Maybe I can’t risk hiding here and waiting for help. The best hacker in town is already here.
If I can get to a computer, I may be able to figure out exactly how the phreak’s blocking the signal and stop it so the police can get inside fast. If I’m quick, I might even be able to get comms up before the responding officer has to drive all the way back into town to request help. Turning off the PA system means the hacker is probably still somewhere in the school, online. After my announcement, he’s probably taking down the school’s entire network, in case people actually believed me. I have to get to the library’s computer bank before he completes his task.
I run to the end of the hall and make a right, heading for stairs that lead to the back of the library, but as I do, I hear the familiar jangling of a ring heavy with keys coming from the janitor’s supply room. So that was a friendly outside the office—the janitor/undercover security guard. And unless there’s another person with him, he somehow has a phone that works, because he’s talking to someone. But at Langley they taught me to trust pretty much no one, so I stand outside the door and listen before I approach.
The first thing I hear tells me that was a good idea: it’s the sound of leather against skin. My guess is he’s slapping a blackjack—a steel paddle wrapped in cowhide—against the palm of his hand. Okay, I’m pretty sure this guy didn’t find that in the supply closet.
“He left the office before I could get there, but the idiot kid just announced he’s in the building. No one’s getting out, so it’s just a matter of finding him. It’s a big building for only five hundred students, but not so big I won’t find him pretty quickly.”
Oh, dayuum. I recognize the voice—it is the janitor, but he isn’t a friendly. Add one more to the hostile head count.
Silence on his end while someone on the other end talks, and then, “I realize he’s a trained operative, but he’s just a kid, so he’ll be easy to take down—”
He must be talking to Marchuk.
More silence, before he says, “Yes, of course. I won’t underestimate … right. But if he proves elusive, the girl will help us find him.”
Um, what girl?
The guy laughs. “He may be an operative, but he’s also a seventeen-year-old kid—all hormones. She can mess with his head. She already threw him off his game.”
He’s quiet, then more laughter.
“Oh yeah. He’s an easy mark. The kid is just like the rest of us when it comes to foreign chicks.”
I feel like I’ve been hit in the chest by the janitor’s blackjack. Twice. Katie is working for the other side.
CHAPTER 11
As I run for the stairwell, the only thing that keeps my feet moving is self-preservation. Once there, I have to lean against the wall to steady myself. I can’t believe I was wrong about Katie. I had her checked out and everything, but I guess the people she’s working for created one helluva cover for her. And if I missed the mark on Katie, what else have I gotten wrong? Well, there’s the janitor. I was so busy looking at students new to Carlisle, I didn’t even consider new employees. The janitor and groundskeeper were both hired at the beginning of the school year. If one is a bad guy, then I’ll have to assume both of them are. That takes the hostiles’ count to a definite five, and a probable six. And those last two are both former military.
Maybe that should have been a red flag, but I’d read it as a plus—they’d fought the good fight, and now they were bringing all that skill and knowledge to protect Carlisle. I never thought they’d use it against me. Now that I think of it, I never confirmed their service with Langley. It was so obvious—to me, anyway—through their mannerisms that they were ex-military, I never thought to check it out. I’m sure I’m right about their service, but I have no idea whether it was to this country. For that matter, mercenaries turn against their own countries all the time. If they didn’t, a whole section of the CIA would be out of a job.
As jacked as my assessment of Katie has been, there is one person in Carlisle I’m certain I can trust. Luckily, it’s his study hall period and I know he happens to be in the library, along with a bunch of computers, working on a paper due tomorrow. Or he was until all this happened. There probably isn’t a single kid in the building worried about it being midterms week right now.
I begin putting together a plan as I head up the stairs leading to the back of the library. Trying to get in through the front entrance won’t work. Carlisle’s library is smaller than the smallest city branch in town, so there’s a better chance of a hostile seeing me. And because the entire front wall of the library is made of glass, any kids I see in there will see me too, and my arrival will be sure to cause chaos. Since there’s no way I’m getting inside the library without causing a little disruption, I go for the smallest amount possible.
I knock on the door that leads from the stairwell into the back of the library—three quick knocks, pause, two more knocks, pause, and then one final knock. It’s a code Bunker came up with to signify “need cover,” something he planned for us to use on the wall between our bedrooms to help each other sneak out of the Morrisons’ house before spending the night away with a girl. So far, there’s been no need for either of us to use the code, so I have to hope Bunker remembers it.
Just as I expected—the moment Bunker opens the door, a piercing alarm sounds until I pull it shut.
“Quick, run back up to the desk and make up a reason for the alarm going off and come back,” I tell Bunk, who thankfully doesn’t ask any questions before racing through the stacks.
The alarm starts up a chorus of screams from the front of the library. Fortunately, the building has great insulation, because if the janitor heard the noise it would be a pretty good lead on where I’m hiding out. I just hope he’s still downstairs in one of the other corridors. Soon the screams end. I hear a murmur of voices, mostly an indecipherable hum, though a few words come through loud and clear: Loser. Idiot.
Poor Bunker.
A minute later he returns, a little out of breath.
“I told them I was back here studying and accidentally fell against the door handle.”
“And they believed that?” Seriously, lying really isn’t Bunker’s strong suit.
“They were happy to believe any explanation that didn’t involve hit men invading the library. But I don’t have much time. Ms. Larabee asked everyone to sit at the front. I told her I just needed to come get my stuff.”
“Good thinking.”
Bunker begins packing up his stuff but stops, a huge grin spreading across his face.
“What?” I ask.
“Can I just say—I KNEW IT!”
“Shhh. You’re going to give away my position.”
“I knew it,” Bunker says again, this time in a loud whisper. “I knew you weren’t just mild-mannered Peter Smith. And after I heard your announcement, I knew you’d come to that door to find me. I mean, if you made it. I was really hoping no one would kill you first.”
“Yeah, glad I could oblige. But I’m not home free yet, and the bad guys have me outnumbered at least five to one.”
“Now it’s five to two. Well, more like five to one and a half, since my fighting skills are limited to the Xbox variety, but I got your back.”
As scared as I am, and as little faith as I have right now in Bunker’s ability to fight off a cold, much less trained operatives, I have never been so glad to have his help. When you’re an outnumbered spy without a team, communications, or weapons, the situation is pretty bleak. But a real friend who has got your six can go a long way toward giving you hope.
“So what’s the plan? What do you need from me?”
“I can’t go into details now, not enough time, but you were pretty dead on about me—mostly.”
Bunker looks incredulous, as though maybe he hadn’t really believed his own theory this whole time. Then he starts grinning again, and I know I have to stop him before he starts asking me a million questions.