Hello, I have returned with a new chapter! I'm so blown away with your reviews and love - and I am so so happy that so many of you followed. I'd love to hear what each and every one of you thought so please leave a review. I love to hear from you guys. It makes my day.

Here we have the next chapter. I'll be updating another deleted scene for FMOFMT some time in the middle of the week, so keep an eye out for that. It's something from Zach's POV, and I really enjoyed working on it, so I've got an idea and I wanted to know what you guys think: there's a LOT I have planned for this story, in terms of plot and emotional drama. And I find that since it's all from Cammie's POV, there will be a lot of vital information lost because there will be a lot of things happening that she might not be privy to. Although I love the thrill of having a first person narrative and an unreliable narrator, I fear too much might get lost. So, how do you guys feel about me throwing in some chapters from Zach's POV? I won't say alternating, because Cammie is still my main character. But there's a lot I want told from Zach's voice too, so what do you guys think about a few chapters here and there from his eyes?

Comment and let me know! Also, let me know who else you expect/want to see in this story! Canon characters, and OC's from FMOFMT!

For now, here have this chapter. I feel the need to point out that, although, I tried to work a lot with Google Maps for one of the locations mentioned later on in this chapter, I obviously had to make up a lot for storytelling convenience. Also, I MUST apologize for any spelling errors or grammar mistakes. It's 1:20 am, and I've re-read it so many times that I'm sure my mind has stopped registering mistakes.

Chapter Rating: T

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Ally Carter. I don't own copyrights to canon Gallagher Girls series material, and only own creative and intellectual property.

Fool's Gold

Chapter Two

The weekend came and went, but the storm didn't let up. In fact, it became about five times worse. We couldn't even go out to dinner with Liz on Saturday night. Instead, we'd invited her over and Zach had made lamb roast (delicious, by the way) while Liz made red velvet cupcakes. Apparently, her baking-as-stress-relief had really taken well. She'd even spent the night when it looked like the rain wouldn't let up. Cabs were a pain to find – even Uber.

By the time Monday rolled around, we were all a little frustrated with the cloud cover. I usually walked to work, which was only a fifteen-minute walk. But I was forced to take the subway. It didn't help that my Monday shifts were morning ones, so there wasn't even much work to do behind the bar since service was low. Color me surprised when I walked in and found the place bustling. There weren't many people ordering drinks, but there were enough people looking for shelter in the rain. It amused me to see so many people unprepared for the weather, despite the entire weekend having been this bad.

Shedding my coat and bag in the employee locker room, I put on the black apron over the dark green polo shirt uniform and put on my most hospitable smile. It was useless, of course. Everyone was impatient and snippy, and whoever wasn't busy seating or serving had to deal with cleaning up. Water splashes from people's umbrellas, spilled coffee, bread crumbs. As I served my twentieth table that morning, I cringed at the floor, covered with wet and murky footprints. My wishes were with those who had clean up duty today.

"Two waffles with maple syrup on the side," I announced, placing the plates in front of the angry looking businessmen. One had a face strikingly similar to the disguise Mr. Smith had when I was in seventh grade (salt-and-pepper hair, salt-and-pepper mustache, fine laugh lines). The other was bald and red-faced, strikingly similar to a tomato. The second one grunted in response, while the first one mumbled a 'thank you' that he didn't sound genuine about. I kept the stupid smile on my face and let it fall when I walked back towards the kitchen.

"Fucking nightmare," Rajesh muttered under his breath, joining me. He had a splotch of mustard on his collar and was wiping it down with a wet napkin, which only seemed to be making the stain worse.

"What happened to you?" I asked my co-worker, and manager. It was a bad day when the manager was working tables.

"Some kid was playing with the condiment tray on his table. I'm going to rip my hair out. I don't even have any spare clothes today," he said, eyeing the yellow smudges on the napkin he'd been using.

"I think Sam has a spare shirt in the locker room," I suggested, grabbing an order of burger and fries before moving back to the tables. By the time I was back for the next one, Rajesh had returned, wearing the same polo the rest of us had to wear – but, apparently, three sizes too large.

"It was all he had," he explained. "I haven't worn this thing in years."

"Welcome to the trenches."

The morning continued to be busy, and I was contemplating giving up my break, but the phone I kept in my back pocket rang. I froze for a second. That wasn't my personal phone – the one I kept in my locker while I was at work. This was my work and emergency line, and I nudged Lucy – who was working the same section as I was – to take over for a few minutes. Shuffling to the back room, I pulled out the phone and hit the button to accept the call.

As expected, there was an automated sound on the other end.

"You have a collect call from Deermont Correctional Unit. Will you accept the charges –"

"Yes," I replied.

There was a second of no noise, and then a pleasant voice on the other end responded.

"Hey, Janice," said the same voice I'd come to associate with safety protocol.

"I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong number."

"Wh – No, I'm sure I don't. Is this not Janice of 34, Thaine Way, Palo Alto?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Palo Alto is a long way from here," I recited back the phrase I'd memorized.

"My mistake."

"Don't mention it."

There was a click, similar to the line being hung up, but I knew that this was merely protocol to make sure I was the one who had the phone. I heard a few more clicks, suggesting that the line was secure, before Townsend's voice flowed through the speaker.

"Agent Morgan. Pleasant morning, I hope?"

"Not pleasant enough for me to make small talk," I grumbled, even though I'd happily take a mission right now over one more coffee refill.

"Glad to hear it," he said, and I detected a hint of genuine gratitude. I'd known the man seven years and he was still all business.

"So, what's up?"

"Track and report mission," he stated. This didn't surprise me. Track and report missions were far less dangerous than the ones that required direct involvement – but that also depended on who was the one being tracked. If they were asking me to go then it had to be someone relatively dangerous – I'd been an agent long enough to earn that rating. Besides, tracking was what I did best. Pavement artist and all.

"You'll take Agent Goode," he added.

"Why?" I asked, frowning. Not that I'm complaining. Trust me, I'm not. It just seemed curious to send in two people for tracking and reporting.

"Because I'm not sending you to track one person. I'm sending you to track three – it'll make all our lives easier if you have more than one person there."

"Where to?"

"Russia."

"Russia? Why?" I asked, pleasantly surprised.

"I'll tell you that when we meet tonight. Ten o'clock. Sundial."

I heard the line go silent and finally hung up.

"Cameron!" I heard someone call, and Rajesh came into the room.

"Taking your break?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Not really. I can help –"

"Take fifteen," he said, and then tilted his head towards the door. "Zach's here to see you, anyway."

That was odd. It was only eleven in the morning. He usually dropped by for lunch, but it was still early. Taking off the apron, I grabbed my wallet and other phone before moving through the restaurant. The crowd had thinned, and I looked outside to see that the rain had briefly stopped. People were taking full advantage of it, and I could see that there was already a flock of pedestrians. Zach stood just inside the door. He hadn't taken off his jacket, but as I got closer I noticed that there was some water sliding off the leather, which probably meant that it had stopped raining only a few minutes ago. There were even water droplets stuck in his hair.

"Hey. You look like a disaster," he said, putting an arm around me and steering me out the door. I breathed deeply as soon as we stepped out, enjoying the lack of water – even though it was slightly humid. I hated humidity. I could handle it during the summer, because I was prepared for it. But feeling sticky during the colder months sucked. It didn't feel like winter was coming.

"How come you're here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?" I asked, as we started walking. We usually walked a couple of times around the block to get some fresh air, before we had to head our own ways.

"Monty's gone for an inspection; and I finished most of my work during the weekend. It's been a lighter day than the one I'm assuming you had."

I pouted, slightly jealous.

"Did Townsend call?" he asked.

"Yeah. He's meeting us tonight. I can't wait to get out. It feels like forever."

"You went to Beijing last week," he reminded me.

I shrugged. That still felt like it was too long, even though I'd had to come back to a panicking Rajesh and vowed to make his life easier for a bit. He'd made me promise that I wouldn't take any impromptu trips anymore (which had been my excuse) without making sure someone could cover my shift. I'm pretty sure I'd already filled my vacation and sick leave quota. It was a miracle he hadn't fired me yet – but he insisted that I was the only one who didn't tire out as fast as most did, and I'd taken the least amount of time to memorize the entire cocktail menu. I sighed knowing that I'd have to make up some other excuse, even though I was, technically, a part time employee.

"What do you think is in Russia?" I asked, turning to Zach. He shrugged, although there was a slightly excited look in his eyes. He loved missions to Russia. Not only was the Russian accent his easiest one to mimic, but Russian had also been the first language he'd learned at Blackthorne. It was the one that came easiest to him. That, and I knew that Catherine Goode had spent a few years there when Zach was a child. Between the Blackthorne tutelage, and his childhood exposure, Russia was home ground for him - even though the memory was associated with someone he hated.

"Maybe it's Drozdov again? He's been getting a little unruly lately. I saw him in Paris, actually. He must be back home," Zach said.

Aleksei Drozdov was, at first glance, an extremely handsome man with an extremely horrific scar down one side of his face. At second glance, he was also pretty terrifying, since he came from one of the most notorious Russian mobs – and he was the heir. Co-regent to a wealthy empire, there was nothing the Drozdov family didn't do. Drug smuggling, arms trading, human trafficking – hell, they even had investments in some big corporate names (I can't name them, of course, but you would not believe.)

If it really was Drozdov, then it wasn't surprising that they were sending two experienced agents. The empire had been responsible for a lot of trouble in that entire Eurasian belt, and between the Interpol, MI6 (and 5), local police, and CIA, we'd lost a lot of sleep, money, and agents to them. I shivered, remembering that a year ago, two of our deep cover agents had been made. One had gone MIA, and the other – none other than Eva Alvarez – had nearly died.

"No wonder it's only track and report," I said, as we turned the corner. "They can't risk sending us undercover again, so soon."

"They will have to at some point. That entire damn empire needs to shut down already. Every time we cripple them, they come back stronger. It's pathetic," he huffed, and I knew why he was angry. Family businesses tended to be a sore spot for someone who was born into a terrorist cell themselves. Zach was always reminded of it whenever something came up related to the Circle – we'd always have to watch our backs that way. Just because the inner circle had vanished, and Catherine's cell had dissolved, didn't mean that there were no more Circle members out there. Maybe none with quite the same personal vendetta towards us, but Circle members nonetheless. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them even knew Drozdov.

"I have to head back," Zach said, and I was about to hit the fourteen minute mark on my break, as well.

"I'll meet you at home for dinner," I said, leaning up to give him a quick kiss before we headed our separate ways.

Later that night, we had a quick meal of okra and lentils with rice before we got dressed to meet Townsend. We left at separate times, taking different routes, doubling back again to lose tails. By the time I walked out of the 116th street station, it was 9:45. The rain appeared to have stopped for good, and there was a cold breeze. I crossed the street and met Zach, who was already waiting for me by the Columbia University gates. We walked in together and up the iconic steps, seating ourselves right next to the Sundial. Zach pulled out a notebook, and I crossed my legs, watching him as if we were two students simply studying. Even at this time of the night, the place was well lit from the street lights and the lights from the towering library behind us.

A few minutes later, Townsend sat next to us. It was something I rarely got used to, seeing him in jeans and a hoodie. You'd think I'd see enough of him to get used to the casual clothes, but even when we were hanging out with family and friends he was always, at least, wearing dress pants. I don't think I'd ever seen the guy wear sneakers, like he was now. He didn't look uncomfortable but I could imagine he was. Sadly, some of our secretive meetings couldn't take place indoors, where it was easy to bug the place. Zach and I had, of course, already checked the Sundial (discreetly) to make sure it wasn't bugged, but we felt much safer knowing that I had my back to a majority of the cameras and my hair hanging in my face, while Zach had his hood up.

Townsend took out a textbook of his own, as if he'd just joined our little study group. But the papers were hardly related to quantum physics, no matter what the cover said.

Zach had been right. It was Drozdov.

"I'm sure I don't have to give you background on who that is," Townsend said. "He's been sighted in St. Petersburg, and according to our intel, he spent the last week in Paris. The week before that, he was in Cannes. Interpol tells us he's been up to no good."

"What's he done now?" I asked.

"He was seen meeting Olga de Beauvoir. She's runs her own little art business, although they've never actually managed to find anything outside of circumstantial evidence to prove that she deals in mostly stolen artifacts."

He pulled out a few grainy pictures of two people talking – one was clearly Drozdov, and another was the woman I assumed was Beauvoir.

"Beauvoir," Townsend continued. "Is a known associate to someone troubling, and that's what is troubling us."

He flipped a few pages, and Zach pretended to be noting down something, before we saw a few more pictures.

"Milo Lehman," Townsend said. "Him and his friends are suspected of money laundering in Germany. Now, Drozdov could be meeting with Beauvoir for many reasons, but the two don't exactly have good history. They were married briefly in 1990, and divorced soon after. It wasn't pretty. Since then, any interaction between the two has been bloody – literally. Unless they've magically resolved a feud that's twenty-five years old, I suspect it's a business meeting. Beauvoir doesn't get involved directly in anything illegal – it's her way of making sure she doesn't leave trails. More likely than not, she's third party. And of all her known associates, the only one with no real enmity towards the Drozdov empire would be Lehman's group."

"What do you want us to do?" Zach asked.

"Tail the Drozdovs," he said simply, and I felt my heart jump. Tail Drozdov? I could easily trail any of the people in his outer circles, his chauffer, or even his housekeeper. Hell, maybe even one of his cousins. But tailing Aleksei and Sonya Drozdov, along with their father Nikolai, would be a living nightmare. If it was easy, then their empire wouldn't have expanded to the way it was today.

"What are we looking for?" I asked.

"Anything – and I mean anything – that suggests he's up to no good with Beauvoir, or that he's attempting to establish an association with Milo Lehman. And do not attempt to pursue. This is purely track and report. If there's something fishy going on, I'm pretty sure there's a bigger picture. Our nearer goal is not to take down the Drozdovs. As bad as they are, if they're working with someone outside, then it's five times worse and five times more important."

He stood up then, not wanting to stick around longer than he had to. He gave me a flash drive, which I assumed contained all the information about our covers, where we had to go, all the protocols we had to follow, and who our handler would be. And then, in a troubling habit that he'd passed onto his son, he vanished into the night.

St. Petersburg was cold – that was not a surprise. It was always cold here. Honestly, I feel like people tragically underestimate the Russian climate. But we didn't. We knew the place.

My breath curled into a steam cloud as I pushed my bag strap higher, boots crunching through rocks and pebbles. Behind me, I couldn't hear Zach – spy – but I could feel his presence. We'd arrived in the city three hours ago, and after a whole lot of counter-surveilling, we'd made our way to the abandoned rail yard. It wasn't so much abandoned as it was an ignored part of the railway station. If you listened carefully over the sound of groaning metal, you could hear the trains pulling in and out, and the muffled sound of announcements. And in the background, the constant rush of the Neva and the Fontanka.

We walked for a few more minutes before we recognized the train carriage we'd memorized. I pulled out the set of keys in my pocket and unlocked the door, sliding across the heavy bolt and dragging the door open. Zach jumped on first, and I followed, tossing my bag to the floor. He slid the door shut behind us and darkness surrounded us.

"Hungry?" Zach asked in Russian. "It's going to be a long day."

"I can manage – " I started, but then stopped when he tossed me a familiar yellow packet.

Peanut M&Ms.

"Or not," I grinned, ripping it open and popping one in my mouth. He turned on his phone's flashlight and let it sweep the side wall before a tiny hole in the wooden panels made itself known. Crossing the carriage, he slid aside a panel on the wall and a keypad lit up.

"Please enter your identification code, Agent," an automated voice said, in English.

He entered his unique identification, and then a clear panel replaced the keypad. He pressed his palm against it while it ran a biometric scan of his prints. Once the panel turned green, the side door slid open and we moved into the neighboring carriage.

As soon as the door shut behind us, the wooden walls slide aside to reveal chrome shelves. Industrial lighting came on, washing us in a cool bluish-white tint. Screens popped up from all corners, all sorts of weapons and artillery on the shelves. There was an entire closet of disguises, and beside it were two bunks. Between the bunks, on the wall, was an emergency lever and keypad. I noticed the red caution band around it, and my eyes turned to the similar red caution band on the fourth wall. It contained metallic cases, and there was one word printed across it: BURNBAG.

Just in case we were made and our hideout found.

Zach hauled his bag on top of one of the tables and pressed one of the buttons on its side. Half the table turned into a keyboard and monitor, and he quickly typed in his identification code again, securing his location on the Langley base. Then he moved aside so that I could do the same. Behind me, he was already grabbing a backpack – a grey Kipling one, standard tourist stuff. He was sliding in everything he would need for the rest of the day.

I pulled a messenger bag for myself, and started packing.

"Aleksei Drozdov was last seen exiting the Kempinski, eleven minutes ago," Zach said, reading the information that appeared on the screen. "Satellite images tracked his route. He's making his way towards Palace Square."

"How far is Palace Square from our location?" I asked, shedding the clothes I'd been wearing on the plane. The chill in the air made me shiver, but this was one of the things I liked about missions in cold places – layering disguises didn't make you feel like you'd die of a heatstroke.

"2.6 kilometers on foot. 4 kilometers if we drive. And that's without counter-surveillance," he said, shedding his own clothes and pulling on a black t-shirt. He rolled up his sleeve and I mimicked the action, before pressing a button on the computer screen. The words 'CALIBRATING LOCATION' appeared.

There was a beep and we both looked down at our own forearms, where a dull red dot under our skin signaled that we were in sync with each other.

No, I know. It sounds very barbaric to put trackers into someone's body - especially full time. Mine had been with me since I became an agent, only being replaced for updates. But, if you think about it, it's really not. It's loads better than getting made - or going undercover - and then being searched for a tracking device. And these were made of entirely plastic components, so there was no signature for a metal detector to pull up. In fact, I preferred these to the new nanotechnology that the labs were working on, ones that injected trackers into agents' bloodstreams. That was a level of surveillance even I wasn't comfortable with. It was only reserved for questionable assets and suspected rogue agents, but it still made me uncomfortable.

Sliding in the communication unit into my ear, I nodded at Zach.

"Well, then. We better get started."

Two days. Two days we'd tailed them and gotten absolutely nothing. On the first day, Sonya and Aleksei had started their days around noon, had lunch together, and then met with their father. While Zach had watched the long meeting between father and son, I'd followed Sonya (who'd ditched them halfway), and then suffered as she went on a shopping spree. They'd met again for dinner, and retired to their own suites at the Kempinski. The second day had involved yet another shopping spree, made worse because even her brother and father joined. That had followed with a ridiculously long session of getting dressed, and then the family had headed to a dinner party hosted by one of their friends.

Zach and I had spent the entire night watching them mingle – Zach, dashing in a tux, pretending to be a young hotel heir; me, in a not so dashing black and white dress, pretending to be a waitress. At least, I didn't have to think twice about getting close to them, making excuses of refreshing their drinks and serving hors d'oeuvres.

Today was the third day, and I was starting to get a little irritated. Being a spy had not improved my patience skills. Even Zach's constant chatter in my ear hadn't improved my mood – neither had the chatter from Khadija, who was on tech back at Langley. She was a good friend, having been the voice in my ear for the past two years. But even that didn't improve my mood.

It all seemed anti-climactic. In hindsight, I should've been glad that it was as calm as it could be before things went downhill.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs for the fourth time in the last seventeen minutes, absentmindedly stirring the contents of the coffee cup in my hand. I was seated on a bench in the Summer Garden. The back of my neck was itching, owing to the dark red, curly haired wig that covered my natural blonde hair – and the Velcro at the back of my dress was digging into my bra hooks, which not only made it a very itchy business, but also made me fear for the safety of a certain essential undergarment that may or may not come undone should I shed my clothing.

"Smile, Chameleon. You look like someone pissed in your cereal," came Zach's voice in my ear. I narrowed my eyes at him. He was seated a few benches down from me, with a beige coat and large glasses.

"Shut up, Falcon," I mumbled back, but rearranged my features nonetheless. Continuing the game of Subway Surfers on my phone (I was at a 290,000 high score over the last three days), I watched the two figures at the end of the pathway. One was Nikolai Drozdov, and he had two of his personal guards with him. He'd been walking down the beautiful path, which was covered with arches that were in full bloom during the spring.

I kept an eye on the game (where I had just received a jetpack and was in no danger of running into any trains for a few seconds), and then looked up pretending to be bored. My finger froze for a second, and there was the tell-tale music that told me that my game was over. Another figure had joined Drozdov and his guards. His back was to me, but the moment he turned to shake Nikolai's hand, I recognized the face.

Milo Lehman.

I stood up and brushed the creases out of my skirt, tossing the coffee cup into a trashcan.

"Falcon, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Yep."

"Chameleon," Khadija's voice buzzed in my ear. "You need to go across the street. We have another package on the move."

I turned in the direction that the meeting was happening in and kept walking. I could run into either Lehman or Drozdov, but their guards would tackle me before I got the chance. If these were their personal guards, I'd have to bug one of them. That was the only hope of getting anything out of this meeting.

"Oh – " I made a startled sound as I ran into the guard nearest to me. My book and phone went scattering to the ground and he bent down to pick them up. I bent down too, sliding a bug into his pocket, and then sending him a nervous smile when he handed me my things.

"Spasibo," I thanked him and continued walking.

Immediately, the conversation flowed into my ear piece, and I knew Zach and Khadija were hearing it, too. It was taking place in heavily accented English, and I assumed Milo didn't know Russian, and Nikolai wasn't that fluent in German. It didn't sound like extremely heavy conversation, especially if they were having it in a park in broad daylight. But, clearly, neither of them trusted the other enough to have this conversation in closed quarters.

There was just one phrase that stood out, one that was not part of the commonplace conversation.

"What's Lithium?" Zach wondered aloud in my earpiece, as I left the Summer Garden and crossed the street into the Field of Mars.

"Operation Lithium," Khadija's voice floated a few seconds later. She continued chattering about a cold case from the Second World War, a failed assassination attempt on Hitler. And by failed, it meant something that had died in the planning stages because it fell through due to tactical issues. It had been buried deep, and was something nobody had really even heard about, since it failed to have made its mark – nowhere in the leagues of operations like Valkyrie. Then Khadija went on to other possible meanings of "lithium". Could it be a reference to some kind of metallic equipment? A discussion of the elemental chart? An appreciation for the hit Evanescence song?

I kept my eyes trained on the figures in front of me – Aleksei and Sonya Drozdov. And they were walking right towards me.

I stood still, pretending to examine my phone, while Aleksei continued muttering something on his phone. In my earpiece, I could hear Milo and Nikolai talking about Beauvoir, and something about receiving half the package.

I hadn't exactly meant for it to happen; or rather, it was unexpected. The bright sunlight glinted off my phone edges and into my eyes, blinding me, and I automatically turned to avoid the glare. The glare changed course, and shone right into Aleksei's face.

His eyes immediately crinkled, making the scar shift menacingly, and he gave me a passing look. I smiled in a friendly manner and he slowed down.

My heart sped up. Calm down, I told myself. He was probably just curious, or he was just noticing a redhead on the side of the pathway. But then his eyes narrowed, and I watched him mouth something.

I recognized the phrase immediately.

Lyubov moya. My love. He'd called me that a few times before. Last night. At the party. When a waitress had caught his eye. Me being the waitress.

He hung up the phone and came up to me, and I schooled my expression into a curious one.

"Excuse me," he asked in Russian. "Have we met before?"

"Sorry?" I asked in English with an Alabama accent, making my voice more high pitched. "I'm sorry. I don't speak Russian."

"You and me," he repeated in broken English. "We meet before?"

"No, I'm sorry. I don't think so."

"Sure?" he asked. "I remember –"

"Maybe you've seen me around. I've been on a city tour. But we haven't met, and I'm getting late. I'm sorry, I have to go," I said, giving him a polite smile and turning back towards the main gate.

"Are you certain, lyubov moya?" he called after me. I didn't allow myself to react to the phrase and give myself away. Instead, I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to Vitebsky Station.

"Chameleon, where are you going?" Khadija asked. She must've noticed my tracker moving rapidly in a different direction.

"Mission abort. I've been made," I spoke in Swahili, almost certain that the driver would never recognize the words.

"Made?" Zach asked. "But –"

Before he could finish, there was static in my earpiece, and I knew Drozdov's guard had found the bug. Aleksei must've called his father and told him something was fishy.

"Packages are leaving. In a hurry," Zach said.

"I'm booking you guys the first flight out, via Abu Dhabi," Khadija said. "It leaves in an hour. You both have thirty minutes to make it to customs."

I ripped off my jacket, tossing the driver a few bills as soon as he pulled up outside the station five minutes later. I pushed through the busy crowd, hoping that if there was someone on my tail then they'd lose me. I tossed the jacket in a trash can, along with my red wig, letting my blonde hair out of its bun. Stepping into a women's bathroom, I pushed into a stall and ripped off the dress. Underneath was a tight black shirt, and black slacks. I turned the dress inside out, and then ripped off the belt. The skirt and the top fell apart, into a black skirt and a jacket. I tossed the skirt behind the commode and pulled on the jacket, and then rushed out of the bathroom.

Walking briskly through the crowd, I jumped off the platform and then ran towards the outdoors, crossing railway lines until I reached the yard. Then I broke into a run. Rushing through biometrics, I ran into the compartment and started gathering whatever information I could and tossing it into the burn bag. I couldn't be certain that our hideout had been made along with us, but there was no such thing as being too careful. Everything that was important was already uploaded at Langley, thanks to Khadija.

Behind me, I heard the door slide open. I grabbed a knife and turned.

"It's me," Zach said, walking around the weapon and grabbing more information to toss away. His glasses were gone too, and I could see that his beige coat had been turned inside out to make the brown one he donned right now. He threw me a phone.

"What's this?"

"I swiped it."

"From?"

"Lehman," he grinned.

Once we had our passports and any travel documents we would need, we grabbed a gun and knife each and then initiated emergency protocol. Immediately, a timer started, and we jumped out of the compartment just as the first signs of smoke and sparks started. Running across the yard and towards the parking lot, he tossed me a set of keys. We both hit the button on the remotes in each of our hands.

Two bikes at the end of the lot beeped. Getting onto one each, we tore through the lot and out onto the street. I knew that the airport was twenty-two minutes away. We had only eighteen minutes and seven seconds left. Being on a bike made our lives much easier, as we zipped past cars and cut through alleys.

I heard tires screech behind me and saw two black SUVs and three bikes speeding towards us.

"We have a tail," I spoke into my comm unit.

"You guys need to split up," Khadija said.

"I'll draw their fire. Falcon, meet me at the Moskovsky Avenue junction."

I turned left, into another alley, and noticed one of the bikers and one of the cars turn in my direction. I revved the engine, and shot across, the wind whipping my hair underneath the helmet. My right mirror shattered as soon as it was hit with a bullet.

I ducked the gunfire, swerving the bike in a zig-zag pattern to avoid getting hit. I could hear people shouting in the background and I was very aware of how much time we had left. I turned left again, onto the main road. My finger was practically glued to the horn, warning civilians to get out of the way. I heard people screaming as some of them heard guns, while others moved out of our way.

I turned right at the signal, and then suddenly turned left – the biker behind me lost control and his bike dragged him across the ground in a shower of sparks. His reflection burst into shards as my second mirror got taken out. I eyed the junction ahead of me, noticing the heavy traffic.

"I need to get out of the traffic," I mumbled.

"There's no other route near you," Khadija spoke. "You need to go through it, Chameleon – Falcon, take the next left."

I took a turn into the alley beside me and came to a complete stop. The SUV followed behind me, and I watched the driver's face morph from determination to panic as he grabbed the emergency brake. The vehicle drifted, and I dove out of the way as the side slammed into my bike. The rough ground scraped my knees and elbows, but I got to my feet and ran. I heard two people in pursuit behind me, and in front of me lay the main road full of civilians.

It was too late. There was only one thing left to do. I turned around, hopped onto the dumpster, and then jumped on the guy closest to me. He floundered, surprised, and I dove my elbow into his collar.

He howled in pain as I brought us tumbling to the ground, using him as cover as his partner shot in our direction. With one solid punch, I knocked out the guy on top of me. But by the time I righted myself, his buddy rammed into me, sending both of us to the ground. He tore my helmet off and tossed it aside, and I responded by grabbing his wrist and twisting it. His other hand came to punch me in the face – seriously? Ambidextrous?

I smashed the heel of my palm into his nose, and when he staggered back, I used my weight to throw him off. Kicking him once in the jaw to knock him out, I stumbled back towards the main road.

"Falcon, where are you?"

"You guys are a minute apart," Khadija spoke.

I turned and saw Zach's bike approaching me, and he slowed down long enough for me to hop onto the back.

"You okay?" he called out.

"Yeah – oh, shit," I cursed, ducking as another gunshot sounded behind me. Zach had managed to lose the SUV that had followed him, but one of the bikers remained.

"Slow down. Let him catch up," I said.

"He has a gun," he reminded me.

"So do I."

"This isn't the place for a showdown, Chameleon," he said, and I knew he was referring to the civilians around us.

"Trust me."

And he did, so he slowed down. The biker, as expected, didn't see it coming. As soon as he crossed us, I reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket. His body tugged backwards, while his bike shot forward, sending both skidding across the ground. I let go so that Zach could swerve and avoid the crash.

"One of these days you're going to get us killed," Zach mumbled as he continued speeding towards our destination.

"Yeah. But for now, we're alive."

We made it to the airport in record time, and I had to stop my cut lip from bleeding before we got dragged away by airport security. In the mean time, Zach explained in hushed tones how he'd taken advantage of Lehman and Drozdov panicking about a tail and swiped the phone Lehman tossed in the trash. Even if it was no longer in use, he hadn't had time to clear it. Zach had immediately turned it off so that Lehman couldn't remotely erase data from it. We'd have to go to Langley and examine its contents.

Once we were past customs, we hurried towards the gate, but there was a lot less to worry about. Even Drozdov's thugs couldn't get to us without having to go through a lot of security checks. The line at the gate was still pretty long. My comm unit (and our weapons, obviously) had been disabled and ditched before we went through screening, so I only had Zach's voice beside me for company.

"That was a close one," he whispered into my ear, his arm around me, as we pretended to be just your average, traveling couple.

I would've responded, but my mind was buzzing with activity. We'd been made – but not before we knew for certain what Townsend had suspected. Lehman and Drozdov were working together. And whatever it was, it had something to do with this mysterious Lithium. Of course, there were more missing details, but we'd managed to get something to go off of.

"You know I think – "

"Cammie," Zach interrupted me in a quiet voice, and I looked at his expression. His face had gone a little pale, and his eyes were wide. I turned to see what had caused that reaction and my eyes widened at the television screen.

"Although the FBI and local police have secured the area, hundreds of citizens are sitting terrified in their homes. As of now, the death toll stands at thirty, seven of whom include police officers. Let's talk to Chief of Police, Eric Laudson," rattled the reporter on the screen. In the background was footage of smoke and fire, and paramedics rushing around.

"This was an act of great violence. Our hearts go out to those lost today – " the Chief spoke, but my eyes were glued to the information scrolling across the screen. Bomb blast in Washington, D.C. Civilian and police casualties. Ceremony to honor brave cops turns into tragedy. The President and his family escorted away by Secret Service.

The President and his family escorted away. By Secret Service.

The President's family's guards.

Before I could reach for my phone, it buzzed. I answered it without checking the caller ID.

"Hello?" I whispered.

"Cammie," came Macey's slightly frantic voice on the other end. "You'd better come home quick. I don't know if you saw the news, but something bad has happened."