“Locations,” Lucy mused. “So we’re talking what? City names? Addresses? Map coordinates?”
An image of the map the Big Guys had shown us during our debriefing popped into my mind, and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of the possibility that the numbers were coordinates before now.
“Map coordinates.” Our mighty captain latched onto the last possibility immediately—apparently, I wasn’t the only one who saw the logic. “Computer,” she said loudly, “locate 02-32-43.” She paused for a moment. “North, south, west, or east?” she wondered.
“We’re talking Europe, Asia, or Africa,” Tara said. “Possibly South America, but more likely not.”
“Show grid for 02-32-43 east,” Brooke said.
I paid no attention to her words, as I was caught halfway between berating myself for not thinking of the map coordinates thing (I mean location, duh) and giving in to the itchy feeling in my brain. As a map popped up on the plasma TV, with a vertical region highlighted, I gave in to the itch and let my mind go where it wanted to go.
023243. 024106. I didn’t like that both numbers started with a zero. Why “02” instead of just “2”? I mentally scratched the zeros off the end as Brooke ran a cross-reference analysis of the highlighted portion of the map with the information that may have been compromised on the (not so) secure CIA database.
(0)23243. (0)24106.
I shook my head, completely dissatisfied. It just felt wrong. Going on a whim (I like even numbers better than odd), I threw out the last digits as well, making the numbers(0)2324(3) and (0)2410(6).
“Two degrees, thirty-two minutes, and forty-three seconds east…no matches found.” The computer sounded distinctly peppy, but I barely noticed. Somewhere, in my subconscious, I registered the fact that the coordinates Brooke had tried hadn’t worked. There was no 02-32-43 east, at least not one that mattered.
East. The word echoed in my head, complete with peppy computer voice. East. East. E.
E = 3.
It came to me more like a splash of water in the face than a lightning bolt. On the telephone, the letter E was on the number 3, and the number 6 was the letters M, N, and O.
0-23-24 E, 0-24-10 N.
I scribbled the numbers down and handed them to Brooke. “Try these,” I said. Miracle of miracles, she did, and even more remarkably, it actually worked.
“Al Jawf, Libya.”
My eyes went immediately to Tara’s, but she gave no sign of whether this was good news or bad news.
“How many operatives in Al Jawf?” I asked, hoping the answer would be “none” even though I knew in the pit of my stomach that we’d gotten the code right.
“I don’t know,” Brooke admitted, “but I’m getting ready to find out.” She picked up her cell phone and dialed. We couldn’t risk uploading anything to our superiors’ breached database, but a secure phone call was a different beast altogether.
On the other end of the phone line, someone answered, and Brooke didn’t spend any significant amount of time beating around the bush.
“Al Jawf, Libya,” she said clearly. Then she paused, and about fifteen seconds later, she hung up.
“There are three operatives in the area. They’re alerting two of them. The third is in too deep.” Brooke tilted her head slightly and her hair (pulled into a high, glossy ponytail) fell to one side. “The primary assessment is that younger operatives will stand a better chance of moving in undetected, especially since our covers aren’t at risk from the leak.” She paused. “We’ve been authorized to send in a team of post-eighteens.” From her demeanor, she might as well have been talking about a sale on capri pants (still no idea what those were) at the mall.
“I’ll go.” Tara spoke immediately.
“Guess that means I’m in, too,” I said. I wasn’t sure, but I was going to go out on a limb and guess that going to Libya would get me out of Mr. Corkin’s class and cheerleading practice. If I was lucky, it might even get me out of Saturday’s halftime performance. Besides, there was such a thing as loyalty. I wasn’t about to let Tara go it alone.
“No and hell no,” Brooke said, responding to us in order. “Tara, you’re too close to it, and Toby, (a) you’re not eighteen yet and therefore not eligible for any mission designated post-eighteen, and (b) you’re a mess. No offense.”
Why was it that girls like Brooke always said something offensive, and then followed it with the phrase no offense? And what was up with having to wait until I was eighteen to go on any of the really cool missions? I vaguely recalled Brooke saying that at age eighteen we had the option of being promoted to full CIA status, and yeah, I could see the legal benefits to only letting the older, more trained girls go international, but that didn’t mean that I had to be happy about it, and it didn’t mean that I planned to wait another two years before I got in on the action.
“Zee, you’re in,” Brooke said. “So am I. Lucy, we’ll need complete weapons hookup in less than an hour. The Big Guys will have their fastest jet here within the hour, but it’ll still be a ten-hour flight, minimum. Chloe—”
Chloe waited, her arms crossed over her chest.
“—I need you here. Getting this agent out is only half of our problem. If I know Peyton—and believe me, I do—this is only the beginning. I think there’s a very real chance that this was the freebie, a show of good faith that they gave Heath Shannon to prove that they’ve got legitimate information. Once Shannon’s clients manage to verify the information, they’ll want more, and one guess as to when that particular exchange will be going down.”
Bubbles waved her hand madly in the air.
“Yes, Bubbles?” Brooke said.
“Four o’clock today,” Bubbles said brightly, proud of her inference skills.
“Okay,” Chloe said. “I get it. We need to send a team in to intercept the data Shannon’s collecting from Peyton.” She paused. “And we need to hack Infotech ASAP, crash their system, and make sure they can’t get any more of our intel.”
It seemed simple enough. One trip to Infotech to shut down the leak, and one trip to Peyton to take down Heath Shannon and keep him from passing on any more information to his terrorist contacts. Personally, I was liking this plan a lot better than the one that involved me seducing Jack Peyton.
Unfortunately, fate (and Brooke) was against me. “Getting into Peyton and bugging their offices is still important, but right now, the most important thing is stopping this transfer and containing the leak. After that, you can do your…thing with Jack.”
I wanted to go on the record that Jack and I would not be doing any thinging, but didn’t have the chance.
“Does that mean we’re moving the party back?” April asked glumly.
The twins looked absolutely scandalized by the very idea.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brooke said. “Chloe will take a team to Infotech this morning. You guys should plan to be back by lunch so you can spread the word about the party, and then head over to Peyton during seventh period. The party won’t start until nine or ten tonight—that should give everyone plenty of time to get ready, even if Zee and I will have to play hooky because of the whole Libya thing.”
I glanced around the room and verified that, yes, I was the only one who seemed to be thinking that this time frame and Brooke’s priorities qualified her for the loony bin.
“You think you can get the agent out with only two people?” Tara asked.
Brooke gave her a look that made me think a “no offense” statement was forthcoming, but in the end, all she did was smile and nod.
“Zee, you’ll handle our covers?” Brooke’s voice rose at the end of the sentence, but everyone (including Zee) knew that it was an order, not a request. Brooke Camden didn’t make requests.
Zee ran her tongue over her lip as she thought. “Let me download some information on Al Jawf,” she said, “but we’ll probably go with either visiting schoolgirls or actresses there for an on-location shoot, unless antifemale sentiment is too high, in
which case we’ll go with a blender.”
“Blender?” I mouthed at Tara.
“Blending in,” she said.
I looked at Brooke and then at Zee. Boobaliciousness and blending didn’t exactly go together.
Brooke turned to the twins. “Prepare wardrobes for all three scenarios,” she told them. “And get ready to hyperdye us.”
Our great and mighty captain stopped talking then, and without being told, the rest of the Squad began to disperse. Lucy skipped off to prepare “goody bags” filled with firepower, bulletproof bras, and stun guns; the twins sauntered toward the salon; Zee whipped a laptop out of her designer bag; and Brooke disappeared through an unmarked door without another word.
Bubbles, Chloe, April, Tara, and I stayed at the table, staring at each other. The second Brooke was out of sight, Chloe sat up a little straighter, tossed her perfect hair over one shoulder, and took the bull by the balls (or, in cheerleading terms, took the pom by its handle).
“If the actual exchange is taking place inside the firm, I think we can assume that we’re not getting in, which means that our best bet to stop the transaction from going through is to take Heath Shannon out after he picks up the data, but before he can send it to his clients.”
“What if it’s an online transaction?” I said. “I know the Big Guys seem to think it’s going to be a physical exchange, but what if Heath delivers the money and then Peyton just sends the info electronically?” With the speed of modern internet connections, we wouldn’t stand a chance at intercepting the information before it made its way into enemy hands.
“Peyton’s system is secure,” Chloe said. “Annoyingly so, but one of the reasons we haven’t been able to pin anything on them over the years is that they don’t leave a paper trail of any kind. Witnesses disappear. Data self-destructs, and when it comes to stuff like this, they don’t risk exposure online.”
“So we’re looking for what? A flash drive?”
Chloe nodded. “Something like that.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “We’ll want to keep our numbers down,” she said. “Sending agents anywhere near Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray is risky, and we can’t take the chance of exposure. We’ll go in undercover.”
“Define we,” Tara said. I noticed a marked change in her. Ever since Libya had come up, most of the tension in her body had melted away until all that was left was the cool exterior the school knew and loved. I didn’t need Zee’s PhD to infer that Tara’s parents were probably not stationed in Al Jawf.
“You’re in on this one, Tare,” Chloe said. “I’m going, obviously, and Lucy, since we might need some weapons analysis.” Chloe stopped talking and had to actually force herself to continue. “And I guess you.” She was absolutely thrilled to be talking to me, but since we were talking about a mission that involved data technology and hand-to-hand interaction with a very dangerous guy, the black belt/ hacker of the group was an obvious choice. So obvious that even Chloe had to make it, despite how much it obviously pained her to do so. “I’ll have the specifics by seventh period.” Chloe tossed her hair over her shoulder, a motion I interpreted as indicative of how drunk on power she currently was. “For now, we need to concentrate on the Infotech hack.
“I got some basic surveillance reports on Infotech off the disk our superiors sent,” she said. “According to the reports, Infotech operates under two different wireless units. The first is broader range and could feasibly be accessed from the street in front of the building. The second is confined to the executive wing, and the general wireless more or less serves to insulate that area from outside interference.”
Translation: to hack into the executive database, I didn’t just need to be inside the building; I needed to be inside the executive wing.
“Security?” Tara asked.
“Lax on the rest of the building, tight on the executive wing,” Chloe replied.
“Methinks I sense a pattern,” I said.
“You thinks?” Chloe asked. I didn’t know which was more deadly: her smile, or her tone.
“Our best bet into their system is to plant a device that magnifies the wireless signal and transmits it to our receiver,” Chloe said.
“Can you do that?” I asked.
“Duh,” Bubbles said. “Chloe can do anything.”
“Unwhelmable,” Tara coughed under her breath, and I smiled.
“So how do we get the device thingy into the executive whatever?” Bubbles asked.
My mind produced no sarcastic reply to this comment. It was just too easy.
“I think our best bet is to Doublemint it,” Chloe said.
“We send one of the twins in as a decoy, and the other can plant the device.”
“That works?” I asked.
Chloe smirked. “It has the last eight times we used it,” she said. “Brittany can be very distracting.” Chloe let the word hang in the air a moment before continuing. “As long as security doesn’t figure out there are two of them, we can sneak the second one in without anyone noticing.
“And if that doesn’t work, we’ll Plan B it,” Chloe said.
I refused to ask her to clarify.
“Ohhhhh!” Bubbles said. “If we Plan B it can I plant the thingamawhatsit?”
Tara scrawled a quick note on a piece of paper and slid it toward me without anyone noticing. I read it, and understood within seconds what Plan B was. If twin # 2 couldn’t get in unnoticed, she joined her sister at distracting the guards while a third, slightly more stealthy operative did the dirty work.
If one of the twins was distracting, two was more or less a three-ring (four-breasted) circus. After having gone to school with Brittany and Tiffany for a year and a half, I’d gotten a firm hold on the mathematical property known only as the Exponential Hotness of Twinness. Each twin, by virtue of the fact that there were two of them, became infinitely more attractive to the average male than either of them would have been on their own. Since neither of the twins was exactly a dog to begin with, the resulting attention when they were together was usually astronomical in proportions.
“After we plant the device,” Chloe said, looking slightly to my left as she addressed me, “it’ll be up to you to break through their safeguards and find what we’re looking for. Locate the program they’re using to hack, download any files pertaining to information that they’ve already acquired or sold, and fry their system.”
Even for someone with as much recreational hacking under her belt as me, that was a pretty tall order. I was practically giddy with techie anticipation. Or maybe that wasn’t giddiness—maybe it was dizziness, pure and simple, based on the fact that my mind was swimming with dictates and schedules and master plans. This morning: hack Infotech. This afternoon: take down Heath Shannon. Tonight: plant a bug in the evil law firm.
Tomorrow: the world.
“So,” I said, “are we ready to move out?”
Chloe rolled her eyes, like she didn’t use jargon like “move out” all the time. “No,” she said. “We’re ready to go upstairs and hang out with everyone else in the cafeteria before first period. We have to make up for the fact that we’re going to be missing half of the school day. Appearance is everything, and making appearances is key.”
“Besides,” Tara said, “somebody’s going to have to explain to the vice-principal why Brooke and Zee won’t be at school today, and why the rest of us are skipping our first four classes.”
“Like that’s going to be hard,” Bubbles said, rolling her eyes and bringing her feet into the chair next to her so that she could hook her elbows under her knees.
“Spirit conference, do you think?” Tara asked, arching one eyebrow.
“Nah,” Chloe said. “We used that one last time. Mental health day?”
“Didn’t we use that for the, like, thing with the thing?” Bubbles asked.
Chloe and Tara nodded contemplatively. Apparently, they weren’t having any of my difficulties understanding Bubbles’s meaning.
Chloe smiled then. “
I know,” she said. “I’ll tell him it’s initiation, and that you guys have to, like…sign the spirit book and take the spirit oath and receive your Bayport Code training.”
Spirit book? Oaths and training?
“You actually think Mr. J is going to buy that?” I asked. “Are we talking about the same guy here? Vice-principal? Loves handing out detention so much that he does it with a smile on his face?”
I had nothing against Mr. J—after all, he’d gotten me out of Corkin’s detention the day before, but still, the guy was the high school’s disciplinarian. It was what he did for a living. There was no way he was going to buy “cheerleader initiation” as an excuse for missing class.
“Mr. J,” Tara said, her voice quite serious, “would buy anything, so long as a varsity cheerleader says it.”
“Totally,” Bubbles agreed. “He loves us!”
I thought of the fact that Mr. J had excused me from detention just so that I could attend a cheerleading meeting.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Seriously,” the others said, all in one voice.
“Okay,” Chloe said, back in vice-captain or cocaptain or whatever mode. “I’ll go make nice with the administration. The rest of you guys put in an appearance at the cafeteria. Come down here as soon as first period starts. Hopefully, by then, Lucy and the twins will be ready to go for the hack, and we can move out.” Chloe paused, just slightly, when none of us moved. “Dismissed.”
She actually said it that way, like she was some army colonel and we were her soldiers. For the first time, I found myself grateful that Brooke was the cheerleading captain.
“You ready for this?” Tara asked me as we made our way out of the Quad.
“Toby?” Tara nudged me.
“I’m ready,” I said, even though secretly, I wasn’t so sure. Yesterday, I’d been dealing with hot guys and Victoria’s Secret, and today, I was dealing with secured databases and freelance agents known to be deadly.
Talk about a baptism by fire.
CHAPTER 22
Code Word: A-list