by Sonja Stone
What does that say about me? That the only girl I fall for is an enemy spy? Dr. Cameron would have a field day with that one.
You know, maybe she’s just intuitive. Maybe she has a gift for reading people. I don’t have any proof that she’s the double. It could be anyone. Maybe she scored so highly on the entrance exam because she’s a genius. It would be awesome if she were innocent—she’s just my type. Determined, hard-working, goal-oriented, perfectionist.
Jack sighed and forced himself back to reality. Knock it off. It has to be her. No one is that intuitive. And who studies cryptograms for fun? Not to mention, she was evasive about her family and where she grew up. And that code game with her mother?
But if it was more than a game, why’d she tell me about it?
Jack checked the clock. 0359. His eyes returned to the ceiling. She shot herself with a tranq gun. No way would a pro do that, not even for a cover story—it’s excessive.
He sighed again. Really? How long are you gonna go back and forth with this? Your first priority is to Dean Wolfe and your country.
Of course, on the off chance that Nadia was innocent, Jack would love to be the one to clear her name. I need to know the truth. This assignment requires aggressive action. He closed his eyes as a new plan took shape.
30
NADIA
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 7
Since their date last Saturday, Nadia had the feeling Jack was deliberately avoiding her. She wasn’t the best conversationalist, but she’d thought he’d had a good time. Until I read his palm. Of course, she hadn’t actually read his palm. She’d just paid attention.
She knew his mother was a good cook by the way he’d ordered his salad—Kalamata olives instead of Spanish, grilled shallots instead of raw onions, and olive oil and balsamic in lieu of Thousand Island. And he looked way too exotic to be named Jack. She’d guessed his father named him because his last name was Felkin, as opposed to, say, Kronopolis, which meant his mother—who might have given up her maiden name—was the one who’d bestowed him his beautiful dark olive skin.
And the thing with Dean Wolfe? Jack was obviously an over-achiever, which probably meant his father was excessively critical (which also meant he would prefer his mother’s company). Matthew’s father was the same way; that’s why he’d felt a constant need to compete with her. And she’d guessed Jack’s parents were divorced and he had at least one sibling based on what Sensei told her about how the Academy selects recruits. The older brother was a shot in the dark.
Next time she’d keep her deductions to herself. Not that there would be a next time.
She replayed their conversations in her head, poring over each detail. I sounded like a fifth grader telling him about the code with my mother. And joking about Witness Protection. How is that funny? That’s not funny.
Maybe he was just being friendly. Taking her out because she was new. But why kiss her forehead when he walked her home? Is that something a team leader would do? Yeah, I guess it’s kind of big-brotherly. That would explain why I didn’t get a real kiss.
It doesn’t matter, she finally decided. I don’t want to go down that road anyway.
In mid-October, after a solid month of physical training, Nadia bowed deeply to Sensei. Although the constant pain had subsided, she was grateful the four weeks were over. “Thank you for everything.” As a result of her hard work, Nadia noticed visible veins in her arms from hundreds of push-ups. Her stamina—along with her confidence—had increased threefold. And she looked fabulous. “I am now on par with my classmates.” She was actually much further ahead than her friends, but she didn’t want to sound arrogant. Sensei appreciated humility.
Sensei gave her an appraising look. “Contrary to my expectations, you have proven yourself an earnest student. But I am still unsatisfied with your handgun skills.”
A week into private lessons, Sensei had insisted she begin target practice—with the silencer removed. “If you do not familiarize yourself with the concussion, you will freeze the first time you hear a shot.” After a lecture on gun safety (which Nadia politely suggested may have been more useful before she was given a firearm, and to which he responded crack!), he handed her the weapon.
“Nadia-san, remember your archery. Face your target. Open both eyes. Ready the gun and press the trigger.”
She’d held her breath and squeezed. With her stronger biceps, the recoil was much less noticeable and she easily controlled the kickback. The bullet pierced the edge of the target on her first try. “Look, I hit the paper!”
“This time aim for the man,” Sensei had answered without amusement.
Now he went on, “You may continue your private training three days a week.”
Nadia stayed low in her bow so he wouldn’t see her cringe. “Hashimoto Sensei, your offer is beyond generous,” she said, straightening. “But why would you continue to spend time on me? Why do you care if I fail or succeed?”
Anger flashed through his dark eyes. Before she could blink, he dropped to a crouch and swung his leg toward her, catching her ankles and sweeping her feet into the air. She fell flat on her back. He pressed his pole to her throat. “I do not answer personal questions! I will expect you in my dojo three mornings a week.”
She nodded hastily.
“Get up. How dare you imply I have wasted my time.”
“My apologies.” She scrambled to her feet and quickly bowed again, wincing. “Arigato. But must you use the stick?”
Crack! “It is only pain. When you are in pain one of two things will happen: The pain will be so great that you will die, or the pain will eventually go away. Either way,” he smiled and bowed his head, “no more pain.”
Nadia no longer hid behind her textbook in political science, and she’d started to pick up the nuances of Arabic and Chinese. Alan turned out to be a very proficient tutor. He focused on her study skills; she’d never learned how to learn. Alan, raised in private schools, had perfected note-taking years ago. He knew the value of an outline, flashcards and most importantly, rewriting class notes.
In Diplomacy the class studied dead drops, or leaving a package in a designated area to be retrieved later by another agent. They practiced brush-passes: a computer disc, a USB drive, an empty envelope. They’d go two at a time, while the other pair offered a critique. At first it was obvious, any bystander could see the object change hands. During one attempt, Nadia’s hand got stuck in Damon’s jacket as they passed. He didn’t notice until he’d pulled her to the ground, tearing open his pocket.
After a while they became skilled enough to complete undetected brush-passes right in front of the other pair. Occasionally when Libby and Nadia returned to their room for the night, they’d find a message from the guys slipped into a pocket or dropped in their bags.
Nadia’s favorite section came next: cryptography. Studying under the same instructors who’d taught actual agents allowed her to further hone her decoding skills.
“How did you solve this one?” Alan asked of a particularly difficult problem.
“Look at this symbol. In this word it’s used side-by-side, so it’s most likely s, t, e, or o. It appears again at the beginning of this three letter word, which is probably the. So the symbol is t. Get it? You should be good at this. It’s all about language. If you can remember letter frequency, you’ll have no problem.” She raced through these assignments eliciting a rare, albeit backhanded, compliment from Alan.
“I am surprised you are so good at codes, given your lack of propensity for foreign languages.”
Nadia wasn’t offended; she’d realized weeks ago that Alan was more clueless than malicious. “You know, you don’t have to say every little thing that pops into your head.”
“I am physically incapable of telling a lie. My face gets red and splotchy and I grin like the Cheshire cat,” he answered. “Once in a while I break out in hives. I cannot imagine how I was selected for intelligence work.”
“So you never lie?”
“
Out loud? Never. I could not begin to guess what the other person wants to hear, so why bother making up a lie?”
“What does ‘out loud’ mean?” Nadia laughed.
Alan fanned his face with his notebook. “Everyone lies to themselves a little, right? I just meant—I mean—I try to avoid compromising conversations.”
“Compromising? Like what?”
His face reddened. “Nothing.”
“Come on. What aren’t you telling me?” Nadia poked his ribs.
“Stop it.” He pushed her hand away. His nostrils flared a little as he spoke.
“All right. Sorry.” She hadn’t seen him angry in a long time. Annoyed, yes. Aggravated—plenty. But not angry. “So can you tell when someone’s lying to you?”
“I take people at their word. It does not occur to me they might be lying.”
Nadia shook her head.
“What?”
“I’m naturally suspicious. And when I ignore my intuition, I get burned.”
“Damon is the same way,” Alan said. “Makes for a lousy roommate.”
“But a pretty good spy.”
31
LIBBY
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 6
“Come on, honey. Rise and shine.” Libby pulled opened the curtains and sunlight poured across her roommate’s bed. She never understood why people would want to sleep in. Her momma used to call her Little Bit of Sunshine. ‘Course, that was ages ago. “Time for breakfast.”
Nadia would probably sleep all day if Libby let her. She’d been moping around for weeks, ever since her date with Jack. Not so much that anyone else would notice, but living in such close quarters provided Libby maximum exposure to Nadia’s moods. True, Jack had been keeping his distance. Libby told her not to read too much into it; she’d heard the seniors were working on an intense project all last month. Plus, Jack knew how hard Nadia had been trying to catch up. Likely, he was just being thoughtful; giving her space to focus on work. But Nadia would hear none of it; she was sure she’d blown her chances.
“Get up,” Libby said. “It’s a beautiful day.”
Nadia groaned as she dragged herself to the bathroom. “Fine, I’m up. But we are no longer friends.”
Without thinking, Libby began straightening the items on Nadia’s dresser. She continued to her desk, strewn with papers. It’s a miracle she can find anything. When she heard the shower running, Libby went to her closet and pulled out a container of sanitizing wipes. In a flash she’d scoured the doorknobs and the top of Nadia’s desk.
Libby noticed her compulsion to clean increased exponentially with stress. With Thanksgiving right around the corner, she’d had to sit on her hands a couple times to control her urges. She didn’t think Nadia minded so much, but dipping a napkin into her water glass to scrub the chocolate milk mustache off of Alan’s face probably wouldn’t go over too well.
Libby smoothed Nadia’s bedding. She’d recently received her marching orders for the holiday and she was just sick about them. Every time her mind flicked onto the topic her stomach lurched.
She frantically wiped Nadia’s nightstand and the switch on her bed lamp. Before she reached the headboard, Nadia emerged from the bathroom. Libby frowned and dropped the wipes into the small wastepaper basket between their beds.
Nadia tilted her head. “Are you okay? You look upset.”
Libby threw a smile on her face. “Do I? No, I’m fine.” She sat on the edge of her bed. “I was just missing my momma. Isn’t that silly?”
“No, it’s really sweet.” Nadia began sifting through her closet.
Libby was worried about her mother. This past year her daddy had spent most of his time in Washington. By himself. Caroline Bishop was a people-person and, like her daughter, she did not care to be alone. Libby’s previous schools had never been more than a two-hour plane ride from home, and always in the same time zone. Libby had felt so guilty about moving across the country she’d almost declined her invitation to the Academy, but her father had insisted.
“Ready to go?” Nadia asked.
“Let me check my face.” Libby dashed into the bathroom and reapplied her lipstick.
The girls met Casey in the hallway. “I was just coming to your room. Nadia, you have a call.”
At the front desk, Libby waited as Nadia picked up the phone, said hello and instantly scowled, which created a sharp crease between her eyebrows.
She shouldn’t make that face. It’s just not pretty. Libby drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk. She caught herself and stopped almost immediately, but Nadia must’ve noticed her impatience because she waved Libby over and held up the phone so they could both hear.
“Can you repeat that?” Nadia asked.
A man’s synthesized voice spoke through the line, “The rook sings at first light. Prepare for the meet.” The line went dead.
“What on earth was that?” Libby asked.
Nadia shook her head as she replaced the receiver. “I don’t know. Probably one of the idiot boys.”
“Are they still teasing you about the survival course?” Casey asked.
“I’ll be hearing about that until I graduate.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” said Casey.
Wish I had time for these ridiculous games. “All set?” Libby asked. Nadia and Casey turned toward her, eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt?”
“No, I’m ready,” Nadia said. She pulled open the lobby door. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You seem a little . . . stressed lately.”
Pull it together. Libby smiled brightly. “No, everything’s fantastic.” Her daddy’s advice echoed in her ears: If you don’t like what people are saying about you, change the conversation. “Though I do mean to find out which one of those boys is still picking on you.”
Libby followed Nadia through the dining hall, and they joined Alan and Damon at their usual table. “Whichever one of you telephoned my roommate,” Libby said, “she didn’t get the message. So how about you lay off?”
“What are you talking about?” Alan asked.
“So it was you?” Libby asked Damon.
He turned to Nadia. “Baby girl, if I call you, there’ll be no question.”
Libby smiled at Damon’s flirtatious tone. “All right, no one wants to confess. Bunch of chickens. But on a brighter note: less than three weeks until Thanksgiving. Everyone going home?”
“Of course.” Alan looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
Damon shook his head. “I’m not.”
“Neither am I,” Nadia said. “Plane tickets are so expensive and winter break is right around the corner.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Libby.
Nadia shrugged. “Last week Sensei offered additional lessons over break, so at least I’ll have something to do. Damon, you have plans?”
“Not yet, but things are definitely looking up. I’ll have you all to my—”
“I can’t wait to go home,” Libby said. “I love Thanksgiving! My brother will be home from college, my momma will make all my favorite things to eat—her pecan pie is to die for. We’ll do some Christmas shopping; we may even decorate the tree. We cut our own, you know. It’ll be so much fun!” She clapped her hands before noticing her friends had stopped eating. Six eyes were glued to her face. Uh-oh.
“Why are you talking so fast?” Alan asked.
Libby felt her face flush. “Am I? Sorry. My mouth moves a million miles a minute when I’m excited.” Or nervous. Her gaze fell on Jack and Noah as they entered the room.
Damon narrowed his eyes as he studied Libby’s face. He followed her line of vision, then looked back at her. “Are you kidding me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Libby dropped her eyes.
“Noah?”
“What are you guys talking about?” Alan asked.
Well that was fortuitous timing. Libby shrugged. “What’s wrong with Noah?”
“Oh, hell no.” D
amon said. “He’s the leader of our rival team. You don’t need to be consorting with the enemy.”
“You’re taking Niyuri to the Fall Formal—she’s on his team!” Libby said.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is,” Damon said. “Noah’s not good enough for you. You’re not going to the dance with him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Is that why you are acting so weird?” Alan asked.
Libby ignored Alan’s question as she addressed Damon. “What are you, my daddy?”
“Seriously, Damon,” Nadia said. “You jealous?”
“No, I’m not jealous. I’m just saying. She can do a whole lot better.”
Nadia laughed. “What, like you?”
Damon gave Nadia a sly smile. “Blondes aren’t my type.” He winked.
“Well, Libby, if Noah does not ask you to the dance I would be willing to take you,” Alan said quickly, his eyes darting between Nadia and Damon. “It is only two weeks away. At this point, I suspect you are frantic to secure an escort.”
“Really? A pity date?” Libby asked. Alan’s clumsy attempt to break the connection between Nadia and Damon managed to further agitate her, though she wasn’t sure why. “Think I’ll hold out for the real thing.”
“Suit yourself.” Alan shrugged. “Nadia, I suppose we could go together.”
Nadia paused for a moment. “Alan, can I give you some advice?”
“If you must.”
“How can I put this?” Nadia took a deep breath. “When you ask someone on a date . . . Girls like to feel special. Like they’ve been chosen. Don’t just go around the table asking one after the other.”
“Honestly, Alan.” Libby’s tone was sharper than she’d intended. Just as well they think I’m bent out of shape about some stupid dance. She glanced up at Damon. He doesn’t miss a trick; I need to be more careful.
“So, no, then?” Alan asked.
“It’s a very generous offer,” Nadia said. “But I must decline.”