The Profile Match Read online

  “Text me when you’re ready to leave,” I said. “I mean, I’ll be out here with Lukas for a while, but in case we go somewhere. I promise I’ll come back when you’re ready. Okay?”

  She hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Okay, Spencer. Thank you.”

  She went into the bathroom, and as soon as the door clicked shut, Isabel raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Do what you can to get her mind off Valeria,” I said.

  “I got it, Es-pensor. We’ll take good care of her.” I turned to head back out to the living room, but Isabel said, “See how you’re rescuing girls everywhere you go?”

  I didn’t look back. “Don’t start on the trafficking thing, Izzy. I’m not doing that.”

  She sighed loudly. “I guess those poor girls will have no hero then.”

  “They will,” I said. “It just won’t be me.”

  Lukas stepped into view at the end of the hall. “Brittany Holmes is in my house,” he said. “I’m tempted to start calling people.”

  “You do and you’re dead,” I said. “She’s not here for you.”

  “Thank you, oh wise and mature adult,” Lukas said. “What should we do?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to go too far in case she wants to leave.”

  “I’ll put in a movie.”

  Lukas and I sat on the couch in the living room and watched a non-Brittany movie. Every once in a while, we heard the girls break into riotous giggles, but things were mostly quiet. I prayed off and on for Brittany and for Valeria’s family. Somewhere in the middle of the second movie, I fell asleep.

  I woke up on the living room couch to the smell of sausage. Mrs. Rodriguez was in the kitchen, cooking her signature Cuban breakfast. She fed me while the girls were still sleeping or grooming or whatever it is girls do in the wee hours of the morning.

  It was actually almost eleven.

  Grace was the first girl to enter the kitchen. “Hey,” she said, sitting down beside me. “Only a week and a half until Cambodia.”

  Fire shot through my chest. “You’re not going,” I said.

  “Yes, I am,” she said. “Face it. I’m the one who is going to find evidence to use against the FLF. Not you.”

  “This is not a competition, Grace.” I grabbed my plate and relocated to the living room. Lukas was snoring, so I turned on the TV to drown him out. It was still on the news channel, though now they were talking about trouble in the Middle East.

  Just like that, Valeria’s death was old news.

  I couldn’t do anything to help people like Valeria Silver, who insisted on taking drugs and being wild, but I could keep Grace safe by keeping her in the USA. Even if she ended up hating me, at least she’d be alive.

  REPORT NUMBER: 25

  REPORT TITLE: Brit Spencer is a Spy!

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Grace Thomas

  LOCATION: The Rodriguez Residence, 471 Willow Street, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Saturday, April 20, 11:09 a.m.

  Brittany stood in the hallway, dizzy at the realization that Spencer and Grace were spying on her. She’d thought they were her friends.

  Of course Spencer was her friend. He’d come to get her last night. He’d brought her here. And she’d had an amazing time with these girls. But she couldn’t deny what she’d just overheard. Spencer and Grace didn’t want to go to Cambodia because they wanted to become more involved in the FLF. They wanted to expose it.

  Shocked, she went into the bathroom and called an Uber. Then she changed back into her dress and brushed her teeth with her finger. So gross. She waited until the Uber texted that it was here, then came out and almost ran smack into Grace.

  “So you’re spying on me?” she asked, instantly regretting it. She probably shouldn’t have let on that she knew the truth.

  Grace sucked in a sharp breath—looked totally guilty, but said, “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t try and deny it. I just heard you and Spencer talking. No wonder you both keep asking about Cambodia. Who hires teenagers as spies anyway?”

  “We’re not so much spies as missionaries,” Grace said. “We’re part of a group that tries to help people—to set them free from bondage. The Free Light Foundation says it sets people free and gives them power, but all they really do is get people addicted to drugs until they’re trapped and beholden to the organization to get their next fix.”

  Tears stung Brittany’s eyes. Grace’s words had been a slap to the face. “That’s not all the FLF is. Or the FLYs. We do so much more.”

  “It’s not about doing more good things than bad,” Grace said. “The things that are illegal and corrupt? They have to stop.”

  “Nobody makes anyone take drugs,” Brittany said. “It’s their choice.”

  “A choice whether to belong or not belong. Sounds like peer pressure to me,” Grace said. “And what about those micropatches from the Passage Party? And the trafficking of teenage girls from third world countries into the USA?”

  Brittany paled. How did this girl know about the trafficking? No one knew about that. But she couldn’t deny it. That’s how Valeria had gotten into the US. Valeria never would have told anyone, but Brittany knew there were others like her.

  “I thought Spencer was my friend,” Brittany said.

  “He is,” Grace said. “Don’t forget, MacCormack called him first, pretending to be his dad. Lied to him because he wants to use Spencer.”

  “Use him how?” Brittany had never understood why Ving was so obsessed with Spencer.

  “That’s not for me to say,” Grace said. “You’ll have to ask Spencer.”

  “I’m not asking him anything. I don’t want to talk to any of you freaks again.”

  She pushed past Grace and ran through the house until she found the front the door.

  “You leaving?” Spencer’s voice. In the living room.

  Brittany ignored him and ran outside barefoot, carrying her heels by their straps. She was getting into the Uber when Spencer stepped out onto the porch.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Ask your girlfriend,” Brittany yelled. She gave the driver instructions, then lay back and closed her eyes.

  She needed ibuprofen. She’d stayed up way too late with the girls, talking about so many things. They were amazing girls. She’d never met anyone like them before—so mature and intelligent. And they were still in high school! But they were probably all missionary spies. Investigating the FLYs. Trying to catch them doing something wrong. Judging Brittany for her involvement. What a bunch of creeps.

  Her eyes got weepy. Her heart felt like someone had stolen it from her body, juggled with it, then tried to put it back without her knowing.

  Oh, Val. She still couldn’t believe Valeria was gone. Gone forever. It didn’t seem right. She’d been so young and beautiful and full of life.

  Then there were all the things Spencer’s friends had told her about God—before she’d found out they were weirdo missionaries. Arianna had called the Daysman a false god—not a good angel at all, but an evil one. Brittany couldn’t believe that. The Daysman was her guardian protector. Her advocate. He stood with her throughout the day. He was her voice when Diane asked her to speak on his behalf. He kept her safe.

  But he hadn’t kept Valeria safe, and Valeria had been much more loyal to the Daysman than Brittany. Valeria had worshipped him—had begged to be the FLY spokeswoman. Diane had said she wasn’t famous enough. Said the teens wouldn’t follow Valeria like they followed Brittany. Not Spencer’s friends, though. They hadn’t been impressed with Brittany’s fame. When Grace had asked her why a person had to take drugs to speak with the Daysman, Brittany hadn’t been able to come up with a reason. Isabel had said she spoke to God all the time and that he answered! Not audibly, but with nudges, words from the Bible, actions of others, things like that. But that Arianna girl had said a person could only hear God to the extent they were willing to listen for his voice.

  Brittany did
n’t have time to sit around listening for God’s voice. She was too busy. And why should she care about God? Apparently, her life was filled with things missionaries felt the need to investigate. God wouldn’t care about someone like her.

  When she got home, she swallowed some ibuprofen and took a bath. Then a nap. She woke up around 4:30 that afternoon and had Arne make her a salad. She still felt awful, so she put on a straw hat and some sunglasses, then went out to the patio and sat by the pool.

  She was still there when Morna announced Derek and Blaine. Brittany was glad Meg had gone back to Canada. She couldn’t deal with any more crying right now, and she was confident the guys wouldn’t take things to that level of emotion.

  “I’m not talking about Valeria,” she said when they joined her by the pool, “so if that’s why you’re here, you can leave. I just can’t right now.”

  “Relax, Britt,” Derek said. “We just wanted to see you. Where’d you take off to last night?”

  She told them how Spencer had picked her up and taken her to his friend’s place. She told them about the girls and how much fun she’d had. Until this morning. Then she told them about what she’d overheard about Spencer and Grace being missionaries.

  “All along Spencer has been spying on Ving and Diane,” Brittany said. “And me. Trying to get information on FLF.”

  Derek laughed. Seemed to think it was pretty funny. “Seriously, Britt,” he said. “What could a couple teenagers really do against Irving MacCormack. Just one of his eighteen lawyers would crush them.”

  But Blaine cursed a blue streak, calling Spencer and Grace several words deserving of an R rating. “I don’t know what Ving wants with that kid,” he said. “I’ve never understood it. We should just finish him off and be done with it.”

  “Hey!” Brittany said. “Nobody is finishing anybody off.”

  “You think you can tell me what to do?” Blaine said. “You’re not my boss. Ving is. And if that punk has been spying on him, he should know about it.”

  “What I just told you, I told you in confidence,” Brittany said, heart racing. “This is my problem. I’ll handle it.”

  “All right, already,” Derek said. “Both of you chill out.”

  Blaine seemed to calm down, but Brittany didn’t like the hardness in his eyes. She wished she’d kept her big mouth shut. Derek was harmless, but Blaine was one of Ving’s minions. She was worried what he might do.

  REPORT NUMBER: 26

  REPORT TITLE: Betrayal Abounds

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Los Angeles Field Office, Federal Building, 11000 Wilshire Boulevard, Suite 1500, Los Angeles, CA USA

  DATE AND TIME: Friday, April 26, 2:34 p.m.

  A week later, Brittany still wasn’t returning my texts. I’d asked Grace why Brittany had left so mad, but Grace said she didn’t know.

  Director Moreland called me down to the field office Friday afternoon to finalize details about the Cambodia trip, so Grandma had me drive us there after school. She’d been making me drive a lot lately, whenever we had places to go together.

  “Is something wrong with your eyes?” I asked. “Are you getting headaches?”

  “I’m fine, Spencer. It’s just nice to have a chauffeur, especially in this traffic.”

  Nowhere in LA had good traffic in the afternoon, but we actually made pretty good time. We went inside the federal building and through both levels of security.

  Isaac was waiting when we entered the field office lobby. “Hey,” he said, “you ready to do this thing?”

  “Yes, I am.” It had been almost three years since I’d run into Anya in Moscow. I was ready to be done with the woman and her cohorts for good.

  Isaac led the way to the conference room and held open the door for Grandma and me. I was tall enough to see over both their heads, and what I saw, I very much didn’t like.

  “What’s this?” I asked, nodding to where Grace and her mother were sitting on one side of the table.

  “I told you I’m going with you.” Grace was smiling like she’d won some competition.

  “If she’s going, I’m not,” I said.

  Her smile morphed into a scowl. “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “Jerk . . . hero . . . You have a problem confusing those two words, don’t you?”

  “This has already been decided,” Grace said.

  I sucked in a breath through my nose and glared at Moreland, who was sitting at the end of the table like a king on a throne.

  “Why don’t you take a seat, Agent Garmond?” he said.

  This was not happening. I’d gone out of my way to make sure it didn’t. Yet here I was.

  Whh-hh-hyyy?

  I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let Grace go to Cambodia. The bad guys were going to be there.

  So I walked out.

  I was halfway back to the elevators when Isaac caught up with me. “Hold up, man. Just wait a minute.”

  “I can’t let Grace get hurt because of me,” I said.

  “Who said this has anything to do with you?” Isaac asked.

  I rounded on him. “What does that mean? It’s always been because of me.”

  “Not anymore. Grace is the First Twin. Not you. Plus, enough prophecies have come through on this to convince Moreland and Mrs. Thomas. Grace has to go. You don’t.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “Wish I was. The Profile Match named the First Twin, so your job is over. Now the First Twin needs to do her thing.”

  “In Cambodia.”

  “That’s what everyone thinks.”

  “They’re just going to let her walk right into the bad guy’s party?”

  “The bad guys invited her. No one invited you. But—”

  I looked at Isaac. His eyebrows were raised, but he didn’t speak until I met his eyes.

  “But the good guys want you to go with.”

  I sighed. “To keep her safe.”

  “To help keep her safe. Six other adult agents are going too, me included. If you want out, that’s fine. I’m sure the six of us can handle one teenage girl.”

  I snorted. “You don’t know Grace Thomas.” I pushed past him and strode back to the conference room, shoved open the door. I took the seat at the end of the table, across from Moreland so I could stare him down.

  Grandma was already sitting three seats away. She leaned forward. “Spencer, what are you . . . ?” She met my gaze and trailed off. Must have decided to leave me to my drama.

  “Now that everyone is here,” Moreland said, “let’s get started. Mr. Watkins?”

  Watkins hit the lights, then used a remote control to power on a flat screen hanging on the wall behind Moreland.

  “Each year, the Free Light Youth hosts their annual International Student Leadership Summit in a different country. This year’s conference will be held at the Sofitel Phnom Penh Phokeethra in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.”

  “Cambodia seems like a strange choice,” Mrs. Thomas said.

  “Not when you consider the corrupt law enforcement in the country,” Watkins said. “While the FLYs have had the occasional conference in a first world city, eleven of the past fourteen conferences have taken place in third world countries.”

  “Why is that?” Mrs. Thomas asked.

  “So the cult can carry on with its nefarious activities,” I said.

  “Isn’t sex trafficking rampant in Cambodia?” Mrs. Thomas asked.

  “It’s a problem there, sure,” Watkins said, “but it’s far from the worst country. In fact, Cambodia has been upgraded to the Tier 2 category this year. They’re off the watch list.”

  “What does that mean in English?” Mrs. Thomas asked.

  “Well, Tier 3 is the worst,” Watkins said. “And the upgrade in Cambodia means that the government there is making a significant effort to bring themselves into compliance with the Trafficking Victims Protection Act. Not all the cops are bad. Some are working
to stop the corruption.”

  Mrs. Thomas sighed heavily. “Go on.”

  Watkins clicked to the next slide, which was an image of the summit on the FLY’s website. “The Free Light Youth Summit is being promoted as an opportunity for teenage leaders to network with each other in a place where they can develop and strengthen their leadership skills and be exposed to different cultures. According to the conference website, inspiring speakers will share their insights on important issues, like”—and he read—“ ‘how to find the power within oneself and use that power to make a difference in the world.’ ”

  “And there it is,” I said.

  Watkins went on. “Since the first conference, fourteen years ago—which was held in Los Angeles and had fifty-three participants, all from the states—this year’s event has more than 7000 students registered from more than thirty different countries around the world.”

  Dang.

  “Your mission is to simply attend the event,” Director Moreland said. “Show them the next slides.”

  Watkins moved to the next slide, which was an image of my passport, only the name read Jason Hines.

  “Since Grace was invited, she’s going as herself, but we’ve registered you, Agent Garmond, under an alias,” Watkins said. “We felt you were too tall to mingle with the students. You stick out, and that’s not good for a spy. So you’ll be going under the guise of a college chaperone. The FLY organization places college students on each floor of the hotel to supervise during the night. During the convention, college students are stationed on the perimeter wall, so you should blend in better in that role. Your alias is Jason Hines. You’re from Glendale, California. You played basketball in high school but aren’t playing college ball. You’re a freshman at Azusa Pacific studying computer and information sciences. You want to work with computers, either in web development or networking. So far you’ve taken some general ed classes. Here’s your dossier.”

  Watkins handed me a glossy black folder. Inside was a copy of my fake passport, a sheet of paper with my fake backstory, and my freshman class list at Azusa. They had me down for political science this semester at 7:20 a.m. Yikes!