Agent Blue sighed. “You’re missing the point. Agent Neptune should have been honest with the Agency from the start, told them about Jake, then this all could have been avoided. The very fact that he was keeping secrets from the Agency was the root of all of these problems. It doesn’t matter how Agent Neptune felt about the director’s policies or being transferred—there is no excuse for betraying your country.”
I nodded, embarrassed.
“So what happened?” Danielle asked.
“Well, as you know, Agent Neptune was killed on assignment in Chicago under mysterious circumstances. Agent Nineteen was there, monitoring his activities, and he witnessed the shooting, which we assume was a double cross by one of his buyers. Agent Nineteen saw them dump the body in Lake Michigan, and so we thought Agent Neptune was dead. . . .”
“So awful,” Danielle said, shaking her head. She was right. I couldn’t help but shudder; that’d be like me seeing her or Dillon get shot. It was so horrible, I couldn’t even bring myself to try to imagine it for a second.
“Anyway,” Agent Blue continued, “the main point of the story is that Isadoris was right all along. Right that Neptune wasn’t agent material, that he couldn’t be trusted, that he couldn’t handle the job, that he was hiding something.”
I nodded slowly, feeling my sympathies for Medlock fade somewhat but not disappear entirely.
“So,” Agent Blue said, standing up, “to answer your initial question: Yes. I trust Isadoris completely. He can be a bit hard to understand at times, sure. Ever since the Neptune incident he’s become even more stubborn and secretive. But that’s why he’s the director. It’s his job to keep the secrets so the rest of us don’t have to.”
I looked down at my shoes. If what he said was right, then that meant that I was completely wrong about Ms. Pullman. And it scared me. If I was wrong about her, then what else might I be wrong about?
If I couldn’t even trust myself anymore, then what could I trust?
CHAPTER 32
GINNY AGRICOLE, THE RAT-DEER-PIG
I WENT TO VISIT DILLON LATER THAT NIGHT. PARTIALLY BECAUSE I felt like I needed the relief from how heavy my job as a secret agent was getting and partially out of pure guilt. Guilt over blowing him off several times recently. Even though Danielle told me that Dillon had also been a little distant lately, we both decided as we rode to her house together, that it was probably due to us ignoring him so much.
“So how’s the mushroom thing coming?” I asked, as I plopped down onto his bed.
He was sitting at his desk, studying a photo of something with a magnifying glass.
“Oh, that?” he said, without looking up. “I’m over that.”
“Really?” Danielle asked. “Just like that?”
I was surprised this was news to her as well—she lived with him, after all.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I thought it was the Big One?” I said. “I mean, you were really into it.”
“Yeah, well, the results didn’t come back as expected,” he said. “So I guess that’s that. Besides, it could have maybe worked if I’d had more help. You can’t crack the Big One alone, you know?”
The sting of his words surprised me.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m really sorry. Really, I am. I’m just . . . I mean it’s hard. This new principal is putting a lot of pressure on me to turn over a new leaf and part of that means getting my grades back up. So I’ve just been really busy focusing on that. I’m sorry, man, I promise by this summer I’ll be around a lot more.”
Dillon finally looked up from his desk. He spun around in his chair to face me. And right away I could tell that he felt bad for making me feel so guilty. Which of course was only making me feel even guiltier since I’d just lied to him . . . again—and in a really heartfelt way, no less.
“It’s all good,” he said, cracking a smile. “I’m onto something new anyway. Something that I think is actually better. Not bigger, but definitely better. In a hilarious way.”
I grinned back. Now this is what I needed: just some good old-fashioned Dillon Conspiracy stuff.
“What do you got?” I asked, truly excited to hear about a theory of his for the first time in at least a few months.
“I think our neighbor has genetically manufactured a strange new animal,” he said.
“Which one?” Danielle asked with legitimate interest. I could tell she needed this as much as I did.
“Mrs. Walker, across the street,” Dillon said. “Her dog, Ginny Agricole, isn’t really a dog at all.”
“What is she then?” I asked.
“It’s a rat, deer, and pig spliced together in a way that roughly resembles a dog,” he said.
“What proof of that do you have?” I asked, grinning so wide now I couldn’t wipe it away if I tried.
“Well, for starters, just look at it!” he said, thrusting the picture he’d been examining my way.
Danielle and I looked at it together; and for the first time ever, we both thought that one of his crazy theories might just be correct right away upon hearing about it. The picture of Ginny Agricole did sort of look like a dog. But it was definitely the weirdest dog I’d ever seen. It was light red or tan in color like a deer; had a deer’s long, spindly legs but the face, tail, and ears of a huge rat; and, to top it all off, the naked, rotund, pink belly of a pig.
After just a few seconds, we both burst out laughing at the little mutant dog. Then Dillon joined us. And that’s how the best night I’d probably had since joining the Agency ended: me and my two best friends sitting on Dillon’s bed, laughing at all his photos of the neighbor’s strange little dog.
CHAPTER 33
THE ORGANIZATION OF SAD CLOWNS WITH AWESOME BEARDS
JUNIOR WAS NOT AT SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY.
Which, to most kids, wasn’t a big deal. Hardly anybody noticed. That is, until a few rumors started spreading. It started with his best friend, Matt, who had inside information, being his best friend and all.
“Carson,” Danielle whispered to me at the lunch table, “apparently his parents don’t even know where he’s at. That’s what Matt says.”
I tried to block it all out. I didn’t even want to know. To consider the possibility that the Agency had made a kid disappear because of what I’d told them. I’d much rather have just sat there and listened to Dillon’s crazy theories on Junior’s disappearance.
“Of course his parents don’t know where he is,” he said, speaking over our table of friends. “Junior was actually a member of a secret organization of sad clowns with awesome beards called the Secret Organization of Sad Clowns with Awesome Beards. Or SO-SCAB, as it’s known among its members. Which is sort of gross, but I guess that’s the kind of joke a clown makes when he’s sad. Anyway, SO-SCAB initiated Junior last night and then he grew a beard overnight. Which probably freaked him out somewhat . . .”
Everyone else laughed as Dillon continued his story. I wanted to find it funny. I wanted to believe it was true. I forced a laugh just to look normal. But deep down, I wasn’t finding any of this funny. Because I had my own suspicion about what had happened, and I knew mine was probably right.
My theory was that the Agency had kidnapped Junior and was holding him somewhere. Probably interrogating him. The thought that the Agency would interrogate a twelve-year-old kid made me want to puke. What if Junior wasn’t working for Medlock? And even if he was, what if he was just Medlock’s pawn, working for the money with no actual idea what he was doing? Would the Agency even think about that before they put the screws to him?
“Did you hear me, Carson?” Danielle hissed in my ear.
I turned to face her. My panic was reflected in her expression. She was scared, heartbroken, worried. Sickened.
“What have they done to him?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I whispered, ignoring my own gut feeling, “maybe it wasn’t the Agency at all. Maybe Medlock’s guys grabbed him? To keep him from talking?”
I�
��d meant for the alternative to be comforting, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that would be even worse.
Danielle looked close to tears now. This wasn’t a game—each side was just as likely as the other to capture and harm a kid in order to accomplish its goals. And I suddenly wasn’t sure I wanted to be involved in any of this anymore.
But I knew that it was too late now. I was in this thing whether I wanted to be or not. And I also knew that the only way I was going to get any answers or help to end this mess once and for all was to keep completing my missions, to keep working to help the Agency apprehend Medlock.
And so that’s what I was going to do.
CHAPTER 34
DEEP STAR 7
THE CONSTRUCTION SITE LATER THAT NIGHT LOOKED A LOT LIKE it had the other morning except for three things:
The hole was deeper and wider as they had demolished a lot more of the parking lot.
There were a few new construction equipment machines, a small utility shed near the pit, and what looked to be a power drill of some sort like they use to find oil underground.
Danielle was with me this time, which made the whole scene of destruction in the darkness look a lot less ominous.
We worked our way around the huge pit of broken-up concrete toward a small mobile shed that the construction crew had apparently installed the past few days to house some of the supplies. We pressed our faces to the window on the door and then shined our flashlights inside.
Jackpot.
The tube of blueprints sat leaning against a small desk. Additionally, a laptop computer sat on the desk and several folders stuffed with papers lined a small shelf behind it. There was a treasure trove of targets inside that might end up proving useful.
I was just about to get started on the shed lock, when Danielle suddenly pulled me aside.
“Someone’s coming!” she hissed, her eyes wide with panic.
We quickly ducked behind a nearby bulldozer.
The beam from a flashlight showed up on the ground right where we’d been standing just a few moments before. It shrank and condensed as the person holding it neared. The question was, Who else would possibly need to be at a school parking lot construction site at 1:00 a.m.?
Before we even saw the guy, we heard whistling. It wasn’t menacing or taunting in any way. It was cheerful. Almost pleasant. And the dude was a pretty good whistler.
He switched off the flashlight when he got to the shed’s front door. It was a large guy wearing jeans, a Carhartt jacket, and work boots. He looked exactly like you’d expect a guy visiting a construction site to look—except that that’s exactly how an enemy spy cell would want it to look, so we both knew it meant nothing.
Danielle and I watched quietly as the guy entered the shed and flipped on a flashlight. He came out several minutes later holding the laptop, the roll of blueprints, and several file folders. They’d beaten us to the punch! Had Medlock known about our mission somehow? I supposed it was possible, except, if that were true, then we’d both probably be dead or captured by now. If they had known we’d be there, they likely wouldn’t just let us go like this. They’d have waited and then nabbed us red-handed in the act of stealing.
“What do we do now?” Danielle whispered.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But he’s walking toward the school now . . . which is weird, right?”
Danielle nodded. We stayed behind the bulldozer for now but kept an eye on the man as he carried what was supposed to be our score toward the school’s front entrance. He had a set of keys and unlocked the front door with them.
“What the heck?” Danielle said.
“We better see what he’s up to,” I said.
We dashed from the bulldozer to the bushes near the front entrance.
“Should we go in after him?” Danielle asked.
I really wasn’t sure. If the guy was an enemy agent, then it’d probably lead to a shoot-out. And then death since we had nothing to shoot back at him with. If he was just a normal construction worker, then he’d call the cops, which would end in us getting arrested. Neither scenario seemed to play out too well for us.
But then a light above us switched on. He was in the administration office area. We shifted over to the school wall below the administration office windows.
“I’m going to take a quick peek,” I said.
Danielle shook her head.
“I have to,” I said. “We need to know what’s going on.”
I didn’t wait for her approval. I simply turned around and poked my head quickly above the windowsill into the office area. The guy was just exiting Ms. Pullman’s office. Empty-handed. I ducked back down.
“He dropped it all off inside Pullman’s office,” I whispered.
“Really?” Danielle said. “That’s weird.”
I nodded. We waited there quietly until the man exited the school again. He walked over to a red W Construction pickup parked across the street, and drove away.
“Now what?” Danielle asked.
“I suppose we should finish the mission,” I said.
“You’re not suggesting . . .”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “We have to. We’re here to get that data, and I don’t think it changes anything that it’s now in Pullman’s office. I’m pretty sure Isadoris would still want us to go after it.”
Danielle looked unconvinced.
“Look, you can stay out here, just keep watch for me,” I said. “I’ll be in and out. We’re already here; we know our objective is in there. Besides, this might be my only chance to prove Isadoris wrong about Ms. Pullman.”
“Okay, you’re right,” Danielle said. “Let’s do it.”
Getting into the principal’s office was a lot easier than usual. I didn’t even need to pick any locks. One of the devices in the plastic case Isadoris had given me was this insanely powerful magnet shaped like a small gray bar of soap with a curved handle on one side. And the new window Ms. Pullman had installed in her office had a metal lock mechanism just inside the frame. All we had to do was press the magnet against the window frame, hit the activation switch, and then pull the magnet along the outside of the windowsill until we heard the lock slide open. It was about as easy an infiltration as I’d ever done.
I climbed inside the office and commenced with the search. The laptop and folders were all sitting on top of her desk. As if he’d merely been dropping them off to her. I decided to just take it all instead of trying to read and document it all right then and there. I gathered up the files, blueprints, and computer and then handed them outside to Danielle.
“Okay, let’s go!” Danielle said.
I was about to climb out, but then whirled around and looked back at Ms. Pullman’s computer. I wrapped my fingers around the USB device Director Isadoris had given me. Agent Smiley had given me a more detailed rundown of how it worked before we left and had said it would make searching a computer for any encrypted secret files easy and fast. I knew what I had to do.
“I need a few more minutes,” I said to Danielle.
“What!” she hissed. “Are you nuts?”
“I have to do it—just wait here,” I said, turning back to Ms. Pullman’s desk and computer.
If there was any way to clear her name or find out for sure who was right about her, me or Director Isadoris, then I knew I had to run a spy scan on her computer itself. Even if the stuff we just took was incriminating, it couldn’t be directly linked back to her. After all, we just saw some guy deliver it in the middle of the night. He could have been planting it—we don’t even know if she’s ever seen any of that stuff before. But a scan of her computer would be irrefutable.
The first step was to switch on Ms. Pullman’s computer. It booted up and then a school verification page appeared, asking for a username and password. I plugged the little device Director Isadoris had given me into the USB port on the computer.
A small black box filled with green text popped up on the window. Numbers, words,
and symbols flashed across the screen in a flurry. Not that I would have had any idea what the text meant had it been moving slowly enough to read.
Several seconds later, the box disappeared, and the username and password fields autofilled:
Username: jlpullman
Password: ••••••••••
I clicked the log-in button.
Her desktop filled the screen. It had been that easy. I marveled at how much ruckus the Agency could cause with their high-tech devices and seemingly endless resources if they ever decided to stop being the good guys. Then I had to suppress a bitter laugh as I realized that’s precisely what had made Medlock into such a dangerous and effective enemy.
Another pop-up window appeared, asking to perform a system file scan. The program would automatically search through the entire hard drive for anything related to Medlock or the Agency.
While the search ran, I turned my attention to her desk. I picked the locks on her desk drawer and riffled through all of her folders and papers, looking for anything unusual. Ms. Pullman was insanely organized. Everything was stacked and sorted so neatly, I was convinced she was going to notice if even a single corner of a page was creased. And so I was extra careful while handling everything.
There were simple memos, printed emails, notes from teachers—all the various junk you’d expect to find in a school administrator’s office. There was a whole file cabinet full of permanent records, each folder labeled with a student’s name.
I lifted the files out and looked underneath them for hidden compartments, and then carefully put them all back into place. I did this for several drawers full of folders. Near the end, I saw the one labeled: Fender, Carson.
I glanced at the computer screen across the room. The status bar was only a third full. I had time for a quick peek, right?
I opened the file. Right on top was a page of notes, handwritten by Pullman, dated that day. The notes were in all capital letters that were neat, sharp, and consistent, almost as if a machine had written them.
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