The Alias Men (4 page)

8

THURSDAY, 3:30 P.M.

I CALLED MY COUSIN, AND HE PICKED ME
up outside the Perfect Frame Café. During the drive back, Mike and Willow argued about the right amount of butter on popcorn (Willow said none was best, while Mike thought popcorn should be drenched in it). All I could think about was these bad terrorist dudes. The Dangerous Double. The drone weapon that could kill everyone in Los Angeles.

The thought of buttered popcorn made me feel sick to my stomach.

As we got closer to Pasadena, I tried to come up with a cover story to tell my parents. How was I going to talk them into letting me go to some famous director's house that evening? Twelve-year-olds don't go to fancy Hollywood parties.

As we walked up to my aunt and uncle's place, I still didn't know what to do. But thankfully, my dad and my aunt Jenny had their heads buried under the hood of a rusty car that was parked inside the garage. There were car parts strewn all over the lawn—a bench seat, a rusty battery, even the steering wheel wasn't where it should be.

“Dude, this is a disaster,” I whispered to Mike.

Mike just shrugged. Willow made a face and disappeared inside.

“Linc!” Dad got out from under the hood of the car and smiled. His face was smeared with oil, and his glasses had slid to the tip of his nose. “Isn't she a beauty?”

“She's something.”

Aunt Jenny came over and wiped motor oil on my cheek. “In a few days, this will be a mint 1940 Cadillac Town Car—just you watch.”

“You gotta see the potential, Linc.” Dad put his hand on the rust-colored metal. “She doesn't know it herself, but we'll show her.” He always talked about cars like they were people. “Come on inside. We'll go see Mom.”

Mom looked up from her cutting board when we made it to the kitchen. The place looked like the vegetables had been in battle, and they were all casualties. “How was the tour?” she asked.

I hesitated, and then decided my best bet was not something I would ordinarily do. Any other situation, I'd come up with a good story, something that Mom and Dad would buy. But instead I rolled the dice.

I told them the truth.

“Wait—you're cast in a movie?” Mom stopped cutting celery. “By a famous director, no less.”

“Nigel Floyd or something,” I said, adding a shrug.

Mom frowned. “It sounds like one of your made-up stories.”

“It's the truth!” I argued.

Dad jumped in, thank goodness. “Seems like a cool opportunity, Linc.”

“So can I go?” I asked. “To this party tonight?”

“Isn't there paperwork to sign?” Mom frowned. “I should really talk to the director.”

“No need,” I said quickly. “I can just bring the paperwork home. Floyd said he'll have it at the party.”

Mom pointed the knife at me. “You can't miss the reunion picnic. I don't care what the shooting schedule is. I'll have to see this contract. Oh, and you'll have to let me know where you are
at all times
.”

“Sure, yeah.” I felt relief push away that brick in my stomach. “Can you put the knife down, Mom?”

She looked at her hand, and then shook her head with a smile as she placed the knife on the cutting board. “I'm so . . . frazzled.” Mom sighed. “These picnics always turn into such a stressed weekend. I just hope my pasta salad tastes okay.”

Mom's pasta salad stinks, if you want to know the truth. But don't tell her that. The only dish she can pull off is spaghetti and meatballs, and I'm pretty sure the meatballs come frozen and the sauce is from a jar. “You'll be fine,” I lied. “So can I go to this party?”

“As long as Mike agrees to join you, we have a deal.”

 

Thankfully, Mike never got the memo about having to come with me to the party. I mean, joining me could mean just driving, right? So technically I wasn't lying.

“Sure, cuz,” he said when I asked him for a ride. “I'm heading to Santa Monica to hang on the pier with my guys. I can drop you off before.”

After dinner, we took off from the house at six thirty and hit the highway. Willow wasn't coming along this time, and Mike was pretty quiet until we took the exit to the 110.

“So you're gonna be in a movie, huh?” He smiled and nodded. “That's super cool, man.”

“Yeah.” Truth was, the idea of being on camera scared me more than being chased by bad dudes on a Pandora case.

“Hey, think you can get me a spot?” Mike gave me his cockiest of grins.

“I'll try.”

“That would be cool, right?” He nodded to himself. “Be in a real Nigel Floyd movie.
Man.
” He smiled.

If I could, I'd give him my spot.

We didn't talk the rest of the way, and Mike turned the radio to some heavy metal. Not that I was listening. As we passed Culver City (no traffic, which was a miracle) and exited the 110 at the Pacific Coast Highway along the beach, I couldn't stop thinking about the Dangerous Double.

Who had it? What if this bad-dude terrorist group got ahold of it and used it to get into the conference and take the drone weapon?

“Hey, Linc.” Mike pushed my shoulder. “We're here, man.”

I looked up and realized we'd already arrived in Malibu and were driving up a winding road. Mike stopped a dozen yards from the double metal gates.

“Can't go farther,” Mike said, pointing at the gates. “Unless you take me with you.” He gave me a hopeful glance.

I shook my head. “No, invitation only. Sorry,” I added, hoping I sounded like I meant it. I couldn't risk Mike getting caught in the middle of the Pandora mission.

Mike shrugged. “Call me if you need a ride back.”

I got out and felt the cool breeze coming from the Pacific. It was getting dark, but I could still see the water below. This had to be the best place to live in California. I pulled the straps on my backpack tighter, feeling the compass swing on the clip, reminding me why I was here.

I watched Mike's taillights disappear, and geared up to go to this party. I took a deep breath and tried to clear my head to focus on the mission. Get the Dangerous Double.

But then I saw a white van pull up and stop on the side of the road. The driver flashed the headlights—just once, but it was enough for me to know: Albert Black was here.

When the cargo side door slid open, I was greeted by a face I hate more than anyone's in the world.

Benjamin Green.

9

THURSDAY, 7:00 P.M.

THE WORST THING ABOUT BEN GREEN? HE
looks almost exactly like me. Take away the cocky grin and the standard-issue black cargo pants and we might as well be twins. Only he's a by-the-book, know-it-all junior secret agent, and I'm the exact opposite. Needless to say, I can't stand the guy.

“Get in, Baker,” he said.

Since there was a red sports car waiting to pass the van, I did. It wasn't until I got inside that I took a good look at Ben's outfit. He was wearing a pair of blue swimming trunks and a green shirt with I Love LA on it.

I laughed. “Dude, did a tourist shop throw up on you?”

Ben shot me a death-ray stare. “The airline lost my luggage, so I had to buy provisions at the airport.”

“The outfit is totally working for you,” I said, still laughing. His pale legs looked lost without long pants to protect them, and his toes wiggled in oversized flip-flops. I would bet my video-game collection that Ben had never worn anything but secret agent boots in his life.

“Enough with the joking,” Albert Black called from the passenger seat.

I saw Agent Stark, his secret agent sidekick, in the driver's seat. She looked serious as ever, in a black turtleneck, her brown hair pulled back in the usual bun. “Hey, Agent Stark.”

“Linc,” she said with a nod.

“So why the welcoming committee?” I asked, but I had a sneaking suspicion. Ben Green was here for a reason, and it wasn't to get a California gift-shop wardrobe.

“Since the mission has become more”—Albert Black searched for words—“of a pain in the you-know-what, we pulled Agent Green off another mission and flew him in.”

“You're replacing me,” I said.

Everyone in the van was silent.

“And you think fake surfer boy here is going to do a better job finding the Dangerous Double than me?” I had to clench my fists to keep from blowing up. This was
my
case,
my
turf,
my
family's lives on the line.

“I'm a trained agent,” Ben said, crossing his arms. “If it had been me on the Sterling Studios tour, the artifact would be secure by now.”

“No it wouldn't,” I argued. “The Dangerous Double was already gone when I got there.”

“At least I wouldn't have been detained by security,” Ben countered. “Or brought back a made-in-China imitation piece.”

“There was no way I could've had time to—”

“Silence!” Black yelled from his seat in front. “The point is, I can't risk any more mistakes. The unveiling of the drone system is on Monday at nine a.m., and here we are, Thursday night, back at square one.” He looked at me. “Green is going in, and you're going home, Baker. It's decided.”

“But I'm the one who got cast in the movie!”

“And now Agent Green will take your place.”

I looked to Agent Stark, but it was obvious she wasn't going to have my back this time. I was out. Ben Green was in. I reached for the van door handle.

“Stay here, Baker,” Black barked. “I'll call a cab. Don't want you getting any ideas, like sneaking off to this party.”

I shrugged, like it was no big deal that I got replaced by my annoying double. But secretly, I wanted to know about the mission.

“Now, Agent Green,” Stark said to Ben. “We think we know who stole the Dangerous Double from the warehouse.” She handed him a photograph, but I snatched it away before Ben could take it.

“Let me see it,” I said. First they have me do all the work, and then I'm supposed to just let Ben Green take over? I don't think so. I caught a quick glimpse of the photograph. It was a gritty image, like maybe it came from some security camera. The picture was of an average-height guy, kind of skinny, with dark hair, a mustache, and a cream-colored suit. He looked rich.

“Gimme that.” Ben pulled the photograph from my hand.

“Who's the dude?” I asked.

Stark hesitated, but then said, “His name is Ethan Melais. He's a professional con man—a thief of secrets. He sells them to whoever is willing to pay top dollar.” She kept her eyes on Ben. “A freelance spy.”

Albert Black dialed a number on his phone. From his hushed conversation, I could just make out that he was calling a cab.

“How does Melais get these secrets?” I asked.

“This isn't your case, Baker,” Ben said. But then he looked at Stark, waiting for her to answer my question.

“Ethan Melais has a knack for getting himself into closed-door meetings—he's just that good a con man. We had a Pandora meeting here in Los Angeles yesterday.” Stark clenched her jaw. “We have reason to believe he got in, found out about the Chaplin hat.”

Ben groaned.

Stark continued, “Intelligence tells us he's planning to infiltrate the top secret conference on Monday, so he can sell the drone-system prototype to the terrorist group.”

“The world would be like an all-you-can-eat buffet of secrets if this Melais guy got the hat,” I said. “He wouldn't have to con his way into anyplace. He could walk right in, and no one would be the wiser.”

“And this is the only image we have of our suspect?” Ben waved the gritty photograph. “Assuming the hair and clothing could be changed—”

“That's useless,” I mumbled. It was true: I wouldn't recognize Melais if he was sitting right next to me in this stuffy van.

“It's what you have,” Stark snapped. “Linc: You just sit here and wait for that cab,” she said to me before pulling herself together. “Green: Get to work. Find Ethan Melais. Bring us the Dangerous Double.”

Ben asked, “Do you think he's here?”

Stark nodded. “The Chaplin hat gave us a lucky break in the hunt for Ethan Melais. There have been confirmed cases of top-secret-information theft in Rome, Moscow, and Frankfurt. It turns out that Nigel Floyd had a production in these locations at the same time as the thefts.”

I said, “Ethan Melais is a movie guy. He's part of Floyd's crew.”

“That's still a very broad category,” Ben commented. He was right, but I wasn't going to admit that.

“Before, we didn't have much of anything,” Stark said, “so this is a breakthrough in the case. We may have come here to retrieve the Dangerous Double and secure the drone-system prototype, but now our objective has expanded.”

“Find Ethan Melais, find the Dangerous Double,” I said, summing up the case.

“Exactly.” Stark pointed up the drive, to the gates to Nigel Floyd's mansion. “That party is the best place to start. Ethan Melais is part of the movie crew. He's simply waiting until Monday, when he can steal the drone-system prototype and make a fortune.”

“So our perp profile is that Melais is male, average height, and slender. I'll go inside,” Ben said with one of his annoying super-serious nods.

“And you're going home, Baker,” Black said. He'd ended his phone call and had been listening to our conversation. “A cab will be here in five minutes.”

Ben Green pushed past me and opened the sliding door to get out of the van. Before he jogged up to the gate, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

I won, Baker.

And I had no choice but to let him hijack my mission.

The cab must've been nearby when Black called, because it pulled up right as Ben made his way past the gate. This was just great, I thought, as Black gave the guy a wad of cash to drive me back to Pasadena. Ben was going to get Ethan Melais and the hat, even though I had the most to lose.

No way.

Black got back into the van, and as I opened the passenger door of the cab, this flashy Mercedes SUV that I knew cost more than a hundred thousand bucks drove by.

Then the driver slammed the brakes. Backed up.

The tinted window rolled down, and a guy with bleached-blond hair leaned across the passenger seat. “Lincoln Baker, my man. You made it!” Floyd had a big smile on his face.

“Yeah, but . . .” I pointed at the cab. “I have to go.”

“Nonsense!” Floyd said, and he popped the passenger door. “Get in.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the van. This was my chance to save my family, plus stick it to Pandora for ditching me. I'd catch Ethan Melais, get the Dangerous Double. Save everyone from the bad guys and their evil plans.

“Okay.” I waved the cabbie off and got into the Mercedes SUV.

Floyd hit the gas before I even put my seat belt on. “I hope you're ready to party, Linc.”