“Let’s go,” said the Man, and blessedly, the menacing black feet moved off. My breath escaped slowly in relief.
Doors slammed and I heard the crunching of wheels on gravel. I didn’t move until both cars were gone and the garage door closed.
I crawled out of my hiding box and ran out of the warehouse by the side door where I’d come in. The cab driver was waiting for me right where I left her.
“Where to, bambina?” she asked.
“The Hotel Beatrici, please. No rush,” I said. Candace and the Man were gone, but the sound of peeling tires could draw attention if they were still close by.
The driver had to know I shouldn’t have been there; she rolled the taxi down the narrow road, lights out at first. She skirted around corner after corner through the warehouse district. It seemed to take forever, and I kept checking to make sure no cars were following us, but we were the only ones on the empty roads. Only when we were back in a populated area did I allow myself to relax a little bit.
My mind raced. If I ever told my parents about this, would they believe me? While I was a screwup in school, I’d always been honest with them, at least when confronted. It would take every bit of faith they had in me, which at the moment wasn’t at a high point, for them to buy this. I couldn’t tell them anyway, this was too big.
Who could I tell? Who would believe me? Candace was a world-famous model, actress, and now head of a fashion magazine—who went to meetings in dark deserted warehouses to talk about assassinations and the First Lady. Would the Secret Service believe me, a sixteen-year-old hacker recently expelled from her sixth boarding school? The agents here had come with Candace and might be in on this with her.
No, going to them would definitely get me shipped off to a place where I couldn’t make any noise. And what about the First Lady? No one was going to take out Theresa Jennings if I could help it.
It was late, and the streets were empty. A plan formed in my head as I groped in my purse to pay the fare. I couldn’t let Candace get away with treason, trying to kidnap the First Lady, and in the process, almost killing Parker. Even if I got sent home in handcuffs, I was going to stop her.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the hotel. I handed the driver a fist full of money. What were a few extra euros when I was saving America? And she’d kept her promise, waiting in a questionable area. Even Mom would’ve given her an extra-large tip for that.
“Grazie,” I said, and shot out of the cab and into the hotel, praying Candace hadn’t returned yet. I still had to get through the agent at the door.
Act naturally. Nothing’s wrong. You didn’t just hear that Candace is involved in a treasonous plot to kidnap the First Lady, I told myself as I went up the front steps. None of the Secret Service that came in with Candace were to be trusted except maybe Ortiz. She’d been hurt too. If she could have avoided an accident, which I was sure she was trained to do, she would have. Today her bruises had been dark purple with a green tinge. In a day they’d probably look worse. Until proven otherwise, the rest of the agents were all under the same suspicion as Candace.
Agent Nelson was standing outside trying to look casual, reading a magazine through dark shades. I couldn’t tell if our eyes met, but he seemed to nod at me. I didn’t return it. And there was my friend, Agent Case, at the elevator.
He held up a hand. “I need to check your bag, Miss Jackson.”
Trying to look cool and unsuspicious—like I wasn’t about to school Candace Bec-style—I handed it to him. He rummaged around, felt the lining, then handed it back. “Thank you.” He pushed the elevator button for me. I slumped against the wall when the doors bumped shut.
My adrenaline was skyrocketing when I got out. The hall was empty, but for how long? With the arrival of Theresa Jennings tomorrow, I expected Secret Service agents around every corner. As I walked to my room I swiped my hands on my pants. My palms were sweaty and my underarms damp as I thought about how close the Man’s partner came to discovering me. If he found me, would Candace have stepped in and protected me? That was something I was glad I didn’t have to test. People went missing all the time, never to be found. It would probably be no big deal to ship me off to a foreign country or hide my body somewhere. Whoever was bold enough to plan to kidnap the First Lady of the United States wouldn’t let a sixteen-year-old “glitch” interfere in their plans. I hurried; Candace and her posse might be back at any moment, if they weren’t there already.
I knocked on the door to see if Candace was in; no answer. Sliding my keycard through the lock and opening the door, I tiptoed into the little vestibule that led into the room. I had to keep the door open, but at least I didn’t have to be out in the hallway. How would I explain myself if one of the agents or Varon went for a stroll and saw me? I had to work fast. Holding the door open with my foot, I pulled out my laptop and powered up.
It took two seconds to find the power socket under the door lock. Using an innocent-looking phone charger, I plugged my laptop into it. A “New Hardware Found” icon popped up. I clicked it and bingo-bango—access to the hotel’s identification, locking ciphers, and safety features were mine, no password required. I would just make some adjustments with a few lines of code: Let next swipe in—that would be Candace. When door shuts, bypass safety protocols—the door would lock and she wouldn’t be able to open it. So much for hotel security. How fun would it be to do this on every lock in the hotel? I wondered where Kevin’s room was.
I unplugged the laptop then shut the door behind me. The trap in place, I ran to the window, waiting like a spider for Candace as I tapped some helpful phrases into the translator. I listened to them over and over until a black Mercedes pulled up. Candace got out; she’d changed out of her spy-worthy clothes too; she was all blonde locks, khaki suit, and alligator heels again. That’s probably why I got back first. Lucky for me. Her vanity was going to be her undoing.
An agent—it looked like Nelson—jogged down the steps to meet her.
My stomach twisted on itself as I went over the plan in my head. Yes, I did everything right: one-time access, then bypass security. I didn’t understand why people got so frustrated with technology; it was only a matter of telling the thing exactly what to do.
Picking up the phone, I dialed 113, and recited the line I’d listened to over and over on the translator.
“Please come! I have an emergency. Hotel Beatrici. Room 24. Pronto!” I didn’t have to fake the anxiousness in my voice. I was so nervous now that I really felt queasy. Turning on the lights, I found a magazine and started leafing through it aimlessly, thinking of what to say to Candace when she walked in and shut the door. I wanted it to be perfect.
I heard movement outside.
This is it.
I tried to look casual and relaxed, flipping through the magazine on my lap.
The key-swipe in the door: Step 1. The knob turned and Candace walked in, and—yes! Step 2—closed it behind her.
She breezed by and said nothing as she walked to her room. I was being ignored.
Oh, I don’t think so.
I looked up. “So, how was your meeting?” I said.
She stopped, turned. “Oh. You.”
I stared back at her, hard. “How was your meeting?”
“I’ve had meetings all day. All boring and too long.”
“Really? I thought that one in the warehouse by the river was very interesting. Kinda short, too.”
She stopped dead, glaring at me, then took a tentative step closer. “Excuse me?” Her voice was deadly soft.
I closed the magazine and placed it on the small table next to me. “And talking to mysterious shadowy men? That’s so Spykids. Not what I’d expect from a celebrity like you.”
Another silent step.
I stood, but she towered over me.
“What did you see and hear?” she growled.
“Enough,” I shot back. Where were the police? Having a late-night espresso? “What really happened to Parker?”
Her face scrunched up—not her most attractive look. I knew she wasn’t going to answer.
“‘I need better information? I can’t have a dead First Lady?’” I said to refresh her memory. “Did you get rid of Parker to take her place at Edge so you could get closer to Mrs. Jennings?”
Her expression was inscrutable. Was she so surprised that she was speechless? Then she laughed—that scary maniacal kind of laugh that a movie villain does before she starts monologuing, revealing her evil plan to do away with meddling kids—like me. It sent shivers down my spine thinking that a lot could happen to me before the police got here. I backed into the wall until I was out of real estate.
She stepped yet closer. “I don’t know exactly what you think you saw or heard, but you’re wrong, Miss Jackson,” she said, trying too hard to play it formal and cool. “I have a magazine to run and the First Lady will be here tomorrow—”
“Yeah, the First Lady. Got any accidents planned for her too?”
“Watch it, young lady. You’ve got everything all wrong.”
Gee, the bad guys always say that.
And you can show up any time, polizia.
“I think it’s you who has to watch it. Candy.”
Her lips curled into a furious scowl. I guess that didn’t go over well.
She shook a threatening finger at me. “That’s enough! I don’t care what inconvenience it’ll cause, you’re finished. I’m shipping you back to Mommy and Daddy.” Then she turned on her heel and stomped to the door.
The moment of truth.
She put her hand on the knob and turned.
Nothing.
She tried the opposite direction.
Nothing.
Shook it.
No-thing.
An exasperated sigh. “Great,” I heard her mutter.
I smiled. Candace, you have been pwn3d—or, to put it in non-tech-speak, poned. Owned. Beaten. She was right where I wanted her—no escape, unless the polizia came and broke her out.
She tapped a text into her cell phone. In a few moments I could hear someone in the hall.
“Case!” she called, “open this, please.”
He rattled the handle, swiped a card. None of it worked. The door remained locked.
“Problems?” I asked sweetly.
Candace spun around. That’s what I was going for—that shocked look. Score one for team Parker.
“What did you do?” she snarled.
Flashing lights of police cars splashed across the windows. I folded my arms across my chest and tried not to smirk.
“Just initializing a little thing called karma.”
TRICKS AND TIPS FOR THE EDGE-Y GIRL
Taking pictures? Don’t leave anything to chance! Scout the area ahead of time and do some test shots.
12
Bam! Bam! Bam!
“We have a problem!” yelled Case.
“Polizia!”
“They say they’re responding to an emergency call. Our jurisdiction—”
“Polizia! Aprire la porta!”
“Dovete buttare giù la porta!” Candace shouted back. “The door is stuck! You have to break it down!”
So Candace was bilingual too? Her accent’s not as good as Parker’s.
More Italian I couldn’t understand came from the other side of the door.
Candace stomped over to where I stood. “Now you’ve done it!”
Yep, I trapped her. No escape for you, Candace!
With a splintering crack, the door burst open and the police rushed in, followed by Ortiz, Case, Nelson, and Varon. The polizia had drawn their weapons. I slipped behind Candace. She was slim, but there was a lot of muscle on that six-foot-plus frame of hers. She’d make a good barrier between me and any stray bullets.
“Worthington!” Case slid into the room, his hand hovering near the gun that I knew was hidden under his jacket.
“Everything’s fine, Agent Case,” Candace said calmly and smiled broadly at the police who were flicking nervous glances around the suite. “Everyone calm down, let’s not do anything we will regret.” She made a lowering motion with her hands. The agents, still tense and ready to draw, exchanged looks that seemed to be a mutual agreement. They lowered their arms a fraction, away from their guns but still close enough to grab. She carefully held her hand out to the nearest officer. “Candace Worthington, Central Intelligence Agency. These are Special Agents Case, Nelson, and Ortiz, and this is Varon, my personal assistant.” The agents slowly produced their badges. Candace very carefully pulled a similar one out of her jacket pocket, close enough for me to confirm.
Candace was really CIA?
No. Freaking. Way.
This wasn’t going to be good on an epic scale. I felt my face flush as everyone pocketed their IDs.
“Who’s in charge here?” she asked.
“Sergente!” the nearest officer called behind him.
A stern-looking older man in police uniform strolled in.
“Signore,” Candace said warmly, but definitely all business. “I’m sure you know that our First Lady, Mrs. Theresa Jennings, will be arriving in town tomorrow,” she said. “We’re testing security measures and couldn’t inform you ahead of time that this was a drill. My apologies.” Her head slowly turned around to me, a frigid you’re-so-dead smile on her face. “Agent Case, please escort Rebecca into the hall while I speak with the officers. I’ll deal with her in a few minutes.”
It was shades of Mom—full name and the scary-calm Quiet Voice.
Case held out an arm, motioning for me to go first out the door. With a last look back at Candace, whose expression was unreadable, I walked out of the room. The rest of Team Secret Service filed out into the hallway behind me.
They closed the door as best they could, but with the frame splintered, it remained partly open. I heard Candace continue the conversation in fluent Italian and saw a glimpse of the officer she was speaking with visibly relax. I tried to slink back so I could get to my room, but with a slight shake of his head and a warning glare, Case pinned me to the spot. Would Candace even give me time to pack or just shuffle me off on the first available flight and ship my things later?
Just like the way I got here.
Then I began to worry. Where would I be shipped off to until—crap!—Mom and Dad would have to come claim me for interfering with the protection of the First Lady? Was that treason? Jeez, Bec, you really did it this time.
“Grazie, grazie,” said Candace as she ushered the police out through the broken door. I had to give the woman credit: when she wanted to, she could charm the smile off the Cheshire Cat. As soon as the officers were in the elevator and the doors closed, the smile disappeared and the snake eyes came back.
“You. In here. Sit. Now.” She pointed to one of the charming little chairs that I’d sat in that first night with Parker. Now it looked foreboding because I’d be cornered.
“I don’t want to,” I said in a small voice.
She arched a perfect brow. “I could send you to the airport right now without your parents’ consent. I’m guessing they wouldn’t be too happy about having to drop everything to fetch you from federal custody. Or maybe I’ll send you back to that fancy prep school—St. Xavier’s, wasn’t it?” She paused, scratching her temple with a manicured nail that looked lethal. “Oh, wait. You’re not welcome there anymore.”
I cringed. That hurt.
“Maybe juvenile detention?” she mused, tapping her cheek. “You’d have to be charged with an infraction to end up there, and you’ve certainly given me plenty of choices: breaking and entering, trespassing, fraudulent calls to foreign police, interfering with a federal agency.… As it is, your resume has enough marks of distinction. That leaves me only one option.”
I held my breath.
“With your ‘technical expertise’ and getting-into-trouble skills, I want you right where I can keep you in my sights. For the time being, you’re too much of a security risk to be set loose.”
She was already supposed to be keeping me in her sights, though she wasn’t doing it very well, if I could sneak out at night with someone I barely know, roam around a foreign city on my own, follow her to a secret meeting, and lock her in her own room. But that was before she knew who she was dealing with. I had everything to fear, but I didn’t let that show. If she sent me home, I’d never find out what happened to Parker.
“Fine,” I said with a dejection I didn’t really feel. I hoped my acting skills were good enough. “Do whatever you want to me. I’m guessing the First Lady needed extra security so you needed to take Parker’s place? But did you have to put her in the hospital? Couldn’t you just ask her to leave—or would that take the ‘secret’ out of the Secret Service?”
To my surprise, Candace’s chiseled features softened—just a bit. “So that’s what this is all about.” She studied my face long and hard and in spite of myself, I squirmed under her scrutiny.
She sat down on the couch and inclined her head at a chair opposite. I knew the time was right to make a concession, so I sank down into it.
“Not that I have to, or should, explain anything to you, but I’m going to. Like me, Parker Phillips is a CIA agent first, magazine editor second. It makes for good cover, especially in these high-profile cases. When she was injured—”
“Don’t you mean taken out?” I said. “Or almost murdered—”
“We don’t know that. And I can’t and won’t go into more specifics,” she said, cutting me off when I made to interrupt her. “When we got the call that Parker was no longer able to carry out this assignment, I was called in to take over and make sure there are no threats to Mrs. Jennings while she’s Rome.”
Candace crossed her magnificent legs, looking down her long patrician nose at me. “Parker was standing at spots where the First Lady would be photographed while Ortiz did a security check. Only Parker, Agent Ortiz, Serena, and Serena’s driver were at the location. Serena was there making notes for the staff. She and her driver were supposed to meet up with Ortiz and Parker at the next site, but the accident happened.”
Blonde Ops Page 9
