I would like to point out that, despite evidence to the contrary, I don't like breaking rules. I do not enjoy violating people's privacy—especially people I love. And I try to never, ever stick my nose into other people's business. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that what was happening with Macey had become my business when I fell forty feet through a metal shaft and landed in a cart full of dirty laundry.
So that's why we huddled in our suite that Thursday night.
And that's why I didn't protest as Bex asked, "So, everyone clear?"
Macey laced up her running shoes and Liz gripped her flashlight, while I just sat there telling myself that there's a big difference between spying and snooping, and espionage isn't so much about uncovering embarrassing things as it is, you know, about saving lives (and other important stuff).
Macey was safe. The Secret Service and Aunt Abby were on the case. But if someone was hunting Gallagher Girls, then none of us would rest until we knew who. And why.
Covert Operations Report PHASE ONE 1830 hours
On the night of October 1, Operative McHenry announced to the entire post-dinner crowd in the Grand Hall that she was going for a run in the woods.
Agent Abigail Cameron announced that the protectee wasn't allowed in the woods alone, and that Agent Cameron had a headache, so therefore, the proctectee wasn't going anywhere.
Operative McHenry (a.k.a., the proctectee) announced that she was going for a run and if Agent Cameron didn't like it she could … (Well, let's just say it was in Arabic. And it wasn't very ladylike.)
Agent Cameron announced (louder, and in Farsi) that the protectee was not to leave the mansion.
Operative McHenry replied (even louder) that she WAS.
And then she fled the Grand Hall. Fast.
Agent Cameron had no choice but to follow.
Walking through the mansion with Bex that night, I felt a little sick to my stomach—not because of what we were about to do, but because I was afraid it might actually work. I might learn something I couldn't unlearn. And every spy knows that we live our lives on a need-to-know basis for a reason.
I glanced out the window and saw a blur as Macey dashed through the woods, Abby following closely behind her. From behind a tree, a flashlight clicked off and on twice, Liz's way of telling us the coast was clear. Everything was going according to plan, and yet a nervous feeling settled in as I walked toward my aunt's room and knocked, knowing full well that no one would answer.
It took ten full minutes to break into Aunt Abby's room. Yes, ten minutes. Not necessarily because my aunt had used every surveillance detection known to man, but because we couldn't be sure she hadn't, and Bex and I weren't taking any chances. (We were juniors, after all!)
When we finally stepped into Abby's room, for some reason I held my breath. Our flashlights played over a closetful of clothes I'd never seen my aunt wear. There was a dresser covered with knickknacks, trinkets from other worlds and other times, and there wasn't a doubt in my mind that each one held a story that I'd never heard. I'd been listening to her wild tales for weeks, but every spy learns early on that the stories that matter most are the ones that you don't tell.
Abby had come back to us—but one look around her room told me that a part of her was still long gone.
The beam of my flashlight nearly blinded me as it shone against the mirror. A tiny black-and-white photo was tacked to the bottom corner of the glass. I stood there for a long time staring at the image of my aunt, my favorite teacher, and my father—all three laughing at a joke that was long since over.
For a second I almost forgot what we were searching for. Someone was after Macey, but right then my aunt was the mystery I most wanted to solve.
"Cam."
Bex's voice cut through the darkness as the beam of her flashlight fell upon—an image I'd hoped I'd never see again.
"That's it," I muttered, stepping closer to look at the grainy black-and-white photograph—a close-up of a hand. It was pretty good considering it had been taken with an NSA satellite a few hundred miles above the earth. It didn't show the faces. If I hadn't known, I wouldn't have even recognized my own shoulder and neck. But the hand was fully in focus, the ring as clear as day.
"Do you recognize it?" I asked, feeling my heart beat faster, seeing the proof at last that I wasn't chasing a phantom image from my mind.
Bex stared harder. "Maybe," she said, then shook her head. "I don't know."
1830 hours
Agent Cameron succeeded in dragging Operative McHenry back to the primary mansion.
Unfortunately, Operatives Morgan and Baxter had no way of knowing that.
"Oh, Joe!" Abby's voice echoed down the hallway. "You are going to get me into so much trouble."
I froze, totally unsure what was more terrifying: the look on Bex's face or the flirty tone of my aunt's laugh or the sound of a key being inserted into the lock on Abby's door.
I didn't have a clue what to do. I mean, as a rule, hiding is never a very good idea. When in doubt, get out, Mr. Solomon always says. But I wasn't exactly sure what he'd say when he is the person who is about to catch you.
"Bed!" I snapped, grabbing Bex by the back of the neck. "Now!"
Crawling underneath Aunt Abby's bed, I couldn't help but think about the thousands of times in the past four and a half years when I'd wondered where she was and what she was doing. (Note to self: be very, very careful what you wish for.)