The Profile Match

by Jill Williamson

  “But none of the bad guys have ever mentioned anything about my dad. They only ever want to talk about the First Twin.”

  “Only once did I hear a conversation about the First Twin,” Grandma said. “It gave me the impression that this person would be instrumental in causing the downfall of a major cult.”

  “MacCormak seemed to hint that something might ruin everything he’d built up for himself,” I said. “It must be the Free Light Foundation or his production company. Or both.”

  “If so, then you see why it’s so dangerous,” Grandma said.

  I did see, and what could Grace possibly do to bring down either of them? MacCormack was a famous director. And the Free Light Foundation was in dozens of countries around the world.

  Another question came to mind. “How does Nick know about any of this?”

  “Well, he shouldn’t, that’s for certain,” Grandma said. “But his father and yours were friends in their early days at the field office. And Lisa was close friends with Eric’s wife. When you and I relocated, so did Eric and his family. He took a position as one of your guards, but after two years, he left the League and went to seminary, got ordained, and eventually was hired at Cornerstone Church. It’s likely Nick overheard his parents talking about this over the years.”

  That explained how Nick knew things I didn’t. But while some of this was starting to make a little more sense, I still had so many questions. “Do you think my dad is working for the FLF?”

  “Could be. But it’s also possible he died. The field office promised me updates on his whereabouts, and there haven’t been any. Not one. Not ever.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I couldn’t worry about my dad right now. I needed to learn all I could about the Free Light Foundation and get that information to Grace so she could do whatever it was she needed to do. The sooner all the bad guys were caught and put behind bars, the sooner we could all move on with our lives.

  ● ● ●

  Mr. S and Prière stopped by later that afternoon and gave me the bottom line. They wanted total honesty from me, or they’d pull the plug. They were ticked that I’d been visiting MacCormack behind their backs for so long. I had to meet weekly with Mr. S to turn in my reports, give him a verbal one too, and answer any questions he had. Also, Grace would be there, in case anything I said triggered some knowledge in her.

  The gist was this: no more secrets.

  I was okay with that. These people were finally taking me seriously. I was more than ready to live up to their expectations and bring down the bad guys for good.

  Mr. S left. Prière, however, did not.

  He stayed for dinner.

  While Grandma was in the kitchen and Prière and I were setting the table, he asked, “Have you seem Agent Kimbal lately?”

  “No,” I said. “My detail told me he took some time off.”

  “Well,” Prière said. “If you should see him, take care.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah, you said that already. Why are you telling me again?”

  “Sometimes warnings cannot be given too often,” Prière said.

  Warnings from Prière usually meant one thing. “Have you had prophecies about Kimbal and me? Do you know something I don’t?”

  “You already are knowing, Spence, that prophecies must be handled carefully. They are not admissible in court of law as evidence. Just because I have been seeing something does not mean it will come to pass.”

  “What did you see about Kimbal?” I asked.

  “Mais no, Spence. I cannot tell you. I can only warn you to be careful.”

  “So he’s a crook,” I said.

  Prière said nothing for what felt like ages. Then finally, “That very well may be. But I do not believe he would ever harm you. He cares for you like a son.”

  I snorted. “He has a funny way of showing it.”

  Grandma brought over a dish of lasagna, ending the conversation. She and Prière talked easily about the kids in her preschool classroom. I just stuffed my face.

  Because here’s the thing. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I was a spy, after all, and unfortunately, there was no not seeing what had been going on here. The truth was, Prière and my grandma had some sort of thing going on. A relationshipy thing. I—blessedly—hadn’t seen any PDA from them, but the man spent too much time over here.

  Way. Too. Much.

  Now they were talking about going to the farmer’s market on Saturday. Making a date. Did they have to do this in front of me? Did they have no respect for my teenage sensibilities? I decided to butt in.

  “So, Prière,” I said. “Your last name is Sloan?”

  His tiny little eyes fixed on mine. He dabbed his mouth with one of Grandma’s fabric napkins and said, “Oui.”

  “Don’t give me oui,” I said. “You’re related to Arianna? How?”

  “Spencer, don’t be rude,” Grandma said.

  “Not to worry, Alice,” Prière said, fixing his beady eyes on me. “Arianna is my niece. I am Christophe and Jean’s elder brother.”

  “No way!” I couldn’t stop grinning. This explained so much. Really. “Then you know about Project Gemini?”

  “Spencer!” Grandma was scowling now.

  “Oui, I know about their involvement in Project Gemini,” Prière said, “but this is not something to be spoken of so casually. In fact—”

  My phone sang from my back pocket.

  “No phones at the table,” Grandma said, but I had already pulled it out of my pocket and glanced at the screen.

  “It says Los Angeles Field Office,” I said.

  Grandma sighed and waved at me. “I guess you’d better answer it.”

  I did. “Hello?”

  “Spencer Garmond, we meet again.”

  The jovial voice was very familiar.

  It went on. “You home? Now a good time to stop by?”

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  The doorbell rang.

  I got up from the table and walked to the front door. Opened it.

  Isaac Schwarz stood on my porch. He grinned and lowered his phone. “Hey.”

  “What happened?” I asked. When Mission League agents showed up on my porch, uninvited, I couldn’t help but assume the worst.

  “Nothing, man. Chill out. Titus said you wanted someone from New Cults. You get me. So, can I come in or what?”

  “Sure.” I stepped back.

  Isaac pulled open the screen door and walked inside. He held up his hand. “Hey, Mrs. Garmond, Prière.”

  I glanced behind me to see Grandma and Prière standing just inside the living room.

  “Can I get you something to eat, Isaac?” Grandma asked.

  “Oh, no thank you, ma’am. Just had some In ’n’ Out Burger.” Isaac patted his stomach and fell onto the sofa. “I brought you a present.” He reached into his pocket and tossed me a new black iPhone.

  “Sweet,” I said.

  “Notice the volume buttons on the side,” he said.

  I looked. “There are three.”

  “The middle one clicks in. You double click it to make it pop back out. Then it’s in record. You got a reason to tape a conversation, you can turn it on without people knowing since you kids these days are always playing with your phones.”

  “It do anything else?” I asked.

  “Not right now, but we can change that if we need to.” He draped his arms over the back of the couch. “So, where you at on this investigation of yours?”

  “I haven’t started yet.”

  “What are you waiting for, Christmas? Let’s nab these creeps.”

  So Isaac talked strategy, and I listened. He thought I should reach out to MacCormack—apologize for how things went down the other day. Remind him how my grandma worries. Then tell him I’d been thinking about his offer, that I’m curious what a prophecy dealer does.

  The moment Isaac took off, I logged on to Messenger and wrote MacCormack, but I didn’t apologize. That’s where I drew the lin
e. I came up with this:

  Hey, Mr. MacCormack. Spencer here. I’ve been thinking about the things you said about prophecies. I’ve got to be honest, though. I respect your career, but I don’t like how you do things. Pretending to be my father was low enough, but kidnapping my friend and trying to blackmail me was just wrong. If you want to talk, man-to-man about this prophecy dealing stuff, I’m willing. But no bodyguards. No rooms with cameras. Just me and you. And maybe a meal cooked by Locke.

  Spencer

  I read it over a few times and thought it sounded very mature. I was done being a quavering little boy, who turned into a pile of mush around certain people: my favorite movie director, famous actresses, recruiting coaches, and girls who smelled like coconut. Life wasn’t a basketball game I was losing. I was a man on a field office-approved mission. I was going to do the job right.

  Next, I sent Brittany Holmes a text: What’s up?

  I figured, get close to MacCormack by getting close to his people. Brittany was one of his people. Guess I’d find out if she wanted a second chance at making me fall in love with her. That made me think of Grace, but I pushed her out of my head and texted Kimbal a quick hello as well, hoping to re-open the lines of communication between us.

  So I could find out what he was up to.

  Then I logged all this in a report and went out to shoot some hoops. I had a lot of energy in me all of a sudden. The best way to deal with that was with a ball in my hands.

  REPORT NUMBER: 10

  REPORT TITLE: I Have a License to Spy and I’m Not Afraid to Use It

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Grandma Alice’s House, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Tuesday, November 6, 5:01 a.m.

  I woke Tuesday morning to two phones going off simultaneously. I glanced at the time. The alarms were still set a half hour early so that my detail and I could pick up Grace and drive her to morning League class.

  Grace who was no longer coming to morning League class.

  I looked at the new phone and saw it already had all my contact information. My stomach churned a little at the realization that they must have been cloning my phone all along, which meant they had probably seen everything I’d ever sent on it. Creepy.

  MacCormack had replied to my message:

  Spencer, I appreciate your honesty and agree to your terms. If you are free, please join me and Diane for dinner next Friday night. We have much to offer you. ~Ving

  Sounded like they’d be spilling out all kinds of great secrets for my new iPhone to record. This mission might be easier than I thought.

  I Googled MacCormack in hopes of finding out when he’d met Diane. It was all on Wikipedia. They’d met at some fundraiser. That led me to the history of how MacCormack had gotten started. He’d bought a production studio in downtown L.A. after a major fire had destroyed the building—had gotten the property for a deal. Arson had been suspected, though it had never been proved. The article said three people had died in the fire. The original studio owner, his production assistant, and an unidentified woman.

  Somehow I knew my mother had died there.

  That conclusion so freaked me out, I dropped the phone and went to shower.

  Grandma had breakfast waiting, so while I ate a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, I told her what I’d learned on the internet about Irving MacCormack and his first production studio. “It’s the same property, Grandma. Where Mom was killed. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  She sighed. “I suppose it might seem that way to you, but no, I’m not terribly surprised at the connection. Your father was suspected of selling Mission League secrets to someone on the L.O.C. list. Director Moreland said that the movie director’s wife is on the L.O.C. list. Your father is one of them, Spencer. I’ve known it for a long time.”

  It was the most likely scenario, but I wasn’t sure I bought it.

  ● ● ●

  “Spencer, look at me.”

  I jerked my head up, eyes bleary. I’d fallen asleep at my desk in Harris Hall, which was a chilled basement room no bigger than a two-car garage. A dozen student desks filled the space with two round tables squeezed in the back, but we were looking a bit pathetic these days with only six students here now that Grace wasn’t coming. Alpha Team had me, Drew, and El McWilly/Luke. Diakonos had Arianna, Lukas, and Samantha.

  “Spencer.” Arianna Sloan was staring down at me, hands on her hips. By the look of everyone milling around behind her, class hadn’t started yet.

  “What?” I croaked.

  “She’s very confused right now.”

  Grace. I sighed and pushed myself all the way up, then slouched back in my seat. I ran my fingers through my hair. “What is she telling you?”

  “Just that she’s worried about you.”

  “Well, she can stop worrying. I’m fine.”

  “I can see that you’re not.”

  “What do you want me to say, Arianna?”

  “Just admit you’re hurting.”

  Wow. Why would I ever do that?

  “When you have no margin in your life, it’s important to fight for balance.”

  I stared at her, clueless.

  “You’re overloading yourself again,” she said, “but my guess is, you haven’t been keeping up with your devotionals or prayer time. You’re weary because life is unbalanced.”

  Heat rushed into my chest. I felt simultaneously attacked and found out. I was about to say something snarky, but it occurred to me that she was right. It had been a while since I’d read anything in a bible outside of church or this classroom.

  “I hope you know I’m here for you,” she added.

  “Thanks,” I managed to say.

  Blessedly, Mr. S started class, and Arianna scurried off to her seat in the front row. Her floor-length, navy blue skirt swept the floor like some kind of cape. Yes, I had noticed that Arianna was no longer a pixy stick. She had curves now and had done away with her unibrow. I credited Isabel with the improvements. Sadly, no one had, apparently, managed to talk her out of her protest against the—what she called, immodest—pleated skirts the girls were required to wear as part of their school uniform. The school allowed Arianna to wear her own skirts to her desired length, which made her look like someone out of an Oregon Trail movie.

  Mr. S got started, and I barely paid attention to his lecture on creating a false persona—which normally would have had me scribbling notes as fast as Arianna. All I could think about was my hunch that MacCormack’s studio had been the same place my mom had died.

  ● ● ●

  Brittney Holmes didn’t just return my text. She tried to call me while I was in government class. My new phone started singing the theme some from the Jolt movies. Everyone in class stared at me as I fumbled in my pack to find the thing and shut it off.

  “Put it away, Garmond, or it’s mine,” Mr. Isom said.

  “I’m trying.” I switched the phone to vibrate, then got back to reading about the House of Representatives. After class, I ran to the bathroom to text Brittany that I was in school and couldn’t talk until later, but she’d already texted me.

  long time, ncaa! forgot you’re prolly in school right now. i wanna see you. let’s get together. i’m having some friends over this afternoon. totally casual. you in?

  I texted back. Sure, I’m in. What time and address?

  I stared at the phone and remembered to take a breath. My adrenaline was racing. Actresses, anyway. She was just a girl. No reason to lose my cool.

  I shoved my phone into my backpack and left the bathroom. Kip was waiting in the hall outside.

  “I know that ring tone,” he said. “You talking to Britany again?”

  “Maybe.” I walked to my locker and crouched to open it. You’d think someone as tall as me—and a senior—could negotiate an upper locker. No such luck.

  Kip followed. “What about Grace?”

  “What about her?”

  �
��I doubt she’d like you texting Brittany.”

  “They broke up.” This from Lukas, who appeared on my right and was leaning against the locker beside mine.

  “When this happen?” Kip asked over my head.

  “Last weekend,” Lukas said.

  “How do you know all this?” I asked Lukas.

  He shrugged. “Grace spent the night with Izzy.”

  “Of course she did.” I traded my government book for my English notebook.

  “It was her idea, wasn’t it?” Lukas asked.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about my assignment, so I couldn’t say that Grace’s mom was worried I’d get her killed.

  “She did the same thing to me,” Lukas said. “Can’t make up her mind about nothing. On-again, off-again. Forget her, man. She’s loca.”

  I shut my locker and stood, frowning. Had Grace done the on-again, off-again thing with Lukas, too? Had she once thought he was her hero?

  “You going to call Britany, then?” This from Kip. I’d forgotten he was there.

  I headed for English class. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “If you go see her, take me with you,” Kip said.

  “Yeah, I’m thinking not.”

  “Come on, Spencer. At least tell her I said, ‘Hi.’ ”

  “You have her number. Tell her yourself.”

  Kip sighed. “Dad took my phone after the trouble last year, erased all my contacts. I didn’t have her number memorized, so I couldn’t talk to her anymore.”

  I fought back a grin, and that was very hard to do. “Wow. I didn’t think your dad ever laid down the law with you.”

  “Yeah, he was ticked about what happened.”