by Sonja Stone
Cameron paused. “We haven’t located him yet. But on that subject, what about Damon?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s still at large. Are you concerned?”
Nadia shook her head. “I’m actually not worried about Damon at all.”
“Can you tell me about that?”
“If he was going to kill me, I’d already be dead. He was supposed to kill me, right? And here I am. I don’t think he could do it. He and I were pretty close.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Of course not. This is conjecture. If I’d heard from him, don’t you think I would’ve reported it?”
“I don’t know. You just told me how close the two of you were.”
“Not so close that I’d commit treason.”
Dr. Cameron scribbled a few notes onto his legal pad. “Have you set any personal goals for yourself this semester?”
“I’d love to not get shot.”
Dr. Cameron laughed. “Sure, that seems reasonable. Is there anything else you’d care to discuss while you’re here?”
“I think I’m all set.”
He handed her a clipboard thick with psych tests. “In that case, please take a few minutes and fill these out.”
Nadia sighed as she flipped through the pages. The usual tests: multiple choice, short answer, fill-in-the-blanks, true or false. Love is overrated; I enjoy manipulating other people’s feelings; It’s okay to steal if you need the item. “Have there always been so many?”
“You may complete the paperwork in the waiting room. As always, my door is open should anything arise. I’ll see you soon.” Dr. Cameron stood.
“Thanks,” Nadia said as she crossed the room. “I can’t wait.”
The moment Nadia left the dean’s sitting room, Simon Hawthorne plopped into an oversized leather chair and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He checked his watch, sighed loudly, and dropped his head back against the headrest, staring in frustration at the ceiling, which, incidentally, he found devoid of security cameras.
Given his questionable ethics, he’d visited loads of headmasters, but it was never an activity he enjoyed. At this juncture in his life, each hour spent with the principal was wasted time. He had things to do, people to cheat, places to go.
Speaking of places to go….A week earlier, before checking in at the Academy, Simon had visited the quaint little town of Cave Creek, where he’d had the foresight to secure a postal box for himself. This was a lesson learnt the hard way, after his previous headmaster had confiscated the kilo of aluminum powder that Simon had ordered online. Simon hadn’t actually intended to blow anything up, but he firmly believed in planning for all contingencies, which is why he’d ordered the components necessary for the assembly of an improvised explosive device in the first place. The headmaster, however, hadn’t been impressed with Simon’s preparedness, and had immediately placed him on probation.
Currently, Simon was expecting a package from an old mate back home—nothing special, only a few odds and ends. He wasn’t privy to a school-issued vehicle, as his driver’s license wasn’t entirely valid, so he’d need to make nice with someone who could drive. Perhaps his new roommate, Alan Cohen. A bit peculiar, that one.
When Simon could wait no longer, he crossed the room and rapped on Dean Shepard’s closed door. “Simon Hawthorne, madam,” he called. “Reporting as instructed.”
“Yes, come in,” she answered. As he entered, she continued. “I apologize, I forgot you were waiting. Please, have a seat.”
Simon resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he settled into one of her wingback leather chairs. He remained silent as she lifted a thick folder from her desk. Reports, assessments, charges filed, written reprimands. Simon had perused the file before. It made for entertaining reading.
“Do you know what this is?” Shepard asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Simon lied.
“It’s your file,” she said. “MI-6 was good enough to forward it after they kicked you out.”
“Technically, I wasn’t kicked out so much as encouraged to pursue an alternate—”
Shepard opened the file. “Petty theft, cheating, identification forgery—”
“I only added a few years to my age, and strictly for the purposes of obtaining a rental car. Rest assured, I made no attempt to purchase liquor.”
“Breaking and entering, hacking, kidnapping.”
“That last charge was completely unfounded. Stealing a rival mascot should not qualify as kidnapping, especially when it’s a hound that I showered with affection. I vehemently object—”
“Renting a flat in the headmaster’s name to host parties,” she continued.
Simon quietly laughed. “That was brilliant. It took him months to figure it out.”
The look she shot silenced him immediately.
“I beg your pardon.” He cleared his throat. “In retrospect, it’s not as funny as I remember.”
“Shutting down London’s CCTV surveillance system ‘just to see if I could.’ ”
“Did you know that London has one camera to every eleven people? If that’s not a violation of privacy, I don’t know what is.”
Dean Shepard closed the file and dropped it onto her desk. “Do you know why you were invited to Desert Mountain?”
Simon flashed what he hoped was a winning smile. “My magnetic charm and boyish good looks?”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Let me explain why we agreed to accept you into our program.”
“Yes, madam.” Simon straightened in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know. He’d assumed some arrangement between the CIA and MI-6: we’ll take your derelicts if you take ours. Or maybe his mum had written it into her contract, knowing perfectly well that her son often colored outside the lines, as it were.
Shepard’s eyes locked onto his. “As I’m sure you’re aware, your mother placed a condition on the acceptance of her last assignment. That condition was that you be admitted to the MI-6 training program. When you were dismissed, the headmaster found your mother unreachable.”
Simon remained neutral as Shepard spoke. He’d known his mum was in trouble. She’d missed her last three check-ins. MI-6 refused to send an extraction team; her supervisor had a list of “plausible explanations” as to why she’d failed to make contact. But Simon knew.
“The agency reported her status as Missing in Action,” Shepard said.
He’d deliberately gotten himself booted from the MI-6 program, knowing his mum would be forced to return home.
“After several weeks of searching, well…you know.”
That’s when they’d changed her status to KIA. Killed in Action.
“Which brings us to why you’re here. Your mother was a loyal friend to our agency. Decades ago, at great peril to her own life, she assisted the CIA in the exfiltration and relocation of a Syrian asset. The mission was highly controversial, and she saved not only the life of the asset, but also the life of the CIA officer most closely involved. When he found out your mother had gone missing, he checked up on you.”
Simon’s ears perked up.
Shepard continued. “Your difficulties at the MI-6 training program likely should’ve deterred him, but apparently his loyalty, like your mother’s, runs deep. He insisted that you be admitted to Desert Mountain Academy.”
This was him. The one Simon had been looking for. It had to be. He forced an even tone of voice. “May I ask the name of my generous benefactor?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve only heard his code name.”
That’s a start, thought Simon.
“Which, unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to share. But I know this.” The dean held up her right index finger. “This is what that relationship buys you.”
“A finger?”
“A semester. One semester.”
“Ah. That makes more sense.”
“I fully expect that your shenanigans are well in the past.”
“Worry not,”
Simon said. “I’d sell out my own mum to stay out of trouble. You know…” He leaned forward. “If she weren’t already dead.”
Dean Shepard looked down at her lap, then back up at Simon. “We were all very sorry to learn about her death.”
Presumed death.
“As I mentioned, she was a great friend to the Agency. And while I sympathize with your loss, I want to be sure we understand each other.”
He nodded. “Madam, I’m grateful for the opportunity you’ve provided.” He’d actually been presented with two options: Desert Mountain Academy or the United States Military Academy at West Point, but even with the military revoking its Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy, Simon didn’t imagine he and the Army were a smart match. Furthermore, at West Point he wouldn’t stand a chance of success.
Not with his mission.
This was exactly where he needed to be.
An hour and a half later, Nadia finished the psychological questionnaires. She left the clipboard with Dr. Cameron and headed back down the path, through the shady tunnel of trees. As she reached the sidewalk leading up the hill, someone shouted her name.
She turned, searching for the voice. On the second-story patio outside the dining hall, Jack leaned over the railing and waved. Her stomach flipped as she saw him, and an uncontrollable smile spread across her face. They’d texted every day and talked on the phone a few times, but she hadn’t seen him in over a month. And he looked amazing.
He wore a fitted white button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbows, jeans, boots. His dark hair, cropped in a military style, set off his sun-kissed olive skin. He cupped his mouth and shouted, “Wait there.”
He disappeared from view, reappearing a minute later along the side of the Navajo Building. Weeks of missing him—his arms around her, his lips on hers—evaporated as he quickly closed the distance between them.
Before she could speak, he picked her up and spun her around.
Nadia laughed. “Put me down.”
He did, then held her at arms’ length while his caramel eyes studied her face. “Hi,” he said, smiling. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she said, completely unable to remove the ridiculous grin from her face. “How was Zurich?”
“Incredible,” he said. “Except that my father was there.”
“Well, it was his wedding. How’s your new stepmother?”
“Almost old enough to drink.”
“You’re kidding,” she said.
“She’s twenty-five.”
Nadia laughed again. “Oh, that’s brutal.”
“You have no idea. It’s so good to see you.”
“You too.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment, both trying to contain their grins, until Nadia asked, “Walk me to my dorm?”
“Of course. So, how’s Dr. Cameron?”
She tore her eyes away from his face as they started across the lawn. “The usual. Probing, invasive, low-key threatening.” She’d meant it as a joke, but it was a fairly accurate assessment. “Have you met the new dean?”
“Only in passing.” He glanced at his watch. “Our sit-down is in twenty. She’s briefing all team leaders this afternoon. You?”
“Just before I saw Cameron.”
“What did you think?”
“I like her. She normally runs The Farm in Virginia, so she trains actual CIA officers. I guess that makes her qualified to supervise a bunch of recruits.”
“She’s active CIA, not an administrator?”
“Yeah, why? Is that bad?”
“No, it’s just…” Jack frowned. “To be honest, I’m a little worried about next year. I need the dean’s recommendation to advance to the college-level training program at Langley. I don’t expect an easy pass, but her status as an active officer sets the bar really high. And with Wolfe gone, I feel like I’m starting from scratch, you know? I spent three semesters winning him over.”
“I don’t think you need to worry. Your record is impeccable. Plus, her position might be helpful. Since she runs the postgraduate program, her recommendation probably carries a lot more weight than Wolfe’s, right?”
He nodded. “That’s actually a really good point. I just hope we hit it off. Otherwise, I’m out of options.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Money for college. My dad—” Jack shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Here we are.”
As they reached her dorm a light breeze picked up, and the soft desert grasses flanking the entrance blew like purple smoke. The architecture of the dorms, with their smooth, adobe-styled exteriors and exposed wooden beams, was Southwestern classic. Discrete modern upgrades—unique to the Academy—included bulletproof glass in the lobby, security cameras in the hallways, and an emergency lockdown button in the resident assistant’s room.
Nadia reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the escort.”
“Hang on a second.” Jack took her arm and led her off the path. He lowered his voice as a few students trickled down the sidewalk. “Over break we talked about giving us another try. Do you want to go out this weekend? Dinner and a movie?”
Nadia hesitated as a flutter passed through her chest. She glanced down the hill toward the guard station. Historically, their timing hadn’t been great.
“Before you decide there’s something I need to say.” He took a deep breath and waited until the students walking by were out of earshot. “There are times in life when we ignore what we know to be true. When we refuse to listen to our gut—to our heart. Last semester, when I investigated you as the double agent, that was one of those times.” He took her hands in his. “I will spend every day of this semester proving to you that I have faith in you—that I have faith in us. That is, if you’ll let me.” He paused and glanced at the ground. “That sounded a lot less melodramatic in my head.”
Nadia laughed, flattered by his words. “No, it was perfect.” Just do it—take a chance. “Yes, of course I’ll go out with you. You didn’t even need the sales pitch.”
He nodded. “So I made that ridiculous speech for nothing?”
“It wasn’t for nothing.” Her cheeks flushed as she moved back onto the sidewalk.
Jack’s hand rested on the door. Nadia leaned against the glass. He moved toward her, tucking a stray curl behind her ear with his free hand.
She had the feeling he was about to kiss her when a group of senior girls emerged from their hallway and entered the lobby. Jack opened the door for them.
As they passed by, Nadia sighed. “I should go. If I don’t unpack in the next twenty minutes, Libby won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
“Okay. I’ll see you guys in a little while. But Saturday night, it’s just me and you.”
“Sounds great.”
He smiled at her as he backed away. “And thank you for giving us another chance. I promise it’ll be different this time.”
Jack Felkin had been ready to return to school almost from the moment he’d left for winter break. After last semester’s epic failure, he was eager to reestablish himself as a competent recruit. Just as important, he wanted to prove himself to Nadia, to show her how much she meant to him. But what really drove his desire to return: he absolutely loved the work, and this upcoming meeting with Dean Shepard was critical to his future.
After a quick stop at his dorm to change into something more formal, Jack headed across the lawn to Hopi Hall. He arrived with five minutes to spare, so he took a seat in the waiting room, straightened his tie, and tried to look relaxed.
Over break Jack’s father had made clear that unless he chose to pursue medicine, Jack was on his own. The covert nature of the Academy dictated that Jack couldn’t divulge the true nature of his studies, but even if he could, his dad—a renowned vascular surgeon—thought doctors were godlike, and everyone else peons. Jack would need to secure an invitation to continue on with the CIA at the university level, and he had very little time to make an impression on the new Dean of Students.
One probl
em at a time, he reminded himself.
A few minutes later, Shepard’s door opened. Jack crossed the sitting room as his roommate, Noah, emerged from the dean’s office holding a large envelope.
“How’d it go?” Jack asked quietly.
Noah made the gesture of a knife slicing across his throat. “She said to go on in. Good luck, man.”
Jack’s stomach tightened as he knocked on the open office door. “Noah said you were ready for me?”
“Please, come in.” She waited for him to close the door and take a seat. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Jack. I’ve heard good things.”
“Thank you. The honor is mine.”
Dean Shepard wasted no time. “This semester, I’m implementing a new program. Each team leader will complete a Senior Project, a simulated operation, designed by active CIA officers. You will execute a series of mock missions, running your juniors as your agents.” She opened her bottom drawer, and then dropped a thick manila envelope labeled OPERATIONAL SPECIFICATIONS: JACK FELKIN onto her desk. “These are your op-specs. Treat this as an eyes-only document; share it with no one. No one on your team should have a complete picture of your endgame. Your general goals are listed in the Objectives section; you may design and execute the individual missions as you see fit, but individual op-specs are, again, eyes-only. For the purposes of this assignment, I am your handler. If you have any questions, bring them to me. You are to discuss the mission with no one else, understood?”
“Yes ma’am.” He suppressed his smile—he couldn’t wait to examine the file, to design his missions. Shepard was the real deal.
“You have seven weeks to complete your project. Keep in mind that your graduation is contingent upon successful completion of these missions. Any questions?”
“What about seniors who weren’t chosen as team leaders? Will they be running missions with…agents?” Only a select number of seniors held the honor of team leader, and Jack didn’t like the idea of his juniors learning bad habits from second-rate students.
Dean Shepard leaned forward and folded her hands on her desk. After a moment she said, “Naturally, I wish them every success, but their ability to run missions does not interest me. Their Senior Projects are not contingent on subordinate participation. So the short answer is no, they are not running agents.”