Property of the CIA. I smiled despite my nerves.
“One shot,” Range Master Fargas said as he shuffled behind us. He stopped behind me, reached over, and grabbed my gun. I tried to watch what he did, but he moved so fast. The clip slid out of the bottom of the grip, and Fargas shoved a bullet inside and then slapped the clip back into the gun before he returned it to its spot on the ledge. “You each get one shot to impress me. I shouldn’t have to say this, but keep your fingers off the bang switch until you’re ready to fire.” He moved down the line, stopping at each camper’s stall for a fraction of a second to load a single round into their guns. “When I say so, you may begin.”
There were three more distinctive clicks from down the row, and then the range master took a position midway between the booths, his back against the Plexiglas divider, and said, “Begin.”
Juno was on my left, and his arm snapped up like a whip. I don’t even think he had time to aim, but an explosion erupted from the end of his gun that made my head spin. It was a reminder that I hadn’t put on my ear protectors yet, and I quickly did so. There was another bang from farther down the row, then another, but my ear protectors dulled those shots. Or maybe they just sounded dull because Juno’s shot had destroyed my eardrums and I wouldn’t hear anything either way.
I picked up my pistol and pointed it down the range. I tried holding it with one hand, then two. Two felt better. I took careful aim and felt someone tap me on my shoulder. I glanced over, and Juno was looking at me with raised brows.
He nodded to my gun and said something I couldn’t hear, but I was pretty sure one of the words he said was bite.
Another two or three bangs reminded me that soon I’d be the last shot, and then everyone would see how bad I was at this. I shook my head at Juno and turned back to the target. I’d learned to aim a gun on my video games, so I knew to look down the top of the gun. I closed one eye and focused.
Juno tapped me on the shoulder again. I sighed and looked at him. He pointed at my gun and said, “Clock.” He nodded to the gun.
I didn’t know what he was talking about. I could only assume he was reminding me that my time was running out, but why would he? Several more guns fired down the line. I jerked my head back around, aimed, said a silent prayer that I’d at least hit the target, and then squeezed the trigger.
The gun bucked in my hand, and as it did, it felt like a snake had leaped out of nowhere and sunk its fangs into my thumb. The pistol clattered to the ground, and I half hopped, half hobbled backward, clutching my hand against my chest until my back hit the Plexiglas wall behind me. My eyes were partially closed, and my head hit the glass and knocked my ear protectors off my head.
“Jeez, Cambridge,” Juno said. “I told you that you were shooting a Glock. You hold it like that and the slide is going to slide-bite every time.”
His words barely registered. I looked down at my hand. Two parallel slices cut across my thumb and the back of my hand.
The range master walked over to me and gave my bloody hand a puzzled stare.
“Slide-bite,” Juno said.
The range master nodded thoughtfully. Then he lifted his eyes to mine. “Why did you hold your gun like that?”
I scrambled to keep my emotions checked. “I—I was distracted. It was a stupid mistake.” I struggled to find an excuse that made sense, and then, despite my pain, I remembered a scene from a movie where a guy had fired his gun accidentally. I borrowed his excuse. “The trigger was more sensitive than I’m used to.” The pain intensified with each passing second, and I held my hand away from my chest so that the counselor could see it.
“If you recall, Cambridge, I told everyone to keep their fingers off the bang switch until you were ready to shoot.” He huffed and gestured to my hand. “Well, don’t bleed all over the place,” Fargas said in an exasperated tone. “You’ll get no sympathy from me for not knowing how to hold a Glock.”
I pulled my hand back against my chest, shocked that the sliced-up hand bloodying my shirt—and the ground around me—was getting zero attention. I willed myself not to focus on the pain.
Fargas nudged Juno. “Get him to the medic before he gets blood on everything.”
Juno looked down at his gun and sighed as if it were a toy he’d just been told he couldn’t play with anymore.
“Why didn’t you listen to me?” Juno said once we were out of the pit and making our way across the campgrounds. “I told you twice you had the wrong grip.” He shook his head and muttered, “What kind of Delta doesn’t know how to hold a gun, anyway?”
I did my best to ignore the rest of Juno’s grumblings while we walked, and took another look at my hand. It wasn’t bleeding as badly as it had been, and I wondered if that was because the blood was clotting or because I’d already lost most of my blood.
Day One: beat up and nearly blown up.
Day Two: almost shot my own hand off.
I really had to get it together. At the rate I was going, I’d be dead before the end of the week.
Chapter 19
“You’ll be dead by the end of the week if you don’t smarten up,” Dr. Lester said to me.
He was a short, bald man with a large stomach and a dark mustache. He’d injected something into my hand almost as soon as we walked in, and it had stopped hurting within seconds.
The camp medic’s office looked a lot like a miniature version of a hospital ER. Six beds lined the back wall in a room about the size of a school classroom. Drugs and bandages and tongue depressors filled several glass cabinets on the other side of the room, and a large desk sat angled against the adjacent corner. The freshly waxed linoleum reflected back the harsh track lighting overhead.
It struck me right away that Dr. Lester was a real doctor. I’d never heard of a camp staffed with a physician. A nurse maybe, but not its own physician. It was a thought that made me smile. Just one more confirmation that this place was legit. Of course they’d have medical facilities with a real doctor. We’re dodging land mines on the soccer field and shooting guns underground, for Pete’s sake.
“The drug has obviously kicked in,” the doctor said.
I smiled and nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”
“How are you finding the rest of camp? Adjusting well?” He sat on a backless stool and started to stitch the two track marks. “Sometimes it can be overwhelming for campers. There’ve been a few who have made mistakes so that they’d get hurt and be allowed to miss events.” He stopped stitching and eyed me carefully.
“It was really just a mistake. I was distracted. I’m actually really happy to be here.” I thought about the secret shooting range and smiled in spite of my hand. It was such a relief to finally have a hold on what kind of place I was in. I looked back at the doctor as he started stitching again. “I mean the CIA has—”
The doctor jerked his head and held up his hand. “Whoa, kid.” His voice was a harsh whisper. “You know the rules. This is just a regular camp.” He said the word again as if it were a foreign expression I wasn’t familiar with. “Regular. Keep those kinds of references to yourself.” He finished stitching and wrapped my hand in a bandage and then whispered, “The number of agencies that would like to get their hands on one of you guys is staggering. They could be listening right now. Just waiting in the woods for the right cue to let them know you kids aren’t really what you seem. Get in the habit of thinking of this camp as an ordinary one.”
“They could be listening?” I asked.
“There are ears out there,” he said. “In the forest.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Or from above. Who knows? Maybe one of your fellow campers is a double agent. You never know.”
“Double agent?” I echoed. It took a couple seconds to make sense of what he’d said, but then it hit me. I’d seen enough movies to know that where there are spies, there are double agents. It seemed incredible that there might be spy camps for kids in other countries, but then no more incredible than that there was a spy camp for kids in my own co
untry, and here I was. Of course another agency would want to know what was being taught to the next generation of the enemy.
The doctor led me to the door and nudged me out. “Keep it clean and dry. Come back if the stitches open; otherwise, we’ll see you next week to take them out. And remember what I told you.”
“Thank y—” The door closed before I could finish.
As we made our way back to the cabin, I told Juno what the doctor had said.
“Urban legend,” Juno said with a smirk. “Every camp I’ve ever been to has the same stories.” He cleared his throat. “In Dubai, it was the MSS. Everyone swore up and down they had agents in the desert just waiting for an unsuspecting camper to wander away so they could snag them and interrogate them. By the end of the camp, everyone was accusing everyone else of being a double agent. It got pretty dicey. I don’t plan on going back there anytime soon.”
“MSS?” I said under my breath.
“I know,” Juno added, “as if the Chinese are going to set up a snatch-and-grab around a kids’ camp in Dubai.” He laughed again. “I think the Agency spreads those rumors just to keep the younger kids from wandering too far away from camp.”
I bit my lip as we climbed up the steps to the cabin. “Dr. Lester didn’t look like he was joking.”
Juno shrugged. “Maybe the reason Dr. Lester works at a camp for kids is because he’s not all there.” He tapped the side of his head. “Trust me. There’s no one in the woods waiting to whisk you off to be waterboarded. They’re not smart enough to see this camp for what it is.” He shoved open the door. Yaakov was on his bed, tapping away at his keyboard.
“What are you doing here?” Juno asked.
Yaakov didn’t look up. “They put me in Computer Basics for the morning activity.” He shook his head. “Idiots.” He gave his keyboard a final tap and then looked up. “I hacked into the instructor’s console and destroyed the—” He pointed to me. “What the heck happened to you?”
I shook my head and was about to say “nothing” when Juno opened his mouth.
“His gun bit him,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t know who taught you about guns, Matt, but they should’ve told you that the slide on a Glock sits lower than a lot of other guns.”
Yaakov grimaced. “Slide-bite? Ouch. That happened to a kid at my first camp. The slide cut his hand right to the bone.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I snapped. “I’m fine.” I held up my hand and wiggled my fingers. Pain bolted through my hand and up my arm.
“Yeah,” Yaakov said, “you look fine. Hopefully you have an easier activity for the afternoon.”
I walked over to my bed and looked at my clipboard. “Basic Self-Defense.” I’d actually been looking forward to this activity even before I realized the camp was part of the CIA. I blew out a breath. The CIA. It seemed so obvious now. I mean, every spy needs to know how to fight. Plus, girls love guys who know how to handle themselves. But there wasn’t a lot they’d be teaching me with a mangled hand.
“I guess we’re together all day,” Juno said. “That’s what I have this afternoon too.”
“You?” my voice squeaked. I remembered what Rylee had told me about Juno, and how he’d been training as a fighter since he could crawl. “You’re in Basic Self-Defense?”
Juno eyed me suspiciously. “Yeah. Why? Has someone been talking about me?”
“I just heard you were already a pretty good fighter.”
Juno jutted out his chin. “I do all right. Not that the camp would know anything about it. This is the first time I can fight without having to worry about repercussions.”
“Repercussions?”
Juno laughed. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Point is I’m actually looking forward to this activity.”
“I’m not,” Yaakov said. “I have Self-Defense tomorrow, and I’m going to get pummeled.” He waved his palms at me. “These hands were not meant for fighting.”
Juno turned and stared at Yaakov. “That’s true. They look like they were made for playing with a Barbie.”
I laughed, but Yaakov just smiled and then lowered his eyes back to his computer screen.
“Look, Yak,” Juno continued, “here’s a bit of advice. When you’re in a fight, at some point you’re going to be in very close contact. If you can, grab the guy’s finger and break it.”
I winced.
“The biggest guy you’ll fight will have a pinky that a ten-year-old could snap. Just don’t hesitate.” Juno grabbed his own finger and pretended to snap it. “Works every time.”
“Great advice,” Yaakov said. “Except that once I break a guy’s finger, he’ll still be able to use his other hand to break my face.”
Juno shrugged. “That’s true. In that case, do your best to disable his strong hand.”
Yaakov groaned.
“Why don’t you just hack the system and get yourself out of Self-Defense?” I asked.
“You think I haven’t thought of that?” Yaakov said. “I’ve done that in pretty much every other camp. But I can’t do it here, because everyone on a Delta team takes Self-Defense. Everyone. They’ll notice if I haven’t done it. Then they’ll look into why and see that my name is off the roster. Then they’ll know I hacked their systems, and I’ll be kicked out of the program.”
Juno nodded. “That leaves only one option.”
Yaakov nearly came out of his seat. “What’s that?”
Juno took a step closer to the stick-thin nerd. “Learn how to fight.”
“Sure,” Yaakov said, “I’ll get right on it.”
Chapter 20
After lunch, Juno and I headed for the self-defense building. At least two dozen campers were already in the room taking instruction from a large bald man with tattoos on his forearms. Most of the kids looked smaller than me, so I was grateful for that. Plus, Chase wasn’t among them, so I didn’t have to worry about dealing with him. I took another look and realized that none of the other Deltas or their teammates were there.
That was weird.
I was about to ask Juno about it when he nudged me toward a door on the adjacent wall. He opened it and shoved me back outside and into the woods behind the building. I stumbled and nearly tripped over a root.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Juno cocked an eyebrow. “I was going to ask you the same thing. You know we’re supposed to move quickly when we’re going to auxiliary locations. You were just standing there waiting for an invitation to step through the door.”
I wondered if an auxiliary location was like the underground shooting range. I straightened and dusted myself off. Juno passed me and started walking down a path that became narrower and narrower until it was so narrow it looked like it might have been created by rabbits.
The path twisted to the left, to the right, and then, all at once, we stepped through a wall of foliage and found ourselves in a section of the forest that had been cleared. The canopy blocked out the sky. The clearing was large and circular, about three times the size of my bedroom back home. It was the perfect spot for a picnic.
At least two dozen other campers were already there, including, to my supreme disappointment, Chase. The only good thing was he sported a black eye. I smiled, knowing someone had gotten a good shot the previous night. I wished it had been me.
“Dibs fighting the Grizzly,” Chase said with a snicker. “We have some unfinished business that needs sorting.”
Other campers laughed, but only those wearing squirrels on their chests. The rest remained mostly silent and stern-faced. I glanced up at Juno. His grin couldn’t have been wider.
“Who? Me?” Juno asked, looking almost hopeful. “I would be very happy to oblige, Chase. You know what? It’s a date. I can’t wait.”
Chase’s smile evaporated. He took a step closer to Juno, poked him in the chest, and opened his mouth to say something.
“Sit down and shut up.” The female voice came from over my shoulder and cut Chase s
hort before he could say anything to Juno.
I spun around. The woman stood with her fists on her hips. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and she wore a dark tracksuit, the jacket of which was open to reveal a tight tank top. She was probably in her mid-thirties, but wasn’t much taller than me.
Juno sighed dreamily beside me and whispered, “Beautiful.”
“Form a circle,” the woman continued, “and sit down.”
We spread out enough that the circle was nearly as large as the clearing.
“My name is Lyra Davis. Since we’re such a friendly little family here at Camp Friendship, just call me Lyra.”
She sneered, and I got the distinct impression that being on a first-name basis with any of the campers was not something she was comfortable with.
“You.” She snapped her hand out at a beefy kid with a shaved head and an octopus graphic on his shirt. “And …” She turned slowly, her finger gliding around the circle. She stopped at me and gave me a stare that felt like a snowball to the side of my head. Then she swung her hand back and stopped abruptly. “You.”
The girl she pointed at wore a Team Hyena T-shirt. She jumped to her feet and jogged into the middle of the clearing.
Lyra raised her voice again. “I need to see what I’m working with here.” She paused a beat to give the two campers a once-over and then said, “Fight.”
I nearly laughed. The girl looked like she might be able to fit in the pocket of the guy. There was no way this Lyra woman was serious about having them fight. That would be—
Before I could finish my thought, the girl lunged out and kicked her opponent in the leg. The blow dropped him to one knee. She spun like a tornado toward him and smashed her elbow against the side of his face. A burst of scarlet shot from his mouth, and he dropped face down into the dirt. The girl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed, as if the whole thing had been a minor inconvenience.
“I’m in love,” Juno whispered to me.
Disruption Page 10
