by Sonja Stone
Was the file real? It was possible the legend had been fabricated, maybe as part of an assignment. If it was real, who sent it? Her father’s picture had no identifiable scenery—it could’ve been taken anywhere. But where would someone have gotten an old picture of her dad?
She rolled onto her back and stared at the darkened ceiling. How difficult would it be to find an old yearbook photo? Her parents stood firmly against social media (that’s not how you develop a friendship, Nadia), and they’d gone to school decades before everything became readily available online. Their generation didn’t even have cell phones until well after college, so finding a photo might take some effort. But it could be done.
Nadia sighed, turning toward the wall. Maybe creating a legend about a former recruit was part of Jack’s senior project. But why choose her father—why involve her? Then she realized: Jack’s assignment included running junior agents. Maybe she was being tested, too. Maybe her mock mission had already begun.
It could be a test of her loyalties—would she call home and ask her father about it? Or a test of her discretion—could she keep a secret? Would she immediately blab to Sensei, or work it out on her own? She wouldn’t always have a confidant in the field.
Perhaps it was part of an assignment. Maybe she was supposed to research the file, gather intel, write a report; add to the legend or refute its contents. But for which class? Psychology, maybe? Ah—psychological warfare. Shaking one’s foundational beliefs in family was a classic technique: isolate your target, alienate her loved ones, turn her into an asset.
No, it wouldn’t be for psychology, or everybody would’ve gotten one. Surely she would’ve noticed other juniors sneaking off campus or cracking ciphers. It must be part of Jack’s senior project, part of the mission he designed especially for her.
Nadia shook her head. Of course the recruit file was fake. Her father would never knowingly send her to a CIA training school. Her mother would kill him—she worried incessantly about Nadia. In fact, her mom hadn’t even wanted Nadia to attend last semester, and that was without any knowledge of the actual program. So if her dad knew about the Academy, not only would he be risking Nadia’s life by entering her into this line of work, but he’d essentially be ending his marriage. Zaida Riley would never forgive him.
She smiled. It was ridiculous to think that her dad—Professor James Riley, with his sweater vests and tweed jackets—could actually be a spy.
* * *
—
Thursday morning, after Nadia and her classmates had completed drills at the dojo, Sensei made an announcement. Starting today, the students would begin their specializations. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, previously reserved for team study sessions at the library, would now be dedicated to small, isolated groups learning the specific aspects of tradecraft.
“See your first-period instructor for your schedules,” Sensei said. “Class dismissed.”
As her team moved toward the lobby, Nadia turned to Libby. “I’ll catch up with you on the trail, okay? I need a minute with Sensei.” She lingered in the lobby until the shoji doors slid closed behind the last junior. The second they were alone, Nadia started talking. “Sensei, someone murdered Professor Hayden.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “I heard it was Damon. Is that true?”
“I received the same information.”
“Should I be worried?” She watched his face carefully.
As usual, his expression remained neutral. “You are concerned that he will hurt you?”
“I wasn’t until Alan pointed out that I’d destroyed Damon’s entire life. But yeah, I guess a little. I don’t think he would hurt me. We used to be really close.”
“Damon is not who you believed him to be.”
She nodded and looked at the ground. “I know.”
After a moment Sensei said, “I do not expect that he will seek you out, but if he does, you must not trust him. Whether incidentally or by design, associating with Damon puts your life in grave danger. He is a threat to you. Perhaps not an imminent threat, but do not mistake him for your friend.” His dark eyes studied her face. “Remember, Nadia-san: a tiger cannot change his stripes.”
* * *
—
Sensei’s words echoed in her head all morning. She didn’t really believe Damon would hurt her—in fact, it was unlikely that she’d ever see him again. Why would he return to the scene of the crime? He was a lot of things, but careless wasn’t one of them.
That afternoon after the day’s last class, Nadia attended her first specialization, field medicine, held in the chemistry lab. She found a seat next to Niyuri, the sweet girl from Noah’s team who’d dated Damon last semester.
“Have you heard anything about Damon?” Niyuri asked.
Nadia shook her head. “Not a word. You?”
“Just the rumor that he killed Professor Hayden.” Niyuri leaned closer. “Did you hear how Hayden died?”
Before Nadia could answer, their instructor arrived, carrying a red cooler.
“I am Dr. Clement,” she said, setting the cooler on the lab station at the front of the room. “Former Marine Corps captain, former chief of medicine at Massachusetts General. Welcome to my class.” She pointed at each of the twelve students as she counted aloud. “Perfect. You—” She nodded to Eric, the boy on the end. “Hand these out, one per student.” She gave him the cooler. “Today’s lesson: suturing a wound.”
Dr. Clement passed around scalpels and suture kits, sterile packages containing prethreaded needles, latex gloves, and alcohol wipes.
As Eric reached their lab table, Niyuri wrinkled her nose. “Is that what I think it is?”
Eric nodded and dropped a pig’s foot onto Nadia’s desk.
* * *
—
At dinnertime Nadia reconvened with her team in the dining hall. When she reached the buffet line, she was grateful to see lasagna rather than roasted pork. After sitting down, she asked, “How were everyone’s specializations?”
“Refreshingly educational,” Alan said. “I assembled a transistor radio from a box of spare parts.”
“I made a fake ID,” Simon said. “The equipment here is much nicer than what I’ve used previously. Of course, I was working out of my mum’s basement with a load of stuff I’d pinched from the hardware store.”
Nadia smiled. “How about you, Libby?”
Libby beamed and rested her silverware across her plate. “I had the best afternoon. I discovered that I am going to be an amazing spy.”
“Of course you are, love, but what happened?” Simon asked.
“Fingerprints,” Libby said, clasping her hands together. “Now initially, I had no idea why I was selected for the forensics specialization. I mean, blood splatter analysis? It’s repulsive.”
“Because of your OCD,” Nadia said. “You notice everything. It’s remarkable.”
“As it turns out, you’re absolutely right,” Libby said. “But that’s only part of it. After our introductory lecture, my forensics unit was instructed to dust the room for prints. Naturally, no one dusts better than I do, even though this exercise involved creating dust rather than eliminating it, but after we’d gathered all the prints together, guess which one of us had left no trace of her presence?”
Nadia laughed. “You left no fingerprints because you didn’t touch anything.”
“You are correct.” Libby’s smile grew wider. “It was so much fun. I don’t think I’ve ever been the best at anything.” She turned to Nadia. “What about you?”
Knowing her germaphobic roommate was a little squeamish, Nadia shook her head. Libby would be horrified to hear about stitching up a pig’s foot. “Nothing of interest.”
* * *
—
That evening, as the girls got ready for bed, Nadia discovered a note that had been slipped into her bag. After Libby closed the bathroom door, Nadia unfolded the paper and read the printed message: SEV. ZRRG NG ABBA. OYVAQ PBEARE. PBZR NYBAR. She immediately recognized
the code as a simple Caesar cipher.
Nadia wrote the alphabet on a fresh sheet of paper. It shouldn’t take long to crack the key. The hardest part would be figuring out which letter rotation to use. She started with ABBA—the word contained only two letters, so the vowels were likely internal. Furthermore, the word had to be a palindrome: deed, peep, sees, toot.
She fiddled with the alphabet until she solved ABBA: noon. That meant the code was written in ROT13, or rotation thirteen. A was to be replaced by the fourteenth letter of the alphabet; b equaled o, and so on.
She transcribed the code: FRI. MEET AT NOON. BLIND CORNER. COME ALONE.
Nadia shoved the note into her pocket as her stomach fluttered. Only fourteen more hours till the next portion of her mock mission.
Normally, Alan would have to force himself to stay awake until one-thirty in the morning, but ever since Saba had slipped him the details for their clandestine meeting during political science, his heart rate had not dipped below one hundred and ten, which made sleeping difficult.
At 0115 Alan climbed from his bed, fully dressed, and slipped out his bedroom door. Once outside in the chilled night air of the desert, he pulled on his shoes and walked toward the wall surrounding campus. The moon was obtrusive; the reflection of the sun cast from its face fell like a spotlight across Alan’s shoulders.
His instructions were to follow the wall until he reached the lower left quadrant of campus, and then wait. When he reached his destination, he leaned against the stucco, crossed his arms, and scowled.
Alan’s entire family drove him to distraction. Over the holiday, he’d spoken to his mother about Libby. Not because he wanted to, but because she was nosy and discovered that he was sending fruit to Georgia. When he told her Libby seemed less than enthralled, she suggested that Libby might be intimidated by Alan’s intellect. Not an impossible theory, but he suspected his mother had said this only to make him feel better.
And now Saba, out of nowhere and for no good reason, had appeared at the one place that was Alan’s own, the one place his intrusive family had yet to control.
Alan scanned the surrounding area, watching for the lumbering shape of his grandfather.
Despite Nadia’s accusations, he really had tried to contact Saba, to tell him he would not be his Mossad liaison in the CIA. Now he knew why Saba had been unreachable—he had been preparing to breach Alan’s only sanctuary.
It was unfair. For the first time in his life, Alan felt a part of something, like he had friends who cared about his well-being. And now Saba was here to take that away.
As if summoned by the thought, Saba stepped from the shadows.
“Aryeh,” he said, addressing Alan by his given name. His hands clamped around Alan’s biceps while he kissed both cheeks. “It is a beautiful night, no?”
“Please lower your voice,” Alan whispered. Saba’s heavy hands remained on Alan’s shoulders, like an anchor securing a vessel to shore. Not certain he wanted the answer, Alan asked, “What are you doing here?”
“It is a tragic story. A few months ago, a bomb detonated outside a cafe in Tel Aviv. My people caught the suspect almost immediately, but he was not forthcoming, so they sent for me. Interrogation happens to be my specialty. Eventually, he disclosed critical information relevant to our American allies, which I had to deliver in person. My trip brought me to Las Vegas, and I thought, you know what would be nice? Spending time with my grandson.”
Alan’s stomach flipped. Before considering the ramifications of his question—or Saba’s answer—he asked, “Please tell me you are not the one who leaked confidential information to an American politician?” Saba laughed and Alan shushed him.
“I spoke with our allies in the CIA. What happened after that is beyond my control.”
For a single second he considered asking the question that really weighed on him—did Saba kill Professor Hayden? Alan shook his head. He did not want to know. “You cannot stay here.”
“I was concerned for your safety.”
“As you can see, I am fine.”
“I am also enjoying the opportunity to get to know your friends,” Saba said.
Alan felt sick. What did that mean? Was it a veiled threat?
“Alan, Mossad still needs you. We are on course, no?”
A wave of nausea rolled through Alan’s stomach. He whispered, “I do not think I can report to you. People know about you. I could be arrested for treason.”
Saba sighed and looked around. “This is disappointing news, Aryeh.”
Dread filled Alan’s chest. He willed himself not to respond, not to offer assurances to his grandfather.
Saba continued. “I need an agent willing to work with Mossad. Israel will have her allies. Obviously, my first choice is you, my only grandson, a member of my family. For this you were sent to the best schools, granted access to the finest tutors.” He looked pointedly at Alan. “I will have my agent, Aryeh. Better it should be you, but if you refuse…” Saba shrugged. “I will find another recruit. I will have the best man—or woman—for the job, whatever the cost.”
Alan’s heart fell as Saba turned and walked away. Whatever the cost—what did that mean? Was someone in danger? Or did Saba mean that he would disown his only grandson and replace him with a more willing protégé?
When feeling returned to his legs, Alan pushed himself away from the cold block wall. As he rounded the first corner toward his dorm, he heard a low whistle from the shadows.
Simon stepped forward, shaking his head. “Oi, mate.” He sucked in his breath. “That can’t have felt good.”
Alan froze. How much had Simon heard? If Saba found out he had been discovered, Simon might be in serious danger—even more than Alan would wish upon him.
Simon threw his arm over Alan’s shoulder. “Where does he get off thinking his only grandson is replaceable?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “No wonder you were so agitated that an MI-6 trainee got invited here. You’d be thrown in the clink if anyone learnt your story, wouldn’t you? That’s not fair at all.”
Fear flooded Alan’s body. Simon had heard everything. “Why are you following me?”
“Something seemed amiss,” Simon said. “Come on. I’ll walk with you.” They continued toward their dorm. “I have a keen eye for trouble, and I thought you might need backup.”
Alan paused. “Would you really have provided backup if necessary?”
Simon slapped his back. “Of course I would. That’s what mates do. And we are mates, aren’t we, Alan?”
Alan smiled. Perhaps he had misjudged Simon. “I suppose we are.”
“Brilliant!” Simon opened the lobby door. Barely a beat passed before he said, “Listen, mate. I need a favor.”
Morning classes on Friday seemed to last four times longer than usual. Between lack of sleep the night before and obsessively checking the clock to ensure a prompt arrival at her clandestine meeting, Nadia didn’t absorb much information from the lectures.
Something else was bothering her, something about the dead drop, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. An elusive thought pulled for her attention, like a gnat in her peripheral vision. If she could just get it into focus…
Finally, a few minutes before noon, Nadia jogged up the hill and snuck through the back gate. Per the instructions, she followed the campus wall toward the blind corner on the running trails. As expected, when she rounded the bend, she found Jack waiting. Still, the sight of him brought relief, and she felt the ropes in her shoulders loosen a little.
“Hi.” Nadia moved forward to give him a hug. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.”
Before she made contact, he held up a hand and stepped back. “Please, we’re here on business.”
“Oh, sorry.” She smiled. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Okay.” Nadia waited for him to continue. He seemed…off. Distant. “What’s up?”
He stood with his hands claspe
d together, a serious expression on his face. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Yeah, of course,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“As part of my assignment, I’m required to set up clandestine meets with my agents, and then file reports summarizing the meeting. So that’s what we’re doing.” He handed her a sealed white envelope and a set of blueprints. “Here are floor plans and op-specs for your mission. Study the emergency exits, memorize the stairwells and elevators, all points of access and egress.”
“Got it.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“Yeah, I do. Why are you acting so weird?”
“I’m simply trying to maintain professionalism, and I would appreciate if you would do the same. You can go back ahead of me. I’ll wait here so we’re not spotted together.”
Nadia frowned. “Okay.” She took a few steps back, then turned and walked briskly toward the back gate. What was that all about? Something was bothering him, something to do with her. Was he angry that she’d been so casual? That wasn’t really fair—she hadn’t known they were meeting as part of his assignment.
She sighed as she stepped back onto campus. Of course it was part of his assignment—why else would he have sent her a coded message? She should’ve figured it out, been more professional.
Wait a second. Nadia stopped walking. That couldn’t be it. After he’d been so affectionate at the library in front of the whole team? No, this wasn’t her fault. It was something else.
Nadia spun around and marched back through the gate. She found Jack halfway up the trail.
He raised his arms, questioning. “What are you doing? You were supposed to leave before me as practice for our missions.”
“I’m not doing this again. I need you to tell me what’s wrong. Have I done something?”
“Other than behaving unprofessionally?” He scratched his nose.
She might’ve accepted the insult and taken the blame for the strangeness of their interaction if Jack hadn’t chosen that exact moment to touch his face. But that was his tell—he was lying. Nadia crossed her arms. “Jack.”
