets to myself. “The Dangerous Double is at Mount Vernon,” I said, hoping I sounded confident. “I'm going to get it this morning, I promise.” I dropped my backpack.

Agent Stark nodded. “Now tell me about the files you stole.”

“Huh?”

But Stark didn't buy my fake dumb-kid face.

“Okay, I took a file on Pandora and one on Albert Black.”

“Did you read them?” Agent Stark kept her voice low, but it felt like she was yelling the question in my ear.

I didn't see the point in lying, so I nodded. “Pandora isn't CIA at all, is it?”

Agent Stark stepped back. She looked at the door, like someone might come in to save us from our awkward conversation. “No.” Stark sat down on Henry's bed, which he'd made, unlike me.

“And you?”

“I was a CIA agent, before I met Albert Black. Deep undercover—I was on the fast track.” She laughed, like that was a joke or something. “But then it was all over for me.”

“What happened?”

Agent Stark gave me a sad smile, the same kind Dad gives me when something's wrong but he thinks I'm too young to understand. “Long story for another time. But after some department cuts, I was literally carrying my box of stuff out of Langley when Albert Black found me.

“Black told me there was a top secret operation called Pandora,” Agent Stark continued. “And he wanted me on it. Pandora had been around for a long time—not that I ever heard of it.” Agent Stark shook her head. “I believed him. The work was exciting. And then we got this case at the White House.

“I was beginning to suspect something wasn't right when Sid Ferguson had no idea about Pandora. . . . As the director of National Intelligence he, at least, should know our organization exists.” Agent Stark looked up at me. “I need those files. I have to know what I'm part of here.”

“Me too. But those pages in there are just mumbo jumbo to me.” I handed her the files. Agent Stark went through the Pandora folder first. When she was done, she made a huffing noise Mom makes when she reads my report card. “Just what I thought.”

“What?”

“There's an order in here to track the phones of the team. . . .” She looked up at me.

“Already knew that. Ben and I popped the batteries out of ours so they can't track us anymore.”

“Good. The mole was probably tracking you that way, too.”

It all made sense now: the government, the CIA agents, and the ex-spies—the government and our bad dude mole were all on our tail. I know, I sound like John Smith. But you know I'm right: Everyone really
was
after us.

Agent Stark looked at the file on Albert Black. She flipped back and forth between pages, then closed the folder.

“What does it say?”

“Nothing, really. He was CIA and retired a long time ago.” Stark looked bothered, and I knew she wasn't telling me everything.

“What else?”

Stark gave me a sad look. “Trust me, Linc, you're better off not knowing.”

BY THE TIME AGENT STARK GATHERED
the files, I knew two things:

Agent Stark took the two folders and moved to the door. “For now, the CIA doesn't know there are two of you—that there's a Ben Green and a Linc Baker. And we need to guard your double status. Right now, it's Pandora's best secret
weapon. But it won't hold up long.”

“Where's Ben?”

“We're keeping him hidden so the CIA can't get to him.” She sighed. “You got what you wanted, Linc: It's all up to you now.”

“I was just trying to get the next clue,” I mumbled.

“I hope this lead is worth it.” Stark looked me in the eye. “You don't have much time left. Find the coat. Bring it to the White House. If Pandora doesn't crack the case, the CIA will be all over Black. And me.” She left, clutching the files.

I took a shower, feeling all stressed out. I could only hope that Culper Ring agent Seven-Eleven—Bill Sorenson—really had the Dangerous Double. Otherwise, our whole mission was a bust, and President Griffin and Amy could die.

No pressure or anything.

I got ready and hurried downstairs to find Amy in the lobby. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let's hurry.” She looked nervous, scratching at the back of her red wig. “I snuck out, since Steve's catching on.”

“How are we getting to Mount Vernon?” I asked.

“I called us a cab.” Amy had turned around to walk outside when a dark SUV rolled up. She froze as Steve opened the door and got out. He was seriously miffed and stomped toward the revolving door, where he and Amy ended up twirling around in opposite sections twice before meeting outside.

I could hear the arguing even though I was inside the Thrifty Suites lobby. I wasn't about to join them—I get my share of trouble on my own, thanks.

Steve threatened Amy, telling her he would rat her out to her mom. Amy apologized, and in the end, she got off the hook. Steve made her promise to let him drive us. So he sent the cab on its way and motioned for me to come outside.

We got in the SUV. The second Amy and I were both buckled in, Steve sped away from the motel.

“Gosh, that was a whole new level of intense,” I said.

Amy exhaled and let out a nervous laugh. “He's
maaaad
.”

“You are making Steve's job very hard.” I glanced out the tinted rear window. There was a green minivan, two car lengths behind. For a second, I thought the driver might've been following us. But I couldn't make out a face.

Smith was turning me into a paranoid nut job. I turned back around.

“I hate being the first daughter sometimes.” Amy looked really sad for a second but then pulled a map from her pocket. “Anyway. Let's figure out where at Mount Vernon the coat could be.” The map showed what looked like a whole town: a mansion, a barn, gardens—the place was huge.

I didn't realize how big Mount Vernon was until now. “Why does it have to be this hard?”

Amy pointed to the map and opened her mouth to say something.

But then my gut told me to look back—and I saw that green minivan, swerving around a sedan to stay close. “We're being followed!”

Amy looked back. “Who?”

“That green minivan.” I knocked on the little divider to get Steve's attention.

He lowered the window to the driver's compartment. “What's up, Ben?”

“We're being followed, that's what!”

Steve looked in his side-view mirror.

“The minivan, one car behind us,” I snapped. Here I was, a twelve-year-old kid, telling a Secret Service guy how to do his job. This was messed up.

“Buckle up, kids!” Steve called over his shoulder.

I checked my seat belt and grabbed the handle. Amy did the same.

Steve weaved in and out of traffic, then took a sharp right turn, and then another.

“Who's following us?” Amy whispered, like maybe our tail could hear us.

“I don't know,” Steve snapped. He was all hyped up, like my friend Daryl gets all the time. He kept looking at his mirrors, then at us, then back to the mirrors. “I think I lost them.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. But then I didn't see that minivan anymore.

Steve smiled, like he was realizing he was supposed to make us kids feel better. “Aren't you glad I drove you now, huh?”

“Yeah,” Amy said, looking relieved.

I gave Steve two weeks before he'd lose his job. He had to be the worst Secret Service agent ever. And there was something off about him today. He seemed very nervous—like maybe he knew he was about to get canned or something.

“I think we're in the clear now.” Steve slowed down and
rolled up the little window. It was suddenly very quiet in our passenger compartment.

Amy picked the map off the floor, and we got back to work.

“So where do we start?” I asked.

Amy pointed at the mansion. “Let's start here and then work our way to the other buildings if we have to.”

Steve parked the SUV right near the entrance. There was a banner for Celebrating America's History Week up near the entry—the same as the one I'd taken down at the Smithsonian. The place was bustling with people, and it looked like we were in the 1700s or something. Lots of people in period costume—guys in Revolutionary War uniforms, ladies in poufy dresses.

The big crowd made me nervous. What if we couldn't find this code name Seven-Eleven?

Amy got out of the SUV, and I followed. We hurried to the Mount Vernon entry, because Steve was right about one thing: The clock was ticking. There were just ten hours until the bad dude planned to set off his bomb—I needed to get that coat.

After we bought tickets at the glass booth, Amy and I quickly walked up a redbrick path. We rushed past the welcome center with tall glass windows, down a tree-lined road, and then to the right, between these small white buildings with orange-tiled roofs. We passed a group of African American people in period costume.