"And that wasn't a compliment either."
I noticed something about his accent then. I replayed his words in my mind, while, outside, the sleet fell harder, and the room turned colder, and I knew the entire class was starting to feel the chill.
"Fine, if this is all you are willing to bring to today's -"
"How long were you stationed in Mozambique?"
Townsend was rarely surprised, I could tell, and yet my question stopped him. "Excuse me?" he said.
"Your Swahili this morning at breakfast was very distinctive." He looked at me as if he wanted to protest, but I didn't give him the chance. "You're left-handed, but the calluses on your palm say that you probably shoot with your right hand." I thought of how he'd moved when he pulled his feet from the desk. "You favor your left knee. I'm betting you hurt it . . . what? Six months ago. Your accent is lower-middle class, but you went to a good school, didn't you? Someplace like this, I'm betting."
"Nice trick, Ms. Morgan."
"It's not a trick." I shook my head. "It's last fall's midterm. Mr. Solomon -"
"Joe Solomon is gone," he snapped. "I make that point very clear in London, or have you forgotten?"
I'd forgotten nothing about that day - not the color of Townsend's shirt of the cool feel of the hard, metal table.
"Why aren't we having this class in Sublevel Two?" I asked, and watched his eyes change. "Were you not given clearance?"
"Oh, I assure you, Ms. Morgan, I'll see all of this school I need to see." He waved toward the door. "Now go. Consider yourselves dismissed.
Chapter Fourteen
Over the course of the following week, The Operatives were able to ascertain the following:
·The work "pigeon" appeared in nine of Joseph Solomon's case files, legend histories, or lesson plans.
·There are approximately 4,902 Pigeon Roads, Pigeon Lanes, Pigeon Rivers, etc. in the United States - not one of which was in Roseville, Virginia.
·An incredibly thorough search of the Gallagher Academy servers revealed database labeled "Mr. Solomon's Super Secret Pigeons File," as much as The Operatives wanted to find one.
·As far as mysteries go, "the pigeons" had nothing to do with Agent Townsend.
* * *
"This is useless," Liz exclaimed, her voice echoing off the high-vaulted ceiling of the P&E barn.
"No it isn't," Bex said, grabbing the crossbow out of her hand. (Oh yeah, I said crossbow.) "All Gallagher Girls have to be proficient with two weapons, and I'm telling you the crossbow is -"
"Not this," Liz said, grabbing the weapon back and giving it a good shake (at which point both Macey and I dropped to the floor and took cover). "Operation Townsend," she whispered.
Outside, a fresh blanket of snow was falling over the grounds, and the tall windows were covered with fog. Sophomores fenced on the mats below us. A group of seventh graders were braving the climbing wall, while the whole barn echoed with the thuds and cries of girls who had been locked inside for way too long.
"The man is a ghost, guys," Liz said, her voice low. "I mean, seriously ghosty. He went to some ritzy boarding school in England on scholarship -"
"Good call on that, by the way," Bex told me, but Liz never even slowed down.
Then he joined MI6 right out of college. I'm pretty sure he was stationed in eastern Europe, because he did that big sting operation in Romania ten years ago."
"The one with the vampire bats?" Bex asked, eyes wide.
"Yeah," Liz said, eyes wider. "And I'm pretty sure he was the one who took down that group of KGB generals who were smuggling old Soviet missiles using a traveling circus as cover.
"Operation Big Top?" Bex exclamimed.
"Uh-huh," Liz said. "But then . . . after that . . . it's like he disappeared. I mean . . .
nothing."
"Which means something," I said, and Liz nodded slowly.
"Something big."
"Bex, what does our surveillance tell us?" I asked, turned to the girl beside me.
"He never takes the same route twice; barely eats, barely sleeps, and confides in absolutely no one."
"He's up to something," I said, "This is guy doesn't do anything by accident, so if he's here, it's for something big, and it doesn't have anything to do with teaching."
"Liz," Macey said, panic in her voice. "Liz, you're going to want to hold that -"
"Sorry!" Liz yelled to the girls on the rock wall, who now had to navigate around an arrow.
"Hey, Morgan!"
I turned and saw Erin Dillard walking through the barn, as if member of the senior class regularly came up to talk to juniors, which, let me tell you, they don't. "We need to talk."
"Hi, Erin," I said. "Did you have a nice winter -"
"Where's your mother?" As soon as Erin spoke, I knew this want a chat. It was a mission.
"I'm not sure."
"Do you know how to get a message to her?" Erin asked. "Dead letter drop? Cutout?
Anything?"
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"What do you think? Townsend. I'm a senior, Morgan," Erin said with a cautious look around the barn. "I got offered a spot in the MI6/CIA Cross-Agency Deep Cover Training Program."
"That's awesome," Bex said, but Erin merely shrugged.
"Thanks. I got the letter over break. I'm supposed to report to work -to work -in June, and do you know what our CoveOps homework was this weekend?"
We all shook our heads.