The Windy City Page 2

  “Do you remember the deal we made about your schoolwork before we left on tour?” Mom asked.

  “Uh. Yes. I remember. Most of it,” I said. My breathing tightened up a little. I was instantly nervous, and when that happens, my mind starts racing. And racing. The truth of it was, after the first couple of days on the tour, we found out that Angela’s mother, Malak, who was a Secret Service agent, was still alive, and she was pretending to be her twin sister, Anmar, who was one of the world’s most wanted terrorists, so she could infiltrate the ghost cell. The ghost cell was a deep, deep, deep undercover terrorist network that had infiltrated the United States. The cell was going to bring the real Anmar into their leadership. When the real Anmar died in an explosion at Independence Hall, Malak, her identical twin, took her place. She’d been undercover for years now, trying to expose the ghost cell network. But Angela and Roger thought she died in the explosion. Then at the White House we almost got kidnapped along with the president’s son, P.K., and the president’s daughter, Bethany, who actually did get kidnapped. We had to help Boone and the SOS crew track her down so a team of navy SEALs could rescue her. Along the way we discovered that Boone and Croc were able to poof! all over the place. Poof is something I made up. It meant they could disappear and then reappear anywhere as if by magic. Honest. Then bombs had gone off…. In Texas a big-haired, evil terrorist named Miss Ruby had drugged me and held me hostage—and my hands still felt icky from getting pigeon poop on them in Philadelphia, and … whoa … slow down, mind. No good.

  I took another breath.

  We found a sheriff in Texas who helped rescue me and we got shot at with at least a million bullets by Miss Ruby and her thugs. Then, Dirk Peski, who was an undercover spy but who we really thought was a paparazzi pest, crashed his car into Miss Ruby’s SUV and saved us. We had to race to San Antonio, where we crashed again, this time into a Chevy Tahoe loaded with explosives, which totally foiled the ghost cell’s plot. Since all of that happened schoolwork had pretty much been the last thing on my mind. I sucked in another big breath, which only made me look even guiltier.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure if I believe you, Q,” Mom said. “Because this morning I received an e-mail from your teacher, Mr. Palotta, claiming he hasn’t received any of your assignments in almost a week. Our deal was, you’d keep up on your schoolwork or else you’d have to attend boarding school while we finished the tour. Do you remember that part of the conversation?”

  “Um. Yeah, but … I …”

  “It’s totally my fault,” Angela said.

  “What?” Roger said.

  “What?” my mom and I said at the same time.

  “It’s not Q’s fault, it’s mine. We divided up the work. Q was taking the video and photos for the website and I was doing the research on all the places we’d visited, like Independence Hall, and I just … I don’t know. I just got a little distracted after being in the White House and everything. And so I’ve been kind of moody and I’m sorry. I have most of the work done, I just haven’t posted the content. I’ll catch up as soon as we get to Chicago, I promise.”

  Angela had a really mopey look on her face and I think it caught Mom and Roger off guard. But Roger recovered. He’s kind of reserved. Quiet, even. But he’s a pretty good guy and he treats my mom really well.

  “Angela, we didn’t talk about it, but I wondered about us going to the White House myself. How it might affect you. I know what you … well … it wasn’t easy for me either. But we always have to keep moving forward. And the two of you promised you wouldn’t fall behind on your assignments.”

  Roger was referring to Angela’s mother having served at the White House when she was in the Secret Service. Roger had no idea she was alive. Angela knew everything. Between having to keep that secret and worrying about her mother, Angela was getting stretched very thin. She’s really smart. In the last few days I’ve discovered that she’s also tough, capable, and a lot like her mother. Who has to be one of the most fearless people I’ve ever met. But Angela was also human. And she’d been on an emotional roller coaster these past few days that I couldn’t even begin to imagine. No matter how strong she was, it was wearing on her. But she would never admit it.

  “I know,” she said, “and we’ll get caught up. I promise. Once we get to our hotel—I need to finish a few things up—and I’ll send Mr. Palotta the assignments.”

  I had learned to tell when Angela was really concerned about something. The last thing she wanted was to be sent away from Chicago. According to Boone, Malak had just been named to Council of Five, the ghost cell’s highest leadership. Miss Ruby, also known as Number Three of the Five, had been taken off the board. But before Sheriff Hackett and Dirk Peski eliminated her, she sent Malak to a safe house in Chicago. She was supposed to wait there until she received instructions from Number Two. Malak would probably be happy to have us locked away in a boarding school. Angela, on the other hand, would flip out. She wanted to stay as close to her mom as she possibly could.

  Mom and Roger stood up.

  “All right. You’ve got two days to get caught up. I don’t like being a hard case, but school is your first priority. Are we clear?” Mom said.

  “Yes, Mom,” I said. Angela just nodded while making big, sad, moony eyes.

  Mom and Roger left us and walked back up to the front of the plane.

  “Whew,” I said. “That was close.”

  “No kidding,” she said.

  “What now?” I asked.

  Angela pointed to my backpack, which was on the floor at my feet. My laptop was sticking out of it.

  “I’d say we better get caught up on our homework,” she said.

  Don’t get me wrong. When it comes to stepsisters, I could do much worse than Angela.

  But seriously, homework? How could anybody think of homework at a time like this?

  Running Into Trouble

  Vanessa was driving the coach while Boone rode shotgun. They were towing the Range Rover and Felix and Uly were in the intellimobile. Felix drove while he and Uly argued over who was the best running back of all time. X-Ray sat in the back doing X-Ray stuff. Boone’s phone sat on the console of the coach. It was on speaker, so they were all in constant contact. Croc was curled up in one of the chairs at the dining table behind them, snoring away. Quite loudly.

  “Eric Dickerson,” said Felix.

  “No way. Barry Sanders,” Uly said. “Wait. Can I change my answer? Walter Payton. No. Sanders. Nope. Payton. Definitely Payton. Or Sanders. I’m going to have to think about this some more.”

  “You’re both wrong,” Boone said. “The greatest running back of all time is Jim Brown. He was also an All-American in lacrosse. Even made the National Lacrosse Hall of Fame.”

  “I still say Dickerson,” Felix said. “Bigger and faster than Brown.”

  Boone shook his head in mock indignation. He clicked the mute button on the phone. Felix and Uly continued the argument, but Boone had a question for Vanessa.

  “Why only take Q?” Boone said after a brief moment of reflection.

  “What?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the road. Vanessa always paid careful attention to her driving.

  “In San Antonio. They come to the hotel and snatch Q, but leave Angela behind. In Kitty Hawk, they take them both. In San Antonio, Q is moved out of the blast zone, but not Angela. Why?”

  “We’ve all been wondering the same thing,” she said.

  “You have? Why didn’t any of you mention it?” Boone asked.

  “Because you were thinking about the next moves. You don’t like to be pestered with questions when you’re thinking about our next moves,” she said.

  “I don’t?”

  “Well, no, not historically. At least ever since I’ve worked with you. You like to suss this stuff out on your own. But we talked about it. After everything calmed down. It didn’t make sense. Still doesn’t.”

  “I know,” Boone said. “It’s bugging me. Q and not Angela. That means the
re is something about Q. And that makes me think back to Kitty Hawk. And Speed showing up out of nowhere. And how I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  He pushed the mute button off.

  “Hey, X-Ray. Remember that tracker I had you monitor in North Carolina? You got a location on it?”

  “One second,” X-Ray replied. “Key West,” he said a few seconds later.

  “Thanks,” Boone said, muting the phone again.

  “Huh. Something is just not adding up here. Malak has reached the very top leadership of the ghost cell. In Texas she was worried about them uncovering her real identity. And how that would threaten Angela. So they still believe she’s the real Anmar, otherwise they would have taken Angela and left Q behind or killed them both to make up for losing them in Kitty Hawk.” He ran his hand through his long gray hair and fiddled with his ponytail.

  “Well, don’t forget they were going to kill Angela,” Vanessa said.

  “I haven’t. Believe me,” Boone sighed, “but it’s just not adding up. Killing Angela just eliminates a witness. But they planned to leave Q alive. At least as far as we know. They had to know we’d come after him. Why not kill them both? Which means, there’s something about Q in this. The question is, what?” They rode in silence for a few minutes.

  “Maybe we got to them before they had a chance to move him,” Vanessa said. She was quiet a moment. “You look tired, Boone,” she finally said.

  “Vanessa, I’m more tired than you can possibly imagine,” he said.

  “Why don’t you get some sack time? I got this. We’ll be in Chicago in another few hours. And … whoa … detour,” she said.

  Up ahead were the familiar orange and white barrels signifying road construction. A sign with a blinking arrow directed them to the right lane. They had taken turns driving through the night. They had already passed through most of the bigger towns and cities along their route. At midmorning on this stretch of interstate there was very little traffic. Vanessa slowed the coach and turned off onto an exit ramp. At the top of the ramp an orange sign read “Detour” and pointed to the left.

  They followed a four-lane divided highway for a few miles and another sign turned them onto an even smaller two-lane road. There was nothing but cornfields on either side of them.

  “This is going to take forever,” Boone said.

  “No kidding,” Vanessa replied.

  Boone settled back in the seat and rubbed his eyes. Two miles behind them three black SUVs pulled out of a rutted lane in the cornfield and onto the road and zoomed off in pursuit of the SOS team.

  Running Errands

  Malak stood across the street from the Four Seasons Chicago. It felt good to be out of the safe house. One of the better hotels in the city, the Four Seasons was atop Water Tower Place overlooking Michigan Avenue. She sat on a bench in front of the Presbyterian church, directly across the street. As she sipped from a large paper cup of coffee, her eyes roamed everywhere behind her sunglasses. She was wearing a Cubs baseball cap, a Chicago Bulls hoodie, and jeans.

  Malak was sure she wasn’t being followed. All morning, after she left the safe house, she engaged in what is known in the spy game as “running errands.” It was a classic countersurveillance method that allowed your backup—in this case, Ziv and his new friend Eben—to determine if you were being tailed.

  Running errands consisted of just that. Normal stuff, like popping into the drugstore and emerging a few minutes later with a small bag of purchased items. Getting on the El train and taking the first transfer to a different line and making a mental note of nearby passengers who made the same move. Then getting off at the first stop after the transfer. Walking along the street for a while, then suddenly grabbing a taxi to Michigan Avenue and glancing out the rear window to search for anyone frantically hailing a cab or a car quickly maneuvering to follow. The trick was to make sudden and unpredictable moves appear normal. Otherwise whoever was tailing you would pull back and break off their pursuit.

  Once there, she went window-shopping. Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago has a section known as the Magnificent Mile, lined with dozens of upscale stores and boutiques. The reflective glass of their big windows was a perfect tool to use to check for anyone following her. She continued to pop in and out of stores and even visited a coffee shop, sitting at a table near the window for several minutes to check for possible tails.

  All the while she looked for familiar people. Not so much faces, for an experienced spy would alter their appearance regularly. They would remove a coat or jacket. Obscure their face with a hat and glasses. So the Leopard looked for familiarity in behavior and movement. One trick she had learned was to watch people with their phones. Someone tailing you could change their look fairly easily, but most would use the same phone. Phones and earbuds were a good disguise for an experienced operative. Many people used them, so they tended to blend in. But changing phones every few minutes to avoid detection was problematic if they suddenly needed to snap a photo of a license plate, shoot a quick video, or call for backup. Plus phones could be traced. Spies usually used one single burner or disposable phone at a time. So Malak even studied phone and headset combinations.

  It was laborious and detailed work but to save her life, she counted on her ability to notice even the smallest things. And of course Ziv was there. Always. She couldn’t explain it, but in the past few years she had come to feel his presence. To sense that he was always close by and watching. She had grown anxious waiting for him to arrive from Texas. Even though Boone and President Culpepper had sent Pat Callaghan to watch her back.

  While Ziv trailed after her, he observed everything that happened around her. A sedan that might circle past once too often. A certain driver he recognized who might have switched to a different car. Or a delivery truck parked in an odd location. Ziv missed nothing and was a large part of the reason Malak was still breathing.

  Malak had not spotted his car even once during the entire morning. Ziv jokingly called himself the “Monkey that watches the Leopard’s tail.” But to Malak he was more like an old and gallant lion. She could never envision him as a monkey.

  Now she sat across from the hotel, waiting for Angela to arrive.

  Her baby girl. Malak was one of the most well-trained and experienced operatives in the world. When she first reconnected with Angela in Independence Hall, her heart had leaped at the sight of the proud, intelligent, and beautiful young woman her daughter had become.

  But now she thought maybe she had made a mistake. Thoughts of Angela consumed her. And knowing that the cell was planning something in Chicago, and that Angela would be here—and thus in danger—was driving her mad.

  “Keep doing this, you’re going to get both of you killed,” a voice said from behind her.

  Malak calmly and leisurely sat up straight. Her hand slowly moved toward the automatic pistol secured in a waistband holster beneath her hoodie.

  “Malak, don’t. It’s me, Pat. Pat Callaghan. I’m going to sit down on your left. So we can talk. We’re just a couple of Chicagoans out for a stroll on a beautiful late-summer day. Easy now. Relax.”

  The bench was made of iron, painted black. It formed a square around a leafy tree that was just starting to turn autumn gold. She relaxed a little.

  “How did you find me?” she asked quietly, looking down. If anyone were watching they would be unable to read her lips. She was angry with herself. How could she have missed him? Easy. Pat was Secret Service just like she had once been. They had worked together in Washington. He was one of the best agents she had ever known. Apparently he still was.

  “I had a feeling you’d try to put eyes on Angela. And because it’s what I would have done. If I were you,” he said.

  Malak said nothing. She felt a little nauseated. Pat was right. It was a horrible risk. Truth be told, she did “run errands” this morning to find out if anyone was watching her. But it was also an excuse to be here when Angela arrived. All she wanted to do was see her.

&nbs
p; “No lecture?” she asked Pat with resignation.

  “Lecture? Oh. The one where I tell you this is a good way to get you both—and maybe a bunch of other people—killed? I thought I just said that.”

  “That would be the one,” Malak snorted.

  “Sounds like you already know it. By heart.”

  “Pat, I—”

  Malak stopped midsentence. She couldn’t say anything, because he was right.

  “How did you even know where Match is staying? It hasn’t exactly been advertised,” he asked.

  “Music blogger. Wrote about his interview later today with Roger and Blaze at the Four Seasons. Took a few minutes searching to find out.”

  Callaghan sighed. “I hate the Internet.”

  “I appreciate you watching me until Ziv and Eben got here,” she said. “I only saw you once.”

  “You never saw me,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

  Malak laughed. She had, in fact, spotted his car once on the street outside the safe house. But she let it go.

  “Why are you here?” Malak asked.

  “For that,” he said. From the corner of her eye she followed his gaze across the street as two long stretch limos pulled up in front of the hotel. The Match entourage piled out and Angela emerged from the second limo. She stood straight and stretched. Q was standing next to her and he said something that made her laugh. Malak felt the tears forming in her eyes.

  “Boone and the others are on the way. Number Three was taken off the board in Texas last night,” Pat said.

  Again, Malak showed no reaction. But the news was startling. She had questions, but Pat had been here too long already. If someone were watching them …

  “Things have changed slightly. Until Boone gets here I’m on Angela and Q. You need to go back to the safe house. Be the Leopard.”

  “But …” she interrupted. She couldn’t help it.

  “No ‘buts,’ Malak. Glance at your wrist like we were just having a friendly conversation. Pretend I asked you what time it is, then look at me.”