Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
[1]
[2]
[3]
[4]
[5]
[6]
[7]
[8]
[9]
[10]
[11]
[12]
[13]
[14]
Teaser chapter
Other Books You May Enjoy
SPEAK
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA), Inc. 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700,
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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand,
London WC2R 0RL, England
Published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2007
Copyright © Shannon Greenland, 2007
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Greenland, Shannon.
The specialists : model spy / by Shannon Greenland. p. cm.
[1. Spies—Fiction. 2. Espionage—Fiction. 3. Orphans—Fiction. 4. Genius—Fiction.]
I. Title. II. Title: Model spy.
PZ7.G8458Sp 2007
[Fic]—dc22 2006029425
eISBN : 978-1-101-11848-1
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
http://us.penguingroup.com
Acknowledgments
To all the ladies who read and critiqued this novel: Tara Greenbaum, Alesia Holliday, Courtney Nighbert, Terri Ridgell, Suzi Smith, and Lisa Whitaker.
To Joe Blanchard for talking computers with me.
To Karen Chaplin, my awesome editor, who is just as organized and meticulous as I am. We go well together!
To Nadia Cornier, my fantastic agent, who patiently puts up with my “Hey, did you get this?” e-mails.
To Britta Harris, my good friend, who sat with me that one yard sale morning and brainstormed a series about teenage spies.
And extra special thanks go to Alesia Holliday for mentoring me throughout writing and selling my first young adult book. You rock, girl!
Finally, for my dad for reasons too numerous to list.
Love you, daddio!
[1]
<()-( )-(𠀋)>
“No, no, no,” I muttered to myself.
“There, that’ll do.” Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I shut down my computer and grabbed my books. I hurried out of my dorm room, heading toward the science building.
Late for class. Again. Why was my brain always three gigabytes behind where it should be?
At 8:30 in the morning, vehicles jammed the parking lot. Fast-forward fourteen hours and the spaces would be empty; everybody would be out partying, having fun. Except me.
I made my way across campus, cutting through the university’s parking lot. I noticed a black four-door car pulling into the lot. Despite the tinted windows, I could see four shadowy figures inside. The car circled around the loop, slowing to a crawl. There were no parking spaces available.
What are they doing? Sightseeing?
Cutting across a row, I peeked over my shoulder. The dark car rounded the corner into my lane. I picked up my walking pace, my ears tuned to the engine behind me.
Why don’t they pass me?
I zigzagged across another row, and the car sped up and followed. I swallowed, my heart ping-ponging irregularly, and started to run. The driver gassed the engine and came to a stop beside me, blocking my way.
All four doors opened, and I froze in place. Dressed in suits, three men and a woman stepped out.
“Miss Kelly James?” the woman asked.
Hugging my books to my chest, I gave a jerky nod, unable to do much else.
The woman pulled out a gold badge. “You’re under arrest for threatening homeland security and suspected terrorism.”
One of the men spun me around and pushed me up against the car. My books scattered on the pavement as he grabbed my arms and pulled them back.
The woman patted her hands down my body. “You have the right to remain silent . . .”
Her voice trailed to a faraway mute.
I can’t believe this is happening. This must be a mistake!
I stared at my clasped hands on the table in front of me. I’d chewed my thumbnails down to the quick. I hadn’t bitten my fingernails in years, not since I took up lollipops. Speaking of which, I would gladly give a few of my 191 IQ points for a watermelon-flavored one right now.
I peered up at the blurry clock and realized I still wore my reading glasses. Never could remember to take them off. Shoving them on top of my head, I read the time. 9:34.
I’d been in this overly warm, white-walled interrogation room with its stale coffee odor for exactly thirty-one minutes. It seemed more like hours.
Only a metal desk and three noncushioned chairs occupied the center of the room. I’d seen enough TV to know the wall-length mirror in front of me was two-way.
How could I have been so stupid?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
And all for a guy. David. A hot guy. But still.
Lifting my head, I stared at my reflection. I looked tired. Worn out. Stressed. All those words popped into my mind as I studied my limp blond ponytail, pale face, and the dark shadows under my eyes.
Were people staring back at me? Talking? Discussing what I’d done?
I would tell them what they wanted to know. But no one had asked me any questions. They drove me in silence to the police station, escorted me in, sat me down in this room, and told me they’d be back. That had been thirty-one minutes ago. 9:36.
Correction, thirty-three minutes ago.
My mind shifted to David.
David. David. David. Until moving into the dorm two months ago, I hadn’t realized guys existed. Well, I realized, just not realized.
He was popular at East Iowa University: He played baseball, was in a fraternity, and worked in the admissions office.
Not popular enough for me to go to jail for him, though.
His words came back to me as I closed my eyes. I’m adopted and my parents are hiding it from me. The way he’d said it, his urgency, made me go all mushy and decide to help. It’s just . . . well, he’d been so nice to me. Before him, no one had ever taken the time to get to know me.
I found some papers. Letters from a man named Mike Share, saying if anything ever happened to him, the man I know as my father would raise his baby boy. I found an adoption document with a government seal and Top Secret stamped on it. It had my name, my father’s name, and Mike Share’s name. When I turned eighteen I did some research, but the State Department told me I wasn’t
adopted. Something’s going on, and I need to figure it out.
Two men. David’s adoptive father. David’s real father, Mike Share. They corresponded. Were they friends? Associates? Mike Share must have known something would happen to him. Why else would he ask another man to raise his son? Government agency. Top Secret. Could Mike Share have been a spy? A double agent? Maybe he’s still alive and deep undercover. Maybe he’s dead, and the government was responsible, therefore they’re hiding his records. Lots of questions. No answers.
I thought I could get the answers by using my computer skills and hacking into the government’s computer system.
How wrong I’d been.
Forcing my dry lids open, I checked the time.
10:14.
How long would they leave me here? Hours? Days? Wait. They couldn’t leave me here for days. That was illegal. Right?
What would happen to me? Juvenile detention? Prison? Would I be tried as an adult? Oh God, they hung traitors, didn’t they?
I covered my face with my hands. I don’t want to die. Not now. I still had to finish my latest invention, the proto laser tracker, for physics class. And my final in BioChem 440. And . . . and . . . and my keystroke memorization program.
I was about to die, and my geeky experiments were all that worried me.
Jeez.
10:53.
What had upset the government more—my hacking their system or the information I’d been after? Did I leave a trail?
No. Not possible. I knew how to cover my tracks when entering systems. 11:02.
I shouldn’t tell them about David. That would get me, not to mention David, into worse trouble. I should tell them I’d hacked just to hack, to see if I could break their system.
No. That made me sound like a juvenile delinquent.
I blew out a long, confused breath, wanting to get the whole thing over with. If someone would walk in, my mind would stop spinning, I’d calm down, and I’d say whatever felt right to say. 12:21.
Oh God, I have to pee.
Someone? Hello?
I’m not a bad kid. I promise. I’m a good kid. I’ve never done anything wrong. I’ve never hacked into a system before.
Well, except that one time. My trig professor gave me a one hundred for the semester. I changed it to a ninety-eight. After all, it’s what I deserved. That was the problem with having such a high IQ. Teachers assumed I was perfect and almost never graded my work.
Did the government know about that? Were they going to charge me for that, too?
12:45.
Please! Someone. Anyone?
Finally, I heard the jangle of keys outside the room. The door opened as if the government had read my mind, and the woman who’d arrested me walked in. She silently took a seat across from me. Then a man entered. I recognized him from the dark car, too. He stayed near the door, standing guard, arms folded over his beefy chest. As if I could escape and run away.
“Where were you last night?” the agent lady asked, placing a notepad and pen on the table.
“The town fair that our university was sponsoring. Celebrating my sixteenth birthday with my friend David.”
Agent lady scribbled some words on the pad. “And after that?”
“My dorm room.”
“What time did you get to your dorm room?”
Mentally, I calculated when David and I had left the fair. “Ten o’clock.”
“What did you do when you got to your dorm room?”
Went to bed, I wanted to say. But I knew they knew I hadn’t. Why else would I be here? “Played on my computer.”
“How long did you ‘play on your computer’?”
“Until six in the morning.”
The agent lady looked up from her notepad. “All night long?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What did you do on your computer?”
I swallowed. “Homework.”
“I thought you said you played.”
Shoot. “Um, that’s what I meant. Homework is playing for me.” Homework is playing for me? Who’s gonna believe that?
The agent lady leveled intense blue eyes on me. “It’s going to be a lot easier on you if you cooperate. Now let me ask you again. What did you do on your computer?”
My heart thumped my chest wall. “Hacked into the government’s computer system.” Oh God, I’m going to prison for this.
“What were you looking for?”
Something inside me told me not to tell. David might get brought in, questioned, put in prison. His secret was too important. Something in his past needed to stay there.
“What were you looking for?” the agent lady repeated.
“Nothing. I was just playing around.”
“Liar,” the agent man spoke quietly.
I jerked my attention to the door where he still stood. “No, sir. I’m not lying.”
He strode toward me, keeping his glare pinned on me. I slid down in my chair as he got closer.
He stuck his pockmarked, snarly face right in mine. “Last thing I need this afternoon is to deal with some snot-nosed kid. Now let me ask you. What were you looking for?”
My thumping heart pounded so loud it deafened my ears. “N-n-nothing.”
Agent man’s jaw tightened, then he grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the chair. “I’ve had enough.”
1:43.
I now sat in a holding cell with cement walls and no windows. The bars to my right looked out onto an empty hallway.
Leaning back, I closed my eyes. How stupid of me to think David was being nice because he liked me. I’d heard the gossip around the dorm.
Kelly’s so goofy with those thick glasses, always scurrying around campus in her own little world, bumping into stuff. What a mess.
Well, she’s from foster care. They don’t really teach those kids good hygiene. David’s smart to suck up to her, though. She can do his homework.
Nobody liked me. I was awkward and strange. I knew that about myself.
But why did David pretend to like me? I’d known him two months, and never once had he asked me for help on anything. Had he been cozying up to me, waiting for the right time to drop the government stuff? Knowing I’d hack in for him?
Oooh. What a fool I’d been. That’s exactly what he’d done. What an idiot. How could I have fallen for that? He probably didn’t even have a government secret. He probably wanted me to show him how to hack so he could go back later and do illegal stuff.
And to think I had a crush on him. How sad. He thought of me as a sister. At least that’s what he said.
Of course that’s how he thought of me. He was eighteen; I was sixteen. No eighteen-year-old would actually be interested in someone my age. I was smart enough to understand that.
2:56.
Bouncing my leg, I opened my eyes and glanced at the stainless steel toilet in the corner. No way I’d pee out in the open. Please! Somebody. Can I go to the bathroom? I promise I won’t try to escape.
I had to calm down. Think computer code. That always helped.
<%attrs;--%corears, %i18n, %events>
<;/Q ;stng 1-234-55
Okay. Not working. Because my bladder’s about to explode!
Blowing out a breath, I ran my gaze over the other occupants in the freezing, dimly lit cell. Four adults.
Straight across from me sat a red-haired woman, her legs crossed, top one swinging, staring at a spot above my head. She wore lots of makeup, a tight tiger-print shirt, and a leather miniskirt. Maybe a prostitute?
A bony, dark-haired woman lay beside her, curled up, sleeping. Bruises dotted her arms, legs, and face. An abuse victim? A drug addict?
In the middle of the stained floor sat an old, gray-haired woman, rocking and crying. She wore a housecoat and slippers and had bed head. She looked like somebody’s grandmother. Thirty minutes ago they put her in here, and I wondered nearly every minute since then what she’d done. At first I felt sorry fo
r her with the crying, but now I wished she’d stop. And get off the floor. That’s just gross.
A blond woman with a slick, chic bun and wearing an executive suit occupied the same bench as me. She appeared as if she should be working in a high-rise office building. Maybe she’d been arrested for corporate espionage.
Except for the bony, dark-haired, possible drug addict, I’d been here longer than anyone else.
Hours.
Hours had passed since the agent dragged me from the interrogation room and tossed me in here. And my growling stomach confirmed that it was late afternoon.
What was it with these government people? Why did they keep leaving me alone for hours on end? Were they hoping to break down my defenses?
Well, if that was the case, it worked. I never felt so scared in my whole life.
“Hello.”
I jumped.
The blond executive woman stuck out her hand. “If I don’t talk to somebody, the crying will drive me insane. I’m Connie.”
Relief washed over me at the chance for friendly conversation, and I shook her hand. “Kelly.”
“Don’t you love the smell in here? Nothing like urine and cheap perfume.”
I’d been in here for so long, I’d blocked it out. But now that she brought it to my attention again, it overpowered my senses.
“You’re awful young to be in here.”
“They didn’t have a juvenile holding cell.”
Connie nodded. “Shall we ask the question on everybody’s mind? What are you in here for?”
“Um…” I scratched my head, debating if I should tell . . . why not. “I hacked into a computer system.” I purposefully left out the government part.
“No kidding?” Connie laughed.
I smiled. “How ’bout you?”
“Prostitution.”
I blinked. “Really?” I took in her perfect hair, gray business suit, and expensive spiked heels. “You don’t look like a prostitute.” “You don’t look like a computer genius.”
Model Spy Page 1
