The Alias Men (11 page)

26

FRIDAY, 9:15 P.M.

I MADE IT TO MY AUNT AND UNCLE'S
place at nine fifteen, exhausted and frustrated from my crazy day in Hollywood. I hoped the California breeze had blown the stink of failure off me before I faced the family. Even though they didn't know it, I was flunking out as a junior secret agent. And it could cost the Bakers their lives.

The aunts and uncles were all in the backyard, sitting by the fire pit with their drinks. I waved hello and scrammed before they could ask me about the movie or want me to make s'mores or something. I needed time to think.

Which was a no-go, because Grandpa was waiting for me in the bedroom. He was watching some History Channel show on mobsters or something but turned off the set when I came in. And Grandpa never turns off the TV. Not even for dessert.

“How was your meeting?”

I sank down on my crummy foldaway bed, tossing my backpack in the corner. “Terrible. Worse than that.”

He nodded, like he knew exactly what I was talking about. “The Agency makes things complicated.” He was talking about the CIA, of course.

“No kidding.” I tried to lie down, but thought better of it when I felt the springs in my back. “What would you do if you were looking for someone, but they were . . . hiding?”

“In a hiding place or incognito?”

“Incog—what?”

“In disguise.”

“Definitely that one, in disguise. This dude called Ethan Melais is right under my nose, but I just can't spot him.”

Grandpa scooted to the edge of his bed. “You need a system—a way to track your evidence. Record what you have on paper.”

“Procedures. Like a case file,” I said, remembering Albert Black's scolding in the car earlier, and those blue folders with top secret stamps that Pandora kept.

“Exactly.”

“That sounds like a lot of hassle,” I complained. “Like homework.” And I really can't stand homework.

Grandpa shrugged. “You want to catch this hoodlum or not?”

I thought of Ethan Melais and the Dangerous Double, and how if he made it into the conference and sold the drone-system prototype to those terrorists, I'd lose my car-loving family. “Yeah, I want to catch him.”

“Then you gotta do the work.” Grandpa flipped the pages of his notebook and handed it to me.

Procedures. Like in Ben's junior secret agent manual. To beat him, I had to be like him. So I wrote down
Ethan Melais
. And
male, skinny
. But that was all I could come up with. I mean, the guy could be anybody, right?

I stared at that page until eventually I fell asleep. And I dreamed of the Hollywood Sign. The letters came to life and went running after me. I was at Griffith Park, and I tried to get away. But I was frozen.

27

PLACE: AN UNCOMFORTABLE FOLDAWAY BED

TIME: SATURDAY, 7:19 A.M.

STATUS: GRUMPY

I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING FEELING
kind of groggy and tired. That stupid dream had made it even worse. Hollywood was trying to kill me, even in my sleep—and Ethan Melais was doing a bang-up job in real life. I had less than fifty hours left until the drone-prototype reveal on Monday, and I was no closer to finding Melais or the Dangerous Double. So I wasn't really feeling like getting up.

Of course Grandpa didn't mind helping me there. Once he got out of the shower, he rudely pulled the covers off the bed.

“Hey, Grandpa!” I tried to tug at the corner of my blanket, but it was out of reach.

“Time to get up, kid.” Grandpa started making his bed, leaving me in a cloud of his cologne.

So I took a shower, letting the hot water jump-start my brain. As hard as it was to find Ethan Melais and the Dangerous Double, I only had to think of my family to remember why I was on the case.

Before I left, I grabbed my backpack. Including a notebook this time. I had no idea how I was going to create a case file, but I would get some help with that.

On my way out the door, I passed the freshly sanded Town Car. Aunt Linda would be airbrushing the body today, I knew from all the other car overhauls at Baker reunions. But unless Dad got the thing to start, it would just be a pretty lawn decoration.

Dad was hunched over the engine and didn't even look up when I called, “Hey, Dad. Where'd everyone go?”

Dad groaned. “I probably scared them off.” That was very un-Dad-like. He's the nicest guy you could ever meet.

“Uh-oh.” I adjusted my backpack and heard the compass ding against the rusty metal of the old Town Car.

“Can't figure out why she won't start.” Dad stepped back from the engine and took off his glasses. He wiped the lenses on his shirt.

I wanted to stick around and help, but I had to go. If I didn't find this Melais and the Dangerous Double, my family wouldn't be around to celebrate the next reunion. “Can't anyone give you a hand?”

“The engine is my game, Linc, you know that. Maybe it's the water pump,” Dad muttered. He put on his glasses and disappeared under the hood.

“Good luck with it, Dad. I gotta go,” I said.

“Wait,” he said, and looked up. “How long will you be gone for?”

“I put the call sheet on the fridge.” And I took off before he could ask any more questions.

Stark was waiting for me at the end of the block. “Morning,” she said once I got in. She waited for me to put on my seat belt before driving away. Her expression was grim as she sipped from a Styrofoam cup.

So I didn't say anything. With adults, you have to know when to let them get their coffee fix.

“Do you have a plan?” Stark finally asked once we got onto the highway.

“I'm working on a profile.”

Stark lingered in the slow lane, seeming superstressed.

“I just need to narrow my suspect list. There are about a hundred dudes left on the set. . . .” I was beginning to depress myself.

“Henry is having the Melais business card checked for prints.” Stark gulped her coffee. “This case is a nightmare. Black and I have only secured half of the Dangerous Doubles, so we can't help you kids. The weapon reveal is in two days. We're running out of time!”

I didn't know what to say to that. We drove in silence for a while, and I felt kind of nervous. What if we couldn't complete this mission? What if Melais made it to the reveal on Monday and stole the drone? We had less than forty-eight hours left.

This was bad.

We'd arrived a block or so away from the Santa Monica Pier, and I unbuckled my seat belt.

Agent Stark looked me in the eye. “Honestly, you and Ben are our best shot at uncovering Ethan Melais's identity, since you're right here on the set. Black and I could never have the access you do. We need that Dangerous Double.”

No pressure or anything.

I got out and walked the block to the pier, passing colorful storefronts. The street was so packed with tourists I didn't even bother riding my skateboard. I reached Ocean, the avenue that runs along the beach, and crossed the bike path. The Santa Monica Pier was up ahead. I saw that the north parking lot had a bunch of trailers parked on it.

But all the crew and cast were gathered near the entrance to the pier, so that's where I headed. I could hear Floyd yelling from a few dozen yards away.

“This is rubbish!” He crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at Larry's chest.

Larry calmly bent down to pick it up. He said something to Floyd that I couldn't hear from a distance.

“I don't care if it's a legal document!” Floyd hollered, practically spitting in Larry's face. Floyd needed to lay off the caffeine, or play some video games to relax a little. The guy looked like he was going to wring Larry's neck.

I couldn't see Larry's face, but I did spot Savannah. She gave me a smile and a little wave, which made me walk twice as fast.

“Everyone, take fifteen.” Floyd waved his hand. “Heck, take an hour for all I care!” he yelled over his shoulder as he stormed off toward the trailers.

He pushed John, the chief camera guy, out of the way.

John gave Floyd a dark look. “You know, there are other people on the set. People who deserve respect.”

But Floyd was too far away to hear him.

“What happened?” I asked Savannah. Around us, crew members scattered, looking defeated and grumpy.

Savannah got closer. She was wearing her hair in a braid this time. “I guess Floyd got a court order. Something to do with money.”

“He's broke, right?” And he was taking it out on Larry, who was my number two suspect for Ethan Melais. If Larry sold that drone-system prototype, he could bail Floyd out. Or better still: He'd never have to work for Floyd again.

Savannah said, “This place is getting crazy. It's starting to feel like an Alan Smithee project.”

Huh?

When she saw my confused expression, Savannah explained, “Alan Smithee is a name directors use if they don't want their own associated with a movie.”

“Like putting someone else's name on your English paper.”

“Exactly.” Savannah looked troubled. “Nigel is acting like he doesn't care about this movie.”

“So now what do we do?” I asked.

Savannah exhaled. “We wait.” She stepped closer, and glanced around. “How is your case coming along?”

I hesitated. How much could I tell her? “It's stalled, like an old car.” No point lying. I spotted the Crepes-to-Go truck and pulled Savannah along.

“Where are we going?”

“Come on. I want you to meet a friend of mine. He'll help me fix this case.”

28

SATURDAY, 9:35 A.M.

“I HEARD ABOUT THIS PLACE,” SAVANNAH
said as we got closer to the food truck. “Apparently these crepes are legendary—the chefs are from France.”

I laughed. “They've visited, yeah,” I said, thinking of my first mission, in Paris.

Of course the crepe stand was closed, but the door was open. I peeked inside and was greeted by a cranky Albert Black.

“What are you doing here, kid?” He stood in the kitchen. Stark was hunched over some papers on the counter. She looked very tired.

Henry peeked from around the banquette corner. He grinned, looking relieved to see me.

“Can I borrow Henry for a minute?” I asked.

“Why?”

“I'm using my resources, like you said.”

Henry jumped up.

Black sighed and said, “Go, but don't take too long.”

Henry rushed to join me, and he let out a groan once he closed the door.

“High stress in there, huh?” I said, thumbing at the Crepes-to-Go truck.

Henry nodded, and straightened when he spotted my sidekick—or partner, as she liked to be called.

“Hi, I'm Savannah.” She extended her hand and smiled.

Henry looked like he was about to faint. He wiped his hand on his pants before shaking hers. “I'm Henry. You were on that TV show, um,
You Only Live Once
.”

Savannah made a face. “Not the best listing on my résumé, but yes.”

Henry just looked at her with his mouth gaping.

“Dude, we need your brainpower.” I put my arm around his shoulders and directed him to a deserted picnic bench. I sat down and pulled out my notebook. “I need your help narrowing the pool of Ethan Melais suspects.”

Savannah and Henry sat down. Henry looked a bit more relaxed now that he had something to focus his brilliant brain on.

“Tell me what they teach you in junior secret agent boot camp.” I had missed that particular stint of misery, but Henry hadn't. “I need to follow some sort of procedure, or I'll never catch Melais.”

Henry snickered. “You know, you sound like Ben.”

“Don't remind me.” I clicked my pen.

“Okay,” Henry said, getting more serious. “You have to start with a list of Melais's attributes. I can just get the file and save you some time there.”

Henry went inside the trailer and came out with the file. “Height—average. That's not helpful. Weight—slender.”

“I already have that,” I said, waving my notebook. “It describes a few dozen guys on the crew.

“I get what you're doing,” Savannah said. “You're creating a character profile.”

“You're aware this isn't pretend, right?” I said. “We're not method acting here or whatever.”

She waved my comments away. “I know
that
. But you're not sure who this guy is, right? So you have to figure it out with the information you have—I do the same thing when I work on a character.”

“That makes sense,” Henry said. “We're building a profile, only a criminal one. So let's describe him. He's a master thief. Dresses like a gentleman. Knows how to sneak in and out of places without getting caught, but then likes to rub people's noses in it by leaving a business card. Does that about cover it?”

I nodded, still scribbling in my notebook.

“He's frustrated,” Savannah said. She stared off into the distance. “This character is someone who wants more credit for what he does—that's what the business card is all about.”

“‘Look at me—I'm Ethan Melais,'” I mumbled as I wrote it in my notebook. I felt energized. We were getting somewhere. I could feel it.

“Maybe this guy is quiet, but underappreciated,” Savannah mused.

“The cameraman!” I said. I closed my notebook and stuffed it into my backpack. “John was all mad at Floyd, remember? He was talking about deserving respect. That makes sense. He put Ben out in the current.” Turns out Ben was right after all. It was a good thing he wasn't here, or he'd rub it in. Where was my annoying double anyway?

Savannah said, “John might still be at the pier.”

“Let's catch him!” Henry jumped up.

Savannah did too.

“You guys know this dude is dangerous, right?” I asked.

They each nodded, which I took as an I-don't-care. So we rushed away from the trailers.

“We probably shouldn't be running,” I said. We slowed.

But then I saw Ben walking up on the Santa Monica Pier. What if he beat me to the punch?

No way. I clenched my teeth.

And ran.