The students of Blackthorne Institute (hereafter referred to as The Subjects) have set up residence at the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women.
Although nothing of an incriminating nature was found, The Subjects do exhibit questionable taste in leisure activity capacity, since a search of their residence revealed WO television and an excess of shoe polishing paraphernalia.
DNA analysis revealed that the subjects are, in fact, male and, apparently, are not the product of any sort of cloning experiment.
Fingerprint analysis, however, revealed that they are males who have no records in any governmental database—even the REALLY top secret ones. (Of course, neither do we.)
Known associates: The Subjects are presumed to associate with each other, as well as Dr. Steven Sanders (aka "Dr. Steve"), PhD.
If the whole spy thing doesn't work out, the students from Blackthorne will surely have futures in the housekeeping industry.
Analysis of the trash taken from the room revealed that The Subjects use entirely too much dental floss for fifteen teenage boys. (Are they possibly using it for clandestine purposes such as very thin, semitransparent rappelling cables?) Also, they totally don't recycle.
I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I think many girls fantasize about being a fly on the wall of a boy's room. Well, let me tell you, the fantasy is seriously overrated. (And we've got 272 hours of audio surveillance to prove it.)
Other than the fact that we heard one of the eighth grade boys bragging that Macey had kissed him during the Code Black (a lie he seriously regretted during P&E), all we could do was wait. And watch. And remember that of all the qualities a good spy needs, the most important one is patience.
After all, it's easy to stay interested in a target when he's about to purchase some black market nuclear weapons. When he's going to the dentist? Not so much. So we listened to the boys debate about baseball players and types of sandwiches; we went to class, and we waited. After nearly two weeks of listening to wiretaps and testing DNA, we were back where we'd started. The only thing we knew was that the boys appeared to be ghosts, phantoms—smoke.
There was nothing we could do but trail the boys to CoveOps. Zach, Grant, and Jonas were walking twenty feet ahead of us as we left Madame Dabney's classroom and started downstairs. Liz blinked her eyes a few times and whispered, "They are real, aren't they? I didn't just dream them, right?"
"Oh, yeah," Bex said. "They're flesh and blood," she added, emphasizing the word flesh.
"Just because Grant calls you the British Bombshell—"
"Liz!" I warned. "Shhh!"
She lowered her voice. "Why can't we find out anything about them?" It wasn't just a matter of national security with Liz at that point. It was a matter of pride. Liz was a genius with a problem she couldn't solve.
And to tell you the truth, I couldn't understand it, either. After all, Liz can break any code; Bex can sweet talk anybody into anything; and I've been hiding in plain sight since I was old enough to walk: we are not without our covert ways!
But as Bex and I stopped at the elevator to Sublevel One and Liz started for the basement, I couldn't help but wonder how a school for boy spies can exist so covertly that even a group of girl spies can't find it.
"We have to do more," Bex whispered as the elevator opened into Sublevel One. "We have to go deeper!"
Before I could say a word, Mr. Solomon came into our classroom. "Assets." He pushed up his shirtsleeves and walked to the board. "Define the term, Ms. Alvarez."
"An asset is an individual recruited and utilized by an operative to gain covert information," Eva recited.
Our teacher acted like he hadn't heard her. His voice dropped. "Listen up and listen well," he said, as if a single person in the room was not paying attention to him. "The most important thing any of you will ever do is make people trust you. You will become someone you aren't in order to befriend someone you hate." He studied us all in turn.
"We develop assets, ladies and gentlemen. We find people who have information that we want and then we take it," he continued. "Or persuade them to give it to us. We find traitors." He paused and stared. "We lie."
I wish I could say the sick feeling in my stomach was because I'd signed up for a lifetime of deception and betrayal. But none of that was as terrifying as the look on Bex's face as she turned to me and mouthed the words: Phase Two.
That night, the secret room changed from an ancient, deserted space into a modern observation post. Evapopaper lined the walls. The sound of boys filled the air as my roommates and I listened to the bugs in the East Wing and made lists of boys and classes and opportunities to "develop a plausible pretext for a relationship," which is pretty basic spy stuff. And maybe pretty basic girl stuff, too. So it would have been fine—it would have been good—if there hadn't been a line marked Zach right next to an arrow marked Cammie.
"Bex should do it. She's the better actress." I turned to Bex. "You're way better at cover legends than I am … and flirting…and—"
"I am doing it," Bex said. "I'm taking Grant." She pointed to the chart. "And that senior with the wavy hair. And…"
"But Zach's our leading suspect," I exclaimed. "Why do I have to get close to Zach?"
My three friends froze around me, and neither Bex nor Liz seemed to know what to say; but Macey just shrugged. "Because there are one hundred girls and fifteen boys at this school, and for some reason, that one keeps coming back to you." She raised an eyebrow. "You're the genius, Cam," she said. "You do the math."