Robin Benway - Also Known As

Contents

Perchance you wonder at this show;
But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,
A Midsummer Nights Dream

Its just you and me against me.
DANGER MOUSE AND DANIELE LUPPI,
Two Against One

I cracked my first lock when I was three.

I know that sounds like Im bragging, but really, it wasnt that hard. It was a Master Lock, the same combination lock that you probably have on your locker or bike. Anyone with Internet access and too much time on his or her hands can crack a Master Lock. Im serious. Google it. Ill wait.

See? Easy.

My parents were the ones who gave me the lock. They still swear up and down that they werent testing me, that I really wanted to play with it and they were just trying to keep me from having some sort of toddler meltdown. But really? Im not buying it. How many of you had a Master Lock for a toy?

My parents werent surprised that I cracked the lock. I think theyd have been more surprised if I hadnt opened it. It would probably be hugely disappointing for two spies to have a completely inept kid, you know? Even my name Margaret , ughwas chosen because it has so many different nicknames: Peggy, Maisie, Molly, Margie, Megthe list is endless. My parents have called me Maggie since I was born, but I have twelve birth certificates that all say something different.

Maybe I should explain.

My family works for the Collective. Youve never heard of the Collective, but youve definitely read about our work. Tobacco executives on trial because of damning evidence? Human smuggling rings being broken up? The fall of that Peruvian dictator? Thats us.

I have to admit, Im still not sure who or what the Collective even is . I know only a few details: there are about two hundred spies stationed around the globe, moving to wherever were needed. Some of us are forgers (more on that later), computer hackers, statisticians, weapons experts, and I think a few assassins, too, but my parents wont answer my questions about them. I dont know how many safecrackers there are, but my family moves a lot because of me. Apparently a lot of safes need cracking.

We dont ever take things that arent ours. The Collective may be secretive, but were not sneaky. The whole point is to right wrongs, not create them. When I was little, I thought the Collective was like Santa Claus, giving out presents but never being seen. Now I know, of course, that the Collective is based in London, not the North Pole, but whether its run by dozens of guilty-conscienced millionaires working toward a noble cause or one crazy Howard Hughestype dude, I have no idea.

The Collective had stationed us in Reykjavk, Iceland, over the summer. We were getting ready to head to New York tonight after finishing this job, which could not end soon enough for me. The summer had been painfully boring (and painfully bright, because Reykjavk gets twenty-four hours of sunlight during the summer), since my parents were both busy trying to figure out the case, and school wasnt in session. I spent a lot of time practicing my safecracking skills on safes that the Collective sent to our house, but even that got old after a while. I started keeping an eye on the family across the street, even though there was nothing suspicious about them. They were painfully normal, especially their son. Especially their cute son. I even managed to mortify myself by having a long-running and completely one-sided How you doin? imaginary conversation with Cute Boy.

Whered we move from? Oh, nowhere youd know. So what do you do around here for fun?

Ice cream? Yeah, I love ice cream. With you? Of course! No, my parents are totally cool with me dating .

See? Pathetic. As you can tell, Ive never had a boyfriend, but whatever. Its cool. After all, most girls who have boyfriends probably cant say that they helped to bring down the Peruvian government, right?

So, after a long and lazy summer spent safecracking and slowly going crazy over Cute Boy, I was ready for New York, ready for a change.

I was ready for something to happen .

*

The first rule of being a spy: Listen. Our family friend Angelo always says that a good spy never asks questions, that people will always tell you what you need to know.

Ive known Angelo my entire life. He was friends with my parents back when they were all in Berlin together, and theyve stayed in contact ever since. Angelo works for the Collective, too, but I think hes semiretired now, or at least thats what he says. For all I know, hes getting ready to be knighted by the queen or about to go spelunking somewhere in the Galapagos. He always gives good advice, too, especially about safecracking and lock picking. Its like if Tim Gunn and James Bond had a baby, and that baby was Yoda. Angelos response? Whos Yoda?

I sent him the Star Wars DVDs for Christmas. And a DVD player.

Angelos a forger. I have twelve passports and just as many birth certificates, and theyre all Angelos handiwork. He handles most of the paperwork for the Collective, including duplicate documents. Like, lets say that someone wants to sell the original Gettysburg Address on the black market and use that money to buy guns for crazy despots. (Its been known to happen.) Angelo forges the document, switches them out, and then the bad guy ends up with no money, and the Gettysburg Address gets returned to its original home. There are probably about a million more steps involved, things like finding the right paper pulp and hiding printing presses, but Angelo doesnt like to discuss details. He can be quite secretive that way, but I understand. We all work in different ways. As long as he keeps using flattering pictures on my passport photos, Im happy.

As soon as I started writing, Angelo taught me how to forge signatures. In fact, the first name I wrote wasnt mine, it was my moms, a near-perfect imitation of her signature. And when I was tall enough to reach his front door, Angelo taught me how to pick locks. Once his front door got too easy, we moved on to Gramercy Park, which is in Manhattan. Angelo has a key to that park, but its no fun when you have to use the key. I love my parents, I do, but neither of them could open a lock if their lives depended on it. And since our lives do , in fact, depend on it, thats usually where I come in.

Heres an example of how it works:

At the beginning of the summer, my parents and I got sent to Iceland to investigate one of their largest banks. The CEOs family was suddenly driving imported cars, sending their kids to Swiss private schools, and buying homes in Spain with no money down, yet there wasnt an uptick in the CEOs yearly income.

That usually means someones hiding something, something like cold hard cash, and lets just say Im really good at hide-and-seek.

So, my mom gets a job as part of the bank buildings cleaning crew, which pretty much gives her access to everyones office, including the CEOs. Shes an amazing computer hacker, which I think sort of rankles my dad. Hes useless when it comes to electronics. One time, we were in Boston and they got into this huge fight because my dad thought my mom was taking too long to do her job. She just handed him the TiVo remote and said, Tell me how this works. And of course he couldnt, so she was all, Dont tell me how to do my job, and believe me, he doesnt anymore. He really loves watching Planet Earth on Discovery Channel.

Anyway, my mom gets into the CEOs office and, of course, has access to his computer. Its so, so easy to get into someones computer, I cant even tell you. Password protected? Whatever . All you ever need to hack someones computer is a copy of their birth certificate and, sometimes, not even that. If the persons really famous, theyve probably already talked about their mom in the news, so boom, theres the mothers maiden name. Pets, childrens names, the street where they grew up, their place of birth? Theyre all password clues, and most people use the same password for everything.