Double Vision (16 page)

“It's nice. The croissants are the best.” I waited for us both to get off the elevator, and waved to Henry. He had his sleeves pushed up and was working on the plastic box at the big table in the center of the room. He gave me the thumbs-up, which I assumed meant he wasn't setting stuff on fire anymore.

“This way,” Albert Black said. I followed him to a room down a narrow hallway, past a closed door, and to a closet-sized room in the back. “Sit.” He motioned to one of the chairs and closed the door. He sat across from me. On the table was a red folder, but he didn't open it.

“Is this the part where you tell me about all the stuff I figured out already?”

That surprised him. He looked up at me with an amused smile. “And what exactly do you think you know, kid?”

“Let's see. We can start with the Vault, and how there's a lot more missing than just an evil
Mona Lisa
.” I was ticked off. Pandora had treated me like a dumb kid, and I'd had enough of it.

Albert Black was silent.

“You should have told me the truth,” I said.

“Look, you made it this far. We've got Benjamin Green—couldn't have done it without you, so bravo.” He gave me a little applause. “Now it's time to go home.”

“How about Jacques Mégère and the evil
Mona Lisa
? I've been running all over Paris with Françoise, trying to solve these ciphers that Jacques Mégère left.”

“And now it's time to let go.” Albert Black pushed the red folder aside. “Pressure's coming from up top to wrap up this expedition. It's costing a fortune, and America is broke.”

“So what does Ben have to say about all this?”

“He isn't talking.” Albert Black crossed his arms. “The kid's a real tough nut.”

“Let me try,” I said. I wanted to see Ben face-to-face and hear what he had to say, even if it was nothing. “Then I'll go home.”

“You'll go home when I tell you. You're not the one calling the shots around here.” Albert Black looked angry.

“Maybe he'll talk to me. Double to double and all that.”

Albert Black squinted, like he was thinking about it, but I knew I had him. “Five minutes.” He got up. “That's it. Follow me.”

I followed the loud Hawaiian shirt down the hall to a locked door. Albert Black unlocked it. “Five minutes,” he said with a death-ray stare that made Mrs. Valdez look like an amateur.

I went inside the room and heard the door lock behind me. In front of me was a large, shiny table with just two chairs. One of them had Benjamin Green sitting in it.

He gave me a little nod and narrowed his eyes, which for some reason really ticked me off.

I sat across from him. The table was ginormous and the chair low, which made me feel like a little dwarf. I tried to adjust the chair, but that only made me sit lower.

Ben looked away with a smirk.

“You think that's funny?” It was sort of funny, I knew that, but I just was too angry to admit it right then. “You know, I don't get you at all,” I said, with the table up to my chest because my chair was so short. “Benjamin Green, the poster boy junior agent. You're good at everything. Do you know you're in a video they play at junior agent training camp?”

Benjamin didn't respond. He wouldn't look me in the eye.

“What I don't get is why you did this. Why you joined the bad guys—what, for the money?”

Still no response. His face was hard, like a brick wall. He'd obviously decided he wasn't going to talk.

“You know, they were all wrong about you in that video,” I said. I wanted to punch the guy. But I decided it was better just to walk away, because in the end, he was the one handcuffed to a chair.

“So what did this mysterious bad guy tell you? Did he promise you millions or something?” I tried to lean closer over the giant conference table, but my low chair made it impossible. And I was angry, so I stood up. “Was that worth selling out your government, the Mégère family, Françoise? Abducting Jacques Mégère?” I leaned on the table. “Do you really have nothing to say?”

He blinked—just once, but it was enough for me to know that I'd gotten to him. I'd been trying so hard to be Benjamin Green, only to feel like an utter loser. But I never stopped to think that maybe I had some skills he didn't have. Maybe not knowing the rules of the junior agent handbook was actually a good thing.

I looked at Ben closely, struck again by how we were mirror images, even if we were completely different on the inside.

And I had an idea.

So I told Ben, smiling. “You know, you setting me up in Montmartre by stealing those purses just gave me an idea.”

He still didn't say anything, but his puzzled expression was all the response I needed.

“What was it: maneuver twenty-something of your junior agent rule book?”

“That's twenty-five gee point three,” Ben said.

“Whatever. My point is, you lack the imagination to get this whole double thing right. All you do is follow your
Junior Agent Manual
.” I had a brilliant plan—a fantastic, scary, fueled-by-anger plan I would have to sell to Albert Black. I slapped the table. “Thanks, Ben. You've been very helpful.” I smiled and turned away. I knocked on the door, since someone would have to let me out.

“Don't you get that I've been trying to protect you?” Ben said behind me. “You don't have what it takes to be a junior agent.”

“Oh really?” I said as Agent Stark unlocked the door. “Just watch me.”

I walked past Agent Stark, out of the airless room, and down the hall until I found Albert Black. “I'm not going home,” I said to him, my hands in fists at my side.

“That so, kid?” He gave me a mocking expression.

“I want to go join them,” I said, feeling all superagenty. “I want to take Benjamin Green's place with the bad guys.”

HAVE YOU EVER SAID SOMETHING, THEN
wished right away you could just take it all back? I did, standing there in front of Albert Black. I really didn't want to join the bad guys. That was a bad, dangerous plan—what was I thinking? But I couldn't exactly stuff the words back into my mouth, so I just nodded. Trying to look really sure of myself.

“All right.” Albert Black didn't even hesitate. “Good plan.” He grinned. “Wish I'd thought of it.”

“Okay.” I wasn't expecting that. I figured he'd be putting up a fight, with me being twelve and not exactly super-agent material and all.

“You go to Ben's room, wait for Drake's dirtbags to call you,” Albert Black said. “Then they lead you to Mégère, and we get him. Easy as pie. Be done by tomorrow.”

“We're talking about the same guys who trailed me across Paris, who are after a billion-dollar painting no one else knows exists. Easy as pie?” I swallowed. My anger and adrenaline were wearing off now, and I realized how dangerous it would really be to take Benjamin Green's spot in the bad guy's lair.

“Okay, so maybe it's not as easy as pie. Maybe more like as easy as fruitcake.” He laughed at his own joke. “Look, kid, you finish the job, and we'll take care of the mess you made back in California.”

I wanted that more than anything: to make things right for my family. And I also wanted to finish this mission here in Paris: get the evil
Mona Lisa
and bring Françoise's dad back home. And I wanted to show everyone that Lincoln Baker wasn't a screwup who didn't finish anything he started.

“You'll be done by tonight, I'm sure of it. I'll move the flight to tomorrow.”

“Okay.” I sensed an opportunity here. They needed me to complete this mission—it wasn't like they had Benjamin Green lookalikes lying around. And it was my idea to take his place. “But I want something else.”

Albert Black got up, shaking his head. “You got your deal, kid. There's no more negotiating.”

“This is way more dangerous than our original deal for that exchange, and you know it.” I got up myself. “I need to know that my dad's business is going to be okay.”

“What do you want from me—money?” Albert Black pushed the elevator button and gave me a hard stare. “I don't have any extra. And neither does the government.”

“I want broken cars. Business for my father's shop, that's all. He's good at what he does, and he won't rip you off.”

Albert Black sighed. “Broken government cars? I'll see what I can hustle up. But you better get your game face on. Time to get to work.”

“We have a deal?”

“You have a deal,
Benjamin Green
.” The elevator dinged, and I got on. Just as the doors closed, Albert Black's satisfied expression made me wonder if taking Ben's place was really my idea, or if Albert Black just made me think it was.

As it turned out, Benjamin Green's room was on the first floor—which in Europe apparently is like our second floor. After I went to my room to grab my backpack, I found that the hotel staff had put all Ben's stuff back into his room after Agent Stark explained that it was just a mix-up. So I was now officially taking the guy's place. He had a small black messenger bag with a cell phone, notepad, map of Paris, and a piece of rope—to tie me up? Who knew?

Since there was nothing to do but wait, I did what any self-respecting troublemaker would do if he was in someone else's hotel room at lunchtime: I ordered room service. Lots of it: pastries and cake, ice cream and pizza—whatever looked good on the menu. And as I waited, I ate until I couldn't eat any more.

I figured that while I was sitting on this fluffy bed, I might as well get a nap in. This nine-hour time difference between home and Paris was kicking my butt. I was just dozing off when there was a loud knock. But whoever was there didn't wait for me to open the door. They had their own key.

“Benjamin?” an American voice called in the darkness of my room. I recognized it, or at least I thought I did.

It was Agent Fullerton
. And he thought I was Benjamin Green.

But wait—why was he here?

Agent Fullerton was a bad guy
. That explained why he'd sort of fallen off the radar, and why Agent Stark seemed so ticked off all the time. Her partner had gone rogue, right along with Ben. And he was the mole, the one who'd been feeding Drake information.

“Time to go, Ben.” Agent Fullerton gave me a dark look.

This was not good.

“Sure, yeah.” I blinked. But before I could say anything else, this really big guy came up from behind Agent Fullerton and grabbed me by the arm. “Hey, hey!”

“Quiet!” He dragged me out of the room. Agent Fullerton followed.

I only had a second to snatch my backpack.
My
backpack. Linc Baker's, not Ben's. Because I knew that mine had the tools I needed to get me away from these guys. “What's this about?”

“Don't play stupid,” the big guy said with a heavy French accent, as he practically dragged me to the elevator. He had a knife or some kind of weapon that poked me in the back. “You know what this is about,
Benny boy
.”

“Actually, I don't. I—”

“Quiet!” We walked past the receptionist, but all she did was smile. Once we were outside, French Guy said, “The boss is going to kill you.”

Before I could argue, there was a sharp pain at the back of my head, then nothing but blackness.

WHEN I OPENED MY EYES, IT WAS PITCH-BLACK
and I had a splitting headache. There was a rocking motion, a humming noise, and the smell of gasoline.

I was in the trunk of a car.

Being a Baker, from a family that loves cars, you'd think I would be okay. But I was scared. To death. I'd seen enough bad guy movies to know that when they had you in the trunk, it was not a good thing.

The lid was really close to my head, and there was no room to move my legs or stretch my back.

I heard laughter from the front. The guy who'd grabbed me and Fullerton were probably talking about how they were going to kill me or something. Good times, driving around, plotting the murder of that pesky Benjamin Green. Only I wasn't Ben.

I moved my fingers to feel for a trunk release—many newer cars had those now, I knew that from Dad's shop—but no luck. Although I did feel something else. Rough canvas, like the fabric of a tent. Or maybe a bag.

My backpack!

The bad guys had tossed my pack in the trunk with me. I smiled there in the dark, but then I realized that I didn't have much to help me in there. I could deploy the chute. But then it wasn't like I could exactly fly away or anything. I planned to hit them with my skateboard when they opened the trunk.

“The boss will be happy. You think he will cut up the kid?” This was Fullerton talking.

“Probably. Drake likes it that way, less to trace,” French Guy answered. “It would be a nasty mess, though. This is a rental, man.”