It was the evening of the next day, and Cammie was getting dressed for her rendezvous at the wooden bench at the Conservatory Pond in Central Park. She had all the curtains in her bedroom drawn tightly over the windows; she wasn't taking any chances of having a Peeping Tom watch her change. Cammie pulls on some destroyed, dark-wash boot-cut jeans and steps into a pair of strappy red wedge sandals. Then she puts on a tight white tee with red designs all over the front. She buttons on a sleeveless black cardigan with a deep V-neck that went down to her bellybutton over the tee.
She checks her makeup in the mirror, satisfied. Although she definitely wasn't trying to impress Zach, or anything. She simply wanted to make a good impression, which is what all successful businesswomen did, especially in New York. On her way out the door, Cammie reaches for her purse, but then decides against it. Zach could be a criminal, for all she knew. So she just takes a few dollars and her cellphone, and sticks both in the back pocket of her jeans.
Outside of her apartment building, Cammie steps to the curb and puts one foot on the road. She raises one hand straight up in the air and puts two fingers of her other hand in her mouth, letting out a shrill whistle. "Taxi!" she shouts.
A bright yellow taxi cab immediately pulls over to the curb, and Cammie slides into the back seat. "Where to?" the taxi driver asks. He was bald, with a gray mustache stained yellow from cigarette smoke.
"Central Park," Cammie replies. She buckles her seat belt and looks out the window as the driver pulled the cab back into traffic. She watches the pedestrians walking along the curb and thinks, Is that Zach? Is that Zach? The fact was, Cammie had no idea what Zach would look like. Short, or tall? Blue eyes, or brown eyes? Blonde, or brunette? Eventually, she gave up. I'll find out sooner or later, she decides.
The cab pulled up to Central Park, and the cab driver twisted around to face her since they were stuck in a red light. "Any specific place in Central Park?" he asks. Cammie unbuckles her seatbelt and shakes her head.
"How much?"
"Three-fifty," the man replies. Cammie reaches a hand into her back pocket and digs out a five dollar bill. She tosses the bill into the front seat and climbs out of the taxi before the driver can even begin getting change out. She slams the car door and walks around the taxi, which was still stuck at the red light.
Cammie glances at the silver watch on her wrist and silently mouthes the time. 5:57p.m. She casually walks down one of the shady sidewalks of Central Park in the direction of the Conservatory Pond. Eventually, she approaches a short wooden bench fit to seat two or three people. Cammie sits down and glances at her watch again 5:59p.m. One more minute.
She looks up and scours the crowd for somebody looking at her. But there was nobody. Just a few evening joggers, moms pushing strollers, and businessmen cutting through the park on their way home. Cammie sighs and glances at her watch once more, and she vowed to not look at it again. It would look much too conspicuous. 6:00p.m.
"Cameron Ann Morgan, I presume?" asks a deep voice from above her. Cammie looks up from her watch to see a smirking twenty-something year old with his hands in the pockets of his Volcom jeans. How he snuck up on her without her hearing, she didn't know.
Cammie stands up to find that the man was a full head taller than her; her eyes barely reached his chin, and that was with the aid of three-inch wedge sandals. He had extremely broad shoulders, and his chest was tight against a dark green T-shirt with a slight V-neck, revealing a sliver of tanned chest. His hands were large and one wrist held a glittering gold Rolex watch. His jaw was chiseled and smooth, like he had recently shaved. He had shaggy dark brown hair that kissed the tops of his ears and brushed against his forehead. But the most striking feature about him was his stunning green eyes, which shone in the sunlight.
She brushes a stray lock of her hair behind her diamond-studded ear. "And you are Zach, I presume?" she retorts, although it didn't sound right because she didn't know his whole name. She crosses her arms, a tad bit annoyed he had one-upped her.
"You guess right. Listen, I have something to ask you."
"And what would that be?"
Zach pulls one hand from his pocket and rubs the back of his head. "Now, you're probably not going to believe me on this, but…," he begins. Cammie raises one eyebrow in interest. "I know everything about you."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that once you called me on both of my phones, told me the schools I went to, and basically threatened me to meet you here," she replies.
"I didn't threaten you."
"You would have if I didn't show up today. Who knows what a fake CIA operative stalking me is capable of?"
"Okay, first of all, I'm not a fake CIA agent. I'm legit," Zach insists. He draws a brown leather wallet from his pocket and flips it open, revealing a blue and gray ID card in a clear compartment. Sure enough, it was real. He flips his wallet closed and replaces it in his pocket. "And second, I'm not stalking you. I got put in charge of a life-or-death CIA mission."
"Well good for you," Cammie says bitterly. Why was he assigned a mission instead of me? "But why do you even care about me if the mission was assigned to you?"
"That's the thing. They told me I needed to recruit an agent to work with on the mission, and four other agents to aid us if we would happen to need it. They gave me fifty files of suitable CIA agents for the mission to choose from," he explains.
"And let me guess… you chose me?" Cammie asks, although it was quite obvious. She was partially thrilled on the inside; she finally had another mission from the CIA. And a life-or-death mission, at that. Which meant she had to be pretty darn skilled for them to choose her. Or, technically, for Zach to choose her out of fifty other qualified agents.
"I'm asking you about it, aren't I?" he responds.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cammie sees a determined jogger-woman pushing her stroller down the sidewalk. She takes a step closer to Zach in order to make room for the jogger. Once she had passed, Cammie looks up at Zach and grabs his sleeve while leaning closer to whisper, "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere more… private. We never know who could be listening."
"You're there, listening to every word, but part of you is observing.
Everything is useful.
You see every scrap, even the longest and most boring."
- Graham Greene
"Good call, Gallagher girl," he says with a nod. Cammie gives him a tight smile and takes a step away from him. The pungent smell of his spearmint gum was quite intoxicating.
"We could go to my apartment," she offers. "It's just a few blocks away."
"So is mine. We should probably go to my apartment, though, since I have the files there, too. I could lend them to you to look over them, but you'd have to be extremely careful," he warns.
"Careful is my middle name."
"Strange, I thought it was Ann."
"I was speaking hypothetically."
"I know," he replies, a bleach-white smirk streaking across his face. "C'mon, my apartment is this way." He brushes past Cammie, leaving the strong smell of spicy cologne in his wake. She rolls her eyes and begins following him, although she made sure to take a big whiff of the cologne.
"So, where do you live?" she asks once she had caught up to his brisk pace in her teeteringly-high wedge sandals. They fall into step, and Cammie looks at him out of the corner of her eye.
"You'll find out soon enough. Now, I understand you're friends with two girls named Rebecca Baxter and Elizabeth Sutton?" he asks, looking straight ahead.
"Yeah… they're my best friends. Bex and Liz, by the way. Nobody calls them by their first names," Cammie explains, but then stops herself when she realizes she had almost started babbling, like she does when she gets nervous. Which is not a good habit, especially for a spy. "Why are you asking?"
"Like I said, if you follow through and agree to do the mission with me, I'll need four other CIA agents to help us in case we need it. And, according to your file, you work well with Bex and Liz."
"What about Macey? Did my file say anything about her?"
"Yes, but it also said she was on a mission of her own in Paris."
"Which is true," Cammie agrees with a nod. They cross the street during a red light and turn a corner. It was sunset once again, and the orange sunlight reflected off the skyscraper windows all around them. "So what about the other two agents?"
"Let's just say I know some people."
"What are there names? I may be joining the mission; I have a right to know."
"Okay, okay. Sheesh, Gallagher girl, you sure are nosy. They're my best friends, too, and their names are Grant Newman and Jonas Hariford," Zach informs her. (A/N: The books never mention Jonas' last name, do they? I had to make one up to fit.)
Cammie nods and Zach leads her into the elegant lobby of an apartment building. They ride up the elevator to the thirteenth floor and to the very last door in the hall. Zach quickly unlocks the door and holds it open for Cammie, who steps into a dark room. He shuts the door behind them and flicks on the light.
His apartment was much like her own. They were standing in a modernized kitchen, and beyond that, a comfy-looking living room. Down the hall would probably be a bathroom, closet, and a bedroom. Zach opens the refrigerator and removed a thick manila folder. Cammie takes a seat on a barstool at the kitchen counter as Zach removes a smaller red folder from the manila folder, and puts the red folder back in the refrigerator. "What was the red folder for?" Cammie asks as he takes a seat next to her on another bar stool.
"It was your own file. But I didn't think you would be interested in that."
"And why is it the fridge?" she asks skeptically.
"A vial of your blood sample that comes with it needs to be kept refrigerated at all times," Zach recites, opening up the manila folder and removing multiple sheets of paper with statistics, graphs, maps, and fine print all over it.
"How'd you get a sample of my blood?!"
Zach shrugs and smirks at her, almost as if he was hinting that he knew something she didn't. Which… he probably did. "Okay. First, here's the mission summary. It tells the basics about what we need to do. We probably shouldn't discuss it… just read it when you get home, alright?" he instructs.
"Sure."
He gives her a few more packets, each with words that looked as if they were typed in the smallest font possible. And lastly, he gave her a sheet that explained their alibis, both his and hers, so they would each know their partner's cover. "So… the time of truth," Zach half-jokes, folding his hands on the counter. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's life-or-death… but you'll understand that part once you read these files later tonight."
Cammie pauses, shuffling the papers in her hands and scanning over them. She picked out works such as 'escape,' 'blackmail,' and 'torture.' Despite all that, it sounded right up her alley. "Definitely," she says, "I'd love to."
"Great. I had a feeling you would say yes."
"I bet it was more of a hunch than a feeling," Cammie replies with a small smile. Zach grins back at her, and this time it wasn't a smirk. He takes an identical manila folder from a drawer in the counter and slides Cammie's papers into it, securing the metal brads.
They both stand up and walk to the door. Zach opens it and announces, "I'll walk you home." Cammie steps into the hallway and turns around. She immediately puts her hand up to Zach's chest, stopping him in his tracks. Cammie almost yanked her hand back at the feel of his obvious pecs, but she resisted.
"No. I'm good. I can walk home by myself. Thanks for the offer, though," she says, letting her hand drop back to her side.
"Sure. But meet back here with the required luggage specified in those papers, and don't forget the file. We leave at noon," Zach adds.
"What? Why?"
"For the mission. The CIA practically entirely operates on short notice," he explains. He winks at her with one glinting green eye and silently shuts the door. Cammie blinks in surprise and glances at the file in her hands. Then she turns and looks up and down the empty hallway. With one more glance at the thick file in her hands, she sighs and walks briskly home to begin reading and packing.
"I am a woman who enjoys herself very much.
Sometimes I lose,
Sometimes I win."
- Mata Hari
(Author's Note: Okay, I made sure Zach sounded really hot in his description. Lol. But anyway, REMEMBER - Blackthorne never came to Gallagher before this, so Cammie and Zach have never met before. Just making sure I covered that again, since I've gotten a lot of reviews asking about it. Review! Tell me what you like, and what you hated. I'd love to be able to make my story better.)