The night is chilly, and you can practically taste the salt in the air.
With the moon lighting my short jog to the hotel, I get there quickly.
I use the key card to let myself in the hotel and am sure to tuck my head down so that my face is hidden from the security cameras in the hall, find the gym, and hop on an elliptical. My mind is going faster than the machine.
Fifty-two minutes later, Terrance finally shows up. He takes off his jacket, revealing a tank top and surprisingly buff arms and then gets on the elliptical next to me.
“You’re late.”
“I wanted to make sure neither of us was being followed. And I did some digging, for your parents’ files and for yours.”
“And?”
“When I searched your name—have you ever done that?”
“No.”
“So you don’t know that the Cassleberry family—including their fourteen-year-old daughter—were all killed in a car accident nearly eight years ago?”
“What?” He shows me the article. “Did they fake my death to keep me safe?”
“It appears that way. What did your dad tell you after your mom was killed?”
“That something bad happened with their company. That we were going to leave the country. When we got in the car, it wouldn’t start. He told me to get out of the car and run—and no matter what—not to stop running until I got to Uncle Sam’s apartment. That he would take care of me.”
“Uncle Sam?”
“He was a guy my dad was friends with. He wasn’t my real uncle, but he lived a few blocks from my dad’s office in a converted warehouse.”
He stares at me. “As in the government, Uncle Sam?”
“I never even thought of that,” I say, rubbing my temples. “Terrance, I’m on my first mission. I can’t deal with all of this now.”
“Tell me about how your mother was killed.”
“It was just after dusk on a Wednesday night. I had been outside sitting up in a tree I liked to climb when she called me inside—weird, I just remembered that. Anyway, we were getting ready for bed when she heard a noise coming from the living room. She told me to hide in the closet, took the locket from around her neck, told me it was top secret, and that no matter what I heard I was not to come out. But then she screamed and I somehow knew she was in danger, so I got a gun out of my father’s bedside table. I knew how to shoot, but I didn’t plan to. I guess I thought I could give her the gun. Or maybe use it to threaten whoever was there.” I close my eyes, reliving it. “When I got to the living room, she was on her knees and there was a man holding a gun to her head. He was yelling at her. Telling her to give him something. She had her head down, but was completely calm when she said she didn’t have it. He slapped her. Told her she was going to die. She looked up and into the man’s eyes, and that’s when she noticed me standing behind him. She held my eyes and imperceptibly shook her head. I knew she wanted me to hide. I knew she didn’t want him to see me. Her eyes were pleading. The man threatened her again and his finger twitched. I screamed. Pulled the trigger. Shot him in the left shoulder. But it was too late. He had fired and I watched as a little round hole formed in her forehead.”
“Then what?” he asks, startling me and causing me to open my eyes.
“He turned around and pointed his gun at me. I’ll never forget the shape of his gun. It was a suppressed Beretta Twenty-One Bobcat pistol—I learned that later at school. They had them at the shooting range along with the Walther PPK that was like my dad’s.”
“Keep going.”
“Oh, yeah. Um, then the rest is sort of a blur. I shot at him again, hit his right arm and caused him to drop the gun. He lunged at me and knocked the gun out of my hand. I grabbed a long bamboo pole out of a decorative pot, used it as a weapon. I was already well-trained in martial arts. I hit his shoulder, which was bleeding all over the place. Then hit him in the head. He fell down. I dropped the stick and ran. He grabbed my foot as I ran by and knocked me down. I managed to kick him in the face and got out of the house. He followed me, yelled at me to stop, that he just wanted to talk to me. But I didn’t stop. I ran as fast as I could down the street. He fired at me. Missed. I think I ducked behind a car, because I remember glass from the window raining down on me. Then I ran into the neighbor’s yard, jumped the fence, ran down an alley and out to the main thoroughfare, where I stole a coat from a chair outside a cafe and calmly walked the two miles to my father’s office.”
“Then what?”
“I was bleeding. Someone patched me up. When my dad got there, I told him everything that had happened, minus the necklace part. He hugged me. We stayed at his office. I slept a lot and he worked a lot. We didn’t really talk about my mom. Didn’t have a funeral. Or a memorial. Forty-eight hours later, we got in his car. He told me we were leaving the country for a while. When he turned the ignition, the car made a weird sputtering sound. He looked scared, told me to get out. Go to Uncle Sam’s. I jumped out, the car exploded. I was knocked to the ground and dinged up, but I ran to Uncle Sam’s. The same person bandaged me up. I stayed there. A week later, I was at Blackwood.”
“And you’ve never told anyone about the necklace?”
“No.”
“Did anyone ask you if your mom gave you anything?”
“Both my dad and Uncle Sam did, but I told them no. I thought she wanted me to keep it a secret. Like it was meant just for me because it had our picture in it—never once did I think she literally meant
top secret
, as in classified.”
“Let’s take a look.”
“I’m not sure I should let you, Terrance. She may have died for this.”
“You have to trust someone. I have more to show you.”
“You show me yours, I'll show you mine?” I tease.
He grins at me and leads me into an empty relaxation room, grabbing a bottle of water out of the mini fridge along the way and tossing it to me.
“I have a hacker friend who is here in Montrovia working on something top secret.”
“Something related to the Prince?”
“He couldn’t tell me. Anyway, he can get into anything—anytime, anywhere. He had never heard of Blackwood Academy either, but he was able to find it and then through a series of sophisticated techniques—”
“Terrance, I need facts, not how you did it.”
“Well, it was brilliant. Double back door, password, encryption. Anyway, we hacked into Blackwood and found your file. You’re a badass, by the way. And they definitely knew you were sneaking out. In fact, they kept making it harder for you. They were testing you.”
“Obviously, I passed. And no offense, but I hacked into my own file. Actually, one of the guys I dated—”
“Hooked up with?”
“Whatever—hacked it for me.”
“You only saw what they wanted you to see. Basic notes about your behavior. Your personality profile. Notes from your shrink and teachers. Your grades. Right?”
“Yes. So what did you find out?”
“That Blackwood didn’t exist before you. I believe it may have been
created
for you.”
“That makes no sense. The school had been there forever. I was the new kid.”
“It had only been there for a week. For years before that, Blackwood had been an elite boarding school known as the Turnberry Academy, but the school was closed suddenly
due to mismanaged funds
.” He studies me. “Have you ever thought that your parents were training you to be a spy? You speak how many languages? Your passport had more stamps than anyone I know.”
“But why?”
“That’s what I want to know. I also wanted to know about your partner—your brother, Ari—how was he chosen. And why. We were able to access his CIA file, no problem.”
“What did you find out about him?”
“Army. Special Forces. Commendation. The fact that he was sent to train with the CIA at his age was unusual but not unheard of. But what
is
surprising is that you have
no
file.”
I shrug. “I probably don’t warrant one yet.”
He shakes his head, disagreeing. “With the way your parents died, there should be something. The CIA is meticulous at recording information. We did find something interesting, though. An encrypted message. Just five words. Sent to an address we couldn’t trace.”
“What did it say?”
“
Spy Girl is a go.
It went out on Sunday morning at 11:12 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.”
“The Dean called me into his office at 10:30 to give me my mission.”
“I think
you
are Spy Girl.”
I can’t help but smile. “I have a code name?”
“Yes,” he says, punching me in the shoulder. “Don’t look so happy. Tell me this, when did you first hear the name Huntley Bond?”
“A few days ago, when I was given my mission.”
“There are Huntley Bond social media accounts. Well, Huntley Bond-Von Allister now—you recently announced your name change.”
“I what?” He pulls up a profile and scrolls through photos of me over the years. All taken at Blackwood. Me with other students. A cute photo of me and Josh. “I don’t understand. These are all my posts. But at Blackwood we weren’t allowed on social media. We had our own private intranet they called XBook. It allowed us to post stuff for each other to see and chat with each other after curfew, but was not public.”
“My guess is they allowed you to post on XBook, then some were filtered through to here. Look, a few weeks ago when Ares Von Allister passed, you mentioned a life-changing event. They’ve been setting up your cover for months. Years. Almost eight years, to be exact.”
He pulls up a post where I mention finding out about my real father and the brother I never knew. Along with a cute selfie. Since then, no posts.
“Part of me is mad I didn’t know about this. Part of me thinks it’s brilliant. Have they done this for all the Blackwood students?”
“I wondered the same thing myself. So I compared the students from the Blackwood intranet to what was out there. They used their real names. And I have a sneaking suspicion that the reclusive Ares Von Allister’s death was well-timed.”
“You think he was murdered?”
“I think we have to consider that possibility. His passing was essential to your cover.”
“That’s what doesn’t make sense. After today, I won’t ever be able to go undercover again. I was photographed with the Queen. Why would they spend eight years of training and cover building to blow it on saving the Prince of one small country?”
“You tell me, Spy Girl.” He looks at his watch. “I gotta go, and you need sleep, Huntley Penelope Bond-Von Allister.” He hands me the small duffle that he brought in. “There’s a phone in here. I added a little technology, so it’s untraceable. Destroy the other one and only use this to call me if you need something important. The number is saved. It will route it to a computer, and I will receive the message. Be careful. I have a feeling you’re being watched very closely.”
“Because they have high expectations?”
“That and because I think it’s a little too much of a coincidence that Blackwood is now closing its doors.”
“It is?”
“Yes, and there’s something else.” He glances nervously around the room, like he’s afraid to tell me.
“What?”
“A few minutes after we read your file, it was deleted. Actually,
all
the files were gone. Like Blackwood never existed. Like
you
never existed.”
I shake my head not even sure how to reply to this information. I just give Terrance a hug. As I do, I hand him the disk from my mom’s locket. “This may put you in danger.”
“I can handle it.”
“How do I know you’re not part of whatever scheme this is?”
“You don’t, Spy Girl. But you have to trust someone.”
MISSION:
DAY SIX
After my meeting with Terrance, I snuck back into my room and quickly fell asleep. I’m awakened a few hours later by Ari.
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Our mission, duh.”
“Oh, sorry. Not really awake yet.”
“This can’t be helped. With the Prince constantly at your side, it doesn’t give us time to talk. Ellis said you requested information on the cousins and their boyfriends. I have that info and have been over it.” He drops a file in my lap. “Read it and destroy it.”
“You want to give me the condensed version? Is there anything you thought was important?”
“I think it’s important we both read it. There may be something you catch that I don’t. You read. I’ll order breakfast. What sounds good?”
“Don’t laugh, but I’m dying for a cheeseburger. And hash browns.”
“Done,” he says, picking up the phone and ordering us two, along with a couple fully-caffeinated sodas.
He sits on my bed, messing around on his phone, while I read.
“I heard you slept with Allie again.”
“Because she snuck into my bedroom the night they arrived. Last night, I was working on getting close to Clarice.”
“How did that go?”
“It didn’t. But I did get the impression that it might, tonight.”
I keep reading, nothing catching my attention until . . . “Wait, their father was killed six months ago? In a hunting
accident
that may have been a suicide? Wouldn’t he have been in line for the throne after Lorenzo?”
“Yes, he was.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Well, here’s an interesting little tidbit to go along with that. The accident happened the day before I was pulled out of Special Forces and sent into my training with the CIA, or whoever it is that I’m working for.”
“
You don’t think we’re working for the CIA?” I ask.
“I’m starting to wonder if it’s something more. One of those organizations that is more covert.”
“Like we could be working for the bad guys?”
“No, but I get the feeling they operate outside of the usual boundaries.”