“Fry’s driving,” Emma said.
I started to shake my head no.
“Oh, come on,” Max said. “It’ll be fun.”
“Are you bringing your shoe phone?” I asked him.
“I can, if it makes a difference whether you’ll come or not.” Max cocked his head. “Do you hear that? I think I hear it ringing now.” He reached down and tugged off his right shoe, putting it to his ear. “Right, Chief. Would you believe she’s sitting right here?” He offered me his shoe. “The Chief wants to talk to you.”
I waved a hand in front of my nose and pushed his shoe away. “Ask the Chief what he wants.”
“I think that’s obvious,” Max said. “He says your mission is to go out drinking with us tonight … and love it!” He thrust the shoe back at me again.
“All right,” I said, laughing as I pushed the stinky shoe away again. “Tell him I’ll come.”
What the heck? My BlackBerry would probably work in Surprise. I could call Logan and check for messages from Daniel, too.
Just then Pussy strolled up with her tray and paused before Ethan, leaning over to give him an eyeful of her considerable cleavage. “I hope all you boys are going out to the bar tonight.” She slid her gaze along all the men at the table, ignoring Emma and me. “I must have a dance with each of you.”
Emma and I exchanged disgusted looks as Ethan stumbled over his tongue to assure her he’d be there.
As Pussy walked off, Ethan came out of her spell and spoke loudly for Emma’s and my benefit, I’m certain. “That woman is one sexy acrobat. Imagine the acrobatics she could do in bed.” He let out a low whistle.
I turned to Max. “Bring the cone of silence, too.”
After lunch, Emma and I stopped by our rooms to freshen up before heading out to the afternoon activities, complaining about Pussy as we went.
“Men can be so shallow,” she said as I unlocked my door and she followed me into my bug-free room.
“I wouldn’t lump all men in,” I said, ever hopeful that there was at least one great, nonshallow guy out there waiting for me. A guy who, unlike Daniel, would commit. I pulled the door shut and changed the subject. “Okay, spill it—who bugged my room?”
Emma laughed. “What took you so long to get around to asking?”
“Seriously,” I said.
“I don’t know,” Emma replied slowly. “It wasn’t me. They took us back to the barracks area one at a time so we couldn’t figure out who’d bugged who.”
“Darn!”
“My sentiments exactly. “ Emma took a seat on my bed.
Suddenly I had the feeling we were playing one huge, live game of Clue.
“Whose room did you bug? You tell me and I’ll tell you whose room I do and what I find.” I leaned against my dresser and waited for her answer. Neither of us made any false protests or feigned any indignation about not stooping to snooping. Spies snooped. Everybody knew that.
“Wade’s.”
“What did you find?”
“A mess. A closet filled with Hawaiian shirts. Dirty socks on the floor. Half a dozen scratch game tickets on the nightstand, none of them winners.” She grinned again. “I checked.”
“He’s still playing?”
“Evidently.”
“His real identity?”
“No clue. Everything the mate had was pretty much Jake Wade.”
“Anything suspicious?”
Emma frowned. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything, just anything odd.”
She sighed. “Nope. Not that I saw. But I didn’t have much time.”
I tried grilling her about how the bugging game worked, but my interrogation skills, finely honed from years of interviewing loan applicants, failed me. Tough nut that she was, Emma didn’t give up a thing.
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. What about Grace Under Pressure? I noticed you took a shower after that little exercise,” Emma said.
Nice try, kid. But two could play her spy game. I did tough and inscrutable with the best of them. I masked my expressions, doing my best to keep involuntary micro expressions at bay. “Very observant, Sherlock. I guess you’ll be finding out soon enough yourself.”
“Well, if you won’t play, I call first dibs on the bathroom,” Emma said.
I made a note to remember that Emma was big on dibbing and beat her to it next time. While Emma was in the loo, as she liked to call it, I slipped into my drawer, kind of hoping to find that my camera had mysteriously reappeared. Wouldn’t it be great to take a few photos when it was my turn to snoop? No such luck.
I jetted through my turn in the bathroom. Emma was waiting for me in my room when I’d finished. We had a few minutes to kill before afternoon class.
“I was thinking,” Emma said, drawing out her words. She had a devilish look in her eye that I didn’t particularly like. “Simply going drinking doesn’t seem exciting or spylike enough to me. We’re on this here vacation for excitement, aren’t we?”
“You have something in mind?” I said, speaking slowly myself, wondering what exactly she was up to.
“We need a mission!” She watched closely for my reaction, which made me even more cautious.
“What kind of mission?” Trying to act nonchalant, I glanced in the mirror on the pretense of adjusting my headband.
“You love The Recruit, right?”
I turned away from the mirror and faced her. “Yeah, duh.” What spy freak doesn’t?
“Remember that scene where they take the CTs to the bar?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And their mission is to seduce a fellow CT?” Emma spoke in a tone designed to lead me to a specific conclusion.
“You want us to make it our own mission to seduce one of our fellow CTs?” I said, thinking that our fellow CTs weren’t exactly tempting hunks of burning love and looking at her like she’d gone stark raving crazy. No way was I letting any of them feel up my fake silicone breasts, let alone getting completely naked with any of them. “I think Pussy’s already dibbed them all.”
Emma laughed. “Oh, let her have them.”
“Who …” I had a sinking feeling I knew who, but my morbidly curious side wanted verification.
“Exactly,” she said, beaming.
“Not the instructors!” I shook my head no. “Uh-uh. No way.” Never, never, I wanted to add, but at the risk of sounding childish, I restrained myself.
“Why not? Because of he-who-doesn’t-call?”
She gave me the most penetrating, challenging look I personally had ever witnessed. I felt a nasty twinge of guilt, because Daniel hadn’t been in my thoughts at all. I was actually more afraid of being rejected by Fry or Torq than betraying Daniel. My logic, warped as it may have been, mirrored my feelings about money in the bank. While the money’s safely squirreled away, there are endless possibilities regarding how to spend it. Once spent, it’s gone, with it all of the fantasies of how it could be spent.
I’d never been a head-turning babe. Wallpaper. Background noise. Those are pretty good descriptors. Generally, even regular guys don’t notice me. Handsome, dangerous, exciting men—forget about it. Thanks to the makeover Logan had given me, I looked better than I ever had and was actually getting noticed by a wide variety of men. I was building fantasy capital. I wasn’t sure I was ready to spend that capital and face the humiliation of probable rejection just yet. I was on a fantasy vacation. It was no time to have all of my fantasies dashed.
I blushed and Emma took it wrong.
“Forget about him! Spies have to be able to set aside their personal feelings and seduce friend, foe, or informant on the spot. Bond girls do it all the time.” Still wearing the scary challenging look, she was unblinking and formidable.
“Yes,” I said slowly, agreeing with her as I thought up a good excuse to decline, or at least change the mission. “But they only do it to get information.”
“We could get information,” she said, nonplussed.
&nbs
p; “About what?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t it rock to be the first campers in camp history to prevent the kidnapping? I bet nobody else has even thought of trying. I bet the instructors know who the victim will be.”
“Well …” I wasn’t exactly jumping up and down with enthusiasm. “I suppose we could seduce information out of them.” I was trying to appease her and broaden the definition of “seduce” at the same time.
“Seduce.” Emma grinned again. “I like it. As long as I get to seduce, I’m happy.”
“Seduce information,” I reminded her.
“Whatever.” Emma nodded her approval. “Fry already likes me. I’ll work on him. You can have Torq.”
“How am I supposed to get him to spill top-secret camp info to me? I’m not sure he even likes me.” More accurately, I was confused whether he actually liked me or was merely faking it to pull my chain.
“Pillow talk.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m seducing nothing but information.”
“Suit yourself. Just don’t question my methods.” She stuck out her hand. “Deal?”
We shook.
“All right. But be careful. I don’t want us to be the first women in the history of spy camp to get kicked out for sleeping with an instructor.”
“I’m always careful. And discreet.” Emma grinned broadly. “You watch yourself. Torq’s hot. Hard to keep your hands off a guy like that, especially if there’s some drinking and dirty dancing thrown in.”
“No worries,” I said, mimicking her accent. “A good spy has self-control. Take Kissy Suzuki. She resisted Bond’s considerable charm.”
“Only until the mission was over,” Emma said and grinned like there was hope for me yet.
Chapter Seven
I spent Fry’s lecture on electronic surveillance enjoying the view while getting a little daydreaming practice in on the side. Not that electronic surveillance isn’t a riveting topic. It’s just that I preferred my daydream of a bare-chested Fry perched above me saying, “Brace yourself, Domino,” in that sweet Texas drawl of his to becoming the paranoid wretch any sane person was apt to become when they realized that Big Brother, or the evil dude next door, could be listening to you through his Ping-Pong paddle receiver, while simultaneously recording your computer keystrokes and stealing your identity. Listen too closely and suddenly Bond’s laser beam, rappelling line, and buzz saw–loaded watch and Max Smart’s martini-and-olive radio didn’t sound so far-fetched. Living in paranoia isn’t good for the soul.
I was startled out of my daydreams and pleasant postlunch sleepiness by Fry announcing the bugging mission specifics.
“It’s simple, y’all.”
He held up a navy blue pen with the camp logo embossed on it in silver. “I’m going to issue each of you a camp pen just like this one.” He picked up another camp pen, a black one. “Y’all will observe it’s slightly different in color from a real camp pen. Hard to tell the difference unless you look real close. Kinda like a pair of mismatched men’s dress socks—you don’t notice you’re wearing one black and one navy until you get out into the light.” He pulled up his pant legs and made a show of checking his socks. “Whew! Good for me I’m wearing white athletic socks today.”
The class laughed.
“Your mission is to talk your way into your target’s room. In the barracks hall, you’ll find a maid with a cleaning cart. She has a master key. You need to convince her to open the door to your target’s room and let you in….”
I gave myself a mental pat on the back for being smart enough to realize that entry hadn’t been forced.
“Once inside the room,” Fry continued, leaning back against the podium, “you swap the real pen—every room was equipped with a real pen before you checked in—for our ‘bugged’ pen and get back out and return to class without being noticed.” He paused. “Of course, y’all know the ‘bugged’ pen’s a dummy, right? FSC respects the privacy of its CTs.” He winked because the statement was so obviously ludicrous.
Probably the truth was FSC didn’t want to spend the money on real bugged pens. I knew from my experience checking out spy gear online that a real voice-activated recorder pen could set you back several hundred, while a bulk pen with the FSC logo on it would run under a dollar.
The class let out a collective groan of disappointment that made Fry grin wider. I congratulated myself that I hadn’t wasted time dissecting my clock.
“All right, who wants to go first?” Fry looked around the class with his gaze ending up on me. “Domino, how about you?”
I suspected Fry picked me first thanks to his Southern manners—ladies first, please. And while I appreciate the ladies-first mentality when it means I get to take the first chocolate from a box of candy, in this case, I hadn’t yet had time to construct my plan to get into my target’s room. Not to mention that my fellow CTs looked like they were getting tired of me having first stab at things.
“Uh …”
“Great! Thanks for volunteering,” Fry said as he handed me a folded slip of paper. “Everything’s set up and ready. You can read who your mark is on your way to the barracks. As for the rest of you, I’ll be going over the basics of both tailing a mark and losing a tail.”
Personally, if Fry wanted my tail, I’d let him have it. But I didn’t have a choice as he nodded toward the door. “Go on. Have at it.”
I’d just grabbed the doorknob when Fry called after me. “Oh, I almost forgot.” His tone said he was lying. He remembered clearly enough. He was already holding a timer. “You’ve got ten minutes to complete the mission, Dom, and be back in the classroom. Longer than that and we get to storm after you.” He glanced at the timer and held his arm up like he was calling a race. “Time starts … now.”
I nodded and zipped out of the room as fast as I could without breaking into a run, trying to look calm while my pulse roared in my ears and my stomach did backflips. Just outside the classroom door, I unfolded my assignment. Octopussy, Room 110. At least one thing had gone right—she was my first choice of mark. Feeling the clock ticking, I sprinted to the barracks.
As Fry promised, the maid, who wore a name tag proclaiming her Maria, was in the hall with her cleaning cart. Trying to get the ticking clock out of my head, I took a deep breath and screwed up my courage, ready to do what every actress and good spy dreams of—give the performance of my life. As I walked past Maria, I smiled and pulled my own key card from my pocket. I marched directly to Pussy’s room, stuck the key in her lock, and waited for a green light I knew wasn’t coming.
I put on a perplexed look, removed the key, and tried, tried again. I repeated this charade one more time, finally feigning frustration by pounding on the door.
“Shoot!” I said loud enough for Maria, who was ostensibly getting cleaning supplies from her cart, to hear. “My key doesn’t work. It must have gotten demagnetized or something.”
I looked around, searching for an answer, and made eye contact with Maria. “Do you have a key? Would you mind … ?”
Maria gave me a wary look and shook her head no. “This is not your room.” She pointed down the hall to my real room. “I know you stay there. I clean it for you. I see your clothes.”
Damn! I’m not good at thinking up lies on the fly. So I tried the truth, sort of.
“Look,” I said, “my digital camera disappeared from my room yesterday. I think the lady from this room may have ‘borrowed’ it.” I made quote marks with my fingers as I said “borrowed.” I also watched Maria closely for any telltale micro expressions that she was our camera-stealing klepto.
“I’d like to get it back without making a scene. Can you help me?” I gave her my best pleading look, which was totally lost on the surprisingly steely and not the least bit guilty-looking Maria.
“Not my problem. I let you in, I lose my job.”
I sighed. The clock was ticking. I hated to resort to bribery. It made me feel supremely slimy, but it was the best shot I had. No way was I going back
defeated. Fortunately for me, I always kept a little cash on me. I pulled out a twenty and held it out to her. “Would this help?”
She grabbed the twenty and pocketed it. Without saying another word, she let me in.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I said dryly as I stepped inside Pussy’s room.
Maria shrugged. “I know nothing of this.” Then she went back to her work.
I closed the door, gave the air a quick victory punch, and looked at my watch. Exactly two minutes had passed.
Even though I had plenty of time, I was feeling rushed and shaking as I located the pen on Pussy’s desk. I had to take a deep breath and make myself concentrate on the condition of the room and the exact placement of the pen before acting. I angled my pen above the original so that the two exactly lined up and then swiftly swapped it out for my dummy pen.
After that I headed for her dresser and became snoop extraordinaire. I carefully opened her drawers.
Sheesh, I expected Pussy would have more glamorous lingerie. Some guy was going to be disappointed when he got her down to her skivvies because the drawer was full of Spanx and other serviceable garments designed to cover figure flaws.
Another glance at my watch. Five minutes to go. Still plenty of time, I told myself as I breathed deeply and tried to stay calm and not rush. When I rushed, I made mistakes.
I opened the closet—scads of spandex and plunging necklines. I put on an evil grin, considering causing a little mischief with the wardrobe, like hiding one of the pushup bras or Spanx panties that made wearing these getups possible. Hey, I’d seen the What Not to Wear duo on Oprah. A good pair of tummy-control panties goes a long way toward slimming and smoothing out unsightly bulges.
I went back to the drawer and grabbed a nice full-bodied Spanx panty, size M. My gaze bounced between the bed and the dresser. How hard would it be to imagine that she’d dropped this while unpacking and it “accidentally” got kicked under the bed? Feasible, I decided as I got down on my hands and knees, ready to toss the lingerie under. Did I feel guilty? Nope. Pussy was the enemy. Well, all right, definitely the competition, anyway. And we all know that all’s fair in love and war … and spying.
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