Spy Ski School

by Stuart Gibbs

  “Were you spying on me then?”

  “I don’t have to detail my personal schedule to a second-year student,” Cyrus huffed. “Your friend is a significant threat to the CIA and the Academy of Espionage. We do not take threats lightly at the CIA. Instead, we assess them and determine the appropriate action to take.”

  “What kind of action are we talking about here?” I asked warily.

  “That’s classified.”

  “You can’t do anything bad to him!” I exclaimed. “He’s only a kid!”

  Cyrus glared at me, fire in his eyes. “I’m fully aware how old he is! I’m not an idiot! And frankly, there are plenty of other things I would much rather be spending my time on than this fiasco. But I’m stuck with it, because I have taken responsibility for you and you have repaid me by bollixing this up. You may have performed adequately on the missions you have served on so far, Ben, but where your life outside the academy is concerned, you have been cavalier, foolhardy, and feckless. I’ve been forced to work overtime to ensure this doesn’t all blow up in our faces, which I do not appreciate one bit. So now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some actual spy work to do for once, and I’d like to take care of it.”

  He yanked on his jacket and stormed out of the room.

  Everyone averted their eyes from me, pretending like they’d been too busy eavesdropping on the Shangs to witness my dressing down. Everyone, that is, but Warren. He sang gleefully under his breath, “Oooh. Looks like golden boy’s in trouble.”

  “Shut up, Warren,” Zoe said. “Ben’s ten times the spy you are.”

  “Not according to Cyrus,” I said, slumping into a chair. “He said I’ve ‘performed adequately.’ That’s it.”

  “That’s it?” Alexander Hale echoed. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard my father say about anyone who wasn’t Erica. My whole life, he never told me I performed adequately at anything. Even when I did. I know I’ve had my share of mishaps, but there have been plenty of things that I was perfectly adequate at. And did I ever hear one bit of praise? No. The nicest thing he ever said about anything I did was ‘at least you didn’t kill anybody.’ And that was about a math test in fourth grade.”

  I turned to Erica. She seemed unusually on edge, as though she was concerned about Mike herself. “Do you know what he’s planning for Mike?” I asked.

  “I don’t have any idea what my grandfather’s thinking,” she told me coldly. “As you can see, I’m not a particularly crucial part of his plan.”

  “Yeah, you’re just a cog in the machine,” Jawa said curtly. “Like the rest of us, for once.”

  “Cram it,” Erica muttered.

  “It’s not so fun when someone treats you the way you always treat us, is it?” Jawa pressed.

  “Lay off her, will you?” Zoe asked. “We’re supposed to be working as a team here.”

  “A team?” Hank laughed. “We’re not a team. We’re a bunch of lackeys doing busywork for Cyrus Hale while he goes and gets all the glory.”

  “My father isn’t going to steal all the glory,” Alexander said defensively.

  “Oh, right, that’s your move,” Hank told him.

  With that, everyone started bickering back and forth at once, their frustrations bubbling to the surface: frustrations with their place on the mission, with how they’d been treated over the years, with everyone else in general.

  I walked outside. It was rude, but I needed to get out of there. The room was too hot, too stuffy, too full of people with grudges and issues and competing agendas. Plus, it smelled like wet ski socks. I needed a breath of fresh air.

  I stepped into the parking lot, took a deep breath, then exhaled a cloud of frozen vapor and watched it float away. When I’d first been told about Operation Snow Bunny, it had sounded like great fun: an adventure with my friends in an exotic location. But nothing had gone the way I’d hoped. Our accommodations were crummy, our team was constantly squabbling, Cyrus was never pleased, and my best friend was now considered a threat to the CIA. There was only one day left until Operation Golden Fist and we still hadn’t achieved our objective: figuring out what Operation Golden Fist actually was. All I’d done was earn the wrath of Leo Shang.

  I looked toward the pedestrian bridge over the highway, expecting to see Cyrus making his way across it toward the Arabelle, but he had already vanished from sight. Although I was annoyed at Cyrus for the way he’d treated me—and everyone else, for that matter—I hoped he would be successful in infiltrating the Shangs’ suite and finding out what was in the mysterious case. I actually found myself wishing it would be something incredibly dangerous, like a nuclear bomb or a few hundred vials of some infectious disease, because then it would be concrete proof that Leo Shang was up to something evil and he could be immediately arrested. Then the case would be closed, I’d be safe again, and the whole mission would be wrapped up so we could all go home and get back to our normal lives. Well, our abnormal lives, at least.

  Only, Cyrus’s breaking and entering didn’t work out the way anyone hoped.

  DISCOVERY

  Blue Sky Basin

  Vail Mountain

  December 30

  1000 hours

  Breaking into the bedroom of a target in a heavily guarded hotel wasn’t easy. It took Cyrus four hours of surveillance and plotting, followed by ninety minutes of grueling physical exertion in subzero temperatures, pinpoint timing, and nerve-racking stealth. Ultimately, he managed to infiltrate Leo Shang’s room as Shang slept and access the mysterious silver case—only to discover it was full of dirty underwear.

  He wasn’t pleased about this.

  I was relieved of mission duties the next day. I probably wouldn’t have had anything to do as it was, since Jessica, my target, had been grounded at her hotel and banned from ever seeing me again, but Cyrus made it feel like I was being punished. I was sent off to ski school, as usual, but he made it clear this was to get me out of the way. “As long as the CIA sank all the money for this snipe hunt, we might as well have you learn something,” Cyrus groused, then booted me out of the motel room.

  Zoe, Warren, and Erica were sent with me, as they all needed to work on their skiing more than I did. Meanwhile, Hank, Chip, and Jawa were kept back, assigned to surveillance of the Shangs. Erica protested, of course, insisting that she would be of far more use on the investigation than she would on the slopes, but Cyrus wouldn’t be persuaded.

  “It’s December thirtieth!” Erica argued. “D-day for Operation Golden Fist! You need every person you have on this and you’re sending me out to take some stupid ski lesson!”

  “You need another ski lesson,” Cyrus told her. “You ski like a wounded cow.”

  “So why not let me do something I’m good at? Like everything besides skiing? I’m the best agent you have on this mission!”

  “I’m the best agent I have on this mission,” Cyrus corrected. “And I’m in charge of it, not you. You’re learning to ski today and that’s final.”

  Erica backed down, though she made no secret she was unhappy about it. She joined the ski lesson with Zoe, Warren, and me, but she remained sullen and peevish the entire time, making her perhaps the first person ever to view going skiing as a punishment, rather than a reward.

  Meanwhile, Woodchuck was as upbeat as ever. If he knew things weren’t going well, he didn’t let on. Instead, he was determined to have us enjoy our day.

  Woodchuck felt we were now good enough to head to one of his favorite places at Vail, an area called Blue Sky Basin. It was the most distant section of the resort, butting up against the wilderness of the White River National Forest, so far from town that you had to take multiple lifts and ski runs to get out there. Because of the trek, though, Blue Sky tended to be much less crowded than other areas of the resort.

  Under most other circumstances, we probably would have considered it a fantastic ski day. The snow had finally stopped falling, but two feet of fresh powder lay on the ground, creating what Woodchuck referred to a
s “radical conditions.” The sun was out, we were surrounded by gorgeous mountain views, and the snow sparkled like fields of diamonds. All around us, we could hear whoops of joy as skiers encountered virgin swaths of powder.

  I wasn’t feeling particularly joyful, though. I was still upset about how everything had fallen apart on our mission. And to make matters worse, Warren kept needling me about it. My failure was like a Christmas present for him.

  “You sent Cyrus Hale to uncover a suitcase full of dirty underwear!” he exclaimed, laughing hysterically. We were riding up the main lift at Blue Sky, which took eight minutes. Zoe and Erica were on the chair in front of us, so I was stuck with Warren and Woodchuck, riding thirty feet above the ground.

  “It wasn’t a suitcase,” I muttered.

  “Sounds like a suitcase to me. I mean, it had clothes in it. Dirty clothes. Not a nuclear bomb, like you thought.”

  “I never said it had a nuclear bomb in it. I said it looked like the kind of case that a nuclear bomb might be in.”

  “Well, you were wrong.” Warren laughed again. Even Warren’s laugh was annoying. It was very high-pitched, making him sound like a hyena on helium.

  “Just because Cyrus didn’t find something in that case last night doesn’t mean there wasn’t something important in it earlier,” I pointed out. “Think about it. Dane Brammage knew I’d seen into that room. Leo Shang was freaked out that I was in the hotel at all. So they easily could have moved whatever was in the case. They have an entire hotel to hide it in.”

  “Then why’d they put dirty laundry in the case?”

  “To throw us off. If the whole case vanished, that’d be suspicious. But dirty clothes made it look like it was just a suitcase.”

  “Yeah, but why would they go through all that trouble? As far as they know, you’re only a kid. They don’t have any idea you’re CIA.”

  I swallowed, not liking the only good answer to that question. “Well, maybe they do know I’m CIA.”

  Warren snickered again. “If that’s true, then you’ve screwed up even worse than I thought.”

  The sound of an explosion suddenly echoed through the air. It was muffled, meaning it wasn’t too close, but it was still near enough to startle all of us. Most kids our age probably wouldn’t recognize the sound of heavy artillery exploding, but we were quite familiar with it from school. On the lift chair ahead of us, I saw Erica stiffen alertly, ready for an attack.

  “Relax!” Woodchuck called to her. “It’s just the ski patrol.”

  “The ski patrol uses a howitzer?” Erica yelled back suspiciously.

  “Yes. To trigger avalanches!” Woodchuck explained. “There’s been a ton of snow over the past few days. That creates perfect avalanche conditions. So the ski patrol goes out and triggers them before unsuspecting skiers do. See?” He pointed to our right, where a large basin known as Earl’s Bowl was roped off to keep people out. In the distance, along a steep ridge, we could see a white cloud rising from where the howitzer shell had hit. As we watched, a large patch of snow sheared off at the top of a cliff and poured down into the woods at the bottom. “If it weren’t for the ski patrol, that might have taken out some innocent people,” Woodchuck said solemnly.

  The discovery that I was heading into an area with the potential for death by avalanche didn’t do much to lift my spirits. Or, unfortunately, to dampen Warren’s.

  “So, if Shang is onto you,” he teased, “you think he might try to kill you?”

  “I’m kind of hoping that’s not the case,” I replied. “But if he was planning anything, we’d know about it, right? We listened to the room all night and didn’t hear anything.”

  “Well,” Woodchuck pointed out, “if Leo Shang was really onto you, then wouldn’t he suspect you bugged the room?”

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling queasy. “I guess.”

  Warren snickered again, as though the idea of my being a target was the funniest thing in the world.

  I found myself imagining that laugh turning into a scream as Warren suddenly fell off the chair and plummeted to the ground far below us.

  Then I shoved that thought aside and tried to think of what to do. If Leo Shang really did want me dead, would his men already be tailing me? If so, I couldn’t have been heading to a worse place than a remote mountain peak on the edge of the wilderness. And up on the chairlift, I was helpless. I swung around to look at the chairs behind us. I could see only the next six, but there didn’t seem to be any of Shang’s goons back there. There weren’t many people there at all and they were all normal-size humans, as opposed to Shang’s beefed-up mountains of muscle. We had reached Blue Sky before most of the other skiers. Despite this, I remained extremely worried about my safety. Maybe I was being paranoid, but then again, Shang’s helicopter pilot had already mysteriously disappeared. I didn’t want to be next.

  I needed to discuss my potential danger with Erica, right away. However, it wasn’t really the kind of conversation I was supposed to shout at the top of my lungs from one chairlift to the other.

  Then it occurred to me that I might not have to. I was wearing the exact same ski outfit I’d worn the day before; after all, I had only one. The radio transmitter Erica had given me to infiltrate the Shangs’ suite was still in the pocket. I stuck it in my ear, wondering if Erica had her radio on.

  She did. Her radio didn’t seem to be in her ear, as I could only hear her faintly. I figured it was still in her pocket as well, probably in her parka, as it was picking up everything she and Zoe said.

  I was about to try to get their attention when I heard Zoe ask, “So, what do you think about Mike?”

  Rather than interrupt, I kept silent. I wanted to know what Erica thought I should do about Shang—but I really wanted to know the answer to Zoe’s question, too.

  “I don’t think he’s as big a threat as my grandfather does,” Erica replied.

  “I don’t mean do you think he’s a threat,” Zoe corrected. “I mean, what do you think of him as a boy?”

  “What are you doing?” Erica asked, sounding extremely confused.

  “Trying to have girl talk,” Zoe replied.

  “What’s girl talk?”

  “Um, pretty much exactly what it sounds like. We’re girls, and we talk about interesting stuff.”

  “Like possible threats to national security?”

  “Er, no. Like boys.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because it’s fun.”

  “It doesn’t sound fun,” Erica countered. “It sounds like an interrogation.”

  “I guess it is,” Zoe admitted. “But I promise, it’s way better than that. And it goes both ways. We get to ask each other questions about boys. If you want, you can go first.”

  “Is this a covert conversation?”

  “Absolutely. We’re both sworn to secrecy.”

  There was a pause as Erica mulled this over. Then she said, “Do you like Warren?”

  “Warren?” Zoe shrieked, loud enough so we could hear her back on our lift. Then she lowered her voice so only Erica and I could hear it and said, “Ew, gross! No way.”

  “Did you hear that?” Warren asked me excitedly. “Zoe’s talking about me! I think she’s into me.”

  I almost felt bad about letting Warren cling to this. But then he said, “See, girls like me because I don’t screw up my missions.”

  I ignored him and went back to eavesdropping.

  “Okay, your turn,” Zoe said. “Do you like Mike?”

  “Kind of,” Erica said.

  To my surprise, this made me feel almost as bad as learning that my life might be in danger.

  Zoe wasn’t satisfied, though. “You can’t say ‘kind of.’ You have to say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ ”

  “Why not?”

  “Because ‘kind of’ is evasive. If you were interrogating a bad guy and you asked him if he was planning a terrorist attack, would you let him off with saying ‘kind of’?”

  “
That’s different. There’s no room for nuance where public safety is concerned.”

  “The same goes for boys. You don’t ‘kind of’ like a boy. You ‘kind of’ like asparagus. With boys, you either like them or you don’t.”

  “Not necessarily. I could like them as a friend.”

  “First of all, you don’t have friends. Second, we’re not talking about liking someone as a friend. We’re talking about like like. Like, would you want to date the guy?”

  “I don’t want to date anybody. Personal relationships get in the way of effective espionage.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “They certainly did this week. Ben got all turned around with this Jessica business when Mike came along. And he was definitely upset when I started paying attention to Mike. . . .”

  “Well, Ben really likes you.”

  “I’m well aware of that. And so, when the time came to win Jessica back over, he overdid it. He rebounded toward her much too hard, leading her on romantically instead of just trying to be friends with her.”

  “I read the transcripts of everything you and Ben said yesterday,” Zoe said. “It didn’t seem like he was leading Jessica on to me.”

  “The transcripts don’t convey emotion. I heard Ben and I can assure you, he was leading Jessica on. I mean, he got her to hug him. That’s not appropriate friend behavior.”

  “Actually, it kind of is.”

  “I don’t think so. And she did it in front of a roaring fire, no less. And Ben made no attempt to stop her. Or to set any kind of boundaries at all. Trust me, Ben wasn’t merely trying to befriend Jessica. He was trying to romance her—and it all blew up in his face.”

  I almost took the earpiece from my ear, feeling even worse than I had before. I hadn’t thought I was doing any of what Erica said, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I had overplayed my hand, leading Jessica on, getting her to hug me, and then ruining everything.

  But then, to my surprise, Zoe started laughing. Hard. “Oh my gosh,” she gasped. “Erica, you’re hilarious.”

  “What’s so funny?” Erica demanded.

  “You know so much about everything in the entire world,” Zoe explained, “except yourself.”