The Alias Men (12 page)

29

SATURDAY, 10:25 A.M.

THE SANTA MONICA PIER HAD BEEN BARRICADED
for our movie, just like the Chinese Theatre. There were a couple of security guys hanging around. I just waved at them and ran past.

No one was going to slow me down. Not even Ben Green.

Lucky for me, I saw John, the chief camera guy, up ahead near the Looff Hippodrome. It's this historical building with an old-fashioned carousel inside. My aunt Jenny took me there once when I was little. The building has many entryways, each arched—my bad dude John was standing near one of them.

He was busy studying papers on a clipboard—probably more plans to kill me, since he was actually Ethan Melais. I was just fifty yards away from him. I didn't know exactly how I was going to bring in my suspect. There was probably some sort of tactic they taught junior secret agents.

But it didn't matter what I had planned. Because John turned and disappeared inside the Hippodrome.

It took me another ten seconds to reach the building and get inside. I heard the music—someone had turned on the carousel!

The wood of the deserted carousel creaked as it slowly picked up speed. The old-fashioned horses moved up and down, making it hard to spot my bad guy. I decided to jump onto the carousel. What better way to close in on him without actually having to run, right?

I got on, grabbing a white horse with a purple saddle to steady myself. This thing moved faster than I'd expected. I scanned the area and caught a glimpse of someone disappearing around the center.

There was another person on the carousel! Probably John. I reached behind me for my backpack. All I had to do was grab my bad dude by the wrist and use the Instacuff to attach him to the carousel.

It was a great plan.

I put my backpack back on and clutched the two straps that made up the Instacuff. Confident I could take the guy down, I walked around the moving horses, but it was harder than you'd think, with the carousel spinning at the same time. And I couldn't see the bad dude anymore.

I hurried to the edge of the carousel so I could avoid the horses and go faster. I rushed, until I was just feet away from John, my bad dude.

I was about to take my last few steps to grab my bad dude. Only I felt a strong jerk at my backpack.

I was stuck on something! It yanked me off the carousel.

I fell back, and realized who'd pulled me off.

Ben Green.

“What are you doing?” I moved away and sat on the floor.

“Saving you from making a fool of yourself!” Ben spat at me. He pushed me aside and stood up. “As usual.”

I sat up, watching John disappear. He didn't even look back. “You just let my prime suspect escape!”

Savannah and Henry had caught up by now and were watching me be humiliated by Ben.

I stood up and brushed the dirt off my pants. I tucked the Instacuff inside my pocket. “John was my best lead. You know, he put you at the far end of the water, into that strong current.”

“No, he didn't.” Ben closed his eyes and took a breath, like he was controlling his anger.

I was ready to punch his lights out. “You told me that yourself!”

“Floyd ordered it, or at least John thinks he did. Maybe his assistant director is calling the shots—heck, I don't know.” Ben stepped closer. “John can't be Ethan Melais,” he whispered, so Henry and Savannah couldn't hear.

“What did you say?” Henry called. Savannah looked confused.

“He's not our bad guy.” I caught Ben's peeved expression. I added, “Savannah already knows about the case. Now wait—why not?”

Ben still kept an eye on Savannah. “John doesn't have a passport. No way to travel, so . . .”

“He can't be Ethan Melais,” I mumbled, feeling the defeat. It was a good thing I hadn't tried to Instacuff the guy.

“John is heading back to the set. You need to leave him alone, Baker.” Ben straightened his shirt. I noticed he was wearing his usual clothes—a black T-shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. I guess the airline had found his suitcase. Ben said, “We can't talk about the case. There are civilians here. You may be comfortable playing this one loose and easy, but I'm not. I'm going by the book.”

“How very predictable,” I said.

Ben turned and walked toward the exit. “You need to just stay out of my way,” he called over his shoulder.

For a split second I was ready to run after him, and tell him what was what. But then I realized: My suspect list for Ethan Melais had just dwindled down to two guys. The ones who controlled the set.

Nigel Floyd and his assistant director, Larry.

30

SATURDAY, 11:00 A.M.

I WAS FEELING PRETTY SMUG AS I
walked away from the Santa Monica Pier. Even though Ben had just tackled me, things were looking up: I had narrowed my list to two suspects, and I didn't even need to update my case file or anything. It was like getting an A on a test without even studying.

Savannah and Henry were walking back to the trailers with me. I scanned the pier for Floyd and Larry, but neither guy was around. Not even past the roadblocks.

“So now what?” Savannah asked me.

I stopped. “I don't know.” Normally, I like to just fly by the seat of my pants. But this time, I wanted to have some sort of tactical plan, like a real secret agent. And I worried about what Melais had planned for me next.

Savannah checked her watch. “Well, I'd better check with Kate before Nigel decides he's ready to shoot again.” She huffed. “For a movie set, there's very little moviemaking going on.”

We watched her walk away. And I kind of got to thinking after what she said about the moviemaking stuff. “You think that Floyd is a stronger suspect?”

“Because he's not filming much?” Henry pondered that thought. “I guess.” He shrugged. “I'm the tech guy. I didn't pay attention that much when they covered field-agent procedures.”

I saw the lighting and camera crew approach. “Let's keep walking.”

“So now what—are we going to bust them both?” Henry asked, all excited.

“We need proof,” I said. We'd stopped in front of the Crepes-To-Go trailer. “Can you find out if either Floyd or Larry was in Frankfurt when Ethan Melais was there?” I asked Henry.

Henry grinned. “Leave it to me.” He opened the trailer door, and I was about to follow him inside when a voice bellowed behind me.

“We're shooting in ten, people!”

I felt my stomach twist, like when you miss the second bell at school. Only this was a lot worse. They were shooting another scene. And the bad dude, whether it was Floyd or Larry, was still out there. Wanting me dead.

“That means you, Linc Baker!”

I turned around and came face-to-face with Larry, who gave me the nastiest look I'd ever seen. He shoved the costume at me. Someone had obviously washed and dried it after yesterday's swim in the Pacific. “Put that on. Now.”

I hurried inside the trailer and changed as fast as I could, transferring the Instacuff straps to my costume pants. I grabbed my backpack.

Before I went outside, Henry said, “I'll get right on that search.”

I nodded, but my confidence disappeared like a birthday balloon in the wind. Truth was, on that movie set I was basically an easy target for the bad guy. A giant bull's-eye, a sitting duck—well, you get the idea. I had to find Ethan Melais.
Now.

“Let's go.” Larry motioned toward the Santa Monica Pier with his clipboard.

I hurried along, catching up with Savannah. The pier looked like a scene in a scary movie. It was all fogged over, making the wood planks slippery under my 1930s shoes. I wished I was able to wear my sneakers—heck, I wished I wasn't there at all.

Reluctantly, I left my backpack with some of the crew.

Floyd showed up, looking distracted. And worried. Maybe he knew he was about to be busted for being Ethan Melais. He sat down in the director's chair. “Let's shoot, yeah?”

“Whatever you want, Nigel,” Larry said. He walked over to have a conversation with John.

“They want us to ride the Ferris wheel.” Savannah pointed to it. There was a roller coaster that looped around it like a snake. The cars were like cups, with umbrellas above them, alternating red and yellow.

“Don't they have stunt people for this?” I asked.

“Floyd doesn't use those—it's more authentic,” Savannah answered.

That's what I was afraid of. Looking at the Ferris wheel, I felt a tinge of dread inside my gut, but I shrugged it off. I mean, people took this ride all the time, right?

“Nigel, are you ready?” Larry asked.

Floyd looked lost in thought.

“Nigel!”

He looked up. “Yeah, sure.”

Seemed like Larry was calling a lot of the shots. That put him at the top of my suspect list—if only I could go check in with Henry, see if he'd been able to link Larry or Floyd to the exact times and locations of the Ethan Melais thefts.

“You kids walk around, like you're here for the first time in your life.” Floyd pointed to the Ferris wheel. “Then you'll walk over there, and we'll cut.”

“That's it—we're just walking?” I felt relief wash over me like a wave.

“We'll superimpose this scene over one we're shooting next week, with David Graham.” Floyd added in a mumble, “If we can get the funding to come through.”

It got so quiet on the set you could hear the wind blow around us. I took it that this money issue was a biggie. And a huge motivation to want to steal those secrets at the summit, if Floyd was Melais.

“We're running out of time, Nigel,” Larry said behind us, having snuck up like a ninja again.

“Let's do this thing, then.” Floyd stepped back and returned to his chair. He sat down and called, “Action!”

Savannah walked, and I followed. I felt like an idiot, if you want to know the truth. How was this going to make for a good movie?

We reached the Ferris wheel and Larry hollered, “Cut! Next scene.”

Savannah and I turned around. Floyd was motioning to someone behind the Ferris wheel. This guy in a blue polo shirt turned a switch on the control panel and walked to the front.

“You kids ready to get on?” he asked. The wheel made a little creaking noise as it came to a stop.

We both got on one of the yellow cars, and it was awkward for a second, since we were sitting very close to each other.

“And we're back!” Larry stood near the Ferris wheel, and stepped aside as a lady with a camera got closer. “Silence on the set. We shoot in five, four, three, two . . .”

Savannah and I rode the wheel once, and again we weren't saying any lines at all. While we were at the top, I heard Larry yell, “CUT!” We rode the rest of the way down, and the Ferris wheel was stopped just as we were reaching the ground.

“This is going to be a seriously lame movie,” I said to Savannah. “Nothing happens.” I saw the camera lady get into the car in front of us. “Wait—what is she doing?”

“She'll get a different angle.” Savannah pointed at the camera lens, which was now pointed squarely at us. “Just act like the Hollywood kid.”

I was about to ask her what that meant, when the Ferris wheel got back in motion with a jerk.

Savannah shifted in her seat. “Whoa,” she muttered under her breath.

I forced myself to stay quiet as our car passed over the ground, then moved us up again. The fog floating from the Pacific seemed to get thicker. The wheel was speeding up—that wasn't in the script, was it?

We were at the top now, and I felt a wobble. Like something above us was loose.

“What's happening?” Savannah mumbled, trying not to move her lips.

“I don't know.” We were descending, and definitely at a faster speed than before. “Maybe we should jump out down below.” I didn't care about the movie—I just wanted off.

The camera lens wasn't pointed at us anymore. The camera lady had figured out something was wrong, too. She glanced around, looking panicked.

The Ferris wheel sped over the ground, giving us no time to jump out of the car.

Savannah whimpered next to me as we swooped up again, toward the gray sky.

This was not good.

“Hold on,” I said, like that was helpful. Truth was, I had no idea what to do. And my gadgets were inside my backpack, which was on the ground.

Suddenly the Ferris wheel came to a halt, jerking the car, making it swing back and forth.

There was a poof, like something exploded. Then a cracking noise above us, where the umbrella was attached to the wheel. In the car ahead of us, the lady dropped her camera. It shattered against the metal bars.

Savannah screamed.

I don't know why, but I grabbed her hand. I looked up, and through the foggy mist I saw our umbrella come off on one side.

Then I heard a crack.

Our car was coming loose.

I had to do something, or we'd plummet to the ground.

Savannah squeezed my hand. Her eyes scared me more than the sound of the moaning steel above us.

“Don't let go of my hand,” I said.

“I won't.”

The umbrella was attached by just a tiny sliver of welded steel.

I heard a crack.

And I saw the umbrella come loose. Below our feet, the car dropped.

31

SATURDAY, 12:05 P.M.

I QUICKLY GRABBED THE STEEL POST
that held the umbrella. And used the crooked Ferris wheel car as leverage with my sneakers.

Savannah screamed. She gripped my waist but was dangling—I had to do something.
Quick.

And then I remembered Henry's Instacuff! I had those two straps in my pocket from earlier.

Thank you, Henry
.

“I'm slipping!” Savannah's voice was so full of panic my heart almost stopped.

Using one hand, I reached behind me and strapped her wrists so she was now hugging me, with her hands cuffed at my back, all while I gripped the umbrella post with my other hand. I had to push my feet hard against the Ferris wheel car to keep us both from falling.

Someone managed to get the wheel moving again. There was a jerking motion, but I held on.

Savannah's face was wet with tears—and to be honest, I kind of felt like crying myself. I cursed Ben as I struggled to keep my grip on the metal bar. If only he was a better actor, he would be dangling off this stupid Ferris wheel right now.

 

Once we reached the ground, the camera lady was saved from her broken car. The whole crew clapped and hooted. Someone brought me my backpack, and I used a set of magnets to unhook a dazed Savannah. We were both trembling, and I felt dizzy.

But I did catch a glimpse of Larry, who looked seriously angry. Maybe because his plan to kill me had failed.

Floyd was gone.

My legs were shaking as I walked away from the Ferris wheel. Savannah was still clinging to my arm.

“Are you okay?” I looked over and saw that she was still crying. But her tears were quiet, angry tears.

“Fine.” Savannah squeezed my hand and bit her lip. “Actually, I'm not fine at all.” She wiped the tears from her face. “That's it! I quit—I don't care if this is a Nigel Floyd film. Someone's been trying to kill us on every set. I'm calling my mom!”

Most of the crew was inspecting the Ferris wheel, so thankfully, they paid no attention to Savannah's outburst. But I saw that Larry was keeping an eye on us.

Savannah didn't care. “I'm out.” She turned to Larry. “You can tell Floyd that.”

Larry didn't even blink.

Savannah looked at me. “I'll see you at the Hollywood Bowl tribute to the Oscars tonight.” She let go of my hand and stalked away.

Larry looked at me. “And you—are you scared too?”

Thinking of my family's safety, I smiled. “Nope. You're stuck with me.” I wasn't going anywhere—I was right on Ethan Melais's tail, I could feel it.

Larry squinted. “We'll have to find a body double for Savannah—this will take some serious editing,” he said, mostly to himself. Then to me: “Go freshen up. We're back in twenty.”

I walked away, feeling like I'd won. But I was also hoping no one saw how my legs were shaking. And I still didn't know: Was Floyd Ethan Melais, or was Larry?

 

“No way! Duuuude . . .” Henry listened to my story in the crepe truck. His jaw kept dropping lower and lower the further I got into it.

“So thank you for that Instacuff,” I said in the end. “Without them, Savannah and I would have fallen right off that Ferris wheel.” I shivered at the thought.

Agent Stark had just gotten off the phone, and she was listening to the story, too. “This case is getting out of hand. We have to find Ethan Melais,
now
.” She sat down with us. “Black and I are almost done with securing the Dangerous Doubles from the warehouse. So we can help you soon. But Linc—you and Ben are still our best shot at finding Melais, since you have full access to the set.”

“I'm trying, believe me,” I said, feeling like a failure.

Stark turned to Henry. “Are you getting anywhere?”

Henry shook his head. “I first tried to track that business card, see if I could link the paper or design to a manufacturer. But that went nowhere—too common. No prints, so that was a dead end.” He sighed. “Now I'm trying to track the crew's travel records. I thought it would be easy, but none of our suspects shows up on passenger manifests.”

“They probably chartered a flight,” Stark mused.

“Of course! I'll search for that.” Henry turned back to his laptop.

Agent Stark nodded. “We all have to get back to work. It's already Saturday, and we still don't have Ethan Melais or the Dangerous Double.”

“Where's Albert Black?” I asked.

Stark thumbed to the driver's compartment of the food truck, looking worried. “He's busy calling his contacts, relocating the last of the Dangerous Doubles. Pandora is in serious jeopardy with the Chaplin hat out there unsecured.” Suddenly she seemed annoyed. “Where's Ben?”

“I don't know,” I said, like I didn't care. But where was the dude, anyway? I'd bet he'd been studying that stupid junior secret agent manual while I was dangling off a Ferris wheel.

Stark turned away and tried to call Ben. No answer.

Someone knocked on the door, and Stark opened, hollering, “We're out of batter, so go away!” She groaned after closing the door.

Henry looked up from his laptop. “This is impossible. How am I going to get passenger lists for all these chartered flights?”

“Maybe we're looking at this all wrong,” I said, thinking out loud. “Larry and Floyd wouldn't just take a plane, right?”

“I don't know what you're getting at,” Stark said, looking confused.

But Henry did. He grinned, pointing his finger at me. “Hotels! They would need to stay at a hotel, right?”

Stark perked up. “That's good. But which hotel . . . ?”

“A big one.” I thumbed to the trailer door. “Look out there—Floyd comes with a whole gang of sidekicks. They would take up a big chunk of hotel.”

Henry's fingers were flying over the laptop keys. “Give me a few minutes and I'll have that information.”

Stark nodded. “I'll leave you to it. I'd better go help Albert Black contact Pandora operatives, to secure the last of the Doubles.” She left us to join Black in the driver's compartment.

Just then, my phone rang. The call showed up as unavailable, but I answered anyway. “Hello?”

“You didn't call me.” It was Mom. “And I didn't even see you at breakfast. You were supposed to check in at lunch, remember?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I just got . . . hung up a little.” This was entirely true: I had been dangling off that Ferris wheel. “How is the macaroni salad?”

“Good.” Mom was mad.

“I'm really sorry I forgot to call,” I said.

“Where are you shooting right now?”

Uh-oh. Mom was thinking of crashing the set. “Santa Monica. But we're changing locations, I think.”

“You think?” Mom huffed. “I'm coming out there. It's about time I meet this director.”

“No!” I took a breath. Henry gave me a worried look. “Let me find out where we're shooting next, okay?”

Mom was silent.

“Then you can meet the dude.”

“Okay. I expect a call soon. And Linc?”

“Yeah.”

“This is beginning to smell like one of your troublemaking episodes.”

“It's not. Honest.”

We hung up just in time, because there was a bunch of shouting near the trailer. I moved the tiny curtain over the window. Outside, people were scrambling. I saw the back of Larry's head, and I was pretty sure he was yelling about shooting in five or something.

“I have to get to the set.” I felt a brick drop inside my stomach.

“No way, man.” Henry glanced up from his laptop, looking all upset. “You can't go back there!”

“I have to keep the cover up.” I motioned to Henry's laptop. “Especially with you almost cracking the case.”

Henry shook his head, but he knew I was right. “I did just narrow down the list of hotels,” he said. “We're close.”

Maybe too close. And Ethan Melais knew it.

I left the Crepes-to-Go truck, feeling like I did when I got called to the principal's office. Only a whole lot worse.

I walked toward the Santa Monica Pier, where the fog was even thicker now. Floyd sat in his director's chair, and the crew was setting up cameras around the Ferris wheel.

Larry waved me over, clipboard in hand. “Change of plans, Linc.”

“Everyone!” Floyd hollered. “That footage on the Ferris wheel was brilliant—what a marvelous tribute to
Safety Last!
”

“Huh?” I said.

Larry shook his head. “It's a famous Harold Lloyd film, where he dangles off a tall building from a clock—don't you watch any movies?”

I was about to tell him I mostly watch crime shows with Grandpa and play Racing Mania Nine, but Larry raised his hand to silence me.

“I want to thank everyone for their efforts, but I have some bad news,” Floyd said with a sigh. “Filming of
The Hollywood Kid
has been suspended.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, though I knew very well.

“It means you're all going home,” Floyd said. “We're done.”