Mrs. Baxter sounded just like Bex when she said, "Exactly."
I know the Gallagher Academy. I mean, a person doesn't ruin as many white blouses as I have without spending a lot of time crawling through filthy sewer lines and secret passageways. So as we flew farther and farther from the gates, I felt pretty certain that we were actually speeding toward . . . nothing. Or so I thought until Mr. Baxter jerked the wheel again and we found ourselves on a narrow lane that, I swear, I'd never seen before.
The good news was that the car was bulletproof and missile proof and had tires that were filled with solid rubber instead of regular air, so they could never, ever go flat.
The bad news was that I was starting to figure out why Bex was such a bad driver, because the rougher the road got, the harder Mr. Baxter pressed on the gas.
"Shortcut," Aunt Abby offered."
"To where?" Bex and I both asked.
The car was barreling down the narrow path, tires plunging in and out or rough gorges, mud slamming against the undercarriage. Barren limbs scraped against the sides of the car, and it felt as if we were being swallowed by the forest, driving straight toward an electrified stone wall and at least a dozen of the most highly calibrated security cameras in the world.
"Now?" Mr. Baxter asked from the front seat.
"This'll do," Abby told him."
Mr. Baxter pushed a button on the dashboard and floored the accelerator.
And for the second time during my winter vacation, I saw my (relatively short) life flashed before my eyes. I gripped my best friend's hands, waiting for a crash that never came.
Believe it or not, I've never actually been in the Gallagher Academy lade. Well, I hadn't been. Until then.
I still don't know what was the most shocking - the feeling of the car hitting some kind of ramp at eighty miles an hour, the sensation of flying through the air and soaring over the fence in a limousine, or the sudden splash that comes when a two-ton car dives nose first into water, seat belts snapping, holding us into place.
I felt the heavy car sinking. Water was over the hood and rising above the windows, but not a drop was seeping inside as we sank below the surface, into the murky darkness of the lake. Fish swam past the windows as if limos drop out of the sky every day - and neither Aunt Abby nor Mrs. Baxter seemed the least bit concerned that our bulletproof car was sinking.
But wait, I realized a second later. We weren't sinking.
Bex and I both leaned forward, watched the way the limo's headlights sliced through the water as a propeller emerged from the trunk and began churning, pushing us through the murky haze like a submarine.
"WARNING: RESTRICED AREA. AUTHORIZED PERSONAL ONLY," a shrill mechanical voice ordered in stereo, echoing through the car's speakers.
Mom . . ." Bex started to say, but her mother merely shushed her.
"ACQUIRING RENTAL IMAGAMES NOW," the voice said just as an orange light flashed through the car like lightning. I squinted, and it felt like thousand tiny flashbulbs were going off inside my eyes.
"PRESENT VOCAL RECOGNITON, PLEASE," the voice commanded, and my aunt responded, "Abigail Cameron. CIA."
"Abraham Baxter, MI6," Bex's father said from the front seat. Beside me, Bex's mother gave her own name, then nudged me softly in the ribs.
"Um . . . Cameron Ann Morgan . . . Gallagher Girl?" I didn't have a clue what my official title was or should be. International terrorist target? Teenage girl? Spy in training? Person who really, really wants to know what's going on?
I heard Bex reply in the same way I had, and then the movement stopped. Water fell away as if the car were emerging from the lake, but there was no sunlight streaming through the windows. I peered through the bulletproof glass and saw the headlights sweep over solid stone. Then the car doors popped open automatically, and Abby stepped out, and nothing in my sixteen (almost seventeen!) years of living, or five and a half years of training, had fully prepared me for what I saw.
"There are caves under the lake?" I guessed, but Bex's mother was already out of the car walking toward the trunk.
I'd heard of underground waterways, caverns, and caves my whole life, but I'd never known I was living right beside one, I stared at the stalactites and stalagmites that covered the cave's floors and ceiling. The ground sloped down behind us, toward the water of the lake while my best friend and I stood on an underground shore, and I remembered that I didn't know all of my school's secrets - not even close.
Before I knew it, Mr. Baxter had our bags out of the trunk and Mrs. Baxter was hugging Bex, whispering in her ear. I was still taking in the long, dark cave that stretched far beyond the headlight's glare.
I stepped to the wall, and ran my fingers along the Gallagher Academy crest that was carved into the stone.
"Good-bye, darling," Mrs. Baxter kissed my cheek. And then Aunt Abby's hands were on my shoulders.
"Cammie, stop for a second. Before you go any farther, I need you to promise me something."
"Okay."
"I need you to be careful this semester." She did sound like herself I realized. She sounded like Mr. Solomon. "Cam, do you hear me?"
"Yes . . . I know."
"Do not take unnecessary chances."
"I know."
"And, Squirt, you need to be . . . strong."
I started to tell her again that I knew, but something same over me. "You aren't coming, are you?" I asked.
Abby looked from me to the Baxters and back again. "This is as far as I go."