Double Vision (6 page)

“I'm no rabbit.”

“Not a
bunny
rabbit.” Henry snickered. “Geez, you're really clueless, aren't you? A rabbit is someone who's being followed.”

“But nobody was.”

“No, I guess not.” Henry shrugged, then laughed and poked me in the ribs. “It was fun, back there. Did you see how those guys went flying?”

I laughed. It was funny.

“I call that move ‘the Henry,'” Henry said with pride. “You hook the guy from the front by extending your right leg so you can take out both of his legs, so he can only go down.” He looped his leg around mine.

“I get it! Henry, stop!”

He stepped away, but you could tell he really liked his move. “I learned in training camp that I can't beat these other guys. I mean, look at me. I'm not strong or athletic, or anything like that. So the key is to be smarter.”

“Maybe that's what I need to do: be smarter. I know I can't be Ben. Thanks for covering for me, you know, about me not being Benjamin Green,” I said.

“No problem.” Henry shrugged. “I hate Benjamin Green, so I'm actually glad you're not him.”

“What? You seemed so excited when you showed up to run this morning.”

“That's because I thought you were Ben. I had to pretend to like you.”

“You were faking. So why do you hate him?”

“He's perfect, and he knows it.” Henry sighed. “He used to be my hero. I'd watch the videos in training camp and see how awesome he was. I wanted to be that great at everything, so I worked really hard to get fit, you know? And then he came to visit training camp, so I was all amped. I was going to meet the great Benjamin Green!” Henry waved his arms.

“What happened?”

“He was on me the whole time. How I wasn't fast enough, strong enough—whatever. And now look: I just took down two guys who weren't even following you.” Henry's shoulders slumped. “Agent Fullerton is right: I'm not cut out to be in the field.”

“You're doing better than me.”

Henry smiled. “Thanks. So what's the story? Who are you, and where's Benjamin Green?”

I told him everything that happened: the chicken farm disaster, the lawsuit, the agents showing up on my porch, and how I was supposed to take Benjamin Green's place during an important exchange because the guy had gone missing. “I have to do this. For my family, for my dad.”

Henry nodded. “Look, all you have to learn to do is how to act like the guy. You have the videos of him?”

I nodded.

“Then you can fake it.” He grinned. “I don't know where he is, but as his former greatest fan, I'm the expert on all things Benjamin Green. Come on, I'll help you.”

IF THIS WERE A MOVIE, NOW WOULD BE
the part where they play some pumped-up tune, showing me running, sweating, and learning all about Benjamin Green while guzzling energy drinks. But as you've probably figured out by now, this isn't your typical action-hero story. We guzzled orange juice instead of power drinks and ordered room service, too: big stacks of pancakes with extra syrup.

Henry perched a plate on his lap as we both sat on the bed in my hotel room. “You should see what passes as food at boot camp.” He told me his mother was an FBI agent and his dad some sort of intelligence analyst. Between bites, he added, “I rewired the intercom system at my school so everyone could hear the teachers in the teachers' lounge. I also turned an MP3 player into a minibomb.”

“You sound like the kind of guy I want on my team.”

Henry grinned. “Lucky for you, I am. I'm your technology expert.”

“What's that?”

“Your gadget guy. I invented this thing called the Tickstick.”

“The tick
what
?”

“Never mind, you'll see it when we get to Paris.”

“I'm going to Paris?”

Henry nodded. “Cool, huh? I already have schematics done up for some really cool tech gear for you. That's how I ended up getting recruited for the Pandora, you know. If it wasn't for my inventions, I'd still be in boot camp.” Henry put his empty plate on the room service tray and started the DVD. “You know, for all the running and push-ups we do, the junior agent training camp teaches you one thing that has nothing to do with being fit.”

“What's that?”

“Observation skills. Just watch Benjamin Green and how he moves.” Henry started the DVD.

First, the training video talked about basic junior agent strategy—know your exit strategy: plan your exit before you start, keep your eye on the enemy, blah, blah. Then there was lots of footage of Benjamin Green at junior agent training camp, criticizing Henry's push-ups. Ben shook his head when he clocked Henry's running time.

“Friendly guy.”

Henry shrugged. “He's just …”

“Benjamin Green. But I'll bet he doesn't know how to change the oil on a '99 Chevy Blazer. Or how to turn an MP3 player into a minibomb.”

Henry paused the DVD, leaving Benjamin Green frozen with his mouth half open. “All right, so let's see your best Benjamin Green,” Henry said as he sat up on the bed.

I felt stupid now. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Say something Benjamin Green would say.”

“Hi, I'm Benjamin Green.”

Henry shook his head. “That's terrible.”

“Thanks.”

Henry straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms. “That's not a full push-up, recruit,” he said in a fake-deep voice, frowning. Henry pushed me. “Now you try.”

“That is not—”

“Try a lower tone of voice, like you're more important than everyone else.”

I tried again, but it wasn't any good.

“Forget the tone. It's more about
how
you say it.” Henry frowned as he thought for a minute. “You have to get your mind into it. Really think you actually are Benjamin Green.”

“I don't even know him. In fact, I think I'm the complete opposite of the guy.” I laughed.

“That's it!” Henry jumped up.

“What?”

“Think of whatever you would do or say, and do the opposite.”

That actually made total sense.

“Now try the voice.” Henry sat back down on the bed.

I cleared my throat. “That's not a full push-up, recruit.”

“Really good! Now cross your arms and frown.” Henry made a serious face, just like Benjamin Green in the video.

“I'm Benjamin Green,” I said, crossing my arms and straightening my shoulders. “And I'm the best secret agent in the universe.”

“That's so good, it's creepy. Do it again.”

I'd like to say I did as well on the Benjamin facts from the files, but I pretty much stank at remembering his hometown, favorite music, and food. Was it broccoli? Something gross and healthy like that—as Henry said: Benjamin Green was perfect.

We practiced all day and even went over some of the
Junior Agent Manual
. Okay, so maybe it was more Henry who read it, not me. We took a break for pizza and some TV. And then we made up facts about the case, since neither one of us knew anything. Except that we were going to Paris. But otherwise, this secret agent training was pretty dull—I mean you're bored just reading this, right?

So I'll fast-forward to the next day: Monday morning, 7 a.m. That's when Agent Fullerton showed up at my hotel room just as I was messing up on Henry's latest who-is-Benjamin-Green quiz. “Time to go,” was all Fullerton said.

And that's when things got dangerous. Fast.

TIME: MONDAY, 10 A.M.

STATUS: READY TO BE BENJAMIN GREEN (SORT OF, ANYWAY)

OKAY, SO MAYBE IT DIDN'T GET DANGEROUS
immediately
. First, we had to pack, then there was a really long cab ride to the airport, and after that we had to go through security—you get the idea. But apparently, being a secret agent means you get to travel in style, because there was a big shiny white private plane waiting for us on the tarmac. Since I didn't have my own passport, I got to take a copy Pandora had done up of Benjamin Green's. He looked really gloomy in the picture.

The Baker family doesn't take vacations, not the kind where you take an airplane, anyway. Our getaways are more the road trip variety, with peanut butter sandwiches and bananas for lunch at a rest stop. So I was pretty excited to fly. As we walked toward the plane, Agent Fullerton starting quizzing me. “What's Benjamin Green's favorite color?”

“Uhm, red?”

“No, it's blue.” His face darkened. “Favorite food?”

“Broccoli. No, something else green.”

“Spinach.”

Yuck. “And a protein shake for breakfast,” I blurted out. Happy I remembered something, I took two stairs at a time.

“At least you got that one right.” Agent Fullerton followed me into the plane. “What have you been doing these past two days—watching TV?”

“I studied.” I just wasn't very good at it.

“It'll have to do.” Agent Fullerton motioned to the four seats at the other end of the plane, two sets facing each other, where Agent Stark was talking to Henry. “Let's get both of you briefed on the case.”

Agent Stark had managed to set up a projector despite the small space, and had it shining at a tiny fold-down screen. “Henry says you told him you weren't Benjamin Green?”

“Yeah,” I said, unsure what the right answer was.

Henry passed me a cold bottle of water, giving me a wink. “I never would have known. Linc is
very
convincing as Benjamin Green.”

“Right.” Agent Stark adjusted her seat. “So then you know Henry will be your technology expert on this mission.”

I nodded.

“Good. As soon as the plane takes off, we'll talk about the case,” she said as she turned off the lights.

Soon Agent Stark was clicking to a slide of the
Mona Lisa
, secure behind a glass enclosure. Dozens of people crowded around it, staring at the painting like it held some kind of secret. “As you may know, the
Mona Lisa
hangs in the Louvre Museum in Paris.”

“Of course.” Henry nodded. I was busy digging in my mental archives—I should've paid better attention in Art History. “Doesn't it have its own room in the museum?”

“That's right,” Agent Stark said. “The glass enclosure is bulletproof and controls the temperature and humidity inside to preserve it. The
Mona Lisa
is worth around five hundred million, and is impossible to steal.”

I almost spit my water across the plane. “Five hundred million.
Dollars?
”

“Give or take a few million,” Agent Fullerton joked. He had been pretty quiet up to now. His eyes lingered on the
Mona Lisa
, like maybe he could suck out the five hundred million that way.

“It was stolen last week,” Agent Stark said.

“Wait,” I said. “You just told us it's impossible to steal.” Already, this operation was making no sense.

“Bear with me.” Agent Stark went to the next slide. It looked like a little store—but then when you looked closer, you could see the basket of French bread in the window, the pastries and cakes on display. “This is Maison du Mégère.” Agent Stark pronounced it
Mayson du Meyzere
. “It's a patisserie—a bakery—in the Latin Quarter of Paris, not far from the Louvre. They make bread, pies, pastries, chocolates—it's one of the best bakeries in Paris.”

“Does the thief live there?” Henry asked. He was all gung ho to go over to this bakery and take someone down with “the Henry.”

Agent Stark let out a little sigh. “No, this is where the
Mona Lisa
was stolen from.”