Authors: Jennifer Allison

The Dead Drop (16 page)

Agent Moscow listened with a prim expression. She pressed her earphones closer to her head with a childlike hand painted with chipped red fingernail polish. “Eet’s Russian,” she said.

“Really?” This was intriguing, since they were supposed to be in the Spy Museum’s imaginary country of Khandar. “What is she saying?”

“She speaks very soft, but I hear something about a meeting—‘the last meeting.’” Agent Moscow frowned; a furrow appeared between her dark, thinly plucked eyebrows. “She says, ‘
Poét znáet
’—which means ‘the poet knows’; ‘
Poslédnaya fstrécha’
—that means ‘the last meeting’; ‘
Právda vsegda
’—‘the truth lives forever’; ‘
Poét znáet
’—‘the poet knows’. . .” Agent Moscow paused. “She’s repeating the same phrases again.”

Roger stared at Agent Moscow. “So—those words actually mean something?” His face looked pale and drawn, as if he were just recovering from a bout of the flu.

“Roger—I mean, Agent Shockwave—are you saying there
isn’t s
upposed to be a Russian woman’s voice on these audio surveillance machines?” Gilda demanded.

She felt a distinct tickle in her ear. There was something eerily significant about those phrases, “The poet knows . . . The last meeting . . . The truth lives forever . . .” and something about the pleading tone of the woman’s voice made Gilda believe that this might be a significant message—something worth further investigation.

Something’s definitely up at this museum,
she thought. She remembered how, in a case she had investigated a few months before, she had learned that ghosts can use the capabilities of machines as a kind of “voice box” to help them speak to the living.
Roger seems baffled by this voice,
she thought.
My guess is that we’ve got a genuine haunting here.

“If you’re hearing a voice on the machine, I’m sure there’s supposed to be a voice,” April snapped.

Ignoring April’s comment, Roger grabbed a pair of headphones and put them on. “I worked to get rid of that voice all day yesterday, and I thought it was finally gone. And now it’s back again.” He shook his head ruefully. “Gilda is right,” he said. “That voice
isn’t
supposed to be there. I even called the company who created the show software, and they couldn’t figure out why it’s happening, either. I have no idea where that voice came from.”

The members of Team Crypt whispered among themselves:

“What did he say?”

“He said something’s wrong with the surveillance equipment.”

“It’s broken?”

“No, it’s probably sabotage from a rat agent on one of the other teams.”

April looked annoyed. “Roger—our recruits are supposed to be honing their audio surveillance skills right now. Maybe you can investigate these little technical glitches later.” April didn’t like wasting time, and she hated any suggestion that the fantasy situations created at Spy Camp were not the
real
thing.

“Actually,” said Roger, completely ignoring April’s criticism, “this is good because you all heard that voice, too, which means that I’m not crazy.”

“Excellent news, Roger,” said April, sardonically.

“I was beginning to wonder.” He stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head at the equipment as if it had just attempted a malicious practical joke. “But if you’re hearing it, too, it’s not just me.”

“Recruits!” April clapped her hands. “Everyone listen up! Time to move on to video surveillance!”

As she dutifully followed April and her recruits from the audio room, Gilda noticed Roger leaning against a wall, still holding one headphone to his ear and listening to the voice. He had the concerned, disappointed look of someone who had just completed a complex jigsaw puzzle only to discover that a single piece was missing.

The Frightening Face

The video surveillance room featured an enormous video screen on one wall and stations resembling pinball machines or video games equipped with smaller screens along with various buttons and levers to control the movement of cameras. Gilda’s recruits immediately began pushing levers and trying to make the screens work.

“Okay, recruits, since it looks like some enemy agents have sabotaged our audio surveillance equipment, we’re going to work on your video monitoring skills instead.”

“Cool!”

April held up a photograph of an attractive, olive-skinned woman wearing a business suit. “Your job is to follow this woman. Her code name is
Agent Topaz.
Watch her closely and see where she goes and who she talks to.”

“Agent Zelda,” said April, looking at Gilda, “can you tell your recruits to stop playing with the equipment until they understand how to use it?” April eyed James Bond and The Misanthrope, who were all but taking out wrenches and screwdrivers to disassemble the video monitors.

“Stop touching stuff,” said Gilda, walking over to the boys. This was a phrase Gilda’s brother had used with Gilda throughout her life—usually in reference to the interior of his car, his computer, or any other object he owned. It usually deterred her for about half a minute.

“But we already know how to use this equipment,” said The Misanthrope. “When you push this button, you see the view from camera one. This one is camera two—”

“Alert!” April shouted and waved at the front of the room. “Agent Topaz has entered the hotel. Everyone in positions; we need to get a clear picture of what she’s up to and who she’s meeting with. Start working those surveillance cameras, and don’t lose sight of her, whatever you do!”

The large video screen at the front of the room showed the empty lobby of a hotel. A thin, elegant woman entered the lobby, deep in conversation with a man.

“There she is!” yelled The Comedian. “Get her!”

The kids frantically pushed buttons and pulled levers at their stations, zooming the view on their video monitoring screens in and out, doing their best to switch camera controls to follow the constant motion of the woman through hallways and into stairwells where she paused to have whispered conversations with suspicious-looking contacts.

Gilda had to give her team credit; they really did know how to work the surveillance equipment.

“They’re actually doing pretty well,” April whispered in Gilda’s ear. “They’re tracking her better than the other teams did. I’m going to run to the ladies’ room; looks like you have everything under control here.”

Gilda’s spy recruits had just managed to close in on Agent Topaz and were turning up their dials in an attempt to get an audio reading when every screen in the room went black.

“Hey!” James Bond shouted. “Who turned out the lights?”

“Probably just a power outage,” Gilda suggested. “Real spies have to deal with unexpected technical problems all the time.”

“I don’t think it’s a power outage,” said The Misanthrope. “The overhead lights are still working.”

Gilda was just about to fetch Roger for help when every video screen filled with grainy gray and black dots. Gilda’s left ear tickled. She felt a prickly sensation all over her skin as a staticky electrical roar filled the room.

“Hey! The video is coming back!”

Everyone waited for the image of a hotel interior to re-emerge on their screens, but instead, the screens only blurred with more black dots that moved faster and faster, clustering together in what seemed an attempt to form an image.

“I bet this never happens when you have a solar-powered system,” said Stargirl.

“Cool!”

“Weird! What’s going on, Case Officer Zelda?”

The temperature in the room plummeted. Gilda shivered, sensing a presence that was gathering energy—struggling to gain enough strength to reveal itself. Then, with the unexpected immediacy of a flash of lightning, a face peered from every screen.

Baby Boy screamed.

“Omigod!” squealed Stargirl.

The other kids fell silent, transfixed by the face’s sightless, open eyes. Dark makeup smudged the eyes and black-red blood trickled from a wound on the woman’s head.

It was the face of a dead woman. Upon the woman’s throat was a brooch in the shape of a star. Gilda had the disturbing feeling that she
recognized
the face. The recognition was particularly upsetting because there was only one place she had ever seen this woman.

It’s her,
she thought.
It’s the face from my dream.

After recovering from their shock, Gilda’s spy recruits seemed to decide that the face on their video screens must be part of the surveillance test—something intentionally created by the Spy Museum to scare them.

“Like I said before, I bet a rat agent from another spy team is sabotaging our surveillance equipment,” The Misanthrope suggested.

“That’s a good theory,” said Gilda. “We’d better all keep our eyes open for double agents.”
The truth is that he just saw a ghost,
she thought.

Deciding that everyone needed to recover from the surveillance activity and hoping to learn more about the events of the morning, Gilda sent her team on a bathroom break and told them to meet her back in the Ultra Room for lunch.

It’s very weird that at the moment, I’m acting as an adult who’s concealing true information from kids. It’s ironic because I HATE it when adults do that. On the other hand, I now understand something: I think so-called grown-ups hide or even lie about the truth when they don’t have a clue what to say about it to kids. They’re scared and confused and don’t know how to explain what’s going on, so they don’t say anything. For example, if the grown-up in charge (me) doesn’t know exactly who or what that face on the video screens was that we all saw, how are the kids supposed to feel safe? Hence, not talking about it at all and hoping they’ll forget they ever saw it.

With a couple minutes to spare before lunchtime, Gilda decided to take the opportunity to look for Roger in his office.

Roger worked on a laptop computer, but most of his workspace resembled a utility closet.

Gilda opened the door to find Roger sitting in a chair with his eyes closed as if he had dozed off without realizing it. “Oh! Sorry.”

Roger rubbed his eyes. “Was I asleep?”

“Maybe just for a minute.”

“Don’t tell April. She’s loves that I’m experiencing this whole colicky baby thing on top of everything else going on here. She thinks it’s hilarious. ‘See, Roger? Now you know how I felt a couple years ago.’” Roger took off his baseball cap, rubbed the top of his head as if this might help wake him up, and reapplied the baseball cap. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m still kind of spooked out by that stuff in the audio room.”

“Good thing you weren’t in the video room a few minutes ago.”

“What happened?”

Gilda explained what she and her spy recruits had just seen—the woman’s face that had suddenly peered at them through the video screens.

“I’ve seen a lot of technical problems, but this is definitely the weirdest. I even started to wonder whether someone might be tampering with the equipment or the software in the control room. I asked the security staff to check out the museum’s surveillance cameras but we couldn’t find anything that looked suspicious.”

“Roger, I think we’re dealing with a haunting.” Gilda watched Roger carefully to gauge his reaction.

He looked doubtful. “I know there are supposed to be a lot of ghosts around D.C., but that seems far-fetched. Why the Spy Museum?”

“Why
not
the Spy Museum? Ghosts gravitate to places or objects they used during their lives, and this place is full of old objects with tons of history. Plus, ghosts often turn up more often when people die amid intense emotions or unfinished business.”

“There’s plenty of unfinished business around here; that’s for sure.”

“Exactly. This place is just filled with stories of intrigue and betrayal, not to mention all the spies who got killed before they finished whatever they had set out to do. Maybe one of them wants us to know something about her.”

“Maybe.” Roger’s face clouded as if he were angry with the ghost for interfering with the exhibits he had so carefully designed.

“Has anything like this happened before?”

“No.” Roger thought for a moment. “Well—there was one thing. When I placed that new gold lipstick pistol and the star brooch in the Sisterhood of Spies exhibit, I saw something strange in the mirror where that film about female spies plays.”

At the mention of the lipstick pistol and star brooch, Gilda’s ears perked up. She pulled out her reporter’s notebook to take notes. “Tell me more,” she said. “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

“It was like the regular film stopped, and this weird smoky thing appeared. . . . It kind of looked like a person, but I wasn’t sure what it was. All I knew was that it was looking at me—and I wanted to get away.” He picked up a screwdriver and began flipping and catching it in one hand nervously. “I made myself forget about it because I couldn’t find any way to explain it. When I checked the equipment, I couldn’t find a single thing to explain what happened.”

Other books

Barfing in the Backseat by Henry Winkler, Lin Oliver

Engaged (The ABCs of Erotica) by Maxxwell, Lexi

Tick Tick Tick by G. M. Clark

Mayday by Thomas H. Block, Nelson Demille

Sun Cross 2 - The Magicians Of Night by Hambly, Barbara

A Day Of Faces by Simon K Jones

Midnight Lady by Jenny Oldfield

Monster of the Apocalypse by Martens, C. Henry

The Chalk Giants by Keith Roberts

Lord John and the Private Matter by Diana Gabaldon