Kate Cameron lay under the bridge on the south end of Albert Bridge. She watched the blonde-haired, brown-eyed boy on the other side of the River Thames through a sniper scope. She watched as he kissed the pretty girl named Emily. She watched Emily walk away with tears in her eyes. Then the fair-haired Alex turned and went his own way. Kate hated watching them. It was so depressing that it was pathetic. But she didn't have a choice. It was her job to keep an eye on Alex.

Kate's cell phone rang. "Cameron," she answered.

"Kate, we need you back at base as soon as possible."

"Sure. I'll be there."

Kate hung up. She tucked the scope back into her pocket and stood up. She took one last look at the fair-haired boy walking away from Albert Bridge looking depressed. She shook her head.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself. She mounted her bicycle and pedaled away into the hot afternoon.


Kate got off the helicopter and walked passed two armed guards through double glass doors. She went into the locker room and changed out of her field clothes into an office-acceptable outfit. She put on black slacks and a deep, maroon button-up shirt. She took off her sneakers and pulled on a pair of black high heels. She hated wearing heels, but she didn't have a choice. She had to look professional.

"Damn office dress code," she grumbled to herself.

Kate stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked older than she really was. Her long, auburn hair was cut in layers. Her teal eyes were bright but serious. Her calmly composed face and attitude gave the impression that she was maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. But in reality, she was only a teenager. As far as anyone in the office knew, she was twenty-one, except for her boss. Only he knew that she was just a teenager.

Just then, the locker room door opened. A thin woman with brown hair and brown eyes walked in. Her name was Andrea Harrington. She was in her late twenties, but she looked like she was in her mid-thirties. She looked up and smiled at Kate.

"Done with your field shift?" Andrea asked.

Kate nodded. "Now I get to spend another six hours in the office. Isn't that a pleasure?"

Andrea laughed. "Haven't you talked to Ryan about an eight-hour shift? You're too young to be working twelve hours a day. You're not going to look twenty-one for long if you keep working like this."

"I know, but Ryan insists that I work twelve hours. He says it's 'in the best interest of the agency.'"

"He's so thick-headed," Andrea said, rolling her eyes.

"Tell me about it. Well, you have a good night," Kate said as she walked out of the locker room. She went left down the hall, then right. That led her out onto "the floor." "The floor" was an open workspace. Individual workstations were set up here and there. This is where the agency's best computer and desk operatives worked. The IT workers were downstairs. The director had an office upstairs along with some of the other executive workers.

Kate made her way to the workstation and sat down. There was a Post-it note stuck to her monitor. She read over the note as she turned on the monitor and computer. She pulled off the note, crumpled it up, and threw it in the trash bin. She stood up and walked upstairs to the director's office. She admired that office. Three of the four walls were glass so that the director could watch what was happening on "the floor." In the middle of the room was a large desk black as obsidian. Behind the desk was a comfortable office chair. In front of the desk were two chairs. Against the back wall – the only wall that wasn't glass – was a large bookshelf. It contained volumes upon volumes of books on history, politics, and government. The room just radiated power, control, and confidence. Printed in white on the glass door was: Ryan Albright. Beneath it read: Director.

Kate pushed the door open. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"Oh, yes, come in."

Kate stepped into the office and closed the door behind her.

"I'm making an adjustment to your field shift."

"Finally!"

"You're going to work eight hours in the field and four hours in the office."

"What?! I thought you were going to cut down my time in the field!"

"You know I can't do that."

Kate let out a frustrated sigh. "You said that you'd cut down my hours in the field."

"I know, but I told you I couldn't make any promises. We need you in the field."

"No, you don't. You've got plenty of great field agents here. They're more experienced than I am. They're older than I am."

"But you're better than them," Ryan argued.

Kate lowered her voice so only the director could hear her. "You know I'm just a kid. I shouldn't be doing this."

"I could say the same for two people named Daniel Walker and Alex Rider."

"So if they commit suicide, I should too?"

"Kate-"

"The more I'm in the field, the more chance there is for me to get killed. I came to this agency for a reason. And you, of all people, know very well why I came here."

"I'm sorry, I really am, but we really need in the field. You're our best field agent. You're a teenager, so you're unexpected. I really don't like doing this to you, but I have to do what's in the best interest of the agency."

"That's what they all say," Kate said, frustrated. She left the office and went back down to her station. There wasn't any work on her desk, so she signed onto AOL instant messenger. She needed to talk to someone her age before she exploded. She frowned when she found that none of her few friends were online. She sat back in her chair, feeling defeated. Just then, a message popped up on her screen. Kate sat up quickly and read the message. Soccerboy17's message read: I'm so desperate for someone to talk to.

Kate stared at the message. Who was this? She took a few minutes to think about whether or not to reply. Finally, she placed her fingers on the keyboard and began typing her reply message.

Desperate, huh? What's your name?

That's not important. I'm just soccerboy17. Who are you, anyway?

That's not important, Kate replied. I'm just sniper82.

Sniper82…that's a strange screen name, soccerboy17 said. Where did that come from?

I always wanted to be a sniper for the military, Kate said, typing the first idea that popped into her head. She really couldn't tell total strangers that she actually was a sniper.

Are you sure? The government can get pretty nasty. They just use you until you're all used up.

Kate sat back and thought for a moment. How do you know so much about government treatment?

My brother is in the military. He says it's hell.

Maybe to him it is. So, how old are you?

Seventeen. You?

Kate thought for a moment. Should she tell him the truth? I'm nineteen.

Nationality? I'm British.

Cool, me too.

Kate spent the next hour and a half messaging this mysterious soccerboy17. She was curious to find out who he was. She was very careful about who she met and talked to. That was how she had been trained. But soccerboy17 wouldn't give her the information she wanted. No matter – Kate could trace his IP address, find his computer, and find out his identity. Then she could look up his files. Then the mystery would disappear. Kate smiled to herself. With all the access and ability she had in this agency, she felt powerful. And for being only "twenty-one," she had a very high status in the agency. Kate ran a trace on soccerboy17. Within five minutes, she would have her results. She would know the boy's name and where he lived. Then she could run a background check on him. Meanwhile, she kept busy with some chitchat.

So I assume you play soccer? Kate said.

Yeah. Okay, I need to ask something. For the past hour and a half, I've been wondering if you're a guy or a girl. Which one are you?

Kate nearly laughed. She thought of something she could say to really mess with the guy's head. No, that'd be mean, she told herself. Mean, but funny…

Does it really matter? Kate finally replied.

I don't know. Just curious.

Tell me something about you, and I'll tell you something about me.

Sure, soccerboy17 said, accepting the deal.

The trace finished. The IP address belonged to a computer registered in Chelsea, London. Kate smiled. She liked Chelsea. It was a nice place. It was busy with city life, yet still quiet. Kate looked up the name of the boy. Her teal eyes widened.


Alex wasn't really sure what to say. I live in London, he finally said.

Where in London? sniper82 asked.

Should Alex tell the truth? He didn't even know if sniper82 was a guy or a girl. His uncle had always taught him to be careful. But right now, he really didn't care.

I live in Chelsea.

Nice place. I used to live there.

So, what about you?

What about me?

Guy or girl?

I haven't been a girl for a while.

"What?!" Alex cried out loud. What kind of answer was that?!

What do you mean by that?

Well, nineteen is a little too old to be considered a girl, don't you think?

So you're a girl? Alex confirmed.

Yeah.


Kate smiled. I haven't been a girl for a while. What a great line. She tried to imagine in her mind what his face might have looked like. Kate's desk phone rang. She picked it up.

"Cameron."

"I want you to look up a profile," Ryan said.

"Sure. Who is it?"

"Malcolm Hughes."

Kate searched all of the agency's databases for Malcolm Hughes. She quickly scanned over all his files. He seemed like an ordinary person. Then she found something odd. He had just received fifty thousand dollars from someone a couple days ago. Kate traced the money back to an account owned by someone by the name of Daisuke Takahashi. He was on the wanted list of the agency.

"It looks bad," Kate said.

"Why?" Ryan asked.

"This guy is associated with Daisuke Takahashi who just paid Malcolm Hughes fifty grand."

"Alright, find out what he's doing with Takahashi."

Kate hung up. She didn't need to find out how Hughes and Takahashi were associated. She already knew. She took a deep breath. She had to break a few protocol rules. She had to warn him.


Are you still there? Alex typed. He waited for about five minutes. When she didn't answer, he decided to give up. But then sniper82 finally sent a message.

You're in danger. Then she signed off.