The Alias Men

by F. T. Bradley

  Ben looked too tired to argue. After he caught his breath, he said, “This current . . . would the movie crew have known about it?”

  I stretched out my arms and legs. “Maybe. Why?”

  Ben sat up, and rubbed his arms. “The location where Savannah and I were . . . someone told us to go out there.”

  “Really?” I sat up too. “Who, Nigel Floyd?”

  Ben shook his head. “The camera guy. But someone was telling him to put us there, over his headset. And it wasn’t Floyd. He was just yelling his directions from the beach.”

  “Nice.”

  “Someone put us in that current. On purpose.” Ben shook the sand from his hair.

  “I know it’s Ethan Melais,” I said. “He’s trying to kill me.”

  21

  FRIDAY, 2:33 P.M.

  “ETHAN MELAIS WANTS YOU DEAD?” Ben looked at me in disbelief. “But why? You’re just some kid.”

  “You may not like that I’m on this mission, but I’m a secret agent. And that makes me a target. Melais knows I’m onto him. And he’s afraid I’ll uncover his identity and get the Dangerous Double.”

  “Maybe he’s after me instead,” Ben argued. “Clearly I’m the bigger threat, with my junior secret agent training.”

  “Ha!” I forced myself not to take the bait and get caught in some useless Ben argument. “The real question is: Who on the set is Ethan Melais?” I could see some people walking toward us from far away on the beach—movie crew, making sure we were still alive.

  Except that one of them wanted me dead.

  I felt a big chill, and it wasn’t just because I was soaking wet. Maybe I seem like a tough twelve-year-old, but this was a little much, even for a fake junior secret agent.

  “The lead cameraman, John,” Ben said. “Even if someone did talk into his headset, he put us out in the water. We should do a background on him ASAP.”

  “And Kurt, the costume designer.” I told Ben about the car, and the clothes hanger. I didn’t share my break-in at the costume trailer; a guy needed to keep some of his secrets, right? “Floyd’s assistant director, Larry, is acting suspicious, too.”

  “I do not think he likes me,” Ben said, shivering.

  I was about to tell Ben there were a lot of people who didn’t like him, but that seemed a little cruel, since his lips were a dark blue and he looked like he might go into shock or something.

  “We still don’t have the Dangerous Double secured.” Ben was looking frustrated. “This mission is a mess. I’m tired of being bait.”

  For once, I agreed with Ben. “It’s getting too dangerous. We need to flush out the bad guy,” I said. “Figure out which one of our suspects is Ethan Melais.”

  The crew was approaching now, and they seemed relieved that we were okay. Then some people started to look annoyed.

  “This is really going to slow down the shooting, Nigel,” Larry said in a whiny voice. “And the one kid looks positively blue.” He pointed at Ben’s face.

  “We could work with that,” someone said behind Larry. “With some camera filters and good lighting, you can make anyone look good.”

  Floyd’s phone rang. He silenced it without checking who was calling. “Wrap it for the day. We’ll use what we have.” And he walked away.

  Larry looked flabbergasted. “We’ll use what we have?” he muttered.

  “What happened to Floyd, man?” This was Kurt, the costume designer. He chewed his gum, shaking his head like he was disappointed.

  “All right, enough for the day.” Larry waved his hand, just like Floyd had a minute ago. “This was simply an accident; no need to blow things out of proportion. We’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow.” He turned to chief cameraman John and told him to send the rushes to the studio. I guessed that was the footage they’d shot that day.

  “Sure thing,” John said. “I guess it’s just a run of bad luck: first that car crash, now this accident in the water . . .”

  “Better luck tomorrow,” Larry said before he turned and walked away.

  The crew started to walk back to the set. No one even cared that Ben and I were basically look-alike icicles, and that we’d almost drowned out there. Where were the warm blankets, the hugs, and the offers of chicken soup?

  Ben shook out his wet hair and handed me my backpack. He hesitated before saying, “Tell your friend Henry that he saved my life today.” He looked me in the eye. “And I suppose you did, too. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” This whole friend moment was making me feel uncomfortable, so I began to walk back in the direction of the trailers.

  “Now how are we going to catch Ethan Melais?” Ben asked me as he caught up.

  I didn’t say anything, mostly because I had no idea.

  “Are you not talking to me, Baker?”

  “No, I’m just thinking.” It was kind of hard with gung-ho Ben walking next to me. The dude was messing with my mojo, my thinking space. I liked it better when I had Henry with me. He knew how to get the ideas to flow.

  “Ethan Melais thinks you know who he is,” Ben mused, like that was helpful.

  Then, suddenly, it kind of was. Because I could have Melais think I’m ready to make a deal. Tell him I want hush money.

  Ben picked up speed.

  I hurried to catch up. “So who on the set do you think is actually Ethan Melais?”

  Ben stopped. He squinted, and crossed his arms in that annoying way he always does. “I will be following procedure. Gather intelligence first.”

  “Is that what your junior secret agent manual says? I’ll bet it’s soaked from your swim.” And of course the airline boarding pass in my back pocket, the evidence I had that Kurt had been in Frankfurt, was destroyed.

  “You have your way of doing things; I have mine.” Ben got a little closer. “Let’s see who’s right, Baker.”

  “It’s on. Baker.”

  All this Baker talk made me realize I’d better go home, or Mom might nix this whole movie gig. I was in Los Angeles for the family reunion, after all. If I spent too much time away, I was asking for a random parent knee-jerk reaction. I called her, and then Mike, so I’d have a ride home.

  After I dried off and used Kate’s trailer to change into my regular clothes from my backpack, I decided to focus my attention on Kurt, also known as Ethan Melais. I’d have him meet me at Griffith Park, this place that has a view of the Hollywood Sign, at eight. What can I say—this whole movie thing made me feel like being dramatic about the showdown.

  I hadn’t exactly figured out the details yet on how I would catch the dude. Or how I would talk my parents into letting me leave the family-reunion weekend after spending all day on a Hollywood movie set. But not having a plan had never stopped me before.

  I stuck a note on Kurt’s trailer, hoping I wasn’t making things a whole lot more dangerous for myself. Let’s face it: Melais was ready to have me drown in the Pacific to protect his identity. Why not just take me out at Griffith Park?

  I was getting seriously paranoid here. But then I remembered Willow’s words: Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t out to get you. And that reminded me: I’d need a ride to Griffith Park. I didn’t want my cousin to tag along—there’d be too many questions, and the odds were good that he’d report back to Mom and Dad.

  Maybe I’d just catch a cab.

  I left the note, feeling on edge. So I jumped when I heard a car horn honk. I looked up, and it was Savannah, waving out her car’s window.

  “Whoa,” she said as I walked up. “Little jumpy, huh?”

  “Just cold from the swim.” I leaned on the open window. “How are you?”

  “All dry, and ready to go home and have some soup.” She pointed to her fluffy sweatshirt. Her hair was all messed up and still damp. Somehow she looked even prettier than when she was all primped for the movies.

  Savannah had a car.

  And I needed a ride.

  “Actually, maybe you can do me a favor?” I felt a l
ittle weird asking her, but told myself it was for a good cause. The Pandora mission. Lives were at stake here—including hers. “Can you pick me up for a drive this evening?”

  “Sure, why not?” Savannah leaned forward. “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll tell you tonight.” I scribbled my aunt and uncle’s address on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “It’ll be cool.” Only I’d have to make sure Savannah was out of the way when I met Kurt. Because Melais had tried to kill me twice already, so I had to protect Savannah. A minor hitch in my plan, but I worked best when thinking on the go anyway.

  I watched Savannah’s car pull away, until I could no longer read the plates.

  Which reminded me of something, a detail I’d sort of forgotten about. A lead. And I knew just the person to help me out.

  22

  FRIDAY, 4:05 P.M.

  “I HOPE YOU’RE READY FOR THE FAMILY, man.” Mike gave me a crooked smile in the rearview mirror, just as we pulled into his parents’ street. He and Willow had picked me up and then spent most of the way arguing about whether Chaplin had made better films than Buster Keaton. This whole movie business was wearing me out.

  I didn’t need to see the rest of family to know that they were here. There was Aunt Linda’s truck with the silver trailer, parked at the street. I knew she had all her airbrushing equipment in there to repaint the car, because she brought it every year. My uncle Joe was down from San Francisco in his vintage Thunderbird, which he’d parked on the lawn, and my cousin Angela had left her classic Volkswagen Beetle in front of a fire hydrant.

  “It’s not a Baker reunion without someone parking in a tow-away zone,” I joked, making my cousin snicker.

  He parked his car up the road—in a legal spot—and we all walked toward the house.

  “You might want to steer clear of your mom,” Mike whispered before we went inside. “That whole potato-salad fiasco is making her loco, dude.”

  “Macaroni salad,” I said, correcting Mike, but who knew what she was cooking up by now? Mom could get majorly stressed over this barbecue, and I really needed to focus on the mission.

  “Linc, thank goodness you’re here,” my dad said, hurrying over the minute I closed the front door. “Your mom is on her fourth batch of macaroni salad.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “I can’t take any more onion smell, buddy.” He put his arm around my shoulder, and I knew there was something he wanted from me. “Can you talk some sense into her?”

  “Sure.” I remembered my meeting with Melais that night. “Long as you cover for me tonight. I have a meeting with the movie people.”

  Dad hesitated. “You’ve been gone all day as it is.”

  I thought of Melais, and how I was sure I’d catch him tonight. “This is it, I promise.”

  “Okay.” He pushed me toward the kitchen.

  I should’ve asked for money or something. Or a trip to Disney­land. The onion smell was epic. I blinked. There were bowls everywhere, cutting boards with onion and celery on them—the kitchen was like a macaroni-salad war zone. “Mom?”

  She looked up and smiled. Then she shoved a ladle in my face. “Taste it.”

  I tried a bite and spit it out. “What’s in there—some weird pepper?”

  “Paprika.” Mom looked like she was about to cry. “It’s supposed to add a unique element.” She picked up this small cookbook and dropped it on the counter. “It’s useless.”

  “Why don’t you stop?”

  “The barbecue is on Sunday, and I can’t even get a decent salad together.”

  “Maybe you need a break.” From the kitchen window, I saw a car drive by.

  It was blue!

  “I’ll help you tomorrow, okay, Mom?” I rushed outside, to see what kind of car it was.

  Could it be that lady who’d been following me? What if she was working with Melais?

  But Aunt Linda’s trailer was blocking the view. By the time I made it down the driveway, the car was gone.

  And then I heard voices behind me. “It’s Linc!” That was Uncle Joe. I was about to be sucked into Baker family-reunion hugs. The mission would have to wait.

  A good hour later, I had a full stomach after three hot dogs off the grill and extra baked beans. I talked to all the Bakers—Mom even made an appearance, leaving the macaroni salad alone for now.

  Dad showed me the rusty Town Car, looking proud. “She’s got all her parts hooked up,” he said, showing me the engine under the hood. The insides looked polished and shiny, like a brand-new car.

  “Nice,” I said. “Did you start it yet?” I knew from previous Baker reunions that a nice-looking motor didn’t mean you could actually drive the car.

  Dad had a worried look. “Tomorrow.” He closed the hood, and we both stood there staring at the rusty exterior.

  “It still looks like a lost cause.”

  Dad nodded. “I have faith.” That’s what Stark had said about my secret agent skills, but the verdict was still out on that—just like this clunker of a car.

  “Where’s Grandpa?” I asked as Dad closed up the garage.

  He pointed toward the house. “Up in his room, watching Cops. You know how he hates these things.”

  Grandpa is more of a solitary guy. Even though this was a reunion of his kids and grandkids, it was too much talking and not enough crime solving for him. “I’ll bring him a hot dog and a Dr Pepper,” I said, and made my way upstairs.

  Grandpa was sitting on a wicker chair, looking uncomfortable. He gave me a nod when I passed him his plate. “Thanks, kid. I was beginning to think they’d let me starve up here.”

  “You can come downstairs, you know.” I sat on the bed.

  Grandpa made a grumbling noise. “Did your mother kill anyone with her pasta salad yet?”

  “Getting there.”

  He smiled and took a bite of his hot dog.

  “Can I ask you something?” I was trying to think how to get Grandpa’s help without tipping him off.

  “That’s already a question, but go ahead, Linc.”

  “This morning, when that lady came to pick me up . . .”

  “The government agent,” Grandpa said. He smiled when he saw my shocked expression. “You didn’t think I caught that, did you? But I remembered her, from last month. When you had your Presidents Club trip to Washington, DC. She picked you up at the airport—Agent Stark. The one with the sensible shoes, FBI, CIA, NSA, some such.”

  I swallowed. I had no slick lie, no Linc Baker fib to get me out this time.

  “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Grandpa took another bite of hot dog, giving me time to get myself together.

  “I was actually wondering if you could help me. Remember how you thought you saw another car?” I asked, still feeling pretty stressed out.

  “And you didn’t believe me.”

  “I do now. Remember that license plate?”

  Grandpa nodded as he swallowed. He took a sip of Dr Pepper. “Sure.”

  I leaned forward. “Did you write it down?”

  Grandpa ate his last bite of hot dog, and took his time chewing. Then he took a long swig of soda. “Hard to say, you know.”

  “Grandpa.”

  He smiled and pulled out his notebook. “7TRZ211.”

  I had my stalker lady.

  23

  FRIDAY, 7:15 P.M.

  I CALLED HENRY TO HAVE HIM RUN THE stalker lady’s plates, knowing Stark and Black were busy moving those Dangerous Doubles from the Pandora warehouse to safety. No sense bugging them with my hunch about this car. I told Grandpa about my meeting and I headed out.

  Savannah showed up at seven fifteen on the dot. Because there was nowhere to park, her driver picked me up at the end of the road.

  “So where are we going, exactly?” she asked once I buckled in.

  This was the part I wasn’t really sure about. Sure, I could lie to Savannah and pretend I just wanted a tour of LA or something.

  Or I could do the right thing,
and be honest. And I felt like I owed her the truth—plus, I was pretty sure that as an actress, she could spot a liar.

  So I decided to come clean. And once I got started, I was like an avalanche of information: I told her about Pandora, Ben, and how I was kind of the stand-by choice when it came to junior secret agents. It was like someone else was talking.

  I stopped when it got to the Dangerous Double—I mean, the Chaplin hat making you invisible was too dangerous to share. And she might not believe me anyway. But I did tell Savannah about Ethan Melais being a bad dude. After almost getting hit by a car, she deserved to know.

  Savannah just listened the whole time, while the driver took us from my aunt and uncle’s place to the Ventura Freeway and eventually to the I-5. She didn’t say a thing until I was done. “Wow,” she said, letting out a big sigh.

  “I know, right?” I sat back in my seat. Telling the truth made me feel like I was ten pounds lighter.

  “So this is your character?” Savannah sat up in her seat.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re method acting, right? I love it.” She smiled big. “I did that once, when I was playing a homeless girl. I slept outside for the night. Not actually on the street—Dad would never let me do that—but in the backyard, you know. I didn’t shower for three days. Now that is not something I hope to do again. . . .” Her voice trailed.

  Savannah thought I was acting. That I was pretending to be a character to get into the role.

  “This isn’t some movie part,” I said. “I really am a junior secret agent. Well, sort of. A temporary one.”

  “Wow, you’re really good, you know that?” Savannah shook her head. “Hard to believe you’ve never had any formal training. You’re amazing, Linc.”

  I was about to argue with her again, but decided against it. Why argue with a girl who’d just called me amazing?

  Plus, we were now climbing the hills to get to Griffith Park, so it was time for me to start being a junior secret agent.

  The driver slowed as we approached the Griffith Observatory, this planetarium I’d visited when I was six. It’s a giant dome, with gardens in front. The park spanned for acres around us; the road we were on looped in front of the planetarium, and over to a parking lot where I’d told Kurt to meet me.