IQ06. Alcatraz

by Roland Smith

Of course it didn’t help that when we jumped into the cab, Agent Callaghan flashed his Secret Service credentials and told the cabbie to get to the bank “and don’t worry about the lights or tickets.” As we careened in and out of traffic, I had both hands pressed firmly against the back of the front seat. Which totally grossed me out. Because I didn’t want to think about the variety of things that had been spilled, spewed, or otherwise expelled on the back of that seat. Could it be worse than pigeon poop? Probably. Note to self: add hand sanitizer to cargo pants at earliest opportunity. And a barf bag. Being a spy has given me a very sensitive stomach, what with all the shooting and the poofing! and the careening.

  “There they are!” Angela shouted.

  “Pull over!” Agent Callaghan shouted at the cabbie. The driver whipped the wheel hard to the right and slipped into a no-parking zone. We clambered out and he sped off before he even got paid. I think having a Secret Service agent in the car made him nervous. I didn’t blame him.

  “Why aren’t they moving?” I said. And it was true. Felix and Uly were about fifty yards down the street with two guys in flex-cuffs next to the black van. But everyone was standing still.

  “Something’s wrong,” Agent Callaghan said. He studied the rooftops on the other side of the street. I followed his eyes but I didn’t see anything.

  “Sniper?” Angela said.

  “That’d be my guess,” he said. I was about to ask her how she knew that when I remembered she probably had already memorized the entire How to Be a Secret Service Agent handbook. Of course she would know to look for snipers. That was messed up. What kind of fifteen-year-old girl walks around looking for places where a sniper might set up shop? Oh yeah. Angela.

  Agent Callaghan must have been thinking the same thing because he was studying every building on the street. About twenty yards down the sidewalk toward the van was a diner. It didn’t look like a place that would win any food awards. But I knew what was coming next.

  “Listen to me very carefully. Uly and Felix are pinned down by a sniper team. I know where they are and I’m going to take them out. You two are going into that diner and wait there. If I don’t come back, you go out the back door. Head straight to your parents’ hotel,” he said, pulling a wad of bills out of his pocket and handing it to Angela.

  “We can help,” Angela said. “Create a diversion or—”

  “No! Absolutely not. You wait. If things go south you get out. I’m not messing around. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” we both said at the same time.

  “Good. Now go.”

  We strolled casually up the street and went into the diner. Of course Angela wanted a seat right by the window. I would have preferred a safer location. Like a diner in South Dakota. I doubted the ghost cell was interested in attacking South Dakota. We watched as Agent Callaghan quickly crossed the street and disappeared down an alley.

  A waitress brought us waters and menus. Despite my best efforts my stomach involuntarily growled. Maybe we had enough time for a cheeseburger before we had to start running for our lives. Angela was staring out the window and biting her lip.

  “What?” I said. When she did the lip-biting thing, Angela had something she wanted to say. It was her tell.

  “I don’t like this,” she said.

  “Really? You don’t enjoy being terrified and surrounded by thugs and terrorists with guns all the time? Because I love it.”

  “No. It’s not that. I don’t like this specific situation.”

  “Why?”

  “Remember when we saw Buddy at the bank earlier?”

  “No. I’m trying to completely repress that memory. The old lady in the floppy hat with a pistol the size of an anvil who shot out our tires is freaking me out.”

  “There are snipers. They’ve got Uly and Felix pinned down. Buddy is in the bank. It’s a standoff.”

  “I’m sure Agent Callaghan will figure it out.”

  “I know. But at the first bank, they had three teams. What if they have three teams here? I mean, now that they have Buddy, wouldn’t they put even more guys on him, to make sure something doesn’t go wrong? So, if the guys in the van are one team and the snipers are the second team, where is the third? What if Callaghan takes out the snipers on the roof and then the third team shoots Uly and Felix?”

  I hadn’t thought about that. I liked Felix and Uly. They were cool. Plus they were big. And strong. Both of them could break things. They shot back at people who were shooting at us. All the time. I didn’t want anything bad happening to them.

  Angela was studying the street. The waitress came back and asked if we wanted anything.

  “Cheeseburger. Fries. Chocolate shake.”

  “Q, how can you think of food at a time like this?”

  “Angela, A, I’m a thirteen-year-old boy. News flash. I’m always thinking about food. B, Agent Callaghan ordered us to stay put. So I might as well eat. I need my strength.”

  Angela rolled her eyes and told the waitress she was fine with her water.

  “You’re an animal,” I said.

  She didn’t respond. She was observing the street. Her eyes went everywhere and I knew she was looking for anyone who looked like they might be part of the ghost cell.

  “I wish Boone would get here,” she muttered.

  “I’m sure they’re on the way.”

  Her eyes went back to the street. I didn’t see anything strange. It looked like a regular San Francisco street. Business people, tourists, the homeless, and street performers lined both sides of it and all of them hustled about, trying to get wherever they were going.

  “Q?”

  “Yes?”

  “Look across the street in the doorway of that thrift shop right next to the bank entrance. There’s a clown playing a banjo.”

  I looked. I didn’t want to look because clowns freak me out. But sure enough, there was a poorly made-up, disheveled-looking clown, wearing an ill-fitting, stringy-haired orange wig and sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk with his back against the building near the thrift shop door. He was plucking at the banjo—but was he really watching Felix and Uly?

  “I see him. How do you know he’s not just a regular street performer?”

  “I don’t think so,” Angela said.

  “Why?”

  “For one thing, he’s watching Felix and Uly. He’s trying not to stare at them but he keeps looking their way every few seconds. Second, most street musicians have their instrument case open so people can toss in cash. His case is closed.”

  “Maybe he’s just playing for his art,” I said. But I knew what she was thinking.

  “Or maybe he’s the backup and his banjo case is hiding a gun.”

  “What do we do?” I asked. “If you’re right and we try to warn Felix and Uly, he starts shooting. Agent Callaghan is on a rooftop somewhere above him. He’s probably not going to be able to take him out from up there. He’s covered by that awning.”

  “We take him out,” Angela declared quietly.

  “What? No! This isn’t funny, Angela,” I whispered, because other customers in the diner were beginning to stare at us.

  “Do you want Felix and Uly to get shot? He’s sitting down. If we do it right, I can take him out with one tae kwan do kick before he gets to his feet. But we have to create some kind of distraction first. Some way of getting in between him and Uly.”

  I looked down at the table. The waitress had left the menu. It was covered in thick plastic and folded in thirds. I grabbed it and stood up.

  “I have an idea. Let’s go,” I said, heading for the door.

  “Wait. What’s your idea?” She was hurrying to keep up.

  “Simple. Magic.”

  The Hand (or the Foot) Is Quicker Than the Eye

  They call it three-card monte. It’s a common card game played by con men and street hustlers. Sometimes it’s called find the lady because you use three cards—the two red jacks and the queen of hearts. The game involves getting unsuspecti
ng people—what con men call “marks”—to bet on where the queen is after you shuffle the three cards. Like all card and magic tricks, it relies on sleight of hand, misdirection, and deception.

  When we left the restaurant—after assuring the angry waitress we’d be coming back for our food and giving her ten dollars—we crossed the street. I was nervous and taking deep breaths. I had to be calm to pull this off. Sleight of hand doesn’t work if your hands are shaking.

  “I need some of the money Agent Callaghan gave you. Small bills,” I said.

  “What are you doing?” But she pulled a wad of cash from her pocket and handed it to me.

  “You said we need a distraction. I’m going to distract. You’re going to tae kwan do.”

  I hoped Angela was right. It would be a horrible shame if she clobbered an innocent clown. On second thought, there are no innocent clowns. So we were probably good either way.

  “How?”

  “Like I said, magic.”

  Everything seemed to slow down as we approached the clown. He was almost directly across from where Uly and Felix were standing still as stones beside the black van. I know it had only been a few minutes since we’d arrived on the scene but it felt like hours. Felix and Uly had these two guys in flex-cuffs and were talking to them in low voices. Everybody passing on the street probably assumed they were cops interrogating suspects. No one appeared to be paying attention. Except the evil clown.

  I was also pretty sure Uly and Felix recognized us and knew we were there. But they were too well trained to acknowledge us. If they did, it might tip off the second crew (or even worse, the clown) that Felix and Uly’s backup had arrived. Angela had slipped on a big pair of sunglasses. I had put on the ball cap and shades I always carried in my cargo shorts. Like spies, we had altered our appearance. We were running out of time before people started stopping to watch Felix and Uly or real cops showed up. And that might get a lot of people hurt.

  As we got closer, I could hear the sound of the banjo. It was terrible. He was definitely a fake clown. No one could play the banjo that badly on purpose. A fake, malevolent, criminal, terrorist-assisting clown. Somebody had to take him down.

  There was a wire trash can a few feet away. I grabbed it and dragged it over so it was right between the clown and the Range Rover. I unfolded the plastic-laminated menu over the top of the trashcan so I had a portable tabletop to work on.

  “Once I get going, keep an eye on Mr. Giggles with the banjo,” I whispered to Angela. “And if you see a cop anywhere, give a shout. This is highly illegal. Don’t want to cause a ruckus that might put Uly and Felix in danger.”

  With everything in place, I whipped out one of my decks and quickly found the three cards I needed. I started shuffling them back and forth.

  “Step right up! Who feels lucky? Find the queen and win!” I shouted.

  I whipped the cards back and forth, my hands a blur. There is a reason three-card monte is almost impossible to win. While the dealer is shuffling the cards, he’s always holding two cards in one hand and one in the other. The trick is in the hand with two cards. When you first pick up the queen, you do it with the hand holding two cards. The mark will always think they’re “following” the card in your hand.

  Talking constantly to the crowd, you move the cards back and forth between hands, so you can toss either the top or bottom card onto your tabletop when you lay the three cards out. If you’re good, the move is almost impossible to detect. The mark thinks they’re keeping an eye on the queen, but they invariably pick the wrong card. Once in a while the mark gets lucky and picks the right card. Usually the dealer is working with a partner, whom he tips off to the correct location of the queen. They place a winning bet so it looks legit to the marks. I didn’t have time to train Angela. I was going to have to hope I was really good and nobody got lucky. Or Angela took out the clown soon.

  “Who’s a winner? Step right up! Find the queen!” I hollered to the passing crowd. Why was it taking Agent Callaghan so long to take out those snipers? Of course, I would imagine taking out snipers is not easy or something you can do really quickly. Because of all the guns.

  No one was gathering. I nodded at Angela.

  “How about you, young lady? Take a chance! Win money!” I shouted.

  Angela stepped up and put a ten-dollar bill down on the menu.

  “We have a player. Here we go. Watch closely. Where’s the queen?”

  I shuffled and shuffled, then I laid out the cards. As I withdrew my hands, I very quickly pointed to which card was the queen with my pinkie finger.

  “Where is it? Where’s the queen?” I shouted.

  Angela pointed and I turned over the card, revealing the queen.

  “Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” I called out, pulling a ten-dollar bill from my pocket and waving it around in the air before I handed it to her.

  That got attention. When other people see or hear someone winning money, they get interested. It works every time. A couple of people stopped to watch.

  “Who wants to win? Who wants to win? Place your bets and find the queen.”

  The gathering crowd was the trick. It was obscuring the clown’s view of Uly and Felix.

  “Hey, kid,” the clown spoke up from his spot on the sidewalk. “This is my turf. Beat it.”

  I ignored him.

  “Who’s going to be the next winner?” I said, furiously shuffling the cards back and forth.

  A middle-aged guy wearing a ball cap that said “IOWA” on the brim put down ten dollars.

  “Don’t do it, Harold,” his wife said, pulling at his arm. “It’s a scam.”

  “It’s no scam at all, everybody has a chance to win!” I shouted.

  The clown spoke up again.

  “Hey, kid. I want you out of here! This is my spot!”

  I still ignored him and kept shuffling.

  “Hey!” He put down the banjo. As he started to rise to his feet, Angela made her move. She faded out of the crowd around me and, quick as a cat, she darted across the sidewalk, launching a kick that landed right in his chest. It drove him back into the wall of the thrift shop. Stunned, he slumped back to the ground. For good measure, Angela grabbed him by the ears, pulled his head forward, and drove it hard back into the wall. The clown flopped forward, unconscious. Angela pushed him up into a sitting position and put the banjo back in his lap. He looked like just another passed-out street person.

  I handed the money back to the man and folded up the menu.

  “Sorry, gotta go,” I said. I glanced at Uly and Felix, who were now looking up at the roof above us. They gave a little salute to someone up there. Agent Callaghan must have succeeded. They put the guys they’d cuffed in the back of the Range Rover. Uly stayed put while Felix went inside the bank.

  Angela and I raced back to the restaurant. I hoped Agent Callaghan didn’t see us sprinting across the street. When we returned to our table, the waitress brought my cheeseburger and I devoured it in about six bites. Angela was busy stealing my fries when Agent Callaghan returned.

  “We got him,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Tangled Webs

  As we walked outside, the coach was pulling up in the street outside the bank. We hustled over and climbed inside. Angela went straight to her mom and they hugged again. Malak ran her hand over Angela’s face, brushing her bangs away.

  “Mom,” Angela said. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “I’m happy to see you, too, sweetheart.”

  I was pleased for Angela. There was still a lot of dangerous stuff ahead. But I couldn’t help but think we were getting closer to the two of them finally being together. And it made me think about my mom and how I’d acted like a jerk about the whole boarding school thing. Seeing Malak and Angela together, I realized the lengths a parent would go to in order to protect his or her child. I thought about calling her right then. But Boone’s cell phone beeped.

  “Felix?” he said, answering the call. He listened for a few se
conds. “All right. Tell him I’ll be in in a minute. Malak, can you brief Pat, Angela, and Q while I’m inside?”

  “Yes,” Malak said. Boone quickly left the coach.

  “Brief us about what?” Angela asked.

  “When Buddy gets on the coach, I am morphing back into the Leopard. You and Q and Pat will have to pretend you do not know me—you have never met me,” Malak said.

  “Why?” Angela said, biting her lip.

  “Because we can’t trust Buddy. We know he’s being watched. If Buddy should get away, or he’s deceiving us or we’re followed and the cell discovers a connection between us, then you would instantly become a target. And not only you, but Q, Roger, and Blaze. You would never be safe. We have it set up that I, as the Leopard, deduced that the cell planned to kill me in Chicago after the news got out about their failed weapon. And now, to exact my revenge, I have joined forces with Boone. I’m going to sweat Buddy and find out everything I can.”

  She looked out the window to see Buddy emerging from the bank. Boone had him by the arm. Felix walked behind him, one hand in his jacket pocket, glancing everywhere. The clown was still slumped in his spot. Angela must have really clocked him. Malak quickly slid into the passenger seat next to Ziv. Felix went to the clown and lifted him off the ground and slung him over his shoulder, picking up the banjo case with his free hand. He carried him to the Range Rover and he and Uly drove away with their passengers.

  Boone wasn’t gentle as he helped Buddy onto the bus. Ziv patted him down and found a ring of keys to a bunch of other safe-deposit boxes. He shoved Buddy into one of the chairs at the dining table. Buddy T. looked scared. Boone opened Buddy’s duffel bag and spilled the contents onto the table. There was cash, gold, and little felt bags that sounded like they were full of marbles as they crashed across the table.

  “Wow, Buddy,” Boone said. “The terrorism business must be good.”

  Buddy didn’t say anything, but when he saw Angela and me he sneered. Even under duress, he couldn’t help but be his usual obnoxious self.

  “What are you two snots doing here?”

  “There’s still a tour, Buddy,” Boone said. “I’m in charge of tour security. I couldn’t very well let your pals in the cell get wind of me sending Q and Angela off someplace safe. If we did something unusual it might tip your buddies off.”