Independence Hall Page 5

  “Real funny,” I said. “And for your information, magicians work just as hard as musicians. You can’t believe how much practice it takes.” I wadded up the burger wrapper, closed it in my hand then made it disappear.

  Angela laughed. “You have to show me how you do that. And practice is another P.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “Here’s another P… Check your right pocket.”

  “What are you talking about?” Angela asked, reaching into her bathrobe pocket.

  “No way!” She held up a yellow burger wrapper folded into an origami crane. “How—”

  I shook my head. “Before the minor riot in Grand Island you were going to tell me what you wanted to be when you grow up.”

  “I hadn’t decided if I was going to tell you or not,” Angela said, biting her lower lip.

  One of the skills a good magician has is the ability to read people. Angela wanted to spill her guts.

  “But you have now,” I said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because when you want to say something, but you’re not sure you want to say it, you bite your lower lip.”

  “I do not!”

  “Every time,” I said. “Here’s another P. In poker it’s called a tell. Magicians use it to read their audience. Just spit it out.”

  Angela paused then said, “Do you know anything about my mom?”

  I hadn’t expected this. My mom had warned me not to bring up Angela’s mother. “It’s a raw subject for Angela,” she had said. “Don’t go there.”

  “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” I said.

  “I want to,” Angela said. “Do you know what happened to her?”

  The burger in my stomach started to churn. “Mom said she died for her country.”

  Angela nodded. “Do you know what she did for a living?”

  “I figured she was in the military over in Iraq or Afghanistan,” I said. “Mom was kind of vague about the details.”

  “My mother was a Secret Service agent,” Angela said.

  It looked like Mom had been more than vague. “Like in protecting the president of the United States Secret Service?” I asked.

  “More Ps,” Angela answered, but her smile was gone. “That’s only a small part of what the Secret Service does. When I was five years old she was on presidential detail for six months. We moved to D.C. to be close to her, but we might as well have stayed in San Francisco. Dad and I didn’t see her for more than a week during those six months.”

  Angela reached into her backpack and put a photograph on the table. “My mother,” she said.

  I could see a family resemblance. Her mother had dark hair and dark eyes like Angela, but that’s where the similarity ended. The woman in the photo was…

  “My mom was Lebanese,” Angela said. “Her parents were killed when she was two months old. She was adopted. Her new parents immigrated to the U.S. when she was a baby. They named her Malak, which means angel. That’s where I got my name.”

  I didn’t take my eyes off the photo as Angela spoke. The woman in the photo did not look like an angel. She was lean and hard-muscled and a lot tougher looking than Angela. And it wasn’t exactly the kind of photo you kept to remind you of your dead mother.

  The photo had been taken at a firing range. Her mom was wearing a tank top, goggles, and ear protectors. She was shooting an automatic pistol at a target, but it wasn’t the automatic or the muscles that made her look tough. There was an intensity in her eyes that I had never seen in Angela’s eyes. The only feminine thing about her was the dainty gold necklace hanging around her neck. I thought about the woman in the photo being married to Roger and they didn’t seem to match.

  “Aside from protecting the president, the vice president, and their families,” Angela continued, “the Service’s primary duty is protecting U.S. currency. They work for the Treasury Department.”

  I looked up from the photo. Angela sounded like she could write a book about the subject. “So, they go after counterfeiters?”

  Angela nodded. “But they also work with the FBI, the National Security Agency, Department of Defense, and Homeland Security. When she was killed she was working on an anti-terrorism task force from different agencies. At least that’s what Dad thinks.”

  “He doesn’t know?” I asked.

  Angela shook her head.

  “Why?”

  “Classified information,” Angela answered. “National security.”

  It was clear now why Mom didn’t want me to bring up the subject. It also explained Mom’s strange look and the change in mood when we were talking about James Bond novels in the café in Winnemucca. The Secret Service, whether it was the American or the British Secret Service, was obviously a sore subject for Roger.

  “I’m sorry your mom died,” I said, which seemed kind of lame, but I meant it. Losing your mother would be bad. Not knowing how or why would be horrible.

  “Thanks,” Angela said.

  We sat for a few moments not saying anything. I glanced over at Boone to make sure he wasn’t listening. He appeared to be engrossed in the radio show. The guy on the radio was talking about an encounter he had with a flying saucer. I wondered if Boone believed in that stuff, or was just trying to stay awake. When I looked back, Angela was fiddling with the yellow origami crane.

  “Dad wasn’t happy about her being in the Service in the first place,” she said quietly. “And then when they wouldn’t give him any information about what happened, it just about put him over the edge.”

  “I can see that,” I said. “It’s outrageous. I mean it’s not like he or you would give away national secrets.”

  “The point is that Dad’s not exactly a big fan of federal law enforcement agencies,” Angela said. “Which is why I don’t talk about what I want to do when I grow up.”

  I stared at her for a minute, confused, until what she was talking about finally dawned on me.

  “You mean you want to be a Secret Service agent?”

  Angela nodded. “Or maybe FBI or CIA. I haven’t decided yet.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Angela said. “You’re wondering why I would want to join the same profession that took my mother.”

  That was a pretty good guess, but there was more to it than that. I was also thinking that Angela didn’t look like she could ever be a federal agent or a spy. I mean she was fit enough, but there wasn’t much to her. She was short, thin, and a little frail-looking.

  “You’re also probably wondering if I wanted to be an agent before my mom died or after she died,” Angela said.

  I hadn’t even thought of that, but it was a good question.

  “I don’t know what she was doing, but I know it was something important,” Angela said. “And the answer is, yes. I wanted to be an agent before my mother died.”

  No wonder she hadn’t told her dad. I bet he would let her eat an entire herd of cows if she promised to let this ambition go.

  “Does he know that you’ve read all the James Bond novels?” I asked.

  “No way.”

  “How do you become a federal agent, anyway?” I asked.

  “You work on your skills,” Angela said. “Before Mom died she taught me a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how to be observant, how to shake a tail, how to follow someone without being detected.” Angela answered. “She made a game out of it—a private game that just she and I played.”

  “That’s why you wear the sunglasses,” I said.

  Angela nodded. “Secret Service agents wear them when they’re on protective duty so people don’t know they’re being watched.”

  “Did your dad know about these games?”

  “I don’t think so. Like I said, he wasn’t happy about her being in the Service.” Angela looked away. “And to be honest, before she disappeared, my mom and dad weren’t getting along very well. Too many years apart with diff
erent outlooks and very different ambitions.”

  I knew something about this. My mom and my crazy dad had never gotten along.

  “How did she teach you to be observant?” I asked.

  “We’d go someplace like Chinatown in San Francisco, have lunch, and afterward she would quiz me on everyone sitting in the restaurant—what they were wearing, what they were eating, where they were sitting—”

  “Two-hundred-fifty-six people at the wedding reception!” I said, “counting guests, catering staff, reporters, and security people. You actually counted them!”

  “I guess I was showing off a little,” Angela said.

  “No more than when I made the burger wrapper disappear and then turned it into the crane.”

  Angela was biting her lower lip again. There was more to come. I waited, but I guess she changed her mind.

  “Show me how you did that trick,” she said.

  I knew this wasn’t really what she wanted to say, but I let it go. She’d spill her guts when she was ready.

  “Magicians aren’t supposed to give away their secrets,” I said. “But since you’re my sister now I guess I can make an exception.” I took out my deck of cards and gave it a one-handed shuffle. “I used distraction, sleight of hand, and anticipation.”

  “Explain,” Angela said.

  I reached under my leg and pulled out a crumpled yellow burger wrapper. “When I took the wrapper off I glanced at Boone and you looked in the same direction. That’s the distraction. You only looked for a split second, but that’s all I needed to flick the wrapper into my lap. That’s the sleight of hand.”

  “How did you fold the crane so quickly?” she asked. “How did the crane get into the pocket of my robe?”

  “That’s the anticipation,” I told her. “When I gave Croc his cheeseburger yesterday I pocketed the wrapper. I didn’t think I’d be using it this soon, but I knew that one of these days you and I would be eating another McDonald’s burger. I took the wrapper and folded an origami crane when we got back to the coach. I was actually using it as a bookmark for Dr. No. When I saw that you were holding a burger for me I palmed the crane, then slipped it into your pocket when I followed you to the table.”

  “Clever,” Angela said. “What about the disappearing French fries?”

  “Sunglasses,” I answered. “I asked you to take them off. People usually close their eyes or at least blink when they take off their glasses. That was enough time for me to flick the fries under the table.”

  Angela nodded and I thought the gut-spilling was going to come, but she still held back.

  “What are we going to do on this tour?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Hang out, do our homework.”

  “That’s going to leave us a lot of time to ourselves,” she said. “It’s obvious that your mom and my dad are going to be a lot busier than they thought. Do you know other tricks?”

  “Are you kidding?” I said. “I know hundreds of tricks. I’ve been doing magic since I was six years old.”

  I took out a length of cord and tied it in a complicated knot. I flicked it with my index finger and the knot disappeared.

  Angela laughed, then said, “You know a lot about magic. I know something about being an agent. How about an exchange of information? You teach me some tricks and I’ll teach you what my mom taught me.”

  “James Bond stuff,” I said.

  Angela nodded. “I can also teach you some taekwondo. I’ve been taking lessons since I was four years old.”

  Looking at her, that was hard to believe.

  “I get it,” I said. “You teach me how to kick someone’s head. I teach you how to trick someone’s head.”

  Angela smiled. “Something like that.”

  The Electric Factory

  We got to Philadelphia about three o’clock in the afternoon.

  Boone pulled the coach into an old warehouse and Buddy jumped aboard before Boone had a chance to shut the engine off.

  “You leave for New York in twenty minutes,” he shouted.

  “What?” Mom said.

  “Private jet,” Buddy continued. “We were lucky to get it. You’ll be staying in a suite at Trump Tower. A driver will pick you up at six sharp tomorrow morning. Take you in for a sound check. The band’s on its way to the airport. After you perform you fly to Chicago. After Chicago you—”

  “Slow down Buddy,” Roger said.

  Angela closed her laptop. Boone unsnapped his seatbelt. I put my book down.

  “We’re on a tight schedule,” Buddy continued. “Electric Factory concert is tomorrow night.”

  Boone got out of the driver’s seat and stretched. He had been driving for over twenty-four hours, only taking breaks when we stopped to gas up.

  “Hey, Boone,” Buddy said, looking surprised. “When did you join up?”

  Angela and I rolled our eyes. Like Buddy didn’t know.

  “Nevada,” Boone answered.

  “Great!” Buddy said. “I feel better with you behind the wheel. If you want to head up the roadies the job’s yours.”

  “I’d be happy to give ’em a hand,” Boone said. “But I got no interest in bein’ the boss.”

  “Same old Boone,” Buddy said. “I’ll put you on the payroll.”

  Big surprise, I thought, and looked out the window. “Why are we parked in a warehouse?”

  “It’s perfect,” Buddy answered. “Two blocks from The Electric Factory. I hired a security company to keep the fans away.”

  “We’re staying here?” Angela asked.

  “Yeah,” Buddy said. “Your folks stipulated no hotels.”

  “Back up a little,” Roger said. “What’s this about a jet waiting for us?”

  “I told you about it on the phone,” Buddy said. “You’re doing the Friday concert on The Today Show tomorrow morning. After you finish there you’re flying to Chicago to do Oprah. We’ll have you back here late Friday afternoon to get ready for your evening concert at the Electric Factory.”

  Roger and Mom looked at each other, stunned.

  “You said you were working on setting up the appearances,” Mom said. “You didn’t say they were a done deal.”

  “They are now,” Buddy said. “These two appearances alone are going to sell a million albums—maybe more.”

  “What about Angela and Q?” Roger asked.

  Buddy shook his head. “Corporate jet. Only a few seats. They’re all taken. I can have one of the security guys drive them to New York and meet us. But then we have to figure out how to get them to Chicago and back to—”

  “We’ll stay here,” Angela said, looking at me.

  “Yeah,” I agreed (a little quicker than I should have as it turned out).

  “We can’t have you staying here by yourselves,” Roger said.

  “It’s only one night,” Angela said. “Boone’s here and there are guards. Besides we have a lot of homework to do. We can’t be flying around with you every time you get a chance like this.”

  We didn’t have that much homework. What did Angela have in mind? I wondered.

  “What do you think?” Mom asked Roger.

  “She has a point,” Roger admitted. “But this isn’t exactly how I envisioned the tour working out.”

  “Better get used to it,” Buddy said. “You’ve hit the big time. You either take advantage of it or you give it up. You can’t say no to things like this. They don’t call you back to reschedule. They’ll get some other act to perform and that act will sell a million albums.”

  Boone went over to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of orange juice. “I don’t mind hangin’ with Angela and Q,” he said. “We’ll go to some bookstores, visit a coupla’ museums…”

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” Roger said. “You’re not their nanny.”

  Boone laughed. “You’re right. I’m their friend. I like hangin’ with them.”

  Buddy looked out the window. “Limo’s here. We gotta go.”

>   “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Mom asked me.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “How about getting us cell phones and you can check in whenever you want?” I’d been bugging her about getting a cell phone for over a year. Angela wanted one too.

  Mom smiled and looked at Roger.

  “It’s okay with me,” he said.

  She looked at Boone. “Do you think you can arrange to get these two cell phones?”

  “No problem,” Boone said.

  “Let me give you a credit card,” Roger said, reaching for his wallet.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Boone said. “We’ll settle up later.”

  “Great!” Buddy said. “Everything’s taken care of. Pack some clothes. Let’s go.”

  Within minutes Mom and Roger were out of the coach, climbing into a white stretch limousine with Buddy.

  Mom lowered the tinted window as they rolled out of the warehouse. “Call us as soon as you get the phones!”

  “Stay out of trouble!” Roger said.

  “We love you!” they both said.

  The limo took off down the street.

  “I’m gonna get some shut-eye,” Boone said. “We’ll go out and get your cells when I wake up.” He walked back into the coach.

  I looked at Angela. “Why didn’t you want to go with them?”

  “It’s our only chance to see Philadelphia,” she said. “And I didn’t feel like going for a drive with a security guard. Let’s go in and get our homework out of the way.”

  At least I was getting a cell phone out of the deal.

  Cells

  While Boone prowled yet another bookstore, Angela and I sat in a little restaurant down the street figuring out how to use our new cell phones, which were actually “smart phones” that had E-mail, web browsing, and cameras. The phones even had a built-in Global Positioning System in case we got lost. I would have settled for a little flip phone, but Boone insisted that we get a phone just like he had. It was called a BlackBerry. Which was interesting, because before we got to the store, I didn’t even know he had a cell phone.

  Ever since we’d left the warehouse, I noticed that Angela had been acting a little strange. She was quieter than usual, which meant she had hardly spoken a word. If she kept this up it was going to be a very long weekend and I was beginning to really regret not going to New York.