Spy School by Stuart Gibbs
She and I had spent the morning attempting to track down the source of the leak, but to no avail. The mole had covered their tracks well. Our investigation was an endless loop, everyone pointing the finger at someone else until we were right back where we’d started.
“Zoe’s right,” I said. “If I ditch this place, I’m a sitting duck.”
“And if you stay here, you’re a dead one.” Murray had a wad of sandwich crammed into his cheek so large, he looked like a chipmunk hoarding nuts. “Consider this: What happens after you make your little presentation tonight? Once you spill the beans on Jackhammer, you’re even more of a target. For good. You think the CIA’s gonna pony up this much security every day for the rest of your life?”
I swallowed a bite of sloppy joe, concerned. I hadn’t considered that. “But how does running away solve anything?” I asked. “Our enemies are still going to want Jackhammer whether I spill the beans or not.”
“Well, you don’t just run,” Murray explained. “You have to start a disinformation campaign first. Spread the word that you never invented Jackhammer. It was all a ruse to flush out our enemies. In fact, you’re not even Crypto Whiz Boy. You’re merely a patsy brought in by the CIA as bait.”
“Oh, yeah,” Zoe scoffed. “Like anyone would ever believe that.”
“Yeah,” Warren agreed, as he did with virtually everything Zoe said. “That’s ridiculous.”
It was the perfect indication of how complicated my life had become: that telling the truth about myself would now be considered a disinformation campaign. And that no one would buy it anyhow.
“The genie’s out of the bottle,” I said. “There’s no way to get it back in. The only way for me to be safe is for the CIA to nab whoever’s after me.”
“Ben’s right,” Zoe told Murray.
“Zoe’s right about Ben being right,” Warren agreed.
“Not necessarily.” Murray turned to me. “Suppose someone tries to take you out today, and the agency nails him. That’s not the guy running the operation. It’s just some poor schmo who got stuck with a lousy assignment. Or, heck, maybe he’s a freelance assassin who doesn’t even know who hired him. Yes, that’s a lead, but it could take the CIA years to figure out whom it leads to. And that’s only one enemy organization. I’ll bet there’s a dozen who’d like to get their hands on Jackhammer. You think they’re all going to strike today? You think the CIA’s ever going to bring them all down?”
I swallowed again. I hadn’t considered that, either. I glanced over at Erica, who was still riveted to her book. Had she thought of any of this? I wondered. It seemed unlikely she hadn’t. Erica thought of everything, which meant she’d knowingly placed me in great danger for her own gain.
Even Zoe looked concerned, though she tried to put some positive spin on it. She gave me a pat on the knee that was supposed to be reassuring and said, “Smokescreen can handle it. Remember, he’s not just a brainiac. He’s a lean, mean fighting machine.”
“Well . . . he did abandon me in the heat of battle yesterday,” Warren countered.
Zoe frowned at him. “First of all, you totally screwed up your synchronization and attacked too early. Second, he was on a mission, tailing Chip. And finally, he didn’t abandon you. He only took off once he knew that Ice Queen had things under control.”
Warren pouted sullenly in response, though I had to admit, I’d have been upset if I’d been in his position too. He’d been pelted with so many paintballs that, despite an hour in the shower, his skin was still light blue.
“I don’t care how good Ben is,” Murray said. “Even Alexander Hale couldn’t handle everything that’s gonna come at him.” He crammed another half sandwich into his mouth.
“What’s with all the peanut butter, Washout?” Zoe asked. “Your cholesterol’s gonna go through the roof.”
“I hope so,” Murray replied. “I’ve got a physical to assess my readiness for the field next week. Speaking of which, I’m gonna go get pie. Who wants pie?”
“I’ll take some,” I said. “À la mode.” If people were going to try to kill me that day, at the very least, I felt I deserved dessert.
“You got it.” Murray hustled off to the lunch line.
Warren suddenly stiffened, looking behind me. “Oh. That’s why Murray split in such a hurry.”
I spun around and saw Chip Schacter, Greg Hauser, and Kirsten Stubbs making a beeline for me.
Virtually the entire mess hall went on alert. A hundred heads swiveled toward me. Everyone tensed, ready for another fight.
I felt unusually calm confronting Chip, however. Probably because there were twelve highly trained CIA agents close by, tasked with protecting my safety. If Chip so much as poked me too hard, he’d have been pummeled into pudding.
Chip took Warren’s chair—even though Warren was sitting in it. He simply tilted it forward, dumping Warren to the floor, and then sat down facing me.
“I thought you were on ultra-super probation,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”
I shrugged. “The principal changed his mind.”
“Why?” Chip asked. “Because of this Jackrabbit thing?”
“Jackhammer,” I corrected, wondering if there was anyone who didn’t know about it, given that it was supposed to be top secret. “Maybe. I’m not really sure why the principal does anything.”
“He’s not the only one who’s tough to figure out,” Chip said. “The way you were busting his chops yesterday, it almost seemed like you wanted probation. And now today, it’s like nothing ever happened.”
“You busted the principal’s chops?” Zoe asked me, her eyes growing bigger than usual.
“He didn’t tell you?” Chip asked. “Ripley here had the principal so worked up, I thought the guy was gonna have an angerism.”
“Aneurysm,” I corrected.
Zoe gaped at me. “Are you psycho? Why would you do that?”
“Exactly my question,” Chip said, giving me a hard stare. “Why would you?”
I tried to casually shrug it off. “The guy was just asking for it. Haven’t you ever wanted to tell him what you actually thought of him?”
“Sure,” Zoe said. “But not so badly that I’d risk getting bounced out of school for it.”
“Well, maybe that’s the thing,” Chip said. “Maybe Ripley here knows he can’t get bounced out of school.”
The statement hung there for a moment. Zoe and Warren stared at me, partly wondering if this was true and partly stunned that Chip, of all people, had been the one to figure it out.
“Is this true?” Warren asked me. There was now a bit of suspicion in his eyes.
“Yeah, Ripley. What’s the deal?” Chip echoed, although there was a strange, mocking lilt to his voice, as though he already knew the answer.
“I might, uh, have some immunity because of Jackhammer,” I lied.
“Of course!” Zoe said. “You’re not just a coding genius. You’re the coding genius! They can’t boot you, no matter what!”
“Maybe. Or maybe not,” Chip said knowingly. He stood up, slapped a hand on my shoulder, then whispered in my ear. “I’m onto you, Ripley. Just thought you should know.”
Then he and his goons headed to the lunch line. Chip didn’t look back, though I noticed Hauser kept his eyes on me the whole time.
I realized my hands were shaking. The exchange with Chip had left me unsettled, my mind full of questions. How much did Chip actually know about me? Did he know the whole truth—and if so, did that make him the mole? Or had he found out some other way? Or did he only think he knew the truth, in which case, he wasn’t the mole at all, but simply the knucklehead we had suspected all along? And what did all this have to do with the bomb under the school?
“What was that all about?” Murray sat back down beside me and slid over a large slice of banana pie à la mode. I guessed he’d been waiting for Chip to take off before coming back. For himself, he had two slices of pie and three scoops of ice cream topped by a m
“Just my daily dose of Chip Schacter intimidation,” I said.
“Not quite,” Zoe countered. “This was different. Chip seemed . . . Well, it’s weird but . . . it kind of seemed like he likes you now.”
“Really?” Murray’s eyebrows arched so high, they disappeared into his hair. “What’d you do, pull a thorn out of his paw?”
“He mouthed off to the principal yesterday,” Zoe said.
Murray’s eyebrows went even higher. “You did? I’m trying to be the worst spy on campus, and even I won’t do that. Are you psycho?”
“That’s what I said,” Zoe told him.
“Maybe he is psycho,” Warren whispered, thinking it was too low for me to hear.
I didn’t respond to it, though. Something else had grabbed my attention. There was something in the pocket of my jacket that hadn’t been there a few minutes before. I wasn’t sure how I knew exactly, as the jacket was slung over the back of my chair. I just had a sense that something was different, like there was the tiniest shift of weight. Maybe my spy senses were starting to kick in, I thought, giving me an extra awareness of everything going on around me.
Without trying to draw attention, I slipped my hand into the pocket. Sure enough, there was a folded piece of paper under my phone.
“Chip realized that the principal can’t get rid of Ben,” Zoe was saying. “Now that he’s come up with Jackhammer, he’s too important.”
“Holy cow, Chip’s right.” Murray was impressed. “I hadn’t thought of that. Ben, you’re invincible! You need to take advantage of this! If you can’t get kicked out, you don’t have to do your homework. You don’t even have to show up for class! You could fill the principal’s car with shaving cream and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it!”
“Yes, he could,” Zoe shot back. “Just because the administration can’t boot Ben doesn’t mean they can’t punish him.”
“Yeah,” Warren agreed.
While they were distracted, I shifted the piece of paper under the table and unfolded it.
Meet me in the librery tonight. Midnight. Your life depends on it.
It wasn’t signed, but I was pretty sure it was from Chip. For one thing, it looked like an ape had written it, and “library” had been misspelled. Also, I was almost positive the paper hadn’t been in my pocket before I’d sat down to lunch—and Chip had just had the perfect opportunity to slip something to me when he’d whispered in my ear.
Now a whole new set of questions cropped up. What could Chip possibly have to talk to me about that my life depended on? If he was the mole, why approach me like this? If he wasn’t, what did he know? Now that I thought about it, the note could be interpreted two ways: Either I had to meet up with Chip to discuss something that my life depended on . . . or he was threatening to end my life if I didn’t meet up with him.
If it was even Chip who’d written the note. I realized that both Hauser and Stubbs had also had the chance to slip something into my pocket; they’d both been looming behind me while I was talking to Chip. Both of them seemed capable of misspelling “library.” Maybe one of them wanted to talk to me without Chip knowing. Or maybe one of them wanted to lure me into a trap in the library.
Or maybe I was wrong and the note had been placed in my pocket before lunch. If so, practically anyone in the school could have slipped it to me.
Why couldn’t they have just signed the darn note? I wondered. Would it kill anyone at this school to be a little less cryptic for once?
Unfortunately, I knew the answer to that question was probably yes.
I realized there was still a conversation going on at the table. I’d filtered it out while thinking about the note, but now it floated back through my consciousness. Murray, Zoe, and Warren were now talking about Chip.
“No way he likes Ben,” Murray was saying. “Even if it looked like he likes Ben, with Chip, there’s always an ulterior motive.”
“You weren’t here,” Zoe said. “You were hiding over in the dessert line until you knew it was safe to come back. I was right here, and I’m telling you, Chip was different. It actually seemed like he was trying to be nice.”
“He didn’t seem that nice to me,” Warren responded.
“Well, that’s because he hasn’t had much practice,” Zoe replied. “I think he was really trying to reach out to Smokescreen here. In a weird way, it was kind of sweet.”
“Oh no,” Warren gasped. “You like him, don’t you?”
Zoe recoiled, offended. “What?”
“You like him,” Warren said bitterly. “Just like all the other girls. You know he’s a jerk, but since he’s handsome, you keep hoping that deep down inside, he’s really a nice guy.”
“And deep down inside, you’re an idiot,” Zoe shot back. “I do not like Chip.”
“Well if you do, forget about it,” Murray said. “He and Tina are together.”
I sat up, unable to control my surprise—although neither could Zoe and Warren. “They are?” we all asked at once.
“You didn’t know?” Murray replied. “What kind of spies are you?”
“Better than you,” Zoe snapped. “How’d you know?”
“I notice things.” Murray stuffed half a scoop of ice cream in his mouth. “They’re trying to keep it a secret, obviously, but I’ve seen them getting some face time now and then.”
My mind was racing now. If Chip and Tina were an item—and Tina was the one student given a hard copy of my file—then it would have been relatively easy for Chip to get his hands on it. Which would explain how he was the first one to show up at my door, knowing about my secret cryptographic abilities before I even knew about them. Erica had also kept Tina in the loop about Jackhammer, which explained why Chip had claimed to be onto me. And now he’d slipped a note into my pocket wanting me to meet him secretly. . . .
I had to tell Erica. I couldn’t believe she didn’t know about Tina and Chip—although, when I thought about it, if there was one thing the Ice Queen wasn’t particularly well tuned to, it was interpersonal relationships.
“I have to go,” I said, standing up from the table.
“Right now?” Murray asked. “You haven’t even touched your pie!”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I said.
“Can I have it, then?” Murray asked.
“Sure.” I grabbed my jacket and started across the room toward Erica.
She seemed to sense me coming before I’d taken three steps. She looked toward me, on guard, and I wondered if I was breaking some sort of protocol by approaching her in public.
But then I realized it wasn’t only me she was looking at. She was taking in the whole room around me as well.
The CIA agents posted around the mess had all gone on alert. The two closest to me were rushing my way. One cut me off before I could get to Erica. The second swept in behind me, grasping my arm tightly and wheeling me toward the door.
“You need to come with us,” she said. “Right now.”
“Why?” I tried to hide the worry in my voice.
Alexander Hale burst into the mess ahead of us. A murmur of excitement rippled through the room, as though a movie star had entered. Alexander didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he seemed relieved to see I was all right.
“Your Jackhammer presentation has been cancelled,” he informed me. “We’ve just received some intel from the field. We have to get you somewhere safe right now.”
“Safer than a campus surrounded by CIA agents?” I asked.
“Yes,” Alexander replied. “The enemy’s coming for you.”
SECURITY
Security Room
February 9
1330 hours
Alexander Hale took me directly to the security room, the command center of the entire academy.
It was a large bunker tucked away in the labyrinth of tunnels under the campus. Alexander insisted it was the most secure location for twenty miles
It did look impressive from the outside, however. Two CIA agents bristling with weapons flanked a thick steel door with a high-tech entry system.
Alexander typed a code on a keypad, had his palm and retina scanned, then said “My dog has fleas” into a microphone that analyzed his voice.
“Entry approved,” a lush feminine voice replied.
The door didn’t budge, though.
Alexander pounded on it, annoyed. “Open up in there!” he yelled. “The stupid security door’s on the fritz again!”
There was a click, and an embarrassed-looking agent opened the door from the inside.
“Lousy high-tech entry systems,” Alexander muttered under his breath. “This is what happens when the government subcontracts everything to the lowest bidder.” Then he caught himself and smiled at me reassuringly. “It’s still secure, though! If it’s that much trouble for me to get in, imagine how difficult it’d be for the enemy.”
Although it hadn’t been an auspicious beginning, I had to admit the room felt safe. I could now see that the door was nearly a foot thick with a dead bolt as big as a tyrannosaurus femur. The room was surrounded by imposing cement walls plated with steel. When the door slammed shut again, it felt as though we were encased in an iron womb.
Along one wall was a panel of twelve video monitors linked to the campus security camera system. Two CIA agents sat at computer terminals before the panel, which allowed them to bring up the live feed from any camera they wished. Two more agents—one of whom had just opened the door for us—flanked the entrance from the inside. Within the room itself were two more computer terminals and a passage to another area.
“What’s down that way?” I asked Alexander.
“Living quarters,” he replied. “In case anyone needs to stay down here for the long haul. Have a peek if you’d like.”