"I was under the impression that you were the best."
"I'm . . . pretty good," Mr. Mosckowitz said, which was perhaps the understatement of the century.
"So why haven't you cleared up this mess with the sublevels? They're used for the instruction of Covert Operatives, are they not?" Townsend said.
"Well, yes . . ."
"And I am the Covert Operations instructor, am I not?"
"Someone needs instruct him," Bex whispered, but my best friends didn't move. We all stayed silent, staring at the two shadows on the floor.
"Well, see, it's . . . complicated," Mr. Mosckwitz said.
Uncomplicate it," said Townsend.
"Every generation adds a new level of defenses, and while the new ones are . . . well, they're good, the old ones are . . ."
"What?" Townsend snapped.
"Old," Mr. Mosckowitz said simply. "Dr. Fibs and I have been working on a theory about how some of the older mechanisms might work, but to tell you the truth, most of them weren't meant to be overridden. If they were ever activated, it was supposed to be . . ." He made a gesture with his hands. "Ka boom."
Townsend gave a slow laugh "And you and Buckingham wouldn't be slow-playing this process, would, you?"
"We could override the more recent safety protocols, and you could go down there tonight, but . . ."
"What?"
"Some of the most top secret artifacts in the world might be destroyed, and . . ."
"What?"
"You'd probably die." Mr. Mosckowitz's shadow moved across the floor, easing away.
And then the longer shadow tossed something high into the air. I saw it tumbling, spinning. The hand that reached out to catch it moved as fast as light.
"I want access to those sublevels, Mosckowitz." There was a sickening crunch as Townsend took a bite. "Make it happen. Make it happen soon."
"Liz!" Bex hissed twenty minutes later. "How much did you put in there?"
Liz shrugged and looked slightly guilty. And slightly wicked. It was a terribly evil combination. "I couldn't be sure he'd eat it all, and if he just took one bite, that might not be enough to -"
"Liz," I whispered, needing her to get to the point.
"Five times more that recommended!" she blurted.
At the end of the hall I heard a crash. Our four heads peered around the corner just in time to see Agent Townsend stumble away from the shards of a shattered vase.
We looked at Liz, who whispered, "Maybe six."
When turned back to the hall, Townsend was standing thirty feet, staring at us. I was sure we were busted. But then Agent Townsend stopped and gave a sloppy wave.
"I'm going to my room!" he called, and then he turned and collapsed onto the plush cushions of one of my favorite window seats. He tried to pull the red velvet curtains around he like a blanket.
"What are you doing in my room?" he snapped as I appeared beside him. And then he seemed to realize that his "room" was two feet deep and three feet long. "Is this my room?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Oh." His blue eyes had warmed somehow, as though something in that apple had caused all his defenses to thaw.
"Should we ask him something to . . . you know . . . test it?" Macey asked.
When my roommates looked at me, I realized we hadn't had interrogation training yet.
Not even Mr. Solomon had taught us how to do that.
Fortunately, as with most things covert, Bex was a natural.
"Is there really a Loch Ness Monster?" she asked.
Townsend shrugged. "Of course there is. Chemical warfare training went awry in the thirties. Had to lock the thing up somewhere."
"Were the crown jewels really stolen and replaced with faked in 1962?"
He smiled. "Only the rubies."
"Where is Mr. Solomon?"
"That, I do not know." He raised his eyebrows. "Yet."
"Why are the CIA and MI6 after Mr. Solomon?"
"Oh, you know that, Ms. Morgan." Despite the slurred speech, the words were enough to make my heart race. "Anyone who has been a part of the Circle since the age of sixteen is someone we would like to have a chat with."
"Why did you come here?" Bex asked.
"To track a fox, you start at its den."
"What do you know about my mother?"
Townsend turned his head toward the window. His breath fogged up the glass .I was beginning to think he hadn't heard me when he whispered, "They won't hurt her."
And with those words, a dread like I had never known filled my chest. "Someone has my mother?" I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, forcing him to look at me. "Who?" I shook him. "Who has her?"
His smile was oddly vacant. "We do."
My hands went rigid, forming fists around his collar.
"We? Who's 'we'? Where is my mother?" I yelled, but Townsend was drifting. His eyelids fluttered. He stared out the wavy glass as if he'd never seen a window before.
"It is beautiful here," he said, then closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
I released my grasp, watched him land against the pillows. He looked as peaceful as a baby.
And then Liz slapped him. Ys, actual slappage.
He shuddered awake, his eyes clear for one brief second.
"No!" Liz yelled, slapping him again. "You're wrong!" she snapped.