"But . . . he was CIA . . ." It sounded childish, and yet I had to say it. I was, after all, still a child. "He was our teacher. He couldn't have been working for the Circle."
Mrs. Baxter was calm as she took the seat next to Abby. "Think about it, girls. You know having operatives deep inside the Agency would be a high priority for the Circle. And an operative at the Gallagher Academy - an operative with so much access to Cammie . . ."
"You're wrong," Bex said.
"It's an old and effective practice," Mrs. Baxter said softly. "Recruit operatives who are young, encourage them to spend their breaks training with the Circle, working with the Circle. And then send them back to school." She was so poised - so good and wise and beautiful that it was almost impossible to doubt her as she looked at us both and said,
"But make no mistake, girls. We know what Joe Solomon did over his summer vacation."
"What if he's changed?" Bex challenged. "People change. Maybe he's not working with them anymore."
"It's not the Boy Scouts," Abby answered. "It's not that easy to just walk away."
We sat in silence for a long time before I finally turned back to my Aunt Abby. "Why did you come here tonight?"
"I was worried about you, Squirt. I was - "
"Where's my mom?" I heard my voice rising, but I didn't try to stop it.
"She's fine, Squirt." Abby looked at me. "She couldn't come herself, so I came. She's fine."
"Why couldn't she come?" I blurted. "What's so important that -"
"All right, then." Mr. Baxter pushed up from the table, signaling that the Q&A portion of our night was officially over. "It's best you two get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. We'll have to get up early to get you back to school.
Tomorrow. School. Bex and I looked at each other. Wordlessly, we both stood and started for the door. Roseville felt a million miles away.
"Abby?" Bex stopped and turned in the doorway, waited for my aunt to look up. "How old . . . When he joined them . . . how old was he?"
Abby's smile was soft but sad. She swallowed hard before she said, "Sixteen."
Chapter Eight
How To Return To School
(A list by Cameron Morgan and Rebecca Baxter)
· Do laundry. This is far easier , by the way, when you're at your grandmother's house and not an MI6 safe house (because, while the latter might have far cooler defense mechanisms, the former has a way better laundry room).
· Pack. Which is where living in a series of safe house comes in handy, because you've never actually unpacked.
· Set alarms. Because even a Gallagher Girl's internal alarm clock has a tendency to get wonky when you're dealing with vast amounts of stress and jet lag.
· Dress in layers. Because planes are always cold. And also, it's far easier to change your appearance and lose a tail if you can also lose your sweater.
· Double-check that you have the essay you wrote for Culture and Assimilation, the codes you broke for Practical Encryption, and the research paper I did for Covert Operations.
· Take the CoveOps paper out of the bag. Stomp on it. Kick it. Throw it in the trash.
· Take it out of the trash and pack it again. Just in case.
It took three planes, two SUVs, and at one point a very questionable-smelling VW van, but sixteen hours later I found myself staring through bulletproof glass at the bare trees and patches of half-melted snow and ice that lined Highway 10 as it cut through the forest like a snake. After three weeks of living like a gypsy in a foreign land, it felt especially strange to be coming home.
Home.
"Whatcha thinking about, Cam?" Bex poked me and smiled.
"Oh, you know . . . the usual," I said as calmly as possible while sitting in the back of a limousine that was as unusual as possible. (I'm pretty sure it used to belong to the president.)
"Have you covered vehicular surveillance yet?" Aunt Abby asked.
Bex shook her head.
"Really?" Mrs. Baxter said. She sounded genuinely surprised. "I thought you would have covered that in . . ."
She trailed off, but I knew what she was going to say: Covert Operations. CoveOps. Mr.
Solomon's class.
"Oh, well. I guess there's no time like the present." She crossed her legs. "Tell me, Cammie, What do you see?"
Two cars ahead of us."
"Lead cars, yes." Mrs. Baxter nodded her approval, then turned to her daughter. "Bex?"
"One tail vehicle."
"Right," Mrs. Baxter said. She went on, citing the origins of moving surveillance and protection, something about the chariots of ancient Rome and the death of Caesar, but my mind was drifting. I was watching the dozens of other cars - limousines just like ours (though slightly less bulletproof) that filled the road, waiting to carry my classmates back through our towering gates.
"I've never seen the line so long," Bex said, and I'd been thinking the same thing. "Guards must still be on vacation time," she joked.
Aunt Abby shifted in the seat beside me, but she didn't say anything. I expected the car to slow and wait its turn in line. But instead, Mrs. Baxter asked, "What's the second rule of countersurveillance?"
"Resist routine and expectations," Bex and I replied just as Mr. Baxter jerked the limo into the passing lane. I felt the car moving faster and faster, flying by the long line of cars waiting to carry my classmates back to school.