D e b r i e f i n g
"Bye mom, I love you," I said, giving my mother a quick, hard hug before sliding into the limousine in front of me.
"I love you too Cammie. Hey and Cam, before you go, remember to be yourself. You've been trained. You can do this," my mother, the headmistress of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women, said. I smiled and nodded.
I wondered if she forgot that it was impossible for me to be normal. It isn't, trust me, I would know. It's not easy when you just graduated from a school for spies. Not when your on your way to D.C. to be debriefed by the CIA on your first mission. Not when you don't know what language that you'll have to speak to blend in with people. Not when your nickname is "the chameleon."
Of course, if you're reading this, you probably have at least a level four clearance and know all about what the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women and the Blackthorne Institute for Boys are. Then you know that the government trains and raises spies.
The driver pulled silently out of the Gallagher Academy. I had just graduated, not even twenty four hours ago. I sighed and looked back at my beloved school.
I quickly scanned my eyes over the long limousine. I noticed everything, including the fact that the driver was someone I knew. Someone I knew very well.
0900 hours: Cameron Morgan, hereafter referred to as The Operative, notices that her Covert Operations teacher is driving the limousine. The operative notes that Solomon says nothing but smiles through the rearview mirror. The Operative wonders what is happening.
"Mr. Solomon," I said, nodding.
"Very good Miss Morgan. Pop quiz."
"I've graduated-"
"So if you fail this, I think the government is going to have some major issues with you as their operative."
I snorted.
"What two things have I left fingerprints on since you've been in the vehicle?"
"Steering wheel and rearview mirror."
"How long have you been sitting here?"
"One hundred fifty nine seconds."
"What color shirt am I wearing?"
"White. Ironed."
"How long has it been since I've shaved?"
"Two days."
"Very good Miss Morgan. You've mastered that concept. Depending on whether you come back alive or not is depending on how well you did on your others…" His voice trailed off.
I looked directly into his eyes. He looked sad.
"Don't worry Mr. Solomon. This Morgan is staying alive," I comforted.
He nodded but said nothing. He drove for a couple of hours. I sat still in the limo. "Mr. Solomon," I began. "Do you know why I've been chosen for this operation? There are plenty of other great spies-"
"Cammie. You're one of the greatest pavement artists out there. You can lose a tail as soon as you want. You play by your own set of rules, and you'd give up your life for the country," he said stiffly.
Wait. Freeze. Did Mr. Solomon actually just give me, Cameron Ann Morgan, a compliment. I blinked twice but other than that did nothing. I had learned a thing or two from Mr. Solomon.
"I guess you're not permitted to tell me where I'm going or what I'm doing are you?" I asked, mainly to myself.
"Nope. Sorry Cam."
I nodded.
"Oh, and Cammie. I'm not your teacher any more. You can call me Joe."
I smiled. "Okay Joe, but… I kind of like Mr. Solomon better." Wow. I am so lame. My favorite, and hottest, teacher just told me I could call him by his first name, and I said I didn't want to.
He shrugged. "Do you really want to be formal like that your whole life?"
"No. Just for now. I still feel like I'm in high school, just on an extended CoveOps test."
"Remember Cammie. We've trained you for your new life. This isn't a test that if you fail, you get kicked out of CoveOps. This is real, if they catch you, they will torture you and then will kill you."
"I know…" There was no way I was ready for this. I mean, a mission. A real mission. I was a legacy, I knew that. But I still wasn't ready to go save the world before bedtime. Okay, that was corny, but you get the picture!
Two hours, thirty one minutes and twenty seven seconds later, we arrived in D.C. I slid out of the limo and stood by the door. I didn't have bags with me, they were already here. Somewhere, inside one of these huge buildings.
I said goodbye to Mr. Solomon and quickly ran into the mall. The same mall that I had met Zach in. The same mall that I had been outsmarted by someone my age. The same mall that served as my first test for losing a trail. I smiled at the memories and walked forward as if I was a normal teenage girl looking around for clothes. I walked into three stores and then back out.
I found my way into an Aéropostale store and picked out three shirts. I found a saleswoman. "Excuse me ma'am. I need to try these on," I said politely. Madame Dabney would be proud.
She smacked her lips together and nodded. She opened up the last stall on the right and I went it. I dropped the shirts on the bench provided.
The last time I did something like this, I was on my way to being debriefed about Josh. My first boyfriend. I thought about my cat named Suzie. I took a deep breath and stepped close to the mirror.
I noticed my reflection. "I was wearing dark blue jeans, a white button up shirt and my long, straight hair was pulled into a high pony tail.
I stared at my reflection and stepped even closer. I whispered the words, "Cameron Ann Morgan. Graduate of the Gallagher Academy of Exceptional Young Women." Two seconds later, two beams, one green and one blue, scanned my body. A third laser, a blue one, scanned my retina. I smiled and waited for the secret panel behind me to slide open.
I didn't feel ready, but I knew, deep down that I was. The panel slid open and a rope ladder was attached. I snorted. This was not very professional. At all.
With as much money as the CIA, NCA and the government had, you would think we could at least have escalators! Or even wooden stairs. But no. They give us a rope ladder.
I rolled my eyes and climbed down the ladder. Made of rope. I hovered a couple of feet above the ground. I dropped down and landed on my feet. The panel immediately slid shut and a dim light flickered on. I followed the hallway down to the door marked with the number seven.
I opened the door and a whole new world opened up before my eyes. It was bright and big, burly guards stood fully armed by every entrance and exit, every window and every ventilation shaft. A man stepped in front of me. I said exactly what I had been told to say. "My name is Cameron Ann Morgan. I have been called here to be debriefed by the head chief George Sanders."
The guard nodded and held a small compact up to my face. You would think that the CSI could be classy enough to give the guards boy things instead of a makeup compact. He held it to my face. A blue beam appeared and scanned my retina. I placed my finger in the center of the compact. My prints ran through the scanner. My picture and "accomplishments" (sneaking off campus to go see a certain somebody among them.) The guard nodded and stepped aside.
"The door straight down the hall is Chief Sanders's office," he told me. I nodded and thanked him. As I walked down the long room I got many stares and many jaws dropped. I smiled to myself. I knew I was a legacy, but I didn't think I'd get this much attention.
"Cameron Morgan?" I tall woman asked. I nodded.
"Yes ma'am. Can I help you?" I asked politely.
"Good luck is all!" She said, walking away. I blinked twice and continued on toward the office.
I knocked on the door. "Come in!" A man called. I entered. I was expecting a big black room with a lamp, a laptop and a bunch of filing cabinets. Instead, I entered a room with black carpet, white walls, two filing cabinets, a huge desk, a computer that was as big as my bed back at the Gallagher Academy. I man was sitting behind he. He stood up and looked at me smiling. He nonchalantly closed his gigantic computer and motioned for me to sit down.
"Ahhh! Cameron, just in time!" The bald man exclaimed, pulling a file out of the larger cabinet.
"Cammie, I like to be called Cammie. Or Cam. You're choice," I corrected.
"Yes Cammie. I'm sure your mom as told you why you're here."
"No. She hasn't. She told me that I was needed in D.C. for a special mission I was being sent on. Thirty minutes later I'm on my way to D.C."
"Okay. Well, we're sending you and five other partners to MIT. We've intercepted a private message to one of the major officials in Russia. They're sending three students to MIT. They speak perfect English without an accent. They will appear to be an average student. We understand that they are planning on creating a substance that will trigger certain volcanoes to erupt and an earthquake big enough to send half of California down. We need you and your associates to find them, disarm them and arrest them. Can you do that?"
"Yes sir. One question. When do I meet my associates?"
"On your plane. The way you'll recognize one another is by the following phrase, 'The trip up here was bumpy.' Their response would be, 'Really? That's too bad.'"
I nodded. Chief handed me a large manila folder. Cammie, open this and memorize it. It's your-"
"My legend," I said smiling. I remembered myself as Tiffany St. James, Zach, my dreadful strapless bra and the code black.
"Yes. Good, got the room with the letter 'G' on it. You'll find a Harvey Daniels inside. He'll give you your proper necessities. In other words, your gadgets."
I smiled and nodded. "What about clothes?" I asked.
"Cammie. That's already been taken care of by a friend," he said smiling. I felt the cool air from outside seep through the open door. I turned around to find Macy staring at me smiling.
Hi! Breanna here! I know it's short and I'm really sorry! Than for reading. I know some ppl read my first five stories. I cant stand them, I just needed to Beta read my friend's story and I needed at least five stories... so yeah. Please don't read them. I know their bad. Thanks for reading and please review! Also, Zach is entering in either chapter 2, 3 or 4. All depends on what happens! Tell me what you think. And by the way, I don't care if you hate it. I'm still writing it! Also, if you do like it, will you tell me? Please? Do you see that little green button down there? I dare you to click it! LOL Well, thanks for reading! Oh, the usual disclaimer about everything belonging to Ally Carter and I know it's not like the book and Ally's style. I can't write like her b/c I am not her, so, sorry!
Love y'all!
~Bree
