Framed!

  “Yes,” I answered reluctantly, trying to convince myself at the same time. “If you say it’s great, then it must be great.”

  The next day Jennifer Damon and I were elected to be the student council representatives for Mr. White’s homeroom. Three other girls ran, and I think I squeaked in because they split the popular-girl vote, thereby leaving the geeky-boy superhero-fan-club constituency all for me.

  Slowly but surely, I was taking baby steps into accepting my middle school–ness.

  When I woke up Saturday morning, it had been twelve days since I’d left Ford’s Theatre. Twelve days with no connection to the mystery. Twelve days for my mind to reboot, just like they rebooted the security system at the National Gallery.

  That’s when I had my revelation.

  Maybe I needed those twelve days off because, when I finally saw it, it seemed as clear as day. And I marched right across the street to Margaret’s house to tell her all about it.

  “We have betrayed our core beliefs!” I exclaimed when she answered the door. “I have just had an epic realization.”

  I blustered into her house, only to stop when I saw myself in a hallway mirror. “This is what it’s like to be you, isn’t it?” I said. “This is what it’s like to burst into a room halfway through a conversation that the other person didn’t even know had started.”

  She looked at me and shook her head in total confusion. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Ha!” I said, pointing at her. “And that’s what it’s like to be me. I never know either. You get used to it.”

  “How have we betrayed our core beliefs?”

  “By ignoring TOAST,” I told her. “What is it? Give me your best definition.”

  “Okay,” she said, getting into the spirit of it. “The Theory of All Small Things ignores the seemingly obvious to consider only small details so that when they’re added together they reveal an undeniable truth.”

  I stopped and smiled. “That’s a really good way to put it.”

  “Thanks, I may have practiced it in my head a couple thousand times. You know . . . because I’m me.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not what we’ve been doing,” I said. “We haven’t been ignoring the obvious to focus on the details. We’ve only been looking for the details that make the big things more likely to seem true.”

  “I think you may have lost me for part of that,” she said.

  “I know. I’m not expressing it nearly as well as you, but I think we’ve been looking at this all wrong. I think we need to go back to playing TOAST again. That’s how we got as far as we did.”

  She looked at me as she considered this before finally saying, “Okay. Where do you want to play?”

  I did not hesitate with my answer. “The Romanian embassy.”

  “You can’t be serious,” she said. “Agent Rivers specifically said that you couldn’t go near there. It’s against the law.”

  “No,” I corrected. “He said that the FBI couldn’t investigate there. And when it comes to this case, I no longer have anything to do with the FBI. I am a civilian. The Romanian embassy is holding an open house to share its culture with the people of Washington. That’s us.”

  “Really?” she asked. “This is what you want to do?”

  “When will we ever get a chance to look at Nevrescu using TOAST?” I said. “This is our one shot. He’ll be there schmoozing and mingling and we’ll be able to see him in action. And we’re the only ones who can do it. The FBI can’t go in. Only we can find these clues. Only we can ignore the version of him that’s in the papers, and look for the little details that will tell us the truth.”

  “And what if he recognizes you?”

  “He won’t,” I said confidently. “It was just a coincidence that we both were at your soccer game.”

  “Why do I have a feeling that if I don’t agree to go, you’re going to go without me?”

  “Because you’re smart and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “Okay, then I’ll do it,” she said. “Just let me get my sneakers. You know, in case we end up having to run out of there.”

  A few minutes later we were on our way.

  I used cash to ride the Metro because I’d purposely left my SmarTrip card home. I didn’t want any alarms to let Agent Rivers know what I was doing. We got off at the Dupont Circle station and walked up Massachusetts Avenue for about half a mile.

  “There it is,” I said, pointing across the street as we neared the embassy.

  The building was three stories tall and had a massive antenna on the roof. The front doors were open and the sound of music could be heard from inside.

  “Once we set foot on the driveway, we’re no longer in America,” I reminded her as we crossed the street. “So let’s make sure we don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Good tip,” she said. “I don’t suppose you memorized any of those Romanian phrases?”

  “Just one.”

  “Let me guess,” she replied. “My hovercraft is full of monkeys.”

  “That’s the one.”

  We walked along the circular driveway until we reached the front door, where a bearlike man with a huge smile and a booming voice greeted us. “Bine ati venit.”

  I smiled back at him and said, “Multumesc.”

  “What just happened there?” Margaret asked once we stepped inside the entryway, where there was a grand staircase.

  “He said, ‘Welcome,’ and I said, ‘Thank you,’ ” I explained.

  “I thought you didn’t speak Romanian,” she said.

  “I don’t,” I answered. “But I can fake a little here and there. Like I said, it’s similar to Italian.”

  The festival was limited to the bottom floor, and while most of the rooms were open to the public, they were very specific about not going into any rooms with closed doors. In one room a violinist performed traditional folk music, while in another a stereo pulsated with Romanian dance pop. And everywhere we went, there was food.

  “You have got to try these cabbage rolls,” Margaret told me in between bites. “De-licious.”

  “Do you see any sign of Nevrescu?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “But I can take a look over there by that table full of fried dough and sweet cheese.”

  A pattern quickly emerged as we went from room to room. Wherever we’d go, I’d look for Nevrescu, and Margaret would look for food. Her search had a much better success rate than mine until we reached the library.

  The room was beautiful with antique furniture and dark wood bookcases that went from floor to ceiling. It was packed with people and I spied Nevrescu in the opposite corner doing the meet and greet with everyone.

  “There he is,” I said, nodding toward him.

  “Excellent,” mumbled Margaret as she finished swallowing a dessert known as papanash. “And with ‘excellent’ I’m referring to both the fact that you found Nevrescu and this dessert. OMG, it’s delicious.”

  Nic the Knife’s social swirl seemed to stay in that particular area, so I found a spot where we were somewhat shielded from his view by a large cabinet.

  “If he has no idea who you are, then why are you hiding?” she asked.

  I didn’t really have an answer for that one, so all I did was smile.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said.

  Then I pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on.

  “What are those?” asked Margaret.

  “Glasses,” I answered as if it were beyond obvious.

  “Yes, but you don’t wear glasses,” she said. “So I repeat, ‘what are those?’ ”

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Maybe they’re spy glasses with a built-in camera that Agent Rivers gave me at Quantico.”

  She shook her head and let out a sigh of resignation. “I can tell this is going to turn out really well.”

  “All we’re doing is playing TOAST,” I reminded her. “The glasses are so we can go back to the instant
replay if we need to. All systems are go.”

  Seeing Nevrescu in action completely changed my perception of him. Despite the intense death stare that was on display in all the photos we came across, in person he seemed charming, even from a distance. For example, when he’d meet someone, he’d always make sure to shake with one hand, and clasp them on the arm with the other. It was friendly and warm. And definitely not what I expected. We watched him for about fifteen minutes, making sure he never caught sight of us.

  The plan worked really well until I saw someone totally unexpected. There was a swinging door that led to the kitchen and when it opened I got a quick glimpse of a man loading a trash can. The door swung shut again before I could be certain, but he seemed to be wearing the same blue coveralls as the custodians who worked at the National Gallery.

  “Did you see that?” I asked Margaret.

  “Did I see what?”

  I headed for the kitchen and pressed the door just enough to look inside.

  “Florian, where are you going?” asked Margaret, a hint of desperation in her voice.

  “I just want to take a peek,” I said, pushing it more.

  “They were pretty specific about where we could and couldn’t go,” she reminded me. “The key detail was that closed doors were a no-go.”

  I pushed the door all the way open and said, “But this door isn’t closed anymore.”

  “Why are boys always this way?” she said, shaking her head.

  I didn’t stay to answer. I looked into the kitchen, and when I saw that no one was in there, I went all the way in. The only way I was going to get a decent look was to go into the next room.

  “And now he’s totally gone off the deep end,” I heard Margaret say as the door swung shut behind me.

  I don’t know what came over me, but I wasn’t scared in the least. I was determined to find him. I strode right across the kitchen and entered a pantry . . . where two security guards were taking a cigarette break.

  “What’s this?” demanded one of the guards.

  I stammered for a moment and failed miserably as I tried to use the Romanian phrase for “where is the bathroom?” I can’t be certain but I’m pretty sure I asked for the hovercraft.

  “Speak in English,” said the other guard.

  “Oh, great, you speak English,” I replied, my brain a total blank as to what to say. “That means I can speak in English to you.”

  I was still stammering away when a voice called out from behind.

  “Johan, what are you doing?”

  Agent Rivers had come to my rescue. He was dressed kind of nerdy in a plaid shirt with a name tag that read, MR. MIKE EVANS, NORTH BETHESDA MIDDLE SCHOOL. And when he talked, his voice had an excitable quality to it.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said to the guards. “My name’s Mike Evans. I’m the art teacher at North Bethesda Middle. Go Firebirds! Anyway, I brought two of my best students here to fully immerse themselves in the culture of another country. Unfortunately, Johan here has a tendency to wander off where he shouldn’t. What have I told you about that, Johan?”

  “Not to do it,” I said, still totally confused as to how he got here but so grateful that he did.

  “Anyway, I was led to believe that there would be a display of traditional Romanian painted eggs that we could look at. As an artist, I feel they truly capture the spirit and heritage of your country. I’d really like to show my students those eggs because next month we’re going to be painting similar ones in class, and I think yours would give them an excellent target, creatively speaking. They are just exquisite.”

  By the time he stopped talking long enough to take a breath, the guards had practically forgotten about me and were just looking to get back to their cigarettes.

  “So can you tell me where they are?” Rivers asked.

  “Where what are?” one guard asked, confused.

  “The eggs. The painted Romanian eggs. I’d like to show them to the students.”

  “Fine, fine,” he replied. “The eggs are in the library. But no more wandering, okay?”

  All eyes turned to me.

  “I promise,” I said.

  We left the kitchen and beelined for the front door.

  “How’d you know I was here?” I asked under my breath once we’d gotten clear of the guards.

  “Johan Blankvort sent a message to ‘Ask an Agent’ wanting to know ‘Where is the Embassy of Romania?’ An odd question for an FBI agent, but certainly one that caught my attention.”

  “But I didn’t send in any question,” I said, even more confused.

  “That was me,” said Margaret. “When I went to get my sneakers.”

  “You went behind my back?”

  “No, she saved your butt,” Rivers corrected. “Although, it may be short-lived because there’s a decent chance I’m going to kill you when we get out of here.”

  We made it to the entryway and were almost to the grand staircase when I saw Nicolae Nevrescu talking to a young woman in a blue dress. He seemed to be flirting with her. Right up until the point he looked our way.

  “Um, we may have a problem.”

  When I saw Nevrescu signal a humongous bodyguard to come over to him, I corrected that statement.

  “Oh yeah, we definitely have a problem.”

  25.

  The Getaway

  MARGARET, AGENT RIVERS, AND I were about twenty-five feet from the front door when Nicolae Nevrescu saw me. The look of recognition and surprise on his face was unmistakable. And worst of all, there was no way I could beat him to the door.

  “He knows me,” I said under my breath to Rivers. “He just spotted me.”

  “He may know you,” said Marcus, “but he doesn’t know me. You two do not stop walking until you make it to the sidewalk. Kayla’s waiting for you.”

  “Kayla who taught me self-defense at Quantico?”

  “She’ll be off to the right when you get through the door,” he said. “She’s standing on the line that marks the end of their jurisdiction. Do not stop walking until you reach her.”

  Now Nevrescu was headed right to us, but there was no way to know if he could tell that Rivers was with us or not.

  “What about you?” I asked Rivers nervously. “What are you going to do?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead he just resumed playing the role of the very excitable middle school teacher.

  “Mr. Nevrescu,” he said as he cut him off and blocked him from reaching us. “My name is Mike Evans and I’m the art teacher at North Bethesda Middle. I just want to say that I am a huge fan of your scholarship program. I just think it’s amazing that you’ve helped so many deserving kids.”

  He kept talking but I could no longer make out what he was saying once we got to the door.

  “Go, go, go,” said Margaret as she took me by the arm and hurried me along.

  I turned to look back over my shoulder but couldn’t see Rivers in the crush of people and had no way of knowing if his act was working or if things were going to go very wrong for him. Margaret kept pulling me along.

  Then another voice called out, “Wait one second. Come back.”

  It was the bodyguard Nevrescu had signaled inside the embassy. He was about six foot six, so his strides were long and he was catching up.

  “Sorry,” I called back to him, picking up the pace. “But we’re running late.”

  I looked to the right and saw Kayla, all bright and smiley. She had on jeans, a tank top, and a pair of boots that maybe nudged her over the five-foot mark.

  “There’s our rescue team,” I told Margaret.

  “Seriously?” she replied uneasily. “The kindergarten teacher?”

  “Don’t be fooled,” I assured her.

  “Come back or else,” the bodyguard demanded as he closed the gap some more.

  Kayla was careful to stay beyond the sidewalk, but she reached out and signaled us to hurry. “Come on, you two,” she said in her cheery voice. “Right over here.”

 
We reached her just as the bodyguard reached us, and she swept us with her arm so that we were directly behind her.

  “You two need to come back,” he said, ignoring her. “It’s important.”

  “Actually,” Kayla said. “They don’t need to do anything. You see, they’re with me.”

  The man laughed. “And who are you? Their babysitter?”

  “You know, I did babysit back home in Pennsylvania,” she said as she took his hand. It looked as if she was going to shake it, but instead she started to twist his pinkie and ring fingers and practically brought him to his knees. “But today I’m not a babysitter. Today I’m your worst nightmare.”

  The amazing thing was that even as she was physically destroying and taunting him, she kept talking in that upbeat kindergarten teacher’s voice. She continued to twist his fingers and he grimaced in agony, a line of sweat forming on his forehead.

  “Now, I’m wearing my favorite boots,” she continued. “And I don’t want to mess them up. But if you so much as make another move toward either of these children, I will not hesitate to use them in ways that you will find excruciatingly uncomfortable.”

  Just then a black SUV pulled up next to us.

  “You two get in,” Kayla instructed us without turning her attention from the bodyguard.

  I opened the door and we both jumped in. Once we were safely inside, Kayla finished her conversation with the man.

  “So do we understand each other?”

  He didn’t respond at first, which caused her to twist the fingers even more.

  “Yes,” he said. “We understand each other.”

  She flashed a smile and said, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  She let go and he pulled back his injured hand and clutched it with the other. Kayla literally had to jump up to get into the backseat with us. Once she did, she slammed the door shut, the power locks closed, and the SUV was moving down Massachusetts Avenue.

  She looked over at Margaret and smiled. “Hey, I’m Kayla.”

  “Hi,” Margaret said. “You’re my hero.”

  Kayla laughed. “You’d be surprised, but I get that a lot.”

  As we drove away, I turned around in my seat so I could look out the rear window to see if Agent Rivers had made it out of the embassy. I didn’t see any sign of him.