The Spy Who Totally Had a Crush on Me

by Michael P. Spradlin

  Which is exactly why we were going in. Mr. Kim, that sneak, had discovered Devereaux was going to be giving a big party to show off her discovery of some other rare ceremonial thingamajig she’d uncovered in Nepal or Indiana or someplace. The party was going to be catered. And the four of us were going to be part of the catering team. The catering company was actually fronted by a west-coast agent in Mr. Kim’s network. He used it as a cover; it was an excellent way to check up on suspected bad guys since they usually threw the most lavish parties. When he needed to, he just added a few agents to the wait staff. Since catering staffs have such high turnovers anyway, no one was the wiser.

  We were going to use the caterer as a means to “gain egress” into the house. (Mr. Kim always used words and phrases like gain egress instead of just saying, “get into the house.” He wanted us to feel more like agents and learn the proper agent lingo. Sweet!) We would work the party as members of the wait staff and when the moment arrived, sneak off to the room where the Firehorn was kept, use some nifty little gadgets to bypass the alarms, and execute Operation Switcheroo. (Okay, that really isn’t the name of this operation. I came up with that on my own.)

  Our plan was to replace the Firehorn with an exact duplicate. The Firehorn was a gorgeous thing to behold in the first place. It looked sort of like a small French horn, covered in jewels and very regal looking. The bell was carved out of gold in the shape of a bull’s head, of course. Mr. Kim had constructed a fake Firehorn, based on drawings, photographs, and X-rays made by the British Museum when they authenticated the Firehorn for Mrs. Devereaux.

  Mr. Kim was very big on this replacing-the-real-artifacts-with-a-duplicate plan. He’d done the same thing with the Book of Seraphim. I wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. It was fine if you were able to hang on to the real artifact, and not have it stolen out of a vault in your office, but if your original ended up getting swiped, well, you were sorta back to square one. Like us.

  I understood we were keeping Mithras off balance, and buying time, by doing this. But to me, going to the trouble of replacing them with fakes seemed like a lot of extra work with very little upside. After having been around Blankenship a few times now, I thought the time for deceit and trickery was long past. My gut said go in, take the stupid Firehorn, the Idol of Fury we’d recovered in Hawaii, the Book of Seraphim (as soon as we stole it back from whoever stole it from us), and any of the other stuff we could get our hands on and have a giant bonfire and burn them all to a crisp. Or smash them to bits with a sledgehammer. Say sayonara to your plans for world domination, Blankenship. Time for a new hobby. Try stamp collecting, you fruitcake.

  Mr. Kim saw it differently. He felt such ancient and historically important artifacts should not be destroyed. It was Simon who sought to use them for “evil purposes,” and he must be stopped. The items themselves were not evil—it was Simon who was at fault. When it was safe, the relics could be placed in museums and studied for their historical significance.

  Well, sure. That could happen. But unless Blankenship was dead, he wasn’t going to give up any time soon—or, well … ever. Who knows how many people could be hurt in his quest for these ridiculous things. Mr. Kim and I tend to see matters somewhat differently.

  Anyway, that was what we’d been up to. We were meeting in the Top Floor every night and practicing our plan to get the Firehorn. We were focused and determined and when I was in the throes of this training I really didn’t think too much about Rinteau and the fact that he thought we were “up to something.”

  Until he discovered our secret.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Uh Oh

  IT WASN’T LIKE WE completely forgot about it. I mean after the day in the cafeteria, we’d told Mr. Kim what had happened. How Rinteau had picked up on the fact that we “disappeared” all the time. He told us not to worry, and that he would come up with something that would keep Mr. Rinteau occupied, but that we should make doubly sure that we were careful in our movements. Be sure no one saw us moving clandestinely around the school. Be careful to act “more normal.” More normal. Sure, no problem. Acting normal is super easy for me. I do it all the time, what with the walking through force fields, the hand lighting up, and the weird dreams.

  Students might be used to seeing seniors entering and exiting the Top Floor wing, but if they were to spot us underclassmen moving about there, it might raise suspicions, Mr. Kim said. Being an agent meant concentrating on your cover. It had to become second nature.

  So we were careful. Alex and Brent made sure they split up when they left their rooms. They doubled back on themselves. Sometimes they took the long way around to the entrance, keeping watch for Rinteau to make sure he wasn’t spying on them. Pilar and I did the same thing, but it was really the boys we needed to worry about since Rinteau’s room was just down the hall from theirs. He never mentioned it again, so it seemed like he had forgotten it.

  Our mistake. Mistakes, actually. Since we were positive Rinteau never saw us going to or coming from the Top Floor, we thought he would stop being curious. Like me, when he became suspicious about Top Floor, he could just ask other students about it and learn what I had: that it was a section of the school with special classes for seniors on advance study curriculums.

  But he didn’t catch us there. He caught us in THE BIG SECRET SPY ROOM THAT’S HIDDEN UNDER THE SCHOOL AND ACCESSIBLE ONLY BY SECRET PASSAGE FROM MR. KIM’S OFFICE. And like usual, it was my fault.

  While we were training, we occasionally needed to be in Mr. Kim’s lair to use some of the equipment there. Mr. Kim could pull up satellite images of the Devereaux estate and he had schematics and architectural plans of the buildings. We needed to study those so we could familiarize ourselves with the layout. And that’s how it happened.

  After Tae Kwon Do one night, we were on our way down to THE BIG SECRET SPY ROOM THAT’S HIDDEN UNDER THE SCHOOL AND ACCESSIBLE ONLY BY SECRET PASSAGE FROM MR. KIM’S OFFICE from the Top Floor. While the others went on ahead, I needed to stop off at my room first.

  The plain truth is that all of the extra training was making me hungry. I had squirreled away a couple of Mrs. Clausen’s oatmeal-butterscotch cookies in my desk drawer and was famished. I intended to hit my room, wolf down the cookies, and meet the gang in the lair. But because I wasn’t paying attention, it all fell apart. All because of those cookies; those deliciously creamy, chewy, sweet, melt-in-your-mouth cookies. I mean, they are sooo good.

  I trotted to my room and Rinteau must have spotted me coming from the girls’ wing. And since I wasn’t headed back to Top Floor, I really didn’t think about him lurking about. The section of the school by Mr. Kim’s office was usually deserted in the evening. It was all offices and conference rooms and there were hardly ever any students about. The only thing you had to worry about was making sure Mrs. Marquardt didn’t spot you.

  I barreled on down the hallway from the girls’ wing with nary a care in the world, marveling at how such disparate flavors like oatmeal and butterscotch could be mixed together with such a delightful outcome. Who thinks up these things?

  The main corridor of the school was empty as I followed it down to the hall leading to Mr. Kim’s office. I peeked around the corner. It was still all clear, so I hustled down to the office. Mrs. Marquardt’s door was closed and all seemed quiet.

  In the office, I moved a little picture frame and the bookcase swung out from the wall. Just as I was about to step through, there was a knock on the door.

  “Hello, Mr. Kim? It’s Michael Rinteau; may I come in?” he asked.

  I panicked. The bookshelf closes automatically fifteen seconds after it’s opened and before I could make up my mind it made its hissing sound and swung shut. Okay, that’s good. Couldn’t let him spot the secret stairway. But then how would I explain being in Mr. Kim’s office alone?

  I had the idea to just wait in the office and hope he went away. But what if he opened the door and saw me here? What if he came back and started snooping around. I needed a
plan quickly.

  With no more time, I opened the door. “Oh,” I said. “What are you doing here?” Rinteau took a step back. I stood in the doorway. He looked over my shoulder at the empty office.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said.

  “I’m waiting for Mr. Kim. We’re supposed to meet, but he’s not here.” It was the only thing I could think to say.

  “Meet for what?”

  “A meeting,” I said, little beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

  “What kind of meeting?” he said, not giving up.

  “If you must know, I’m having a little trouble in my crim class. He wanted to talk to me about it,” I said. You are so cute, I thought to myself, but please go away now.

  “You don’t seem the type to have trouble in classes.” He looked at me suspiciously. What was up with this guy? Me not have trouble in class? I was obviously not as smart as he thought. Time for Rachel to go on offense.

  “What are you doing down here anyway?” I asked, trying to sound stern.

  “I saw you coming out of the girls’ wing. You looked like you were on a secret mission or something, so I followed you,” he said.

  “You followed me! What the heck is wrong with you? What business is it of yours where I go or what I’m doing?” I forgot for a moment how cute he was because I don’t like being followed.

  My indignant tone just seemed to crack him up. He just wasn’t taking me seriously. At all.

  “You have no right to intrude in my business like that,” I said.

  “Really? Because I was getting this vibe from you that you liked me knowing your business,” he said and he smile-smirked again. Smilirked. It was a new word I’d just invented. I could literally feel the blood move from every part of my body and rush directly to my cheeks, where it seemed to want to take up permanent residence. I could not be any redder if someone had doused me in gasoline and tossed in a match.

  And I had a vibe?

  “You know all that living in a mall and getting beaten up by gang members every day didn’t seem to damage your self-esteem. You have a remarkably high opinion of yourself,” I said, still feeling hot in the face. Was I remembering to breathe? Because it felt like hours since I’d gotten any oxygen.

  “We were talking about your opinion of me,” he pointed out.

  “I don’t have an opinion of you,” I shot back.

  “Really?” Rinteau asked. When he said it, he stepped in closer to me and locked onto my eyes. Mr. Kim certainly kept his office thermostat on a high setting. I stepped back, still feeling like I wasn’t getting enough air. And when I stepped back, he moved in closer.

  “I mean, I have an opinion, and it’s a good one. … I don’t mean good in a bad sense … or the way that you think, or I think you think … I mean that you’re a nice guy and everything and so very nice about things … but I don’t … not what you’re thinking is my opinion … not at all.” If only he would leave. Then I could go downstairs, take one of Mr. Kim’s martial arts swords off the wall and throw myself on it.

  The smilirk never left his face. “You want to tell me what you’re really up to?” he asked. I had a horrible, horrible thought. I’d been gone from the group for probably fifteen minutes now. What if one of them came up the stairs looking for me? They would walk right into Rinteau. Mr. Kim was a stickler about tardiness. It wouldn’t be unlike him to send someone up to look for me. I needed to get rid of him.

  I looked at my watch and when I did, I quickly pressed one of the small buttons on the side of it. That would open the microphone and the others should be able to hear me.

  “Wow Michael, Mr. Kim isn’t usually late like this,” I said. “Maybe he forgot our appointment or had an emergency or something. Guess I better head back to my room.” After I said it, I realized I had practically shouted, hoping the microphone would pick up my voice. Rinteau looked at me with a curious expression.

  I squeezed by him into the hallway and pulled the door shut.

  “You know if Mrs. Marquardt catches you down here, you’ll get in a lot of trouble,” I said, starting back down the corridor like I was heading back to my room.

  “That old biddy? She doesn’t scare me,” he said. I guess in relation to your average gang-banger, Mrs. Marquardt probably wasn’t that scary. But she totally weirded me out. “You think Mr. Kim ‘forgot’ your appointment, eh?” he said.

  “Sure. He’s a busy man. It’s a big job running a school like this. All kinds of unexpected things can pop up.”

  Rinteau snorted like he didn’t believe a word I was saying.

  I picked up my pace, wanting to be rid of him—perfect teeth or no. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make him more suspicious. It was dang hard for someone like me to keep all of these blasted secrets. Usually I just blurt everything out. Undoubtedly this would someday be my downfall in the world of espionage and international intrigue. I mean, Blankenship had captured me twice already and all I did was blab my head off both times. What would happen if I was captured and really tortured? I shuddered at the thought. Rachel, I told myself, you need to get control of your life somehow. Maybe there was a nice herbal supplement I could try.

  Rinteau didn’t seem to have anything else to say. He was enjoying letting me stew in my own juices. Gack!

  We were silent until we made it through the main corridor and back to the turnoff for the girls’ wing.

  “Well, got to go, lots of homework,” I said, giving him my best jaunty wave before heading down the hall toward my room. I’d gone about ten feet when his voice stopped me.

  “I’m going to find out, you know,” he said.

  “Find out what?” I asked, pretending to have no idea what he was talking about. But making sure to keep walking. Don’t turn around. If you turn around and he’s got that smilirk on his face, you’ll totally cave, I warned myself.

  “What the four of you are up too. You all disappear somewhere every night. I catch you lurking around Mr. Kim’s office when he’s not there. Then he ‘misses’ an appointment. You may not have noticed, but Mr. Kim doesn’t miss anything. And I’ll tell you something else. He seems to have a special interest in you. I see him talking to you all the time. In the hall. In the cafeteria. In the do jang, when he’s observing the class, he’s watching you from across the room. Why you? Why not another student? What is it about you?” I knew he was looking at me with those laser-green eyes. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. I couldn’t believe he’d noticed all this stuff.

  “Wow. You’ve got a really active imagination, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, keeping my back to him. I had to think of something to keep him off the subject of me and our mission. I’d gone a few more feet when I thought of another quickly constructed lie, and I turned around to face him.

  But he was gone. I let out a sigh of relief. Crisis averted, at least for now. I trotted quickly to the corner and looked to see where he’d gone, but he must have cut back down the other hall to the boys’ wing or something.

  I raised my watch to my mouth and spoke quietly into the microphone. “You guys hear that?” I said.

  Mr. Kim’s voice came back over the tiny speaker. “Yes, are you alone now?” he asked.

  “Yeah he’s gone.”

  “Good. Make sure he’s not following you and come down as quickly as you can. We have a problem.”

  You can say that again, Mr. Kim.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I’ll Definitely Take That Sword Now

  I SWEAR I WAS CAREFUL. I was certain I’d checked everything out. As usual, I was wrong.

  After Rinteau left me in the hallway, I went back to my room and waited for a few minutes. In case he decided to come back and knock on my door or something, I didn’t want him to find me gone again. Of course, boys weren’t allowed in the girls’ wing, but he seemed to have a very fluid sense of the rules.

  After about fifteen minutes, I figured the coast was clear.
I left my room and took a long and rambling route back to Mr. Kim’s office, using the stairs to go up a couple of levels, then across and down through the atrium and back in that way. Each time I approached a corner, I would stop and listen for footsteps and peek around it.

  I never saw him. He’d either gone back to his room or disappeared into thin air. I preferred to think he’d tried to follow me but I was so good at shaking a tail that he’d given up in frustration.

  About forty-five minutes later, I made it down to THE BIG SECRET SPY ROOM THAT’S HIDDEN UNDER THE SCHOOL AND ACCESSIBLE ONLY BY SECRET PASSAGE FROM MR. KIM’S OFFICE. By the time I arrived, my nerves were shot.

  “Whew, that was close,” I said.

  “Indeed,” said Mr. Kim, “we will need to come up with a plan to keep Mr. Rinteau in the dark about your activities.”

  “I told you that guy was trouble. Something isn’t right with him. Why is he nosing around us so much?” Alex said. He felt the need to contribute positively to the discussion once again.

  “Alex, I had no idea you were so paranoid,” I said. “Why do you get so worked up over this guy?”

  Anger flared across his face briefly, but after a deep breath he composed himself.

  “I get ‘worked up’ because no one seems to realize his story just doesn’t add up!”

  Mr. Kim, as usual, sat at the conference table like the Sphinx, not saying a word. I’d come to realize Mr. Kim liked to let us work out our issues among ourselves whenever possible. I’d asked him about this once and he explained to me that we must settle our differences and grow together. If we were going to become a team, we would need to learn to referee our own disputes and ultimately trust one another. Okay, I get that. Except, sometimes, I really wished he’d jump in and give us an order or something. It would save time.

  “Why are you so paranoid? Some kind of childhood trauma? He doesn’t have a story. He’s an orphan, for heaven’s sake. That’s his story,” I said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Jeez, Alex, you might remember that and give him a break.”