Free Double Vision by F. T. Bradley

yourself,” the guy demanded.
    â€œBenjamin Green.”
    â€œNegative.”
    â€œActually, it’s positive. Or whatever. I’m Benjamin Green.”
    â€œNegative. You are not Agent Green.”
    â€œYes, I am.” I could do this all day.
    A pause. “I have visual contact.”
    â€œWhat does that mean—you can see me?” I stood up, dropping the box to the ground so I could glance around, behind me, even down to the Seine, in case the person on the phone was on a boat or something.
    â€œI know that is a fake painting,” the person on the phone said.
    â€œNo, it’s not.”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    â€œIt’s not.” This was worse than arguing with Mom.
    â€œIt is.” A sigh. “Look across the bridge.”
    I did.
    And there he was. Benjamin Green stood with his legs shoulder width apart, like he was ready for combat.
    I probably looked like I was ready for a shower and a good night’s sleep. “You’re not missing.” I sounded so dumb, but then I was trying to understand. Why was he right there?
    â€œThat is correct.”
    â€œSo why are you across the river?”
    â€œWhy am I?”
    And then I got it. “Because you’re with Drake.”

14
TUESDAY, NOON.
    I LOOKED AROUND FOR HELP, KNOWING there wasn’t any.
    â€œWho ordered your mission?” Benjamin Green’s voice gave me a chill. “Was it Stark?”
    I didn’t answer.
    â€œThe resemblance is good, even if you are in poor shape.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œI threw my phone in the Seine. Procedure,” Ben said. “But it looks like they reassigned my number.” He chuckled. “And the case, too.”
    The guy was ticking me off now. “Where’s Jacques Mégère?” I was still hoping to get him somehow so I could go home and everything would be all right. There would be no lawsuit, no expulsion, and I could just go back to my lame field trips with Mrs. Valdez.
    Benjamin Green shook his head. “You can report back to headquarters, tell them to stop sabotaging my mission.”
    â€œWhat mission? To join the bad guys?”
    â€œGo home,” Benjamin Green said, ignoring my question.
    I’d love to, but I wasn’t about to tell him. “Says who?”
    â€œThe real Agent Green.”
    I clenched my teeth and grabbed the box, ready to walk across the bridge and force this guy to give me Jacques Mégère. “Why are you even here if you know the painting is fake?”
    â€œI have my orders from Drake.” Benjamin Green adjusted his feet.
    â€œWhat orders? Shoot me on sight or something?”
    He was silent.
    I felt a cold breeze down my neck.
    â€œStay away from the Mégère bakery if you know what’s good for you,” Benjamin Green said. Then he tossed his phone into the Seine and quickly walked off into the crowd.
    But I wasn’t about to let this smug copy of me get away. I rushed across the bridge, slowed by the tourists who blocked my path. By the time I made it across with my stupid bulky box, Benjamin Green was off in the distance, turning left, disappearing from my line of sight.
    I had to catch up with him. So I left the box on the Pont Neuf and ran, watching him turn right down another street just as I turned the corner. Ben glanced over his shoulder but didn’t see me.
    Following someone is a lot harder than they make it look on TV, by the way. You have to stay back far enough not to get noticed, but that means it’s also really easy to lose the person you’re following (this would be the rabbit, remember?). After about twenty minutes, Ben went down a side street, and by the time I could safely catch up, he’d disappeared. I checked every narrow alley, every side street, but no Ben. I’d lost him.
    Plus, I was also lost myself.
    Agent Stark had given me some colorful euro bills that looked a lot like Monopoly money. On a piece of