by Sonja Stone
Alan generally did not notice the subtle innuendos exchanged between the sexes, but when Libby had asked, “Isn’t Simon just the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?” he had deduced that she found their new teammate appealing, though he could not for the life of him ascertain why, as Simon was clearly a hooligan.
The instant Simon turned off the shower, Alan moved from his bed and began talking at the bathroom door. “We need to discuss something.”
The door flew open, startling Alan.
“What’d you say?” Simon waltzed into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “I can’t hear a bloody thing over the extractor fan.” He reached into the bathroom and flipped the switch.
“No, leave it on or the room will be too humid,” Alan said. “I was saying that I understand you are new, and so you could not possibly have this information, but Libby and I are kind of…good friends.”
“Is that right then?” Simon asked, eyebrows raised.
“It is.”
Simon rubbed his wet hair with a hand towel. “Well, I have to say, mate, I really had no idea.” He paused, squinted off to the side, then shook his head. “No. No, I don’t see it.” He returned to the bathroom.
As usual, the conversation was not going as Alan had hoped. “Nevertheless, I trust you will honor the code.”
Simon leaned his head out. “The code? What code is that?”
“You know. The thing about brothers. Not moving in on my girl.” Alan’s face warmed; he knew it must be bright pink by now. He should not have tried the expression my girl.
Simon stepped back into the bedroom. He looked rather amused. “Your girl? So you’re more than good friends?”
“We are moving in that direction.”
“Let me ask you something.” Simon sat on the edge of his bed, which he had not bothered to make. “Have you in any way whatsoever indicated these feelings to Libby?”
“Of course I have.”
“How?”
Alan glanced down at the floor, then back up at his roommate. Why did Simon insist on putting him on the spot? “I sent her a gift. You know, over break.”
“Something romantic then?”
Alan nodded. “Naturally.”
“What was it?” Simon cocked his head to the side.
“What was the gift? Well, you know.”
“I really don’t. Jewelry? Flowers? Chocolates?”
What did it matter? Alan cleared his throat. “Pears.”
Simon’s eyes brightened as he leaned forward. “I’m sorry, did you say pears?”
“Yes, pears. I sent her a box of holiday pears.”
“Pears,” Simon repeated. He stood and went back toward the bathroom. As he passed, he mumbled, “Well, that’s quite extraordinary.”
“So we have a deal?” Alan called after him.
He heard Simon laugh. “No worries, mate. She’s not at all my type.”
* * *
—
It took less than four hours for Simon to break his word.
After third period the students were given a short respite, and Alan’s team had gone to the dining hall for refreshments. Now at the conclusion of break, Simon was escorting Libby to their fourth class, political science, while Alan trailed miserably behind. Libby was doing that thing where she laughed too loudly and touched his arm too much.
Alan lagged for a moment to let Nadia catch up. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she said.
He matched her pace, which was rather brisk for such a small-framed person. “Am I crazy, or is there a hidden message in a jar of honey?”
“First of all, those are two separate and distinct questions,” Nadia said. “Secondly, what do you mean a hidden message? Like a fortune cookie?”
“No, as a gift.”
“I’m sorry, you’re gonna have to spell it out for me,” Nadia said.
“If someone gives you a jar of honey, might it mean that they think of you that way? Like you are their ‘honey?’ ” Alan put air quotes around honey so Nadia would not be confused, as she was not the most intelligent person he had ever met. But she did have an acute sense of people’s motivations.
“Um, I’m not really sure there’s a deeper meaning to a jar of honey.”
“Then why did she give it to me?”
Nadia shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because you sent her pears? Thanks for the gift, by the way. I guess mine got lost in the mail.”
Alan sighed and looked away.
Nadia slowed and put her hand on his arm. “So, how did things go over break? What did your saba say when you told him he’d have to find a new CIA informant?”
He shot her a sideways glare. “I was not his informant last semester, nor will I become his informant. And your inflammatory language is unnecessary.”
“That’s exactly where you were headed.” She looked over her shoulder. “Reporting to Mossad is treason, and you agreed to keep him abreast of CIA intelligence pertaining to the Middle East. Am I misrepresenting your arrangement?”
Alan scowled in response.
“How did he even find out about Desert Mountain?”
“I did not tell him, if that is your implication,” Alan whispered. “He is the Director of Mossad. Mossad and the CIA are allies. I do not know how he found out about the Academy, but he knew long before I did. Again, I did not commit treason.”
“So have you told him or not?” she pressed.
“I tried. But he was MIA for the entire holiday. My parents do not even know where he is. He must be undercover somewhere. But I will speak with him, as soon as possible.”
“I’m not kidding about this.” She pulled his arm so he was forced to stop. “I need your word.”
Alan yanked his arm free. “Yes, you have my word.” He turned away, hoping that she needed his help someday so he could tell her she was on her own. Then she would know how he felt.
Now more irritated with Nadia than with his roommate, Alan hurried to catch up.
Libby and Simon walked into the classroom ahead of him and found seats together. Nadia moved around Alan to select a seat on the end of a row. Alan stood at the back of the room surveying his choices. One seat all the way in the front, or the one in the middle of the classroom, where he would have to pass a dozen kids all engaged in conversation.
Dean Shepard bumped into him as she entered the room.
“Excuse me, Alan. I didn’t even see you there.” She walked to the front, where the new teacher was writing his name on the dry-erase board. “Class, I would like to introduce your new political science professor. He’s just arrived this morning, so I trust you will be courteous as he acclimates. Please welcome Professor Katz.”
Professor Katz carefully placed his marker at the bottom of the board before turning to face the class. There was something familiar about the way he moved. He scanned the rows of students. When his gaze found Alan standing at the back of the room, he stopped. As their eyes locked, Alan’s heart flew to his throat.
A clean shave, dark plastic eyeglasses, and bleached hair altered his appearance, but Alan would know him anywhere.
His saba.
Tuesday morning, after exercises at the dojo and two miles worth of laps around campus, Nadia was ravenous. She grabbed the biggest plate she could find and took her place in the buffet line, eyeing the selections.
She didn’t normally like eggs, but the breakfast chef had a knack for making his taste more like cheese and bacon than scrambled eggs. Chicken sausage, whole-wheat toast, and a side of mixed berries rounded out her meal.
Nadia greeted her friends and then, as she’d done at every meal since returning to school, pushed her plate across the table to Damon’s old seat: corner of the room, back to the wall. She slid into her chair.
As Nadia got settled, Libby turned to Simon. “How are you finding Desert Mountain so far? Is it very different from MI-6’s training program?”
“It’s more physically demanding, but
your campus is so posh. In London we were crammed into a disused warehouse outfitted with classrooms, a dormitory, and a gymnasium.”
“I love London,” Libby said. “The shopping is amazing.”
“Why are you even here?” Alan asked, glaring at his roommate.
“Because it’s mealtime and I’m hungry.” Simon raised his eyebrows.
Alan scowled. “That is not what I mean. I do not understand how a member of a foreign intelligence agency was permitted to attend a CIA training school.”
“Alan, that’s not a very nice thing to say,” Libby said.
“What is not nice about it? It is a legitimate concern. Can you explain?” Alan asked Simon.
“Sure, mate. I’d be happy to fill you in. My mum worked for MI-6, which is how I got into their training program, but now she’s dead.”
“Oh, no.” Libby covered her mouth.
“Simon, I’m so sorry,” Nadia said. She couldn’t even think about losing her mom.
“There’s more.” Simon turned to Libby. “You think your dad’s an ass?”
“No.” Libby shook her head. “I never—”
“Seventeen years ago, immediately following the risky exfiltration of a Middle Eastern asset, a team of CIA officers spent the summer in London,” Simon said. “The mission went sideways, and the asset needed a new legend, an entirely falsified life. My mum stepped in to help, met my dad, and they had a summer romance. Now, supposedly, my mum never told him she got pregnant, but here’s the kicker. My father—who didn’t know I existed—found out she died and got me in here. So apparently, he does know about me, only he’s never wanted anything to do with me. And still doesn’t.” Simon’s fork clattered against his plate as he tossed it down. “So that’s my story.”
“That seems very inconclusive. What makes you think it was your father who arranged for your transfer?” Alan asked.
“Excellent question.” Simon nodded. “I’m assuming that the CIA officer—the one who got me in here after my mum was killed in action—is my dad, right? Because why else would he bother with some bloke he’s never met? But you’re right, I really shouldn’t be here.” Simon stood and pushed his plate toward the center of the table. “I should be back in England with my mum.” He stormed from the table.
“What is the matter with you?” Nadia asked Alan.
“With me? It is not fair that Simon is here,” he whispered, his face flushing. “If anyone finds out my family history, I am done.”
“Yeah, well. I told you to take care of that,” she whispered back.
“I cannot help if my saba is undercover somewhere,” Alan hissed. “Or whatever he is doing.” Large welts began to form on his neck.
Nadia narrowed her eyes. The physical reaction was a telltale sign of his deceit. “You’re hiding something. What is it?”
“Your accusations are making me very uncomfortable.”
Libby, likely in an effort to ease the tension, asked, “So Simon’s father is CIA?”
“Assuming he is telling the truth,” Alan said.
Nadia rolled her eyes. She was about to fire back when Libby rested her fork against her plate and folded her hands in her lap.
“Honey, you weren’t very nice to Simon. Must you say every little thing that pops into your head? Can’t you occasionally filter? Just run some of this stuff by Nadia and I before you speak.”
Alan studied his omelet. “Nadia and me,” he mumbled.
Libby sighed. “Can you maybe just try to get along with Simon? Please? For me?”
“For you I will try.”
Nadia glanced at Alan. Maybe that’s what was bothering him. It would probably take him a while to realize that Simon was not competition for Libby’s heart.
* * *
—
A few hours later, after Introduction to Intelligence Gathering followed by an archery lesson during physical education, Nadia’s team headed to the library for their afternoon study session.
Besides the dojo, the library was Nadia’s favorite building. Revolving doors led into the wide, open interior. Vaulted ceilings added to the dramatic effect of the glass wall that faced the lawn. Mahogany bookshelves lined the other three walls and formed neat aisles throughout the center of the room. Library ladders attached to brass bars provided access to the highest selections. To the left of the entrance, behind a secured counter, a row of locked cabinets held decades-old classified case files. The sign above read AUTHORIZED PERSONS ONLY.
At the far side of the main area was the language lab, a glass-walled room equipped with laptops, headphones, and computerized learning programs available for student use—every language, from Arabic to Zulu. Behind that, in a separate, locked room, lived the school’s cipher computer. It wasn’t available for student use except under special circumstances, or else students would never learn to crack a code.
Nadia had never needed the cipher computer.
“This way,” she said to Simon, and led them to the right, down a few open steps to the lower level, where teams gathered at small round tables for group study. Damon had initially selected their spot, so once again, she moved through the clusters of students toward the back corner. She nodded hello to a few classmates as she passed. “This is us,” she told Simon, and dropped her backpack on the floor by her chair.
Just as she finished unpacking her bag, Jack arrived. He pulled up a chair, wedging himself between her and Simon.
Jack draped his arm over Nadia’s shoulder and whispered, “Hi.”
She grinned, feeling her cheeks warm. “Hi.”
“I missed you,” he said quietly.
“I missed you, too.”
“You two are nauseating,” Simon said. “I’ve nothing against your lifestyle, but I shouldn’t be forced to witness it. Can’t you take this elsewhere?”
Libby laughed. “I think they’re cute as little bugs.”
“I hate bugs,” said Alan.
Jack smiled and moved his arm away. “Noah told me his team is being sent out this weekend for their first survival course. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s a solo.”
“A solo? What’s that?” Simon asked.
“Instead of traveling as a group and competing against another team, each recruit is dropped alone in the desert. Your job is to navigate back to campus in a timely fashion,” Jack said.
“It’s horrifying,” said Libby. “Twenty-four hours alone in the desert.”
“Mmm.” Jack shook his head. “More bad news.”
“What?” Libby asked. “Longer this time?”
“I’m afraid so. But at least you’ll get rations.” Jack turned to Simon. “The good news about the solo is there’s no chance of getting shot with a tranquilizer dart. Team competitions can get pretty fierce.”
“Is that all you wanted?” Alan asked Jack.
“I also wanted to tell you guys about my senior project.”
“We already know,” Alan said. A girl from the next table shushed him, and he lowered his voice. “Sensei instructed us to treat your missions with reverence. Do you have anything new to add?”
Jack gave Alan a long look. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He opened his notebook and removed a handful of papers. As he passed them around he said, “Here are your temporary code names for the semester. As always, after reading, destroy the document. It’s written on flash paper so just drop it in water and it’ll dissolve.”
Nadia glanced at hers: WOLVERINE.
“Any questions?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Nadia said, holding up her paper. “Wolverine? Isn’t that, like, the most aggressive animal on the planet?”
He smiled. “Quick, fierce, smart, agile, resourceful. Some say aggressive, but I say…appropriately assertive.”
Nadia felt her cheeks warm as she smiled.
“I’m SUNFLOWER,” Libby said. “I love it! Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Jack said. “Yours is truly fitting.”
“Shh,” said the
girl at the next table.
“This is a group study area, is it not?” Simon asked her, more loudly than necessary. He stared at her until she looked away.
“RAPTOR?” Alan whispered. “As in the dinosaur? Because technically, the proper name is velociraptor.”
“Not the dinosaur,” Jack said. “Raptor as in the stealth fighter plane manufactured by Lockheed Martin.”
Alan frowned. “But I am not at all stealthy.”
“That’s what makes it funny,” Jack said.
A small smile tugged at Alan’s lips. “I see. You are using irony to highlight the fact that I am not terribly deceitful.” He chuckled. “Yes, that is funny.” He turned to Simon. “Do you get it?”
“Yeah, thanks. I got it.” Simon looked at Jack. “Why am I MAKO?”
“Fastest shark on earth. I’ll leave the interpretations to you.” He turned to Nadia. “I’m not sure how quickly we’ll get started, but I might need a rain check on our date this weekend.”
“No problem. Spy games are more fun than dinner and a movie anyway.”
Jack stood and kissed the top of her head. “That’s why I’m crazy about you. By the way, you have a package. It’s probably cleared security by now; you can pick it up at Hopi Hall.”
* * *
—
An hour later their study session ended and Nadia walked down the hill to the administration building. As she approached the stone steps leading to the heavy wooden doors of Hopi Hall, she hesitated. After a deep breath, she jogged up the stairs.
Once inside, she felt the quickening of her heart as she moved down the hall. Lingering anxiety from last semester’s trauma occasionally snuck up on her. She paused at the entrance to the dean’s sitting room and practiced the combat breathing Sensei had taught her. Inhale through the nose for a count of four, hold for four, exhale through the mouth for eight, as though blowing through a straw. He’d told her that her heart rate slowed on the exhale, so the longer she spent exhaling, the less her heart would race. After a few moments, she crossed the waiting room and knocked on Dean Shepard’s office door.