Independence Hall

by Roland Smith

  We called our parents, got their voice mail, and left them messages. I ordered a roast beef sandwich and Angela ordered fish and chips for dinner, which she didn’t touch. She was too busy memorizing everyone in the restaurant with her shades on even though it had been dark outside for hours. Halfway through my sandwich she took off her sunglasses and bit her lower lip. Finally, I thought.

  “I didn’t tell you everything last night,” she said.

  I tried to act surprised.

  “You’ll think I’m crazy,” she continued.

  I shook my head.

  She took a deep breath, held it a second, then let it out quickly in one long sentence: “For the past few weeks I’ve had the feeling that I’m being followed. At first I thought I was just being paranoid—that the feeling was because of all the attention my dad and Blaze were getting, but now I know someone’s following me.”

  She was right. I did think she was crazy.

  “Who?” I asked.

  Angela put her sunglasses back on. “Don’t stare, but there’s a man across the street standing by the dry cleaner.”

  I glanced out the window. Sure enough there was a man standing in front of the dry cleaner under a streetlight. There were also three kids doing wheelies on their skateboards, a woman pushing a stroller, and another man sipping a cup of coffee, sitting on a bench and enjoying the cool night air.

  “So?” I said.

  “He followed us from the warehouse to the cell phone store, then he followed us over here.”

  “Could be a coincidence.”

  “He was also at the wedding reception at Golden Gate Park.”

  That got my attention. I glanced back over at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” Angela said. “Let me see your camera.”

  I fished it out of my pocket and gave it to her. She went through the photos one by one. “Right there,” she said, handing it back.

  I looked at the image. There were about thirty people in the picture. The lighting was terrible. A half-dozen of them could have been the man standing across the street.

  Angela pointed to one of the half-dozen. I zoomed in on him. It was possible, but the picture was so distorted I couldn’t tell.

  “Why would someone be following you?”

  “That’s just it,” Angela said. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe he’s one of Buddy’s security guys.”

  “Buddy didn’t send security all the way from San Francisco,” Angela said. “The guards at the warehouse are wearing uniforms. And they wouldn’t be sneaking around. What would be the point?”

  The guy standing next to the dry cleaner wasn’t sneaking around, he was standing out in the open right under a light, but her point about the uniforms was good. The guy had on a flannel shirt and jeans. But I still thought she was crazy.

  I shook my head. “I don’t remember seeing him at the wedding.”

  Angela gave me an angry glare. “He wasn’t dressed like that.” She took her sunglasses off, grabbed her pack, and stood up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to walk around the block,” she said. “If he doesn’t follow me, then I am crazy.”

  “And if he does?”

  “Maybe then you’ll believe me!”

  She stomped out of the restaurant.

  My new sister was paranoid and touchy.

  I thought about going with her, but I really didn’t think the guy was going to follow her. I watched him as I ate Angela’s fries. He looked in the direction she had gone, but he didn’t move. I was confident he’d be standing right where he was when she came around the block—with her senses back, I hoped.

  As I popped the third fry into my mouth Mr. Flannel Shirt took his cell phone out and made a call. On the fourth fry he started across the street toward the restaurant and walked right past the window where I was sitting. I felt a stab of fear. Up close he did look a little like the guy at the wedding. He had dark hair and hadn’t shaved in several days, but the thing that bothered me the most was his eyes. There was something feral and predatory about them. If he wasn’t hunting Angela, he was certainly after something. I got up and was halfway to the door when I remembered our BlackBerrys.

  Angela answered on the second ring.

  “I think he’s following you,” I said, stepping outside. The man was fifty yards down the block, moving quickly. There was no sign of Angela.

  “I told you,” Angela said.

  “He looks like a mugger,” I said.

  “I’ll be fine,” Angela said. “And he’s not mugger. A few days ago he was serving drinks at the wedding.”

  “Well today I think he’s serving trouble.” I looked around and noticed Croc was gone. “Is Croc with you?”

  “Right at my heels,” Angela said.

  “Pick up your pace,” I said. “I’m going to go around the block the other way and meet you. Don’t hang—” My phone beeped. I looked at the screen. “My mom’s calling.”

  “Don’t tell her what’s going on,” Angela said.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “Since I don’t know what is going on!”

  I picked up the incoming call as I started walking.

  “Hi, Q,” Mom said. “How’s everything in the City of Brotherly Love?”

  “Great. How’s it going in the Big Apple?”

  “New York City is insane! When we landed there must have been fifty photographers and reporters waiting for us. A caravan of paparazzi followed our limo, led by our annoying friend, Dirk Peski. His interview in Grand Island made a big splash and he’s attached to us like a parasite. We’ve done five interviews in the last five hours and there are more television crews waiting in the hallway. I had to hide out in the bathroom to make this call.”

  Mom was about as wound up as I’d ever heard her. And the timing could not have been worse.

  “Roger and I talked about it on the way to Trump Tower,” she continued as I hurried down the block, phone to my ear. “The tour’s already out of control and it hasn’t actually started. We’re worried about you and Angela.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about here,” I said. “Everything’s fine. We’re with Boone and we have our cell phones if you—”

  “Thank God for Boone!” Mom said. “And speaking of cell phones, Roger and I are getting our numbers changed. Our numbers were put out on the Internet. We’re getting calls from complete strangers. I’ll give you the new numbers as soon as we have them. Buddy’s hired personal assistants for us to return calls and to take care of all the other stuff we don’t have time for. Once the PAs are in place I’m sure things will settle down.”

  “The PAs are a good idea,” I said. I reached the corner expecting to see Angela hurrying toward me. She wasn’t there!

  “Where are you?” Mom asked.

  “Uh… I’m headed over to the bookstore where Boone and Angela are.”

  “Oh good,” Mom said. “I want to talk to Boone.”

  “I’ll have him call you,” I said.

  “I’ll wait,” Mom said. “I have a few minutes before the next interview…”

  I took a closer look at my so-called corner, and with great relief, realized that it wasn’t a corner, it was an alley. Angela wouldn’t cut through a dark alley strewn with dumpsters and trash. I hurried down the block.

  “Roger’s doing a sound check at Rockefeller Center…” Mom continued. “I hate to admit it, Q, but I’m really nervous about the concert tomorrow. And you know me…I never get stage fright.”

  That was true, but I didn’t have time to talk about it. I reached the end of the block, turned the real corner, and nearly tripped over Croc. Angela wasn’t with him. It was all I could do not to scream and tip off my mother.

  “Are you there yet?” Mom asked.

  “Uh… you’re breaking up. I think I’m walking through a dead zone,” I said, hoping I wasn’t being literal. “Are you there?”

  “I can hear you clear as a bell
,” Mom said, as clear as a bell.

  “What?”

  Sorry Mom, I thought, but I’ve just lost my new sister and your new daughter. I hit the end button.

  “Where is she?” I asked Croc.

  He gave me a goofy toothless grin.

  I called Angela’s cell.

  “Hi, this is Angela. Leave a message.”

  Beep.

  “Where are you?” I shouted.

  “Problem?”

  This time there wasn’t a bowl of cereal to spill when I jumped. I wished Boone would quit sneaking up on me. If he kept this up I was going to start calling him Boo instead of Boone. But I was relieved to see him.

  “Yeah, there’s a problem,” I said, but before I could explain, my phone rang again. “Hello?”

  “Can you hear me now?” Mom asked.

  I was tempted to hang up. “Kind of,” I said.

  “Did you make it to the bookstore? And what are you doing running around the street after dark? Where is Boone?”

  I sighed in defeat. “He’s standing right next to me.” I gave Boone my BlackBerry.

  It’s over, I thought. In a second Mom will know that we weren’t at the bookstore and that something was seriously wrong. She and Roger will abandon the tour, grab us on their way west, and Angela will hate me for the rest of her life, which could be relatively short if Mr. Flannel Shirt was actually after her.

  “Evenin’ Blaze,” Boone said. “That’s right. Angela? She’s upstairs lookin’ at history books about Philadelphia for their assignment…”

  I stared at Boone in complete shock. He was lying so convincingly I almost believed we were in a bookstore and not standing on a street corner.

  “Right…” he continued. “No, we’re good here. Havin’ a great time. We’re gonna catch a movie later… I just sent Q across the street to see what time it started. I will… Right… If we’re watchin’ a movie their phones won’t be on. Just leave a message when you get your new cell numbers. Okay, talk to you later.” Boone pushed the end button and handed the phone back. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  I told him everything.

  Boone wasn’t nearly as surprised as I thought he’d be. In fact he looked kind of amused as I recounted what had happened. When I finished he said, “I think Angela is fine.”

  “Then where is she?” I asked, looking down at Croc, who had the same amused expression as Boone. “Croc was with her. Now he’s here.”

  “Call her,” Boone said.

  I called her. She answered on the first ring.

  “Where are you?” she asked, sounding irritated.

  Mars, I thought. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the restaurant. I thought you were going to meet me around the block.”

  “I went around the block and I called.”

  “I was talking to my dad,” Angela said. “I just got off the phone with him. He was on his way back to the hotel from The Today Show studio. I was about to call you.”

  I was getting more confused by the second. “What about the guy?”

  “He’s back at the dry cleaner.”

  Croc walked over to a fire hydrant and took a pee. “I thought you said Croc was with you.”

  “He was,” Angela said. “When I got back to the restaurant he ran off. Is he with you?”

  “Yeah, so is Boone.”

  “Don’t tell him about any of this,” Angela said.

  Too late, I thought. But it could have been worse. I’d nearly spilled my guts to my mom. “We’ll be there in a minute,” I said and clicked off.

  The grin on Boone’s face was really starting to bug me.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  He shrugged.

  “Where did you come from?” I asked.

  “The bookstore,” Boone answered.

  “Then where are the books?” Boone had his little daypack slung over his shoulder, which was too full to hold books. He always carried the books he bought in grocery sacks. “You lied to my mom pretty smoothly.”

  “You didn’t do too bad yourself,” Boone said.

  I stared at him and suddenly realized that Boone was not who he said he was. He had lied about everything.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “An ancient roadie.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  Boone shrugged again.

  “Buddy didn’t ask you to follow us did he?”

  Boone was silent.

  “There was no young guitar player with you when you found us broke down on the side of the road,” I continued. “You knew Q stood for Quest.”

  “I guess you caught me,” Boone said without a hint of remorse. Also missing was the southern drawl. Now he no longer sounded like the Boone I knew.

  I repeated his words in the motor home, imitating his fake accent. “I’m their friend. I like hangin’ with them.”

  “I am your friend,” Boone said quietly.

  “What do you want with us?” I asked.

  Boone looked at me a moment before answering. “Let’s go back to the restaurant and I’ll tell you and Angela at the same time,” he said. “I don’t want to explain it twice.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  Spook

  We joined Angela at a table near the window.

  “Hi, Boone,” Angela said with a big fake smile like everything was perfect. “How was the bookstore?”

  Boone returned the smile, but didn’t answer the question.

  Angela turned her smile on me. “I went around the block across the street,” she said. “You must have gone around this block. That’s why we missed each other.” She looked back at Boone. “We were testing our new phones.”

  “Boone knows,” I said.

  Angela continued to smile, which meant she didn’t know what Boone knew or what I was talking about.

  “The phones work great,” she continued to Boone. “But you already know that because you have one.”

  “It’s not exactly like yours,” Boone said.

  “Turns out that Boone isn’t exactly who he says he is, either,” I said, a little more harshly than I intended.

  Angela stopped smiling. “Did I miss something?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “And so did I.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Buddy didn’t hire Boone to drive the coach,” I said. “That was Boone’s idea.” I glanced out the window at Mr. Flannel Shirt. “I told Boone about the guy following you and he didn’t act too surprised. Do you know why?”

  Angela shook her head.

  “I don’t know either,” I said. “But if I had to guess I would say that Boone already knew he was following you.”

  Angela frowned. “Did you—”

  “Tell Boone about your mom?” I said. “Yeah. But only because I thought you were in trouble. Boone promised that he would explain everything when we got back to the restaurant.” I looked at Boone. “We’re here.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for all this?” Boone asked.

  Angela and I nodded.

  “The man across the street is a spook for Israeli intelligence,” Boone said with an absolute straight face.

  “A spook?” I said.

  “Spy,” Boone clarified.

  “Oh yeah,” I scoffed.

  “You mean the Mossad?” Angela asked, acting as if Boone were telling the truth.

  Boone nodded. “In Hebrew Mossad means ‘The Institute.’ It’s the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations, equivalent to our Central Intelligence Agency, or MI6 in the United Kingdom.”

  I thought Boone and Angela were both crazy. “Let me get this straight,” I said. “Are you saying the guy in the flannel shirt is an actual spy?”

  “Big-time spy,” Boone said. “And an assassin. His name is Eben Lavi.”

  “You’ve been reading too many Spy-Fi novels,” I said.

  “You know him?” Angela asked.

  It was like I wasn’t
there. I was about ready to scream.

  “I don’t know him,” Boone said. “But I know a lot about him. He’s an anti-terrorist specialist. One of the best in the business…or was. I’m not sure what his current status is.”

  “How do you know any of this?” I asked.

  “Why would he be following me?” Angela asked.

  “I’m not sure why he’s following you,” Boone said to Angela.

  Angela gave me a triumphant glare. “I told you he was following me!”

  Just because an ancient roadie said it was true didn’t mean it was true, I thought.

  “I could feel him watching me,” Angela continued. “Even back in San Francisco before I spotted him here I knew people were watching me.” She looked out the window at Mr. Flannel Shirt. “I don’t think Eben Lavi is very good at this.”

  “That depends on what he’s trying to do,” Boone said.

  “What do you mean?” Angela asked.

  “Maybe he’s trying to intimidate you. Maybe he’s trying to get you to run to your parents, hoping they’ll quit the tour and go home. It would be much easier to keep an eye on you if you weren’t moving from city to city.” Boone paused and glanced across the street. “Or maybe it’s something entirely different.”

  I was a lot more interested in how Boone knew all this and where his accent had gone than I was in what he thought Mr. Flannel Shirt did for a living. I wondered if Angela had noticed that Boone wasn’t dropping his g’s anymore.

  “Why don’t we walk across the street and ask him?” I said.

  Boone looked at me like I was crazy.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.

  I didn’t think it was a good idea either, but I had finally gotten his attention. “How do you know that’s Eben Lavi?” I asked.

  “I studied his dossier,” Boone said. “I used to work for the CIA.”

  “You were a spook?” Angela raised her voice and several people looked our way.

  Boone held his index finger to his bearded lips and nodded. “Once upon a time,” he said.

  Once Upon a Time

  Tyrone Boone was recruited by the Central Intelligence Agency in his senior year of college.

  “I was an NOC agent,” he explained. “Non-Official Cover. I operated off the books. Which means that no one knew I worked for the CIA—including all but a handful of people within the CIA. Being a roadie was the perfect cover. It allowed me to travel all over the world with electronic surveillance equipment, which I smuggled into countries as sound and special-effects equipment for the shows.”