The Alias Men (14 page)

35

SATURDAY, 6:15 P.M.

THE CROWD REALIZED WHAT WAS GOING
on, too. There was screaming. People were shoving me as I ran to the stage.

Savannah did one more swirl and tossed the Chaplin hat into the air as part of her performance. But then she realized someone was shooting at her. She froze. The Dangerous Double bounced on the stage and rolled out of sight, away from the spotlight.

I used the stairs to the side, pushing a confused security guard out of the way to reach Savannah.

“Linc,” she mumbled, looking dazed. “I'm so glad you came to see me perform.”

“We have to go, Savannah,” I said, grabbing her elbow. We were sitting ducks there on the stage. I tried to spot the Double, but with the bright spotlights it was hard to see anything beyond my own feet.

More popping. I was pretty sure a bullet flew right over my head.

“Someone's shooting at you, Linc,” Savannah said. She wouldn't move from her spot onstage. “That's funny.” She smiled. This girl was in serious shock.

“No, it's not, Savannah.”

Then I remembered: I had Henry's gadgets! I reached behind me and unzipped my backpack.

I opened the black box and strapped the watch gadget Henry had given me on my wrist. I pushed the tiny button twice. And activated the Three-by-Thirty. There was a slight green halo surrounding us.

“What's that?”

“It's a bulletproof shield,” I said.

“It's so pretty.” Savannah reached out to touch it.

“Don't do that,” I said, slowly lowering her arm. I glanced around the stage one last time for the hat, but it was hopeless. I had to save Savannah first. “Just stay close, okay?”

“Okay.” She smiled again.

I grabbed her hand. “You have to walk now. We only have thirty seconds.” The watch told me I was already halfway out of time.

A bullet bounced off the halo. And another.

I pulled Savannah along and rushed off the stage. Another bullet skimmed off the shield. Whoever was shooting was still not done.

Could this case get any more deadly? And I wasn't even a real junior secret agent.

I hurried to get Savannah into the wings, where her mother whisked her away.

She was safe.

It wasn't until then that I realized something.

The shooting had stopped.

I turned around. Hurried to retrace our steps, back to where I'd last seen the Dangerous Double roll out of the spotlight.

I made it all the way back to the center of the stage, when I saw the black business card with the ivory letters that said
Ethan Melais
. And I realized it was too late.

The Dangerous Double was gone.

36

SATURDAY, 6:39 P.M.

THE LAPD SHOWED UP AND LOCKED DOWN
the Hollywood Bowl so no one could leave until they left their name. The police were looking for the shooter, but I knew it was a waste of time. Ethan Melais had the hat, so he could disappear and walk right out.

I left Ben's name with the LAPD at the exit and made my way out of there, pretending to be just another visitor. And just as I walked toward the parking lot, he got out of a van and came running.

Ben Green. I saw Stark in the front seat, driving away to park the van in the crowded lot.

“A little late to the party, aren't you?” I said to Ben. I tried to brush past the guy, but then I realized that I still needed a ride. Behind me, the crowd slowly trickled out, as each person left their name with the police.

Ben glanced over my shoulder. “There was a shooting?”

I gave him the short version.

“You didn't secure the Dangerous Double first?” Ben frowned.

“I saved Savannah from Floyd.” I felt like punching Ben, but deep down I was mad at myself for not having grabbed the Chaplin hat. It was right there onstage!

“It was right there onstage!” Ben yelled, like he was reading my thoughts.

I felt the edges of Melais's business card cut into the palm of my hand. I stuffed it in my pocket. “Maybe next time you can be here, huh? Where were you?”

“For your information, I was calling my contact at the CIA to see if there's a file on Nigel Floyd,” he said with this righteous look on his face.

“And?”

“He's checking on it.”

“How helpful.”

Around us, people returned to their cars and left. I thought I saw that blue compact car, but when I craned my neck, traffic had made it impossible to see. I watched Stark park the van in the very back of the lot.

“What does your junior secret agent manual say we should do now?” I asked, half joking but sort of serious.

Ben sighed. “There are no procedures for this. The CIA didn't think we'd be retrieving Dangerous Doubles when they wrote the junior agent training manual. Pandora is black ops, remember? No manual, no record of their existence.”

“Plausible deniability,” I said.

“Exactly.” Ben was quiet for a while and then asked, “Do you have any ideas?”

I had nothing. But I wasn't going to admit that. “I still don't get how Floyd knew Savannah had the hat.”

“Maybe he already happened to be at the show and saw how old the hat was,” Ben said. “It doesn't matter. We must locate Floyd and the Dangerous Double.”

“Floyd has to be holed up somewhere with the Double, right?” I said.

“He'll go someplace safe. His home, or lair,” Ben mused.

“Like his bat cave.” As I said it, I knew where Floyd was. I could've told Ben. But since I'd just gotten shot at, I decided I should be the guy who caught the bad dude and brought in the Dangerous Double. Alone.

“You think he's at his house?” Ben asked.

“Could be,” I said, and shrugged. “We'll pass it along to Stark and Black.”

I could see Ben get antsy. His face got all serious—he had that secret agent look I hate so much.

I knew where Floyd was. Ben had a hunch, too. But neither of us was willing to share the glory.

At the far end of the parking lot, I could see a harried Stark, Black, and Henry walk our way, looking even more stressed than usual. LA traffic would do that to you. And now Pandora would want to be updated, no doubt.

“I'm going to check on Savannah,” I lied, and walked back into the crowd.

Behind me, Ben called, “But you need to debrief!”

I turned around, smiled, and shook my head. “I'm not on the case anymore, remember?”

Ben slumped as he watched me walk away.

Not that I'd given up on catching Ethan Melais. Because I knew just where to find him.

37

SATURDAY, 7:05 P.M.

OF COURSE I WAS FACED WITH THE BIGGEST
problem any kid has when in Los Angeles: transportation. Since Savannah was recovering with her mother, I called my cousin.

Mike was only too happy to have another excuse to drive around. Naturally, that meant Willow was along for the ride, and I got to listen to them argue. This time it was about silent movies, and if they should remake them as talkies. Like I wasn't sick of that topic by now.

“All I'm saying is that it would be a better movie if people were talking,” Mike said as he pulled in to Nigel Floyd's long driveway. “You could put in special effects.” He grinned and nodded.

Willow rolled her eyes. “You just want to blow stuff up. That's
so
juvenile.”

“Listen, guys,” I said, leaning forward. “I'll get off here if you don't mind.”

“You want me to stick around, man?” Mike asked. “I can come with you, too, whatever you want.”

“Mike wants to be in the movies,” Willow said in a teasing voice.

“Shut up.” But Mike eyed me with a sense of hope. If he only knew that being cast in this movie meant you had a giant bull's-eye on your back.

I shook my head. “No, I'm just making this a quick visit.” I would sneak in and get the hat. Then I'd call Stark and Black, have them catch Floyd. I would beat Ben. “I'll have a friend pick me up,” I said as I opened the door.

Mike shrugged. “That's cool. You can always call me if you need something, okay, cuz?”

“Sure thing.” I got out and watched Mike make a U-turn. I could hear them argue through the open windows.

I was glad to be alone, even if it was dark and quiet. Sure, this should be a slam-dunk, but I still had to get past Floyd's gates and security system. I kind of wished I had Henry with me now—he'd have a gadget for that.

Turns out I didn't need any help. The gate to Floyd's place was open, and the lights that had made the place look so fancy just two days ago were off. It made everything dark and deserted.

What was going on here?

I walked past the open gate, and up the winding driveway. No alarms went off, and no security guards stopped me. When I got to the circular driveway in front of the mansion, it was still dark, and the fountain wasn't running. This was seriously weird.

To get to the small house down the hill, I knew I had to go through the mansion. So I tried the front door. It was open. Now there were about a million alarm bells going off inside my head.

But I was after a bad dude here, so I couldn't just give up. I tried to be as quiet as possible when I went inside. I couldn't bump into tables or anything like that.

I didn't need to worry. The place was completely empty: no furniture, or art on the wall. Everything was gone, except for that fuzzy rug and the tables that hung from the ceiling. It was kind of sad, really. Obviously, Floyd had moved out.

My sneakers made squeaky noises on the marble floor, so I was careful to walk slowly as I found my way to the double doors and out to the deck. The lounge chairs were still there but were shoved to one side. I walked down the wooden steps and past the pool, where a half-deflated beach ball drifted in the water. This place was depressing.

Then I saw the house down the hill. The lights were on!

That had to mean my hunch was right: Floyd was here. Maybe leaving his mansion wide-open was just a ruse, to make us think he skipped town. He was probably plotting his heist of the drone-system prototype on Monday.

I walked down the steps, hoping Floyd wouldn't be using the hat. I mean, it would be hard to catch him if he was invisible, right?

There was piano music coming from the house. It sounded like someone was actually playing. This was good. It would be hard for Floyd to hear me come in.

I tried the side door—it was open!

I snuck inside the mudroom. The piano music was much louder inside. Past the dark mudroom was an old kitchen. There was an open bread bag on the counter, along with a jar of peanut butter and chocolate spread. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, and clean ones were stacked on a dish rack. A few pots were left on the counter. This dude was kind of messy.

I slowly walked into the kitchen, and realized the music was coming from another room, at the end of a hallway at the back of the kitchen. I made my way toward the sound, down the hall, past some old pictures. They were of Floyd when he was much younger, and a few of Kate. I also saw photos of Larry, with dorkier glasses than he wore now.

Then the music stopped.

I froze. But I knew I couldn't wait there forever. I had to find Floyd!

I inched my way down the hall, careful to not knock down any pictures with my backpack. Once I reached the entry to what looked like the living room, I stopped. I saw the piano. But not Floyd.

I felt something brush against my arm. Maybe that was him, wearing the Dangerous Double!

I turned around, but there was no one there.

Then I felt someone grab my backpack. Pull me back. And tackle me to the floor.

Kate was right up in my face. “Linc?”

38

SATURDAY, 8:16 P.M.

SHE HELPED ME UP AND LAUGHED. “OH
my, you scared the heck out of me. I thought you were breaking in.”

“I was,” I said, straightening my jacket and backpack. I really needed Henry to come up with a gadget so people couldn't tackle me by grabbing my backpack. An Escape-a-Pack or something. “But I was looking for Mr. Floyd.”

Kate motioned for me to sit on the piano bench. “Why did you need him? The movie is all but finished, you know. I'm just here to get a few things I had stored here—I'm flying out of town for a new production late tomorrow night.”

I tried to think of how to tell her about Ethan Melais without showing all my cards, or having to explain the whole case. But I couldn't think of a way. And Kate had been nice to me—in fact, she'd been the only friendly person on the set.

So I spilled my guts, again. About me being a junior secret agent, Pandora and their mission to catch Ethan Melais, and how Floyd was our only suspect left.

Kate sat on the arm of the sofa, nodding as I told her the story. When I was done, she shook her head, looking shocked. “I've known Nigel for years. . . . Unbelievable. And you really think he's this Ethan Melais?”

“Yes.” I glanced around, hoping to find him hiding behind the piano or something. This house had to be his hiding spot—it was my best and only lead. If Ethan Melais wasn't here, then where?

“I'm sorry, but Nigel isn't here,” Kate said, confirming my suspicions.

“Bummer,” I mumbled.

“But then, if he is Ethan Melais, I'm sure he'll be back home any minute. With the movie being suspended now.”

I was about to argue that Floyd already moved out—Kate had to know that, right? But then I saw how she crossed her arms, and looked . . . antsy. And a little nervous.

Kate was hiding Ethan Melais.

I knew it in my gut. So where was he?

Kate stood. “Well, I guess that's it. Nigel isn't here—you can look for him if you want,” she added with a laugh.

I hesitated as I got up from the piano bench. My mind was racing, trying to think of an excuse, a reason for me to stick around longer and flush Floyd from whatever hiding spot he was in.

But Kate slowly ushered me down the hall, and I felt my opportunity slip the closer I got to the kitchen.

“Your Ethan Melais is quite the thief,” Kate said behind me. “That takes some guts, to sneak into top-level meetings like that.”

“Yeah.” I glanced at the open bedroom door down the hall, but it was too dark to spot Floyd.

“What a character,” Kate said once we were in the kitchen.

I turned around and looked her in the eye. Blinked. Because all the puzzle pieces fell into place now.

A character.

“Ethan Melais is a character,” I said before I could think. “He's not a real guy. You're Ethan Melais!”

Kate smiled. “Finally, someone is smart enough to figure it out—an eleven-year-old.”

“Actually, I'm twelve,” I said.

Right before she grabbed the frying pan off the kitchen counter.

And hit me on the head.