A dozen more soldiers now surrounded me. These guys had guns, and they were all pointed in my direction.
“Drop that sword,” one ordered.
Swords don’t do very well against guns. So I dropped mine.
“Arrest him!” Elmore Finch ordered. “That’s the boy who tried to kill the president!”
The soldiers all closed in on me.
I thought about arguing, once again, that they were making a mistake and that I’d been set up by SPYDER.
Only, that hadn’t been working very well for me.
However, it suddenly occurred to me that there might be a different way to handle things. The Mike Brezinski way.
Mike had solved his bomb-defusing exam by realizing that sometimes there was an advantage to simply letting the bomb go off.
So I figured maybe I shouldn’t fight being arrested anymore. Maybe I should just let it happen and use it to my advantage.
“Okay,” I said to the soldiers. “You got me. But I didn’t do it alone. I’m only a kid. I don’t know how to build a bomb.”
The soldiers paused. This seemed to make sense to them. “Who helped you?” asked one.
“Him!” I said, pointing directly at Elmore Finch. “He wanted me to kill the chairman so he could take over the Joint Chiefs!”
There was a gasp from the crowd of Pentagon employees around me. Most of them seemed shocked that I had dared make such an accusation—although a few looked as though they might have believed me.
“That’s insanity!” Finch shouted. “I did no such thing!”
“Actually, he did,” said Cyrus, who’d quickly caught on to my plan. “I’m Agent Cyrus Hale with the CIA. My son, Alexander, and I apprehended Mr. Ripley this morning and, along with Felicia DuVray, the assistant director of information acquisition for the army, brought him here for questioning. Ripley cracked and revealed copious information, including the fact that Finch here masterminded the entire attack so he could get his hands on that briefcase.”
“He’s lying!” Finch exclaimed. “Agent Hale attacked me so that he could get this briefcase!”
“If I wanted to steal that briefcase from you, why would I do it inside the Pentagon?” Cyrus asked calmly. “You’re surrounded by soldiers who work for you. It’d be a million times easier to steal it somewhere else.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Cyrus’s argument made sense.
“I don’t know how your depraved mind works!” Finch argued, then tried to shift the attention to me. “I’m not the criminal here! That kid is! He’s telling lies about me!”
“I tried to keep our secret, Mr. Finch,” I said. “But they gave me some sort of truth serum and forced the answer out of me. I’m sorry.” I caught sight of Murray Hill trying to sidle away and pointed at him. “That guy was in on it too, by the way.”
Several guns swung toward Murray, who dropped his bayonet and tried to act innocent. “Me?” he asked.
“He came here with Finch to steal the briefcase this morning,” Cyrus said. “His name’s Murray Hill. Fingerprint him and run his file if you don’t believe me. I know he looks young, but he’s a known juvenile offender with a long list of infractions.”
The soldiers all looked back and forth between me, Murray, Cyrus, and Finch, trying to make sense of what they should do.
“Why are any of you listening to this?” Finch screamed. “I’m the chairman of the Joint Chiefs and I’m giving you a direct order! Arrest these men now!”
“Fine with me,” Cyrus said, offering his hands to the soldiers. “But I’d recommend hauling your boss in as well. Believe me, you guys don’t want that briefcase leaving this building in the wrong hands. Unless you’re a big fan of nuclear war.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me.” The three-star general who’d been clocked by Washington’s mannequin head arrived on the scene. He was back on his feet and looked like he was already wishing this day was over. “Soldiers, take everyone involved in this whole insane fracas into custody right now. And lock them up tight until we get to the bottom of this.”
The soldiers swarmed around me, Cyrus, Alexander, Erica, Mike, Chip, Jawa, and Zoe—but also Murray Hill and Elmore Finch. Once again, we were handcuffed. None of my friends objected. Meanwhile, Elmore Finch protested wildly, threatening every last soldier with a court-martial. Murray Hill just glowered at me. “I’m getting tired of this thwarting, Ben,” he growled. “Really tired of it.”
One soldier looked over my friends curiously and asked the question most everyone else in the Pentagon had been thinking: “What’s the deal with all the kids here?”
“It’s ‘Take Your Child to Work Day’ at the CIA,” Mike said.
“It got a little out of hand,” Erica explained.
I locked eyes with her as the soldiers cuffed us. She gave me a smile, seeming pleased with how things had worked out.
Next to her, Mike mouthed the words, Nice thinking, pal.
I grinned back. Yes, I was being arrested for the attempted assassination of the president and probably a dozen other crimes, but I was relatively sure Cyrus could provide enough evidence to get me off the hook. Plus, SPYDER’s plans had been foiled. And, frankly, I was looking forward to a little time in a nice, quiet jail cell.
It had been a rough couple of days and I really needed a nap.
COMMENDATION
Rose Garden
The White House
February 16
1200 hours
I had a lovely time in solitary confinement.
The bed was decent and it was incredibly quiet. I slept the entire time I was there—twelve hours—and when I finally awoke, everything had been sorted out.
We had each been allowed one phone call upon our arrest, and Cyrus had used his to contact the president. He told Stern everything that had happened, and Stern had promptly ordered the Pentagon to let Cyrus go. Cyrus then went to work amassing the evidence he needed to prove our story, which turned out to be easier than expected: Murray Hill lasted less than fifteen seconds before spilling his guts.
Getting Murray to talk didn’t require any torture at all. Ironically, for a member of SPYDER, Murray had severe arachnophobia. (As well as additional fears of snakes, dogs, rats, monkeys, otters, and dentists.) Cyrus had simply found a perfectly normal daddy longlegs crawling around the Pentagon and told Murray it was a genetically enhanced tarantula bearing poison that would make his brain explode. Murray promptly coughed up every last detail of SPYDER’s operation to get rid of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs—as well as several hundred details about SPYDER’s previous operations. In return, the government cut down his sentence. Instead of going to prison for life, he would only have to go for the next forty years.
Unfortunately, Ashley Sparks and Warren Reeves received no jail time at all. Both of them had disappeared without a trace. Cyrus himself combed Warren’s dorm room for any sign of his connection to SPYDER, but found none. To everyone’s surprise, Warren had done a masterful job of concealing his switch to the dark side. I assumed this meant someone else had done most of the work for him.
Of course there was a massive cover-up. No one wanted to reveal that an evil organization had almost taken over our nuclear arsenal. SPYDER remained a secret from the public at large—and most of the government as well. Instead, the presidential assassination attempt was pinned on Elmore Finch, who—it was claimed—had suffered a severe mental breakdown.
My friends and I were cleared of charges—and I was made out to be a hero. The official story went like this: I was a friend of Jason Stern’s who happened to be passing through the West Wing when I spotted Elmore Finch with a bomb. I had bravely grabbed the bomb and thrown it into the Oval Office, saving the president and countless others, but the media had mistakenly reported that I was the assassin. The government had taken advantage of this, letting that story run to give Finch’s accomplices the false impression that they weren’t under suspicion, which had then allowed the government t
o catch and arrest those accomplices, keeping the world safe for everyone.
I even got a medal out of the whole shebang.
There was a big, fancy ceremony for it in the White House Rose Garden two days after my release from jail. My parents were invited, as were all of my friends from spy school. None of them got medals, though. The existence of spy school itself remained a highly classified secret, so their contributions to the cause couldn’t be publicized. (They all got A’s in Thwarting the Enemy, however.) The reason I was getting a medal had nothing to do with my help on the mission; it was to make it clear to the American people that I was no longer public enemy number one. Otherwise, alert citizens were going to keep reporting me to the police. (A day before the ceremony, an entire SWAT team had been mobilized when I went out to get a doughnut. Since then, I’d had to remain on campus, lying low.)
“Wow. Check out this crowd,” Mike said. We were standing near the presidential podium in the Rose Garden, waiting for the ceremony to begin. “I haven’t seen this many politicians in one place since the inauguration.”
I scanned the crowd with him. It was surprisingly large. I had expected the ceremony to be small and intimate, but somehow it had grown into a huge event. There were hundreds of dignitaries, politicos, and their aides, all dressed in their finest suits. Both of my home state’s senators and each of the congresspeople had come, then posed proudly with me before the press. The gaggle of reporters and camera crew that was usually stationed by the Eisenhower Executive Office Building had migrated to the Rose Garden to record the ceremony. A military band was playing. And, of course, there was the standard retinue of Secret Service agents. “I can’t believe all these people are here for me,” I said.
“They’re not,” Mike said. “They’re here for the cameras. Like flies around a dead squirrel.”
I noticed Zoe, Chip, and Jawa. They had grabbed seats in the front row.
Alexander Hale was close by, surrounded by his own personal crowd of admirers, none of whom had any idea how lousy a spy he was. One of Alexander’s few real talents was socializing. I had no doubt that he was recounting his involvement in our mission in a way that played up his part in it. Everyone around him was hanging on to his every word.
My parents had a crowd around them as well. The days when the rest of the world had thought I was an assassin had been rougher on them than I’d even imagined, but now their spirits were sky-high. Politicians were lining up to shake their hands. My father noticed me looking at them and gave a proud smile.
Meanwhile, Cyrus Hale was off to the side, by the buffet. He had zero interest in talking to anyone else and was far more focused on getting as much free food as he could. I even spotted him stuffing some rolls in his pockets.
Sadly, Catherine Hale wasn’t there. Since she was no longer married to Alexander and her status as a spy for MI6 was a secret, she couldn’t swing an invitation. However, she had sent me a very nice note—in impeccable handwriting—congratulating me on my medal and saying that she hoped we would meet again someday when I wasn’t a fugitive from justice.
One other person was noticeably absent. “Have you seen Erica?” I asked Mike.
“I came through security right behind her,” he replied. “But I haven’t seen her since. Knowing her, she’s probably infiltrating a covert terrorist cell before the ceremony.”
“Or maybe she’s thwarting another assassination attempt so that I don’t have one more than her,” I suggested.
Mike laughed. “That girl’s amazing, but she really needs to find some hobbies.”
From a hidden speaker someplace on the grounds, a disembodied voice announced that it was time for everyone to take their seats, as the president would be arriving soon.
“Gotta go,” Mike said. “Have fun. And make sure your fly is up. We’re on national television here.” With that, he gave me a pat on the back and hurried off to sit with Zoe, Chip, and Jawa.
I checked my fly. I had already checked it fifteen times, but still, it couldn’t hurt to be safe.
“Stop playing with your pants,” Jason Stern said. “You look like a pervert.”
He’d come up behind me, along with Jemma Stern, Kimmy Dimsdale, and all their Secret Service agents, as they had orders to stand by the podium near me for the ceremony. Jason and I were stuck pretending to be friends for the press. Jason was putting on a nice show for the cameras, but in private he was still being a raging jerk every chance he got.
“Jason,” Kimmy chided. “That’s no way to talk to the person who saved your father’s life.”
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Jason said sarcastically, as though he wouldn’t have minded his father getting blown up. “You’re my hero.”
He smacked me on the back of the head as he set off for his place by the podium, well aware I couldn’t retaliate. If I had ever tried to smack him back, the Secret Service would have dog-piled me in front of the entire nation.
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Jemma Stern said. “He’s just angry because Daddy wouldn’t let him get a motorcycle.”
Her friendliness caught me by surprise. The only time we had ever interacted was when I had caught her in the bathroom and she’d accused me of being a stalker. I was thinking that maybe she was impressed that I’d saved her father’s life, but then she leaned in close to me and whispered, “Who was that boy you were just talking to?”
“Mike?” I asked. “He’s my best friend.”
“Do you know if he’s dating anyone?”
Of course, I thought. Jemma Stern was the most eligible teenage girl in the country, so naturally she’d be interested in Mike.
“He’s single,” I told her. “I’d be happy to introduce you after the ceremony.”
“That’d be great!” Jemma gave me a quick, friendly smile and headed off with Kimmy to join her mother.
In the front row, Jawa and Chip gave me the thumbs-up. Apparently, they had thought Jemma was flirting with me. Beside them, Zoe seemed annoyed, though she quickly tried to hide it.
Things had been weird with Zoe ever since I had learned of her crush on me. I wasn’t really sure how to deal with it, and Zoe didn’t seem to know either. So both of us had tried to pretend that it had never happened, which made things even more awkward. Zoe had barely even spoken to me at the reception, short of saying “Hi” and “Try the corn dogs.”
It occurred to me that even though we had once again thwarted SPYDER, everything wasn’t back to normal at all. There were plenty of unanswered questions: Where had Warren and Ashley gone? How many more secret agents did SPYDER have at spy school, or the CIA, or throughout the government? What would they be plotting next? And, most importantly, were they going to try to kill me again?
With a fanfare of trumpets, the band began to play “Hail to the Chief,” the official presidential theme song. The president and his standard entourage of Secret Service agents emerged from the West Wing and headed our way.
Everyone respectfully stood at attention. Jason Stern did his best to make it look like he was doing this under duress, until his mother whispered something to him—probably a threat—and he pasted a plastic smile across his face for the cameras.
The president passed the ruined section of the Oval Office. Repairs had been paused for the ceremony, and the scaffolding was strung with red, white, and blue bunting to make it look good for the cameras.
I suddenly flashed back to the moments before the bomb had gone off. The moments when I realized I had been played by SPYDER, when I had been surrounded by the president and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and all the top brass of the military and Vladimir Gorsky. . . .
Gorsky.
I spun back toward the crowd, searching for Erica, desperately wanting to talk to her.
Only, she wasn’t there with everyone else.
Instead, she was right behind me.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
I had to fight the urge to ask her how she had managed to get so close without
me—or the Secret Service—noticing. Or how she already knew something was wrong. Instead, I said, “I don’t think the chairman of the Joint Chiefs was SPYDER’s only target with that bomb.”
“Of course he wasn’t. SPYDER also had the president there. And you.”
“I think they might have been going for Vladimir Gorsky, too.”
The president was almost at the podium now. His family stood to one side, beaming lovingly at him. The ceremony was about to begin.
“Gorsky?” Erica asked skeptically. “Why would SPYDER want to kill him? Grandpa thinks they’re working together.”
“Well, maybe things aren’t going so well with that. I saw Gorsky in the West Wing right before the bomb went off. The memory just came back to me. He noticed me—and he was scared. Really scared. At the time I thought maybe he was worried that I’d recognized him and that he was the mole, but now I realize that wasn’t the case. I was the mole. And I think Gorsky knew it. When he saw me, he freaked out because he realized he was the target.”
“So, in addition to wiping out the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, SPYDER also wanted to take out one of their major arms dealers?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea. Though I’m guessing it means they’re up to something.”
“SPYDER is always up to something.”
“True. But this time we have a lead.”
Erica stared at me for a bit, mulling this over, then nodded. “Good thinking. I’ll go tell Grandpa.” She started to leave, then looked back and said, “By the way, you’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“You’ll see.” Erica gave me a slight smile, then slipped away to join the crowd.
The music stopped and the president stepped to the podium. A hush fell over the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family,” he said, with his standard, impressive gravitas. “We have gathered here today to honor Benjamin Ripley for being the first person to ever regurgitate a wombat through a flugelhorn.”
Well, he might have said that. I wasn’t paying any attention.
I had meant to. In fact, I had planned to listen very closely to the speech so I could remember every word of it. It’s not every day that you get the Presidential Medal of Freedom.