The Fogged Mirror

By Carolyn Chambers Clark and Anthony Auriemma

One hour before fifteen-year-old Dave McClain started tailing the two men who'd exchanged suspicious information on a Paris street, Louie Devereux appeared and asked him to believe he was a tour guide, when Dave was convinced Louie was a spy.

None of this made the Paris police report. Many things didn't. Not his plan, especially not the fact an international leader was fingered for assassination, and that Louie and Dave had a plan to save him.

To get away with everything they did and not be caught, they had to count on the fact that Dave was only fifteen and this was his first mission. This allowed them to trick people into thinking Dave was just a kid who stumbled into the secret of the fogged mirror. They had to keep it secret about the Eiffel Tower, the Iranians, the dog...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carolyn Chambers Clark
• Release date: Oct 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466153271

Carolyn Chambers Clark

Carolyn Chambers Clark is a board-certified advanced holistic nurse practitioner with a master's degree in mental health nursing and a doctorate in education. She is a faculty member in the Health Services Doctoral Program at Walden University, and she hosts http://home.earthlink.net/~cccwellness and http://HolisticHealth.bellaonline.com.

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THE FOGGED MIRROR

Carolyn Chambers Clark & Anthony Auriemma

Copyright 2014, Carolyn Chambers Clark & Anthony Auriemma

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1

None of this made the Paris police report.

Lots of things didn't. Not my plan, and especially not the fact an international leader was fingered for assassination, and that Louie and I were the only two people who could save him.

To get away with everything we did and not get caught, meant we had to use the fact that I was only fifteen and this was my first mission. I also had to fool my parents and younger sister, who were with me as cover in Paris. It wasn't hard to make them believe I didn't want to come to Paris with them. Right away, that forced them to make me go with them, which was what I wanted anyway.

Once I made it to Paris, it was easy to trick people into thinking I was just a kid who stumbled into doing whatever I had to in the service of my country. That meant we had to keep everything secret and believable. I mean, my parents are gullible, but they're not stupid.

It also meant I'd be sentenced to two weeks without my home, my friends, or my cell phone.

It could have been worse, but whatever happened, I had to do it for my country.

Nobody should have to go to Paris against their will, and especially not with my family. But there I was, holding my little sister's hand and trudging out of the Charles de Gaulle Airport behind our parents, looking around for this guy named Louie who was my contact. Of course, nobody gave me a photo of the guy or even a bio, so I had nothing to go on.

Good thing my friends on the football team weren't around to see me. I told them some lame lie about working on my uncle's ranch in Wyoming.

I didn't even have an uncle in Wyoming. I should have never gotten on that airplane in New York. If I hadn't received that phone call, I wouldn't have. I'd planned out my whole summer to include nothing but sitting at the pool, watching hot girls walk by. But then, I got this phone call that my country needed me. Who says no to that?

So, instead of sunshine and a new girlfriend, diesel fuel and car exhaust smells greeted me. I wiped the rain out of my face and the thought occurred to me that I'd been tricked into coming here, maybe by one of my mother's friends. Maybe Sheila's husband, Jeff. He was a big practical joker. He probably wasn't above making an urgent phone call and pretending he was calling from Washington DC.

A lady on the sidewalk by the taxi stand saved me from total boredom when she screamed at the top of her voice, Thief. Stop him. He’s got my purse.

That was my cue. Get out of the way, Ruthie. I don't want you to get hurt. I'll handle this. I pushed my little sister behind a pile of suitcases and took off.

The screamer, a blonde lady in a purple suit stood on the sidewalk by the taxi stand and waved her arms. She pointed at a kid my age, running across the sidewalk in scruffy clothes that bagged around his razor-skinny body.

If I had to be here instead of home with my buddies, somebody was going to pay, and I'd wipe that grin off the punk's face, too.

A lady's purse under his arm, he headed toward me, zigzagging, jumping over luggage, and holding his other arm out to push bystanders away like a wide receiver, heading for the end zone.

Stop him somebody, please, The lady screamed again and pointed at the thief.

I dashed across the cement, grabbed the thief around the shoulders and

tackled him. Down we went, making a loud thud when we hit the pavement.

The crowd clapped and cheered as I yanked the purse out of his hands.

In my head, I was defensive end, Osi Umenyiora, of the New York

Giants, holding up a recovered fumble.

The thief jabbed an elbow into my ribs and rolled on top of me. With a swift jerk of his hand, he knocked my Giants hat off my head and scrambled for it, but missed. A small tattoo of a dagger glistened in the raindrops on his neck. He whispered something into my ear that sounded like a curse.

I whispered right back. Same to you, Jacque, I got the purse.

He scrambled to get up, but I was too quick for him. I snatched the loops on his jeans, and yanked him back, but he wriggled away and struggled to his feet. I grabbed him around the ankles, but he kicked me in the head, and slipped out of my hold.

By then I was dizzy and seeing double, but not enough that I didn't feel the crowd closing in.

I’ll get you for this, Yankee, the thief shouted, but he had to know we outnumbered him. He turned and ran, but not before he gave me the finger.

Really pissed by then, I watched him race down the walkway. A couple of older guys in the crowd tried to grab him by his clothes, but he yanked his arms away and ran by.

Gasping for breath, I stood up and grabbed hold of a guy's outstretched hand to steady myself.

A taxi squealed to a halt at the curb and out stepped a guy of medium height, I'd say maybe five-eleven to my five-ten. I figured he must be the tour guide my dad had called.

The guy ran over to me and handed me my hat. Louie Devereux at your service. Are you all right? He talked with a French accent and actually bowed to me. I mean, bowed. He pushed back curly black hair from his face and smiled. That's when I noticed the mischief in his eyes.

So, this was my contact. He looked the part of a tour guide. He certainly didn't look like an international spy.

Dave McClain. I'm fine. I shoved my hat on my head, shook his hand, and brushed my jeans and shirt off, still breathing heavy from my bout with the thief.

Louie whispered in my ear, Interesting way you have of handling a situation.

I took that to mean he approved.

My family pushed their way through the crowd, worried looks on their faces. My mom pulled her shoulders back and straightened her best suit like she was saying, That’s my son. My dad stood next to her, beaming like I'd just signed with the Cowboys. He’d played basketball in high school, but now he had a slight pot belly that he kept trying to suck in.

They asked all at once if I was okay, except Ruthie. She stomped her white cowgirl boot and stared up at me through heart-shaped sunglasses so fluorescent pink, you could find her in the dark. Good tackle. Better than you did in your last game.

My mom handed me my rain jacket. Put this on, you’ll catch a cold. You’re not hurt, are you? She looked me up and down like I might have a few missing parts.

I’m okay. I pulled away, put a scowl on my face, and pretended I didn't know her as I scanned the crowd for the screamer whose purse I’d tucked under my arm. When I heard bracelets clinking and high heels clacking, I looked in that direction. The lady in the purple suit came up to me.

Mrs. Doris Atchison, she said in this heavy Texas accent. She winked at me and shook my hand, too. She even put her hand on my arm and smiled. That’s how they tackle a steer where I come from. You’re a very brave young man. We could use a linebacker like you on the Dallas Cowboys.

Ruthie pointed at me. That’s my brother, Dave-Man, the Cave-Man. Watch for this boob on You Tube.

I glared at her. My sister was always saying silly things—especially about me. It was okay this time, though, because she took the heat off me.

My mom snapped a picture of us with her cell phone. She was famous for taking pictures, usually with heads cut off or half the people out of the frame. She almost got pushed out of the way by people around her holding up phones and cameras, snapping pictures and videos of me and the lady I’d helped. You Tube, here I come.

I handed Mrs. Atchison her purse, and took a step back into the crowd, but she held onto my wrist. From the look in her eyes, I knew she didn’t plan on letting me get away yet.

Thank you, for helping me. She took a fifty dollar bill from her purse and tried to give it to me. Here’s a reward for saving my trip to Paris.

If I wanted to go anywhere in this town without my parents, I'd need it, but the look on my dad’s face said don’t-you-dare. I didn't plan on getting grounded for fifty bucks, so I told her, That’s okay. Probably the only excitement I’m going to find in this place.

Mrs. Atchison stuffed the fifty into the pocket of my shirt. She looked at my father and then at my skinned arms and knuckles. Take it. You should have it. You deserve it. At least this will pay for the bandages.

She handed me her card and told me to call her if I ever got to Texas.

Before I could answer, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

My face got all hot. I’d thought about getting kisses from a pretty

woman plenty of times, like from my science teacher, Mrs. Bennett, but not in front of so many people.

I shoved Mrs. Atchison’s card into my jeans and tried not to stare as she walked up to two security guards and started telling her story.

I’m your driver and tour guide, Louie said to my father.

Wonderful. Take us to the Le Grand Inter-Continental Paris Hotel, my dad said in a phony French accent as he opened the back door for my mom and Ruthie.

I climbed in next to Louie, and we squealed away from the curb. Mom slathered on some stingy ointment on my cuts and stuck band-aids on my hand and arm. By the time she let up, traffic started to slow.

At the curb, two guys in raincoats got out of a black limousine and two other guys in suits got out of a silver car behind them. The four men walked over to each other, faced off, and set down their briefcases. They only said a word or two, and then walked away and got back into their cars. It all happened so fast and looked perfectly normal, except for one thing—they exchanged briefcases.

Just like in the movies.

Hey, did anybody see those four guys? I said, pointing at the men and shifting forward in my seat to see more.

Nobody answered. No one had the slightest bit of imagination in my family. I’d been interested in spying ever since my best friend, Josh, got a Spy Gear Satellite Listener. We were only kids then, but we spent our free time listening in on people.

In my head, I pictured myself following the guys who’d exchanged briefcases. They had to be up to something.

Our taxi driver shook his fist when the silver car pulled into traffic ahead of us.

I kept my eyes on that car, hoping I could find out what those two guys were doing. Too bad I didn’t have a pair of binoculars with me. They could be exchanging money or secrets or drugs. They might even be murderers or spies.

The sky turned dark, and raindrops started to splatter on the windshield. Louie flipped on the wipers.

From the rear view mirror I could see Mom handing my dad brochures and him trying to look interested.

Sightseeing in Paris, with my parents arguing over what to do and where to go; I’d rather be eating broccoli. For sure, I’d rather be following those two guys in the silver car, but I had to cool it until Louie and I could get together and firm up a plan.

Coming up ahead is your hotel, the Inter-Continental Paris Le Grand, Louie pointed out the windshield.

I stared out the window and watched the guys in the silver car pull into our hotel. The two men get out of their car with their briefcases and suitcases and slammed the doors shut. We were caught in traffic, two cars from turning into the hotel. Don't lose them, I wanted to shout to Louie. But if it's one thing I've learned about spying, you don't broadcast what you're doing.

The two guys from the silver car started walking toward the hotel.

Your hotel’s location is excellent, Louie said. It’s only one block to the metro line, the bus, opera house, restaurants and many exclusive shops.

My mom had to be liking that. If they had an Olympic event for shopping, she’d get the gold medal.

Only one car from getting to the hotel. I was like counting the seconds. What’s the metro? I asked as Louie swerved our taxi up to the hotel.

It is like your subway only cleaner and more efficient. Louie said.

Bus and metro—that's how I'd get around Paris. I already had the men in the silver car under surveillance. They had to be up to something. I could feel it.

Louie dropped us off and suggested we eat dinner at the restaurant, something about jet lag and getting awfully tired early that night. He gave Dad his card and asked that we call him when we wanted him to guide us around the city.

We went into the hotel and wound our way around the tourists in the lobby. They looked tired, sitting by the potted trees, shopping bags beside them on the floor. The two guys from the silver car had disappeared.

I let out a low whistle when I saw the wide staircase. It wound up and up. I’d always wanted to slide down one or maybe have a duel up and down the stairs.

Dad checked us in and I made a big deal about getting my own card key for the room. Just in case I want to go use the computer room or something, I told him. He surprised me and bought it. Mom wanted her own key too. Dad drew the line when Ruthie claimed she might want one so she could go down to the outdoor restaurant and have a hot-fudge sundae. After Mom handled Ruthie’s little outburst when Dad refused to give her a key, we headed for the elevator.

On the way up, my stomach started growling real loud. My family all looked at me.

I guess we better get some dinner, Mom said, glancing at my dad

Once we got off the elevator, we had to maneuver around luggage someone had stacked in the hallway. I wondered if it contained piles of money and jewels or weapons or…

Come on, David, Mom said, trying to hurry me up. Quit daydreaming.

Okay, so I had a good imagination. Needed when you're tailing someone. Our room turned out to be browns and reds. My mom kept talking about how the wallpaper matched the drapes, how high the ceilings were, and how it was Napoleon-empire style, so I guess it was okay with her.

I staked out the pullout couch, leaving Ruthie to sleep with Mom and Dad in the king-size bed in the other room.

Dad picked up the phone. Dinner reservations.

Under the direction of Sergeant Mom, we hurried and put some of our clothes away, washed our hands, and combed our hair.

We took the elevator back down to the restaurant. A woman in a red dress took us to our table and handed us each a menu. Most of the stuff didn’t look like what I wanted to eat.

I’ll have a burger and fries, I said to the waiter. Medium rare, please, and a large Coke or Pepsi.

Me, too, Ruthie said.

My mom ordered snails, and my dad had frog’s legs. They’d never eat stuff like that at home. When my food finally arrived, I scarfed down my burger, and stuffed fries smothered in ketchup into my mouth as fast as I could swallow.

The next time I looked up, I saw the two guys from the silver car, and nearly dropped my glass of soda on the floor. They must have sat down at a table while I was busy eating. I tried to watch them without being too obvious by holding up the dessert list in front of my face and squinting over the top at them.

One of the men’s cell phones rang and the taller, more tanned one, with suspicious-looking eyes answered. I couldn’t tell what he said. He looked real upset and started waving his arms around in the air, and whispering to his buddy. They signaled to the waiter for their check, shuffling around in their seats, acting like they were in a hurry.

When the waiter came by, I read his lips, something I'd learned from watching TV without the sound on. He asked them, Do you want to put this on your room bill?

The other man, shorter and rounder