"They really weren't surprised," Macey said again, almost laughing now. She looked at me. "Why didn't we see that?"
It was as if we'd both missed an easy question on a pop quiz and Macey couldn't help having a good laugh at our stupidity.
"So …" Bex spoke slowly, carefully. "They know."
She looked out the glassless windows as if they might have been out there even as we spoke, because if they knew who we were…they knew where we lived.
"But that can't be," Liz protested. "No one knows the truth about the Gallagher Academy."
But I just followed Bex's gaze into the darkness and thought about another night in another room, when Zach had asked me about the mystery surrounding my father's death. I found his words coming back to me as I wrapped my arms around myself and whispered, "Somebody knows."
"So they knew Macey would have training, and they came after her and Preston anyway?" Liz asked.
I saw my best friends looking at me—and even in the dark I couldn't hide the truth any longer.
"Well …" I started slowly, "on the roof, Preston was with us."
"Yeah," Bex said. I could feel her impatience building, so I spoke faster.
"I got him out of there—got him off of that roof—and they didn't really…care."
"What do you mean, Cam?" Liz asked.
"She means they didn't want him," Macey said. "They didn't want us," she added, growing stronger. And then she stopped. She shrugged. "They wanted me."
I'd been fearing that moment for days, thinking about the girl at the lake. I'd worried what the knowledge might do to her—to us. But from the time she'd stepped foot out of her parents' limousine, Macey had been a surprise, and this was no exception.
She squinted at me. She shook her head. It was the exact same look she got when she mastered a formula for Mr. Mosckowitz's class, as if things were finally starting to make sense.
"I'm gonna get my mom and Aunt Abby." I started for the door, but then Macey spoke.
"You think they don't know already?"
And it hit me—the truth. Of course they knew. They'd always known.
"So either they came after Macey in spite of her training…" Liz started.
"Or because of it," Bex replied.
But the strangest thing was happening. The moon was rising, full and clear. The lights of Roseville shone in the distance. Everything felt alive again, and I could see that in Macey. It was as if she knew it wasn't random anymore—there was purpose. And that made all the difference.
"So I guess the question is," Bex said, crossing her arms, "what are we gonna do about it?"
Covert Operations Report
By Cameron Morgan, Macey McHenry, Elizabeth Sutton, and Rebecca Baxter (hereafter referred to as "The Operatives")
During a routine civilian engagement, Operatives McHenry and Morgan were attacked by figures representing an unknown organization with unknown affiliations and unknown goals.
After two weeks of extensive research (and some particularly fine computer hacking by agent Sutton), The Operatives learned the following:
There are no fewer than two dozen international lawsuits filed against McHenry Cosmetics (even though the Eye
Rejuvenation cream clearly states on the label that temporary blindness is a possible side effect).
Much to Macey's shock, Senator McHenry does not appear to have any illegitimate children (that The Operatives know about).
No one holding a significant amount of stock in Macey's mom's company made a significant gamble that the price of the stock would go down following the kidnapping attempt.
The McHenry family has approximately seventy-six disgruntled former servants (of whom, Macey swears, only seventy-five have cause to be really, truly angry).
It's easy to imagine that a family of spies would have a lot of enemies. Well, turns out we've got nothing on politicians and people who manufacture semi-dangerous cosmetics. By the time we'd run down every shady business deal and political scandal, the list of suspects was long—like, the number of digits of pi that Liz knows by heart, long—and I wasn't sleeping any easier.
"It's impossible," I told Bex one day in P&E, but Bex, sadly, misunderstood, because instead of commiserating, she grabbed my arm and executed the most perfect Axley Maneuver I'd ever seen.
"Ow," I said, looking up at her. But Bex just laughed.
"Wuss," she said, then stepped back to illustrate. "It's not impossible. All you have to do is shift your weight in a counter—"
"Not the move," I snapped as I climbed to my feet, shifted my weight, and showed her. "Macey," I whispered as she landed on the mat.
"Oh," Bex said, staring up at me.
Outside, the first hints of color were appearing on the trees, and the wind was growing cooler. Fall was coming soon, and yet the mysteries of summer were still alive and well.
"I touched them, Bex," I said, my voice low against the steady din of grunts and kicks that filled the loft. My breath came harder. "I heard their voices and smelled their breath and I can't tell you anything about them except…" I trailed off. But Bex, who is excellent in both the spy and best friend departments, read my mind. "It's the ring, isn't it?"
Beads of sweat ran from my forehead to my chin, but I didn't wipe them away. "I've seen that emblem somewhere before."
"I believe you, Cam," Bex started slowly. "But didn't you sketch it for Liz and have her run it through the CIA database?"
"Yes."
"And if they are as good as you say, then do you really think that woman would wear a ring that could lead us to her? It's a mistake," Bex finished, and I just stood there, the unspoken truth settling around us: they didn't make mistakes.
"Morgan!" our teacher called. "Baxter! Back to work, please."
I pulled Bex to her feet.
"You know," Bex said, "there is one resource we haven't utilized yet."
Through the window, I saw my mother crossing the grounds.
"No!" I snapped as Bex lunged toward me, her foot sailing far too close to my ear for comfort. "I am not spying on my mom again," I said, maybe too loudly considering that Tina Walters and Eva Alvarez were ten feet away.
"Who said anything about your mom?" Bex whispered to me, gesturing behind us at the rock wall and Mr. Solomon.
"No way," I whispered. "Mom was bad enough, but Mr. Solomon would be—"
"Look again," she whispered.
And then I saw that Mr. Solomon was not alone. That he was with someone. That he was smiling. That they were laughing.
And that my best friend in the world thought that I should snoop on my aunt Abby.
I would like to point out that, despite evidence to the contrary, I don't like breaking rules. I do not enjoy violating people's privacy—especially people I love. And I try to never, ever stick my nose into other people's business. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that what was happening with Macey had become my business when I fell forty feet through a metal shaft and landed in a cart full of dirty laundry.
So that's why we huddled in our suite that Thursday night.
And that's why I didn't protest as Bex asked, "So, everyone clear?"
Macey laced up her running shoes and Liz gripped her flashlight, while I just sat there telling myself that there's a big difference between spying and snooping, and espionage isn't so much about uncovering embarrassing things as it is, you know, about saving lives (and other important stuff).
Macey was safe. The Secret Service and Aunt Abby were on the case. But if someone was hunting Gallagher Girls, then none of us would rest until we knew who. And why.
Covert Operations Report PHASE ONE 1830 hours
On the night of October 1, Operative McHenry announced to the entire post-dinner crowd in the Grand Hall that she was going for a run in the woods.
Agent Abigail Cameron announced that the protectee wasn't allowed in the woods alone, and that Agent Cameron had a headache, so therefore, the proctectee wasn't going anywhere.
Operative McHenry (a.k.a., the proctectee) announced that she was going for a run and if Agent Cameron didn't like it she could … (Well, let's just say it was in Arabic. And it wasn't very ladylike.)
Agent Cameron announced (louder, and in Farsi) that the protectee was not to leave the mansion.
Operative McHenry replied (even louder) that she WAS.
And then she fled the Grand Hall. Fast.
Agent Cameron had no choice but to follow.
Walking through the mansion with Bex that night, I felt a little sick to my stomach—not because of what we were about to do, but because I was afraid it might actually work. I might learn something I couldn't unlearn. And every spy knows that we live our lives on a need-to-know basis for a reason.
I glanced out the window and saw a blur as Macey dashed through the woods, Abby following closely behind her. From behind a tree, a flashlight clicked off and on twice, Liz's way of telling us the coast was clear. Everything was going according to plan, and yet a nervous feeling settled in as I walked toward my aunt's room and knocked, knowing full well that no one would answer.
It took ten full minutes to break into Aunt Abby's room. Yes, ten minutes. Not necessarily because my aunt had used every surveillance detection known to man, but because we couldn't be sure she hadn't, and Bex and I weren't taking any chances. (We were juniors, after all!)
When we finally stepped into Abby's room, for some reason I held my breath. Our flashlights played over a closetful of clothes I'd never seen my aunt wear. There was a dresser covered with knickknacks, trinkets from other worlds and other times, and there wasn't a doubt in my mind that each one held a story that I'd never heard. I'd been listening to her wild tales for weeks, but every spy learns early on that the stories that matter most are the ones that you don't tell.
Abby had come back to us—but one look around her room told me that a part of her was still long gone.
The beam of my flashlight nearly blinded me as it shone against the mirror. A tiny black-and-white photo was tacked to the bottom corner of the glass. I stood there for a long time staring at the image of my aunt, my favorite teacher, and my father—all three laughing at a joke that was long since over.
For a second I almost forgot what we were searching for. Someone was after Macey, but right then my aunt was the mystery I most wanted to solve.
"Cam."
Bex's voice cut through the darkness as the beam of her flashlight fell upon—an image I'd hoped I'd never see again.
"That's it," I muttered, stepping closer to look at the grainy black-and-white photograph—a close-up of a hand. It was pretty good considering it had been taken with an NSA satellite a few hundred miles above the earth. It didn't show the faces. If I hadn't known, I wouldn't have even recognized my own shoulder and neck. But the hand was fully in focus, the ring as clear as day.
"Do you recognize it?" I asked, feeling my heart beat faster, seeing the proof at last that I wasn't chasing a phantom image from my mind.
Bex stared harder. "Maybe," she said, then shook her head. "I don't know."
1830 hours
Agent Cameron succeeded in dragging Operative McHenry back to the primary mansion.
