The Spy Who Totally Had a Crush on Me

by Michael P. Spradlin

  “Brent, any chance you can cut that alarm?” I shouted.

  “I’m working on it.”

  “On second thought, don’t try to cut; repeat, don’t try to cut it. If it stops without someone from security resetting it they’ll be even more suspicious,” I explained.

  “Copy that.”

  “Have Mr. Kim get the van ready,” I said.

  I rubbed the sweat off my face. Pilar and Rinteau stood there, not knowing what to do. I snapped the cable free from the light fixture and it flopped to the ground. I coiled it up and stuffed it into one of the duffle bags.

  “Take the duffles. The guards will be here any second. Go back down the hallway and find one of the deserted rooms. Wait there until the guards pass and find me; I’ll distract them. Get to the van as fast as you can,” I said.

  “How are you going to—” Rinteau started.

  “Go!” I said.

  They didn’t have to be told twice. They grabbed the duffles and hurried back down the hallway. They entered the last room on the left before the main hallway.

  Holding my empty tray, I went back to the doorway of the room now holding the fake Firehorn.

  “Brent, you better restore the feed on the cameras so they can see me here; otherwise they’ll know something is up,” I said.

  “Uhh, problem. Rachel, I can’t sync the film to match the time the alarm goes off; it’s going to look suspicious,” he said.

  “I’ll think of something,” I said. “And it will take them time to sort it out. Hopefully they’re more worried about getting security here than studying the monitors. Get ready to switch the feed on my mark. See if you can hack in and change the time stamp on the camera. It’s a digital recording so it should be easy to match it up,” I said.

  “Easy if I had your computer skills,” Brent said.

  “Now!” I said and walked into the room, ruffling up my hair and trying my best to look lost and confused.

  There was noise and motion in the hallway and two men in gray suits burst into the room. Each of them had holstered side arms on their belts and they held their hands on their guns.

  “Hold it,” one of them said.

  “Sorry!” I said, pointing to my ears, “I can’t hear you!”

  One of them spoke into a small radio transmitter pinned to his sleeve, and in a few seconds the shrieking of the alarm stopped.

  “Whew, that’s better,” I said. “Do you know where the bathroom is? Because I got so turned around, I’m totally lost. And then I wandered in here by mistake and the next thing I know, it’s like I’m on some spaceship or something with all of the screeching and the noise. The thing is I have a tray of pate to deliver, but I really need a potty break, so if you can show me the way—”

  “Put your hands up!” Mr. Stern-faced Security Man said.

  “Whoa! No need to get unfriendly, just point me in the right direction and I’ll skedaddle back the way I came.” Yep, I said skedaddle. I’m old school.

  I started toward the door and they both drew their weapons, pointing them at me. Having guns pointed at you is one of the downsides when one is involved in a life of international intrigue. This was the third time I’d had one pointed at me, and let me tell you, it’s way down on my list of fun things to have pointed at me. Point a cinnamon roll at me and I’m good. Wave a Versace gift card in my direction and I’m all over that. But, frankly, this gun stuff was just starting to annoy me.

  “Hey, wait a minute! I’m with the caterer and just got turned around and now I need to get back to work or I’m going to lose my job. And I need this job. It’s hard enough getting the puff pastries out to the guests while they’re still hot, let alone having a gun stuck in your face! This is just a big misunderstanding and I’ll just—”

  “Miss, put your hands up now!” It was hard to tell the guards apart because they both looked the same. They had light-colored hair, were about the same height, and they were in good shape. Both seemed to be getting a little ticked off at me. Which is my special gift: my ability to tick off complete strangers.

  “Okay, okay! Geez, I didn’t know you could get shot at in Glenwood just for trying to find the bathroom. I’m from the valley. What do I know?” Gingerly, I put the tray down on the floor and put my hands up.

  The younger-looking one holstered his weapon and walked around behind me. He reached up to grab my right wrist as if he were going to put handcuffs on me. Here goes. Instead of letting him get a firm grip on my arm, I flipped my wrist around and grabbed his. I stepped quickly out to the side and, while I did, I lifted the tray with my foot and flipped it up in the air at the guy holding the gun. He shouted, but the tray foot-tossing got him all messed up and he tried to catch the tray instead of shooting me, which is probably what he should have done. But maybe being attacked by tray-flipping waitresses wasn’t covered in the security guard training manual.

  My momentum carried me to the side of the first guy trying to cuff me. I twisted his arm and stepped behind him like we were dancing. He was set up to twirl me, but instead of spinning around and batting my eyelashes at him, I twisted his arm up behind him. I reached into his holster, quickly drew his gun, and tossed it to the far corner of the room. With a hard shove, I pushed him toward his buddy, who was still bobbling the tray. They crashed into each other and landed on the floor in a heap.

  “That’s for pointing a gun at me!” I said.

  I leaped over them and raced out of the room and into the hallway. I had to assume two things: One, Brent had restored the video feed and they could see what had just happened. So they’d be sending other guards. And two, the guys behind me would be coming after me and were likely to be in very bad moods.

  “Brent?”

  “Rachel, you need to get out of there!” he was shouting in my ear.

  “Thanks for that; how do I do it?”

  “Try to avoid the other guards and get to the kitchen,” he said. Okay. Brent has a little bit of an issue when it comes to the stating of the obvious.

  “I know that!”

  “Mr. Kim is moving in your direction. Try to stay loose, the cavalry is on the way,” he said.

  I had reached the end of the hallway now and headed back to the party. I could hear commotion coming from all different directions and suspected more guards were on the way. I darted into the first room I came to and flattened myself in the doorway. Sure enough, a few seconds later another pair of gray-suited guards went racing past, guns drawn and shouting into their radios.

  After they ran by, I quietly slipped out and ran in the opposite direction, turned the corner, and soon I was back in the main room where the party guests still mingled.

  “Brent, what’s going on,” I whispered.

  “There are four guards in the Firehorn room now. They’re giving it a pretty close inspection. You left your tray behind and one of them has it. They’re probably going to try to fingerprint it if they don’t catch you first. Where are you?” he asked. I wasn’t worried about my fingerprints. Mr. Kim had them removed from all databases after I’d been busted for joyriding.

  “I’m back in the main room. I need to get out of here,” I whispered.

  “Mr. Kim should be there any minute; he’ll be able to think of something,” he said.

  I made my way through the guests, gathering up a few empty glasses, trying not to act suspicious. Ahead of me, one of the other waiters was headed toward the kitchen with an empty tray. I undid my ponytail and shook out my hair, letting it hang around my shoulders as I cut him off.

  “Hi. There’s a spill over near the grand piano; do you mind taking care of it while I borrow your tray?” I asked.

  The waiter was of course one of Mr. Kim’s agents, so he didn’t argue. We traded the empty glasses for the tray. I glanced around me, just in time to see the four guards entering the room from the hallway. I ducked a little, covering my face with the tray, and began moving as quickly as I could through the crowd toward the kitchen.

  The guard
s cut through the mingling guests, spreading out to look for me. They’d obviously searched each of the rooms on the way back, and knew that I would have had to come in this direction.

  I reached the kitchen and burst through the door, almost running over Mr. Kim.

  “Rachel, are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, but we’ve got to hurry, we’ve got bogies on our tail.” I followed him as we made our way across the kitchen to the side door. It was dark outside now and somehow it felt like I’d been inside that house forever. The back of the van burst open and I scrambled in while Mr. Kim hopped in the driver’s seat.

  Brent’s van was already idling, ready to pull out once we were secure. Mr. Kim backed up and turned the van around, and we accelerated down the driveway toward the gate with Brent following us.

  “Mr. Kim, how are we going to clear the gate?” I asked. “Since the alarm sounded, won’t they shut it down?”

  “Not to worry,” he said.

  Well, I worry. So sue me. A single guard stood at the gate as we drove toward it. My heart started speeding up. At first I thought Mr. Kim was going to run him over and crash through the gate, but as we drew closer he slowed. The guard stepped out of the way and the gate slid open. As we drove through, Mr. Kim waved at the guard—who saluted back.

  Whew. “Student?” I said.

  Mr. Kim nodded. “Special Agent William Lacy, class of ’91,” he said.

  We had done it. We had the Firehorn.

  Of course, we wouldn’t have it for long.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Friend or Foe

  WE DROVE THE VANS straight to the airport in Burbank, where we boarded the FBI jet. A few hours later we landed at Quantico. We spent the night in some guest quarters. With the time change it was now early in the morning and we were all exhausted. At least I was.

  We spent the next day lounging around the barracks at Quantico. I have to say it was a cool place to be, what with all the sweet FBI stuff around. I asked Mr. Kim if we could take a crack at the famous obstacle course. He did a double take because he wasn’t used to me volunteering for anything involving movement of major muscle groups. But he said no. We needed to rest and then return to school as soon as possible.

  Late that afternoon, we drove back to the Academy. We were all still a little wired from the mission and, I have to say, I was somewhat surprised it had gone as well as it did, especially since Mithras hadn’t shown up. Brent had checked the FBI Facial Recognition Database and all of the photos we had run through it from the party had come back negative. The software had taken each picture of a person and analyzed his or her face using various points of reference that couldn’t be changed by a disguise—the distance between the eyes, the set of the mouth, the size of the nose, etc. It then scanned those images and compared them to photos in the database and looked for matches. None of the images matched Simon Blankenship.

  Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t have someone there. It could have been anyone and we wouldn’t have known it. Which is what had me nervous. It seemed like too good of an opportunity for him to miss. Somehow he always knew our next move. I had been expecting his crazy butt to show up. Except he hadn’t. Why?

  I couldn’t come up with an answer to that question, no matter how much I mulled it over. It always seemed like he was two steps ahead of us, and here he had missed a chance to grab one of the artifacts he needed. It didn’t feel right.

  Mr. Kim made sure to have us back to Blackthorn in time for Tae Kwon Do class. We were all in the do jang in uniform working through patterns. It was tough for me to concentrate, though, as I kept thinking about Blankenship.

  When class ended, everyone filed out except me. I stayed there alone and worked on a heavy bag that hung in the corner of the do jang. I practiced kicks and worked on my punches. After about a half an hour, I’d worked up quite a sweat, but still had no answers.

  “What did that bag ever do to you?” Rinteau asked. His voice startled me and I jumped a little.

  He had changed back into street clothes and stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, watching me.

  “Good gosh, don’t sneak up on people like that!”

  “‘Good gosh’?” He chuckled and smilirked like he thought I’d just made the funniest joke in the world. He was so darn incredibly handsome when he smiled. Gulp. “Did you just say ‘good gosh’?” he asked.

  “You’re supposed to have your shoes off in the do jang,” I reminded him. Let’s change the subject. The smile was killing me.

  He looked down. “Oops,” he said. He kicked out of his shoes and stepped over to an equipment rack hanging on the wall. He put on a foam helmet and tossed one to me, along with a pair of sparring gloves. He put on a pair of his own, stepped back on the mat, put his hands up, and started to circle around me.

  I laughed. “So, what, we’re sparring now?”

  “We’ve been sparring ever since we met.”

  What the heck did that mean? I slipped the helmet over my head. It was made of stiff foam that covered the forehead and ears and was held in place by a Velcro strap under the chin. I pulled the gloves on and matched Rinteau’s movements as he circled around me on the mat.

  “You know, you’ve only just started studying Tae Kwon Do; what makes you think I won’t kick your butt?” I asked him. I was a blue belt now. I’d gone from hating it when I’d first come to Blackthorn, to tolerating it as a necessary evil, to realizing that with everything I was involved in, it may be vital to saving my life. I’d dedicated myself to working at it more diligently than before and the effects were starting to show.

  He kept circling, his eyes never wavering from mine.

  “I may not know Tae Kwon Do yet, but I can hold my own in a scrap. Besides, I picked up a few things on the street,” he said.

  He launched a punch at me. It was a lazy looping punch that had no effort or intention behind it. I blocked it easily and countered with a quick shot of my right hand to his solar plexus. Not too hard, but enough to let him know I was serious.

  “Ouch,” he complained.

  “Sissy.”

  Back and forth we moved, like we were dancing. He circled and jabbed and I blocked and counterpunched. All the while he kept up the trash talk about how he’d be taking me down any minute.

  “So that little adventure out in L.A., that’s the kind of stuff you do here at this school every day?”

  “Not every day. Mostly it’s just school. But sometimes we pitch in and help out when we can.”

  I knew Mr. Kim hadn’t told Rinteau the whole story. He didn’t know the extent of our involvement with Mithras. I was careful not say too much. Being careful not to say too much is not one of my strengths.

  “Doesn’t seem like a normal activity for a bunch of school kids to be involved in.”

  “Oh, really? What’s ‘normal’ these days? There are high schools for kids in performing arts, computers, and mathematics. We just happen to pitch in and help the FBI every now and then. Nothing too dangerous.”

  “Really? You having to go all ninja on a bunch of security guards with loaded guns isn’t dangerous? Why would Mr. Kim put you in that kind of situation? It seems very irresponsible.”

  This wasn’t going well. Time to change the subject.

  “How do you like the school?” I asked.

  Rinteau smiled. He knew what I was up to. “How do you like it?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “That’s your comeback? ‘I asked you first’?” He smilirked.

  He looked at me with those mysterious gray-green eyes. And really, what color was that? Not exactly gray or green. More like Grayreen.

  “It’s okay, I guess,” he said. “Beats living on the street. Food’s better than I expected.”

  “I’ll bet. Now why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here,” I asked.

  “Trying to get in a little extra workout.”

  “Ha. Really.”

  “I was wondering what you guys
do around here when you aren’t getting shot at or beating up heavy bags that have never done anything to you.” He smilirked again.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know … What do you do? … Like go to movies or get a pizza somewhere?” he asked.

  “There’s not really a lot of time for that,” I said. “We study a lot and we’re pretty busy with our extracurricular training. When we met you at the mall, that was the first time we’d been out in quite a while,” I said. In reality, it was the first time we’d been out in … ever. At least since I’d come here. But Rinteau was fishing for something and I have to say I didn’t like all the questions. I didn’t know why, but my shields were going up.

  “That’s pretty sad.”

  “Why? Why is it sad? Everybody is pretty happy to be here at Blackthorn in case you haven’t noticed,” I told him. He was calling my life sad. Nobody calls my life sad. Except me.

  “Oh yeah, I’ve noticed all the happiness. Everyone here is an eager beaver. Loves their classes. Loves Mr. Kim. How could you not? I just think … Well … We’re teenagers. We’re supposed to be out doing teenager stuff. Catching a movie and getting a pie afterwards. Cruising around aimlessly in our rides. Trying to sneak into clubs. You know. Normal stuff. Not facing down a small army of armed guards and trying to steal some old lady’s bling.”

  “Maybe that’s true. But you weren’t exactly doing teenager stuff when we found you, were you? Running with the Fourth Street Bully’s and living on the street?”

  And I immediately regretted it, because I saw Rinteau’s face cloud the minute the words left my mouth. There was a brief moment of pain in his eyes. Dang it. Why did I always have to run off at the mouth so much?

  Rinteau’s brief anger disappeared almost as quickly as it came. “I wasn’t talking about me.” He circled in and threw another lazy punch. I raised my right arm to block it, but at the last second he feinted and launched a surprise front kick at me. The kick came with a little mustard on it and though I managed to block it with a downward sweep of my right arm, it rocked me a little bit.

  “See, told you I picked up a few things on the st—”