The Profile Match

by Jill Williamson

  “They took Grace, Grandma,” was my only excuse.

  “The League has people trained in rescue opps.” She gestured to Mystery Sloan.

  “I didn’t think MacCormack would actually hurt us,” I said.

  “Let’s save the discussion for the debriefing, please,” Mr. S said.

  I perked up. The word “debriefing” sounded much better than “interrogation.”

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” Grandma said.

  On the other side of the leather couches, a glass door opened, and a young man stepped out. I recognized him from the League Combat Training finals I participated in a few years back. He’d been one of the referees. Tony Watkins, Beth Watkins’s older brother. Two two had hair, eyes, and dimples in common.

  “They’re ready for you,” he said to all of us, holding open the door.

  Prière went first, followed by Mr. S. I waved Grace and her mom to go next, and Grandma and I took up the rear.

  Tony and I made eye contact as I ducked through the door. “Still at it, hey, Moscow?”

  “I guess.”

  A wide hallway stretched out before us. Prière seemed to know where he was going. As we walked, I wondered if this was the same place my grandfather had worked as director, so I asked Grandma.

  “Yes,” she said. “He worked here almost his entire career. So did I.”

  Weird to think of my grandma coming down to this place every day, working to keep tabs on agents like Kimbal who thought they could do whatever they wanted.

  About halfway down the hall, Prière turned right and passed through a set of double doors. By the time I got there, Mr. S was helping Grace and her mom sit at a long table that could have seated two dozen. Grace was at the very end of the left side. Prière led us up the right side. He pulled out the chair across from Grace and nodded for me to sit. There were two men here I didn’t know, one was wearing slacks, a dress shirt, and a necktie, same as Tony. The other guy, who was sitting on my right at the head of the table was wearing a fancy gray suit.

  “This is Marvin Titus, the International Director of Mission League,” Prière said, nodding to the guy at the head of the table. He was small and wiry, but with that swanky suit and his short hair slicked to one side, he exuded power and, frankly, style.

  “And this is Jeff Moreland, Director of the Los Angeles Field Office,” Prière added, gesturing to the other man, who sat on Mrs. Thomas’s right, across the table from Mr. S. This guy was taller and beefier, had a full head of sandy brown hair, a matching mustache and short beard, and rectangular glasses.

  “Gentlemen,” Prière said, “this is Spencer Garmond and Grace Thomas. Both are juvenile agents from Pilot Point under the supervision of Agent Pat Stopplecamp. And this is Agent Thomas’s mother, Madame Jennifer Thomas. You both know Loraine.”

  I stiffened. That was the first time I’d heard anyone call Grandma by her real name.

  “Thank you for coming down so early on a Monday morning,” Titus said to Grace’s mom. “I work out of the head office in St. Louis but happened to be in L.A. for meetings. Let’s get right to it, Agent Garmond.” He looked at me. “How do you know Irving MacCormack?”

  Even his voice was suave. I met the guy’s eyes, wanting to appear confident—the opposite of the quivering child I’d been when interrogated at the Moscow Field Office, years ago. “He contacted me in July. Not this past summer, but the one before. After I got back from Okinawa. Said he was my father.”

  “And you believed him?” Grandma asked.

  I glanced at her, cowed by her glare. “At first. I mean, he didn’t look anything like me, but he knew stuff he shouldn’t have.” I shrugged.

  “You met with him?” Titus asked.

  “I had dinner at his house this past February. I took my friend Kip with me and made sure Lukas reported where we’d gone if we didn’t come back. But nothing happened. He invited us to a movie premiere, so we went to that. Later he paid for the surgery on my knee.”

  Grandma gasped. “Spencer!”

  “Sorry, Grandma. I didn’t want to risk my knee to an HMO doctor, and he said he’d take care of it.” I cringed at how that made MacCormack sound like a mobster.

  “How did he first reach out to you?” Titus asked.

  “On Facebook.”

  “And what did he—”

  “That man is not your father,” Grandma said. “Why didn’t you ask me? I know who your father is. I could have told you that director man wasn’t him.”

  The realization of the completely obvious fact that I could have asked Grandma a few questions to verify whether or not MacCormack was telling the truth made me feel stupid. Why hadn’t this occurred to me?

  Because I’d wanted it to be true.

  Titus tried his question again. “What did he say in that first message?”

  “Called me ‘Jonas.’ Called Grandma ‘Lorraine.’ Said he was Alex Wright. Said he’d changed his name when he went into hiding after the accident.”

  “He’s not Aleksander Wright,” Moreland said. “In fact, there never was an Aleksander Wright.”

  My chest constricted. “What does that mean? Why can’t you just tell me the truth about my parents?”

  “That’s up to your grandmother,” Titus said. “We’re here to discuss Irving MacCormack.”

  “Is he on the L.O.C. List?” I asked, referring to the international Leaders of Cults list.

  Titus shifted, cocked his head the other way. “How do you know about the L.O.C. List?”

  “Ivan Petrovitch told us about it when we toured the Moscow Field Office.”

  This seemed to appease Mr. Suave. “Irving MacCormack, as we know him, is a movie producer, director, and international philanthropist,” he said. “He’s not on the L.O.C. List.”

  I remembered MacCormack telling me that Diane and Anya were on their way back to the States. That he and Diane were partners. “What about his wife Diane? He said they were business partners first.”

  “Diane Bay MacCormack is the leader of the Free Light Foundation,” Titus said. “She is on the L.O.C. List.”

  A chill ran over me. Diane was the boss? MacCormack must work for Diane. Anya too. And Tito.

  Mother pus bucket.

  “I think Diane is working with MacCormack to spread her cult through movies,” I said. “I’ve turned in reports to Prière and Mr. S on the Jolt movie franchise. The production company that makes the films encourages fans to host Jolt Revolt parties where they’re supposed to take drugs and reenact occultist scenes from the movies. Most people don’t realize what’s really going on, but I think it’s their way of recruiting into the first level of their circle. MacCormack supplied my friend Kip with iVitrax for the Jolt Revolt party. The one where they fed me the brownies.” I looked to Prière. Surely he saw the connection too.

  But Titus, it turned out, was already convinced. “Pull up Agent Garmond’s reports on the Jolt movies, Mr. Watkins,” he said. “And see if we have a history on Irving MacCormack.”

  Watkins scurried out of the room.

  “Agent Garmond, what’s the protocol when an agent goes missing?” Titus asked.

  “Inform my superior,” I said.

  “Did you do this?”

  “Um, not exactly. I told Grace’s parents to call Mr. S.”

  “I see. And what did you do?”

  “I went home.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And . . . ?”

  I swallowed, saw the blur of Grace’s head turn toward me but kept my eyes on Titus. “I made a call.”

  “To whom?”

  “Anya Vseveloda. I think.”

  “You don’t know who you called?” Titus asked.

  I explained how Anya had given me her card back in Moscow, and how I’d taken a picture of it with Jake’s phone and emailed it to myself. Isaac rolled his eyes.

  “No one answered, so I left a message,” I said. “A minute later I got a text that said they were sending a car.”

  “A text f
rom Ms. Vseveloda?”

  “I thought so, but when the car arrived, it was MacCormack.”

  The questioning continued in this back and forth manner. No, I didn’t tell my grandma what was going on. Yes, I got in the car. No, I didn’t try to negotiate first. Yes, I put my phone on Do Not Disturb. No, I didn’t think about my own safety. Yes, I was a moron.

  Okay, so I added that last one, but while this Titus guy was simply pointing out the obvious, he had a way of making me feel as small as he was tall. Watkins finally returned, and I was thankful Titus could focus on something else for a while.

  “What did you find?” Titus asked Watkins.

  “Irving MacCormack changed his name about twenty years back. He was formerly Ian Mulligan, and that’s the name on record with the Juvenile Development Program in Palmdale, California. He was a juvenile agent until he dropped out after his junior year. We tracked him until the three-year grace period ended.”

  “This would link Spencer to the FLF,” Moreland said. “We’ve never been able to do that with any of the other profiles.”

  “You don’t still doubt Agent Garmond is the match?” Prière asked.

  “There are some factors that remain uncertain,” Titus said.

  “What factors?” Prière asked. “He has the mark.”

  “He has a mark,” Titus said. “Ms. Vseveloda did that on purpose.”

  “Part of it, oui,” Prière said, “but how are you explaining the second mark, which was scarring a cross into the boy’s chest when he was falling off a cliff? None of the other profiles are having any such marks or the proper gifts. Spence, he has them all!” Prière was getting really worked up. He’d gotten louder and louder until he’d all but shouted that last bit.

  “Agent Sloan,” Titus said, “you will lower your voice in this office.”

  Sloan? My head swiveled around so I could look at Prière.

  “He is the match,” Prière said, softly. “You know it to be true. Do not drag this out unnecessarily.”

  “We must be certain,” Titus said. “Agent Garmond has yet to name the First Twin or prophesy to a council of believers. We don’t even know what those things mean.”

  “It’s Grace,” I said.

  Everyone in the board room looked at me.

  “Grace is the First Twin,” I said. “I don’t know what it means, but she’s it.”

  REPORT NUMBER: 8

  REPORT TITLE: I Prophesy to a Perfect Stranger

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Los Angeles Field Office, Federal Building, 11000 Wilshire Boulevard, Suite 1500, Los Angeles, CA USA

  DATE AND TIME: Monday, November 5, 5:14 a.m.

  “Excuse me?” Grace said. “I’m the what?”

  I met her gaze across the table and shrugged.

  “Get me the file for Grace Thomas,” Titus said, and Watkins ran to a counter against the wall and started shuffling through file folders. I wondered if my file was over there. I’d sure like to get a look at it.

  “So that’s why MacCormack took her?” Moreland asked.

  “No,” I said. “They took her to get to me. Because she’s my girlfriend. Was.” I really wasn’t sure what we were at this point.

  “Did you and MacCormack have a falling out?” Titus asked.

  “I’d been ignoring him ever since Kip told me where he got the iVitrax for his party,” I said. “I guess he doesn’t like being ignored.”

  “What did the two of you talk about?” Titus asked.

  “That we both knew he wasn’t my dad. He said I was valuable to him. He wants to put me to work as a prophecy dealer, whatever that means. He has a maze tattoo, like Anya’s. He said his charities help with his taxes and paint a positive image to the public.”

  “What did he say about the First Twin?” Titus asked.

  “He just asked me who the First Twin was. I told him I didn’t know. He threatened to hurt Grace if I didn’t cooperate. Said he’d let her go if I did. Diane and Anya are due to arrive from Cambodia this morning. He said I had until then to decide.”

  “Why does he want my daughter?” Mrs. Thomas asked.

  “He said the First Twin could destroy everything he’s ever worked for,” I said. “But he has no idea it’s Grace.”

  “MacCormack kidnapped the First Twin to get to the Profile Match so the Profile Match would give up the identity of the First Twin?” Titus smirked. “That’s ironic.”

  I had to agree.

  Watkins set a file in front of Titus. The director flipped through the paperwork, then looked up at Grace. “This says you’re an only child.”

  She nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Her brother died at birth,” I said.

  Grace gaped at me. “How do you know that?”

  “Your mom let it slip when she couldn’t find you.”

  Mrs. Thomas had tears in her eyes. “Will someone please tell me what a First Twin is?”

  “It’s someone mentioned in a prophecy,” I said, which was all I knew.

  “A series of prophecies,” Prière said.

  Titus piped in. “We’ve been monitoring all twins who are children of Mission League members or any who are acquaintances of the potential Profile Matches. We never once looked at Agent Thomas.”

  Prière nudged my arm. “Tell them about your prophecies, Spence.”

  “Okay. I’ve had a reoccurring prophecy about a woman in labor,” I said. “I didn’t realize it was about the First Twin until Grace’s mom told me about her son.”

  “Describe this prophecy.” Titus folded his hands on the table. Watkins hovered over his shoulder like a parrot on a perch.

  “There’s a woman in labor,” I said. “She’s in bed in a one-room cabin. It’s really cold, and there’s a man trying to start a fire. He tells her the truck’s battery is dead. They’re stranded there with no help. The man delivers a baby girl, which surprises them. They thought the baby was a boy. All of a sudden something is wrong. Then another baby comes. She wasn’t expecting twins.”

  Everyone was staring at me, except Grace, who was pale at staring at her hands.

  Mrs. Thomas wiped tears off her cheeks. “That was me,” she said. “That’s what happened when Grace and Benjamin were born.”

  “The hospital would have a record of twins,” Moreland said, “even if one died.”

  Mrs. Thomas spoke, her voice shaky. “I never went to the hospital. We were vacationing in the mountains in Colorado at the time. I went into labor early and . . . I didn’t know or I never would have . . . We buried Benjamin in the mountains. I know we probably should have told somebody about him, but I just couldn’t talk about it.”

  “Get me Garmond’s file,” Titus said.

  Watkins scurried back to the counter.

  I watched him go, eager to see what my file looked like. It did not disappoint. The beast was at least four inches thick.

  Grace looked bewildered. I probably should have told her all this on the ride over. It had never occurred to me that they might want to talk about her.

  Watkins set my file on top of Grace’s. Titus opened it and started paging through. I saw him flip past a photograph of the scars on my chest. This he slid down the table to Moreland. Grace and her mom’s heads turned as they watched it slip past.

  Moreland picked up the picture and examined it. “Must have hurt,” he said, meeting my gaze.

  I shrugged, and the man’s face blurred.

  A young man carries a tray of empty dishes through a crowded sport’s bar.

  “Eric, are you ready?” An older woman stands at the entrance, holding the door open with her body. Outside a silver Hyundai is idling. It has Texas plates.

  “Just a sec, Mom,” he says. “I’ve got to drop these in the kitchen.”

  Then I was back, staring at Moreland. I took a deep breath, embarrassed that I felt compelled to speak. “Do you know someone named Eric?” I asked.

  His eyes widened. “My son. He’s
. . . run off.”

  Ah. “He’s in Texas with his mom,” I said. “He’s working at a restaurant.”

  Everyone was staring at me. The heavy silence made me squirm.

  “Why did you say that?” Moreland asked.

  “I just saw it when I looked at you,” I said. “It was a glimpse.”

  “Spence—” Prière paused, cleared his throat. “Agent Garmond has just prophesied before this council of believers.”

  Tony Watkins grunted and scurried back to the counter holding all the file folders.

  “He is the match,” Prière said. “Let us stop wasting time on that account.”

  Titus shook his head. “There’s still the betrayal. And even with his connections, there are four other young men who fit the profile.”

  “I thought there were fourteen?” I said, recalling how Prière had once told me that.

  “The others aged out,” Titus said.

  “Anya once told me that my dad thought he might be the Profile Match,” I said.

  “No, Spence,” Prière said. “Your father, he thought he might be the First Twin, but he is not.”

  “Why would he think that?” I asked.

  “Dave and Alek—” Grandma began.

  “Don’t you mean Liam?” I asked, repeating what Tebow had called Kimbal in Alaska.

  “That’s right,” Grandma said. “Liam and Alek are twins. Not quite identical, but nearly so. Your father was a little taller. Liam’s face a little rounder. They were approached about Project Gemini when they were younger but turned it down.”

  Twins! My mind raced at the idea that I might have seen my dad around and not known it. “But Kimbal . . . I mean, Liam . . . he said he was my dad’s little brother.”

  “By about ten minutes,” Grandma said.

  “And Spencer’s dad is not the First Twin?” Grace asked. “You’re sure?”

  “We’re sure,” Moreland said at the same time as I said:

  “I’m sure.” Had I known all along that my dad and uncle were twins, I totally would have thought one of them was the First Twin, but the moment Mrs. Thomas had told me about her son, I knew it was Grace. I couldn’t explain how I knew. I just did.