The Academy

by Ridley Pearson

  Steel nodded his head. He knows about Penny.

  Kaileigh said, “What if I’d rather not hear it?”

  “Too late,” Randolph said, finding room to smile at her. He paused. “So do we understand one another?”

  Kaileigh nodded. But she looked terrified.

  “Very well. Wynncliff is not your normal private school, as you’ve no doubt surmised. There are reasons for its physical isolation, for our not playing any home games in competitive sports. We like to keep as low a profile as possible.”

  Steel felt goose bumps rush up both arms.

  “It is an institution,” he continued, “that prides itself on enrolling some of the most intelligent and uniquely gifted students in the country. In the country,” he repeated. “There is a school within the school, hence the need for utmost secrecy. Only a handful of students, such as yourselves, are in a position to be enrolled in this inner school. Ten students? Fifty? Even I don’t know the number. That is privileged information known only to Mr. Hastings and a handful of board members. A few faculty members, such as myself, are responsible for our own small team of students. We keep to ourselves and we make no attempts to invade the privacy of others. Do we understand one another?”

  Both Steel and Kaileigh nodded. Then Kaileigh changed her mind and shook her head.

  “What kind of school?” she asked.

  “This country is fighting a war. I’m not talking about that war. I’m talking about a war of intelligence that has been going on since its inception, a war that has multiple fronts and one that expanded greatly during the Cold War. Knowledge is everything. Information is knowledge. And this nation collects as much information as it possibly can, sometimes using technology, sometimes what we call human assets.

  “Over the years—decades, really—it became apparent that we, as a nation, were lacking a means of intrusion, what we call a conduit, into certain aspects of foreign affairs. Particularly foreign embassies, where prospective employees are vetted—that is, background checked—so thoroughly as to often prevent any intelligence gathering. Quite by accident, a young person changed all that while visiting with a family in the mid-1960s. He was an overnight guest of a school chum at a foreign embassy—which one doesn’t matter—and overheard something that proved vital to our national interests. As luck would have it, he reported what he heard to his father. He and his friend attended an international school, and over the next several months, he gleaned a good deal of intelligence for us. He never broke any laws. He merely kept his ears open. And we learned something of vital importance: people will say things around children that they wouldn’t around adults. It’s as simple as that.

  “Wynncliff Academy became the only school in the country—as far as we know—to begin training such students. Only certain students interested us for the program—”

  “Those good with language, or with special memory skills,” Kaileigh said.

  “Or a kid who could run fast, or climb well,” Steel said.

  “There were many skill sets that interested us. In some cases, in students over eighteen, that is graduating seniors, students who were no longer minors, the assignments took on more covert activities, and physical attributes became important. That’s possible. Yes.

  “Some students are recruited to Wynncliff for the wonderful private education the school offers. Others…like yourselves…are recruited for your individual skill sets that might prove useful to this other program. It’s a voluntary program. No one is going to force you to join. You face discipline only if you discuss what I’m telling you. Not for refusing to join. Do we understand one another?”

  They both nodded.

  “Normally, we, the school faculty, wait several months or even an entire school year before recruiting our special students. But a situation has arisen that has forced my hand. That, coupled with your curiosity.” He looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. “For these reasons, you are becoming involved much sooner than usual. Your situation is being accelerated. I’m required to recruit you ahead of time. As it happens, the timing is critical. There’s an assignment that needs your particular skills, and your ages, immediately. So I must ask you to carefully consider everything I’ve just told you, and to contemplate admission to our program. Questions?”

  “Only about a thousand,” Steel said.

  “I can field one at a time.”

  Steel and Kaileigh exchanged looks: bewilderment, excitement.

  “I realize,” Randolph said, “that all this can be overwhelming. I’m more than happy to send you back to your dorms to think about it. But I will ask that you not only not speak of it with your friends or parents, but that you not speak of it to each other. We cannot afford this to reach any ears outside the Program—and for your reference, that is how we refer to it. You may only discuss the Program inside my home for the time being. Do we under—”

  “Yes,” said Steel.

  “Let me leave you for a moment.” Randolph left the room, shutting the door behind him.

  “So, this can’t be for real, right?” Kaileigh said. “I mean it’s got to be some kind of major hazing ritual to involve a teacher and all—and I certainly fell for it—I mean I actually believed the guy—but there’s no way something like this is actually going on and they’re asking us to be part of it. I mean, right?” Her eyes begged Steel to agree with her.

  Steel said nothing. He felt sorry for her because he knew that on some level she’d been blocking out all their discoveries, that she would far prefer to deny anything was going on than to face the consequences of her own involvement in it. Whereas he suddenly felt that a burden had been lifted. It was as if all his suspicions had been confirmed and he felt powerfully good as a result. He exhaled like someone who’d been holding his breath in a contest.

  “Steel?”

  “I wonder what happens if we turn him down,” he said. “It can’t be good.”

  “But it’s a joke, right? An elaborate hoax. Right?”

  He ignored her. “And I’m not sure what it means that he’s told us ahead of the others. My father warned me. I’m so stupid because I paid no attention at the time. But he warned me. He said I had to hang in there until Thanksgiving, that everything would be clearer after the break. I thought it was just typical Mom-and-Dad stuff: ‘Patience is a virtue’ and ‘Good things come to those who wait.’ But now I think it was my bad, that he was trying to tell me to chill until after the break. He probably knew I would be invited into the Program at some point, and he knew me well enough to know that I’d see things that would bug me.”

  “He sent me here to be in the Program?”

  “Think about it,” Steel said. “Think what we did in Washington, D.C. last year. With basically no training and having no idea what we were doing, we pulled that off. Obviously, people were going to hear about that. And obviously, the right people did. On top of that, you can do languages and sound like other people. That’s got to be of value. And obviously, stuff like that is what got us invited to go to school here.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We decide to join or not,” Steel said. “By ourselves, because neither of us can ever look back and think that the other person dragged them into this.”

  “You actually think it’s real?” Her voice cracked. “Face it: Victor and Reddie are going to come through that door laughing their butts off.”

  Steel answered by simply meeting eyes with her.

  “Oh, come on…” she gasped. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Totally.”

  “He made it sound like we’d be…spying.”

  “Not exactly. I think it’s more like they would put us into some place where a lot of embassy kids go, and if you happen to hear something important, you report it.”

  “That’s called spying.”

  “He made it sound like the older kids like DesConte and Reddie Long do the heavy lifting, not kids our age,” Steel said.

  “It still sounds like spying to me.”r />
  “In a way, I suppose. But I think there are a lot of definitions of spying. And I think the point is: who’s going to hurt a kid? A foreign country is not going to hurt a kid, and it would be way too embarrassing to accuse a kid, to admit that some thirteen- or fourteen-year-old was able to spy on you. It’s basically genius, if you ask me. If the kid doesn’t break any laws, then what’s anyone going to do about it, and I can see how grown-ups wouldn’t take the same precautions with kids as they would with other grown-ups.”

  “It’s totally random.”

  A knock on the door silenced them both. Randolph entered, but not the other kids. Steel thought they must be in the house somewhere, but he saw no sign of them.

  “Have you had a chance to discuss it?” Randolph said.

  Neither Kaileigh nor Steel answered.

  “The assignment I have you in mind for is over the long Halloween weekend. We will have to move very quickly. Training. Study. Both of you would be operational.”

  “Do we get our parents’ permissions, or what?” Kaileigh asked.

  “No, Ms. Augustine. You are in our charge. Your parents signed a contract upon acceptance of admission. Do you think we could do this for as long as we have without protecting ourselves? Don’t worry about your parents, Ms. Augustine. We are not putting you into any harm. We are just enlarging your skill set, preparing you for the possibility of service to your country when you become an adult. The CIA, NSA, FBI, Homeland Security, and a dozen other agencies all recruit Wynncliff graduates. You will find yourself invited to attend the nation’s premier colleges. I doubt you’ll get much complaint from your parents.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that my parents are spies?” she blurted out.

  All color had left her face.

  “I am certainly saying no such thing,” Randolph said, though his face implied otherwise.

  Steel thought back to Kaileigh’s saying her father was an art dealer, constantly traveling. What better cover for a spy? She’d processed this as well and seemed ready to cry.

  “I’m in,” Steel told Randolph.

  Kaileigh snapped her head in Steel’s direction, her jaw set forward in angry disbelief.

  Steel’s attention remained on Randolph. “What do you mean ‘operational’?”

  “Your Third Form year is typically devoted to training,” Randolph said. “You don’t usually go operational until Fifth Form abroad, though there are always exceptions. You two are the exception.” He winced a smile.

  Kaileigh continued staring at Steel as if she expected him to reverse his decision.

  “How do we get out of the Program if we don’t like it?” she asked.

  “An excellent question,” Randolph said. “The answer to which is a little tricky. A process exists. A procedure. For now, that’s all you need to know.”

  “Do you get to stay at the school?”

  “Very, very few are recruited into the Program, Ms. Augustine. Those that decline enrollment—and there have been precious few, I might add—often end up transferring to other schools. Fine schools. There is some minor debriefing involved. Parents are part of it, of course. Certain documents are signed and processed.”

  “Nondisclosure agreements,” Steel said. He’d once heard his father talking about a legal document that prevented a person from saying anything about a specific topic.

  “Something akin to that,” Randolph conceded, “yes.” He grimaced, put off by the current line of discussion.

  “You’re saying that if I refuse, I’ll be expelled,” Kaileigh said.

  “Transferred,” Randolph said. “And with the highest of recommendations and often a full scholarship. To some of the best, most prominent schools. I assure you, we’ve never received a complaint. Ms. Augustine, should you, with your parents’ guidance, opt out, believe me, you will be very pleased with where you end up. I…we…don’t want you feeling any pressure. As I said, typically we wait until second session. Our current situation requires drastic measures. There you have it. You must not feel obligated in any way. The Program is an extra burden on students. There’s additional study involved. Training. More of your time is required. The decision is not to be taken lightly.”

  Kaileigh mulled it over.

  “I would like to know, Mr. Trapp”—Randolph turned, addressing only Steel—“how it was you discovered us in the first place? It was you in the pipe room, was it not? Blind luck? Did you stumble upon the tunnels somehow, or what exactly was it?”

  Steel nearly answered him directly. But at the last second, he held his tongue. “I think,” he said, “it might be better discussed at another time.”

  Randolph furrowed his brow. “I see.”

  “But no, not blind luck.”

  “Then we have a problem in the conduct of our operations.”

  “Not one that others would uncover,” Kaileigh said. “It’s that brain of his.”

  Steel bristled.

  “It’s of major significance to me,” Randolph said.

  “I’m in,” Kaileigh said, interrupting them. “I’m willing to do this as long as I have a way out if I don’t like it.”

  “Of course,” Randolph said, though Steel detected for the first time that, if not lying, he was at least stretching the truth. “Excellent. Excellent!”

  Randolph must have given some signal, though Steel did not see it. Reddie Long entered the room carrying two thick documents, one bearing Steel’s legal name, the other with Kaileigh’s.

  “You may read through these agreements now, at your leisure. Once you’ve signed them, we can discuss your first…assignment.”

  Steel turned directly to the final page of the document, pulled out a pen, and signed it without reading a word.

  Kaileigh looked at him as if he’d committed high treason.

  “What?” he said. “I’m in. In is in. A contract is not going to change that, and honestly, I don’t want to know what it says. It’ll just freak me out.”

  Kaileigh began reading the first page. She glanced up at Randolph, over at Steel, and then turned to the last page. She signed.

  “You are now, by signing these documents, sworn to secrecy. It is a secrecy not to be taken lightly. Federal charges can and will result if any of what you learn or are told, going forward, were ever to leak. Do we understand one another?”

  Both kids nodded.

  Reddie Long collected the documents like there was a fire in the room. A moment later he was gone.

  “Welcome to the Program,” Randolph said.

  For the next few weeks, Steel and Kaileigh found themselves living double lives. To their new friends and teammates, they were Third Form students with busy schedules. To Mr. Randolph, DesConte, Reddie Long, and a limited number of other students, they were the latest recruits into the Program.

  There was a great deal to learn, and the instruction often came after the second curfew check at 11 p.m. They would take the tunnels to the chapel and then sneak across to Randolph’s house and sometimes stay as late as 1 a.m.

  Confronted by Verne about the late-night sojourns, Steel could tell him only that he was being hazed by upperclassmen and that any report to the faculty would get him into big trouble. Verne accepted the explanation—rumors were rampant among Third Form students about the existence of secret societies and clubs, and all were eager to be invited into one or more of the groups. Only now did those rumors begin to make sense to Steel: stories had been invented to counter the truth of the Program; the administrators had figured out a way to create so much speculation about what was going on at Wynncliff that if the truth ever surfaced, it would be discounted along with the dozen other stories circulating around. “It’s a school for student spies.” Oh, sure.

  As the Halloween weekend approached—Friday afternoon through Sunday—Steel grew increasingly nervous about the exact nature of the assignment. On the Thursday night before the break, he and Kaileigh were due at Randolph’s for a final briefing. By prior agreement, they left their dorm
s early and entered the tunnels. Steel led Kaileigh in a new direction: toward the library instead of the chapel.

  “Where are we going?” she questioned.

  “Someplace we can talk,” he said.

  They traveled another fifty yards in the tunnel before Steel stopped at a ladder.

  “The science lab,” he said.

  They climbed the ladder and settled into a utility room, much like the one in the basement of the administration building. He switched off the lights so no one would know the direction they’d come from.

  “What do you think about the Program?” he asked.

  “I’ve wanted to talk to you so bad,” she said. “It’s almost like—”

  “They’re keeping us apart to make sure we don’t talk too much.”

  “Yes!”

  “Do you have any clue what we’re supposed to be doing in Boston?” he asked.

  “No. You?”

  “Not really. Randolph has me memorizing all sorts of scientific stuff. Tons of it. He quizzes me on it. And they’ve created this kind of fake identity thing—my role, as they call it—which makes me think it’s going to be weird. I’m supposed to be poor and I’ve been in a lot of trouble.”

  “Same here! Exact same thing! They’ve got me talking like trailer trash and working on Spanish, Farsi, and Russian.”

  “Farsi and Russian?” He tried to think that through. “Oh! And he had me memorize hotel floor plans, city maps, and stuff like that. You think we’re going to steal something?”