Double Vision (3 page)

Stark motioned to the white plastic lawn chairs on the porch. “You can sit now.”

I felt a jolt of irritability run up my spine. “I'm okay standing, thanks. So what does the government want with me? Did one of those chickens make it across the state line or something?”

Agent Fullerton gave me a laugh, high and fake. “Funny. No, Lincoln.” He dug into his breast pocket and pulled out a photograph. Handed it to me.

“What's this?” I looked at the grainy picture of a kid, in black cargo pants and a black polo shirt. He had dark hair, blue eyes—and he looked just like me, just a lot more serious. “There's this blond streak down the front of his hair, but …”

“Looks just like you, right?” Agent Fullerton looked excited. “Uncanny.”

“What? Everyone has a double.” I handed the creepy picture back and sat down in one of the plastic lawn chairs. “Why are you here?”

“One of the kids from your class stuck a video of you at the chicken farm on YouTube. Our scanning software has been searching for a match, but we didn't think you'd be this close.” Agent Fullerton tucked the picture back in his pocket. “We're here to make you an offer. The kid in the picture is Benjamin Green. He's one of Pandora's top secret agents—and he's gone … missing.”

“That's a real bummer,” I said, hoping to sound tough. “But what does that have to do with me?”

Agent Fullerton glanced at Agent Stark, and she gave him a nod. “Ben is part of an undercover operation we've been running, very hush-hush. We were ready to take down a dangerous criminal organization when he went missing.”

“Missing how?”

Agent Fullerton hesitated. “He last reported to me near the Louvre Museum almost two days ago. We don't know what happened to him.”

“The point is,” Agent Stark said, sounding impatient, “Benjamin Green was supposed to deliver … a package. And then the receiving party would give him something in return.”

“So it's a trade.” These two agents made everything sound complicated.

“Right.”

“What's in the package?” I asked.

“That information is distributed on a need-to-know basis.” Agent Fullerton coughed. “You see the bind we're in, right? Without Benjamin Green in place, the exchange is off, and we have to start all over. Hundreds of man-hours—poof.” He raised his hand, like an explosion. “Wasted.”

“So you want me to pretend to be this junior government agent Ben kid. Like a double agent—no, an agent double.” It was confusing.

“Benjamin Green, yes. Just until the exchange is done.”

“And he's missing, probably taken by some guy he crossed on this case you're talking about. Right?” I watched lots of crime shows with my grandpa, so I thought I knew a thing or two about bad guys.

“Forget it, Fullerton,” Agent Stark said, startling us both. She tucked her small yellow pad inside her coat pocket. “The kid doesn't want to do it. And he couldn't do the job anyway. This is a bad idea.”

“It is.” Even I knew that.

“But you'll be great—you have to do this!” Agent Fullerton said, looking desperate to convince his partner and me. “Plus, I never told you what you would get in return.”

“What?”

“Never mind the deal.” Agent Stark shook her head. “You don't want to do this, so why should we divulge any more highly classified information?”

“Wait, what's the deal?” I stood up from my chair, making it fall down on the porch floor with a thud, stopping both government agents in their tracks.

Agent Fullerton looked at his partner, then stepped closer. “You do this, we'll take care of your chicken farm business. Our intel is that this Farmer Johnson has hired Zachary Quinn.”

“What?” I felt sick. So that was the lawyer Mom was meeting tonight. Zachary Quinn is one of those slick guys you always see on TV, ready to sue the pants off anyone he thinks he can get money from. I thought about how we Bakers wouldn't survive a lawsuit, since we could barely afford the groceries, let alone a lawyer. How we might even lose the house because that's all we owned.

“Your family is in for some fun.” Agent Fullerton looked annoyingly smug. “These types of lawyers specialize in making your life miserable, ensuring you're broke and homeless by the time they're through with you.”

Agent Stark nodded.

I thought of my parents and how they'd already dealt with so much misery over my antics. “You would make this lawsuit go away?” I asked. “If I agree to take this junior agent Benjamin Green's place?”

Agent Fullerton shrugged. “Of course.” Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“And then I get to come back home after.”

“That's right,” Agent Stark said. “You come with us, be Ben for a week, and we'll make it so that chicken farm business never happened.” She stepped closer. “But you do the job first. When you're done, we take care of that farmer and his ambulance-chasing lawyer. No sooner.”

Now, this is what you would call an impossible dilemma. Right? I agree to this, and my family's troubles will be taken care of, but I would put my life in danger. I don't do this, the Bakers might be bankrupt and homeless.

What would you do?

Here's what I did: I stalled by asking questions. “Where am I going exactly?”

Agent Fullerton shook his head. “Can't tell you that. Not until your parents sign some paperwork.”

“Can I think about it?” I asked.

“We need an answer now. Time is of the essence here.” So much for stalling. Agent Fullerton stepped closer. “Are you in or out?”

I hesitated.

“Linc!” Mom called from inside the house. “Dinner!”

Thinking of Mom, Dad, and Grandpa, waiting for me over the standard Friday spaghetti dinner, I knew there really was only one choice. “I'm in.”

TIME: SATURDAY, 10:30 A.M.

STATUS: NAPPING ON PAGE THREE OF
THE HISTORY OF CRIME
, VOLUME ONE

I'M PRETTY SURE IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO
keep a secret and eat spaghetti at the same time, because I just picked at my food at dinner that Friday night. Thankfully, Mom was rushing out the door to meet the lawyer, so us guys took our bowls to the living room to watch TV. I pretended to watch the news, where the announcer told us about some terrorist group in Europe, but all I could think about was my promise to the government. And watching bad guys on TV was not helpful.

Stark and Fullerton had left, promising to come up with a way to get my parents to sign off on this whole secret agent thing. I didn't sleep a wink that night.

So when the phone rang, waking me from a good nap late Saturday morning, I expected it to be Agent Fullerton. I let Dad answer it and waited. A few minutes later, he knocked on my bedroom door.

“Your mother called,” he said, frowning at my reading progress of three pages on
The History of Crime
. “There's been a change of plans. We're meeting with the principal in an hour.”

So this wasn't the government calling after all. “At school, on a Saturday?”

“Guess so, champ.” Dad shrugged.

I closed my book. “Why not Monday?”

“Something about a new deal.” Dad looked at me. “For you.”

I'm pretty sure Principal Thornton has a script for his speeches, since they usually follow a standard three-act format.

Everyone sits, and we all take a moment to feel uncomfortable about being there.

Principal Thornton drones on about character, responsibility, and the “gravity of the situation.”

I apologize about six times. He gives me detention.

So I was all ready for the usual on Saturday morning, especially once Thornton showed his pearly whites. “I'm glad you could come in today, Mr. and Mrs. Baker.”

My mom sat with her legs crossed. She was in her scrubs, since she had a shift at the hospital later. She said, “You mentioned on the phone that you had some urgent things to discuss about Linc's trouble. Something about an arrangement?” Mom liked to get to the point.

Principal Thornton didn't. He had his script to follow, after all. “You have to understand the gravity of the situation,” he said slowly.

“We do,” Mom said. Dad just sat back in his chair.

“Lincoln here caused a lot of trouble during yesterday's school expedition,” Principal Thornton went on, ignoring Mom. He made a little tent with his fingers. “This isn't the first time Lincoln here has caused damages for the school. Damages that I, as principal, have to account for. Make right, if you will.”

I was pretty sure Dad was sleeping with his eyes open. Mom looked like she was about to clock Principal Thornton.

“Farmer Johnson is suing Lompoc Middle School. Lincoln here is no longer welcome. He's being expelled.”

“
Expelled
? I thought he was just being suspended. Lincoln is ready to make amends,” Mom argued.

I wanted to tell them both that I was sitting right there and that they could talk to me, instead of
about
me. But it was best to keep my mouth shut, I knew from previous meetings with Principal Thornton. The phone rang, and the principal answered. “Send him in,” he said.

That was when Agent Fullerton showed up. Instead of his black suit from last night, he wore a navy sports coat, jeans, and a white polo shirt. He looked like the boss of something. “Hello.” He shook Mom's and Dad's hands, ignoring me completely. Flashing an expensive-looking golden watch, he introduced himself as Ned Fullerton, head of Fresh Start Incorporated, a company running camps for kids.

“Fresh Start Incorporated?” Mom asked. She was not impressed by Agent Fullerton. “What does this have to do with Lincoln?”

Dad obviously bought the whole act. “What kind of camp is this?” he asked.

Agent Fullerton smiled. “It's a camp for troubled kids. Kids who might need a little more discipline. It's boot camp designed to change Lincoln into an improved version of himself.”

A version called Benjamin Green, I thought.

“We can give Lincoln all the discipline he needs at home,” Mom shot back. I'd warned Agent Fullerton that she would be toughest to convince. Mom liked to have me home, eating apples and yogurt, and doing my math homework. “A boot camp! Like they do with soldiers?”

“Not exactly,” Agent Fullerton answered. He had this fake, reassuring voice. “Like our company name says: we give kids a fresh start. This camp is especially designed to teach Lincoln here how to make better choices, how to control impulses, like opening up chicken cages.”

I was pretty sure Mom was buying into it now, too, but she still shook her head. “No. Linc's staying home.”

“When he gets back, he'll be able to attend Lompoc Middle School again, no expulsion,” Agent Fullerton said with his eyes on the principal. Principal Thornton gave a curt nod. You could tell Thornton wasn't looking forward to having me back at any time, not even after some super-duper boot camp. “This sort of preemptive correction of behavior also looks good when it comes time to go to court.”

“Where is this camp, exactly?” Dad sat up.

“George.” Mom grabbed his arm. “We're not sending our twelve-year-old son to boot camp. I don't care about any lawsuit.” Mom didn't sound convincing at all.

Dad put his hand over hers. “Where?”

“It's top secret, sir,” Agent Fullerton said, pretending to be sorry for not being able to tell them where I was going. “It's a secluded but safe facility—that's all I can say. It's been our experience that it's better if parents don't know.”

Dad nodded. “Of course.”

“I'm glad to hear we'll have Lincoln here join our boot camp.” Agent Fullerton clapped his hands like it was in the bag.

“No,” Mom said again. She pulled her hand away from Dad's. “Linc's not going.”