Chapter 6
"Cammie?" Grant asks in confusion. So that's her name. The little blonde girl who sits next to me in chemistry. She's feisty. I can give her that, but definitely not CIA material. How does Grant know her?
"You know her?" I ask sceptically.
"Yeah," he nods, his eyes fixed onto the four girls. "We bumped into each other and chatted. She's nice."
I scoff in response. "She is far from nice." Grant's light-hearted mood dissipates and he fixes me with a stern stare, which I return.
"Wake them up," Joe commands, and the guards respond by pulling out a needle with a brown looking liquid inside. They plunge the needle straight into the jugular vein without mercy. I wince in sympathy with the girls; I've had my fair share of injections.
The brown haired girl wakes up first, gasping as her eyes adjust to the bright light in the room. Her head whips from side to side and take in the stoic posture of the guards whilst her eyes narrow in frustration."My father is so bloody important, if he finds out about this, you would be buried in so much shit you wouldn't be able to see the goddamn sun!"
Preston laughs beside me, "ah, the typical 'my daddy will hear about this' line."
Joe clears his throat behind us, "her father is in fact a very powerful guy. He's the American ambassador for France." Woah. Fancy guy. I turn my head back to the thrashing girl who seems have to be joined by a companion. "The first girl is Macey McHenry. She is the powerful daughter of a powerful man."
"What are her skills? What makes her special?" Preston snaps, his eyes narrowing into slits as he studies the girl. "She looks weak."
"She might be. But she's yours to train." Joe retorts. I watch Preston roll his eyes. Ha, he has his work cut out.
"Jonas, that's Liz Sutton. IQ of 195, 1 less than you, she's yours." Jonas nods. He must be happy. Finally, someone he can talk science mumbo jumbo to. Muffled shouts come from the room now that three out of the four girls have woken up. Cammie seems to still be in sleepy land. Figures, she seems like the lazy type.
"Rebecca Baxter. I have it on good authority that if you call her Rebecca you will need to protect your goods. Call her Bex. She is probably the most qualified out of the lot. Parents are MI5, she has combat training, can shoot straight. She's yours Grant." Shit. No.
"Joe, I cannot have Cammie. Give Bex to me, Grant will have Cammie."
"Yeah," Grant quips up, "uh, yeah. They aren't the best of friends. I'll take Cammie, Zach can have Bex"
"Zach. You will have Cammie. She's the weakest. You will train her. No buts."
Shit. Ugh, trust me to be stuck with Cammie. What kind of a name is Cammie? And she's the weakest. Fuck me. This is just great. I miss football for this. Preston pats me sympathetically on the shoulder. I can almost feel his grin. Grant gets Bex! She's pretty hot, nice to look at that's for sure, and she has training. She's the perfect trainee. I'm gonna have to get to know her better at some point. I look back into the room and see the three girls now released and crouched around Cammie who still hasn't woken up. The timer beeps from the desk in front. Times up. She still hasn't woken up.
I groan in frustration and march out of the door followed by the rest. Letting the door slam behind me, I burst through the room holding the girls. They all gasp as I march towards them. God I'm angry. Furious. I walk over to Cammie; undo the handcuffs from her wrists, the guards beside me not doing anything. Macey launches herself at me and rips my hands from Cammie.
"Let her go!" she cries as her hands start to slap mine away. With a growl I push her away so she lands on the floor with a breath. I release Cammie from the handcuffs and reach my hand out to the guard next to her.
"Give me the drug now," I growl as I reach out my hand again. He stands immobile.
"Zach," Jonas' voice filters through the intercom, "she needs the antidote now. She's had an overdose. I've just scanned her blood, the bacteria are reproducing quicker than I expected."
"Now!" I shout as I hear the girls crying behind me. The blonde one starts to stroke Cammie's hair and god there are so many tears everywhere. Girls crying around me aren't really helping right now. The guard finally reaches into his back pocket to retrieve a vial of red liquid and places it in my hand. I shoo the girls away with a flick of my hand and kneel beside the unconscious girl. Grant is consoling the girls and reassuring them. Preston kneels beside me and checks her pulse, counting the beats. Joe has gone and punched the guard. The stupid idiot should have known that he answers to me and that I have authority here.
I sweep Cammie's blonde hair away so that a part of her fair neck is exposed. Trying to remember my human anatomy classes I locate the jugular vein using the pads of my fingers and in one swift swoop I plunge the needle into the vein, pushing the plunger down so that the red liquid slowly ebbs away and enters her body. I throw the empty vial away and stand up. I nod over to Joe who nods back in permission.
I exit the room. Too much drama for 10 o'clock in the morning.
Cammie's POV
"Wake up."
My eyes blink open rapidly to reveal the blurry face of a man staring down at me, his eyes furiously narrowed. Strange man? Oh yeah. Pentagon. I got drugged.
"I won't ask you again. Wake up girl." I lift my hand up and give it an experimental wave. "Get up. You are needed down in the Long Room now."
Ugh. Fine. I'll get up. I don't appreciate being called 'girl'. That term should not be applied to females above the age of thirteen, it is patronizing and incredibly infuriating. I lift up the duvet and swing my legs over so they dangle over the side of the bed. Woah. Clothes.
"Who dressed me?" I ask, surprised at the rough deep tone of my voice. I sound like I have slept for years.
"Hurry up. We have a schedule."
"Christ okay, okay I'm coming." I say as I appraise the black yoga pants and black top I have found myself in. It does actually matter; someone would have had to strip me to get me into this. I jump out of the bed and raise my arms up to stretch and yawn at the same time. I roll my neck, hearing it click and wince at the sound. The man walks on ahead out of the white door, and I quickly jump into action and follow him out of the room. Taking a glance back at the room, I see three other beds that are made and little bedside tables beside each of them. The room is painted with a washed out white that seems dirty in comparison to the stark bleached white of the furniture. I turn round swiftly and run out of the door in pursuit of the strange man.
As soon as I exit the door I am greeted with metal. Metal corridors, metals doors, metal water fountains, metal everything. It is so cold. The man retreats around the corner and nestles into the crowd of men in black suits. I run after him, anxious to find him again. I turn around the corner to be faced with the exact replica of the corridor behind me. I falter a little in my steps in confusion. I need a bloody map to navigate the Pentagon. The man has disappeared. Shit, shit, shit. Fuck. I walk forward slightly and step amid the mass of men and women in pinstripe black suits with ties and crisp white shirts. I don't even remember what the man looked like! I glance up at the mass of figures around me, walking around doing their business, talking, whispering, methodically, mechanically. I collide with someone hard, my head bumping into the stone chest. I topple backwards from the collision but just as I am about to fall to my knees strong arms wrap around my forearms and bring me back the vertical so that I come face to face with a white tee.
"You are so small." I look up in surprise at the familiar voice.
"Newbie?"
He snorts. "Zach."
Finally, a name. "What are you doing here?" I question. I watch carefully as his eyebrows knit together in confusion for a second before they relax. I let my eyes rake down his body and take in his clothing. He has a black leather jacket over a white tee that strain deliciously over his bulging muscles. Damn. His black jeans follow his legs down to where black combat boots adorn his feet. All he needs now is some aviators and he would totally look at place in the Pentagon. Pentagon. Wait. What the hell is he doing here?
"What are you doing here Blondie?" Zach replies as he walks forwards and starts to circle me. I can feel his intense eyes boring into my skin as he completes what feels like an inspection of me and comes back to the front, facing me once more. I narrow my eyes as his eyes linger to long at my chest before they look upwards to meet mine.
"I asked you first." I retort and cross my arms in front of me, defiant. He gives me an elegant shrug and winks quickly at me. How does he do that and make it look sexy at the same time? He leans forward and brushes one of my stray curls away from the side of my cheek. The backs of his fingers momentarily touch my skin, shooting tingles up my arm and I involuntarily shiver. He chuckles slightly in my ear at my reaction. I stare dead straight ahead.
"That's for me to know, and you to find out, Blondie." God damn him! Spy, agent? He's too young, surely! He leans back again, but he deliberately brushes his lips against my cheek. All thoughts of his occupation rushes out of my brain as my skin comes alive at the contact and the tingles start flowing through my arms, raising goose bumps on the flesh that is exposed by the tank top. I wrap my arms around myself to hide them. It will only inflate his ego more. Fuck! Why does my body have to react in such a way? Goddamn boys and their fucking signals. And damn you hormones. I look up slightly, smile sultry and waltz past him, making sure to swing my hips in his direction.
Fine. If he wants to play, let's play.
"That's an adorable shade of red!" he calls to me as I increase the distance between us. Ugh. Asshole. I stick my middle finger back up at him.
"Morgan!"
I hear a voice call my name down the corridor and I smile in success. Looks like I won't need his help in getting around.
"Coming," I shout back, and follow the direction of the voice. Before I round the corner I turn my head over my shoulder and look back at Zach who is smirking at me like he owns the world. Looking like that, he bloody well could. He is leaning against the wall, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his eyes daring me to come back and play. I absorb his gaze for a second before winking at him as I disappear round the corner.
Fuck me.
"Um, excuse me!"
Macey exclaims as she stands up from her chair, her mouth open in surprise. Typical. Drama queen stuff. I found the man. He was upset to say the least, but I was just glad to be out of Zach's net. Man, he's good. I knew he was a player, I mean, with a body and face like that, and let's not mention the large oversized ego, of course he was gonna be. I got reunited with the other girls. Apparently I was sick and drugged. Last thing I remembered was stupid Ward injecting me with a green needle. According to Bex, Zach saved my life and that I should thank him the next time I see him. Ha. Yeah. Sure. I can't believe he saved my life. I bet I wasn't even that sick and that the girls are just exaggerating.
We all got sat down in front of a man called Joe. Bex is handcuffed to her seat after she was apprehended when she tried to escape. All this time, I just sat in my chair. I knew and know that escape is futile. There are two guards stationed at every door and they are equipped with AK-47's as well as Berettas. Windows are bulletproof and can only be opened by a remote control that is currently located in Joe's trouser pocket. At least, that is what I think. There is a small rectangular object located in his pocket; it is most probable that it is the remote. He also has a Beretta tucked into the inside of his suit pocket. Of course, Bex didn't know this and thought she could escape. I mentally send over a 'nice try' to Bex. She should know better, after all, she is the daughter of two MI5 agents. Well, it turns out Joe is the Director of the CIA, and he wants to train us to be agents. I nearly laughed at loud at that point.
Actually, I did. A burst of giggle escaped my lips a second before I clamped my hand around my mouth. I shoot an apologetic glance at Macey who is glaring daggers at everyone who looks at her.
"My father is theā¦"
"Yes Miss McHenry, we know all about your father." Joe replies impassively.
At this Bex looks up threateningly, "then you know about my parents."
Joe looks dead straight at her. "Abe and Grace Baxter. Married in 1994. One daughter, Rebecca Baxter. Agents of MI5 since 1889. They are good friends of mine. We have worked together on several occasions."
Bex's mouth closes, shutting down that attempted threat immediately.
Joe pauses and looks at all four of us, his eyes sweeping across us. "Look girls. I need you. We have been following you for seven months, and the council and I have come to a decision that you could be an asset to the agency. There is a threat at your school, and you are ideally placed to act. We have other agents of your age that are also stationed at the school, but as well as you helping out on this mission, we sincerely hope you would stay and become training agents. Our youth programme needs extra recruits and your country needs you."
I scoff at the end of his speech and lift myself out of the armchair I have folded myself into.
"That's great. Thank you very much for your inspirational patriotic speech sir, but if you don't mind, I'll take my leave. I refuse." Joe nods almost in understanding. He acts like he expected this. He should have.
"I'll join."
I spin around to face Liz, who has kept quiet through this whole ordeal.
"What?" I question, my eyes boring into her small blue ones.
"I said, I'll join." She stands up and walks over to me. She's smaller than me by an inch or so, but she still manages to stare me down as she places a firm hand on my arm.
"What?" I whisper. "C'mon Liz. You don't want to do this. It's too dangerous," I urge pleadingly with her.
She smiles softly at me, "I want to. Imagine the good I can do with the CIA. I can't flourish in the normal world, you know this."
No Liz. God, I want to scream some sense into her, but I know she is right.
"C'mon Cammie. Join," she whispers back.
I look over her shoulder at Bex and Macey. "Are you seriously doing this?" I ask in a loud voice, just a few decibels lower than shouting. "Why?"
Bex shrugs. "It's in my blood." Bex replies solemnly. "I have always wanted this, you know that. Remember those spy games we used to play when we were younger?" She gives me a small smile. "And you know it Cammie, this will be good for you. You have always been the feisty one. School could never pacify you. You always wanted more. More excitement. More adventure. More everything. Think how much 'more' the CIA can give you." I shake my head slowly so that I can get her true words out of my head. No, no, no. This is not normal.
Macey speaks up next. "We have to be in this together Cam. We stick together." I lift my head up so that I look straight at Macey. She's right.
Fuck it all.
I find myself in a large hall with large skylights that let the spring sunshine shine down, illuminating the dusty space. It's just us four here alone. I lie on the floor, one arm propping up my head from the hard wooden floorboards, the other resting across my eyes so that I can close my eyes and see darkness. After I agreed, we were shuffled out of Joe's office by some guards in black body armour into this hall without a word. To be honest, I'm not surprised at my decision. Bex said it. I have always wanted more. Maybe this will be my more.
Footsteps break through my thought process: large, thudding steps that reverberate through the room and through the floorboards.
Five sets. Five people have entered. I don't get up.
I hear them get closer and closer until they stop right next to where my head lies on the floor. Sighing, I lift my arm off my eyes and I look straight up at a man who is glaring down his moustache at me. He is wearing the same black body armour like everyone else in this place. His hands are balled in fists at his side and his eyes and flashing in my direction. My God, he looks furious, his ginger moustache is almost bristling with energy.
"Hi," I murmur as I give him a small wave. Better to start off polite I guess.
Big ape-man looks over his shoulder, "is this one yours?" The thick Irish accent is so prominent in the man's voice, and combined with his ginger hair, he looks like an oversized leprechaun. I struggle to hold in my chuckle, but then I remember his words. I frown in confusion. I'm no ones. I pull myself up so that I am standing in front of him: my head barely coming up to his shoulders. Is this how they breed them in Ireland? Like huge giants?
"Yes sir," comes the reply. The fuck? I look over the Leprechaun's shoulder to see green eyes glinting back at me, daring to retort.
"Hey Blondie." I glare back before switching my eyes over to the big man.
"What is he doing here?"
Zach comes forward till he stands beside Lep. A slow grin starts at one corner of his mouth, whilst rebellious flames lick behind the green of his eyes.
"Agent Goode, Blondie. You'll do well to remember my name."
Agent? What? He's an agent? That explains a whole goddamn lot, like how he knows chemistry that is taught at university, and his place in the Pentagon. Let's not forget, he fulfils the typical hot young agent stereotype. Images of him in his leather jacket flick through my mind again. Ha, he definitely fulfils that. That's pretty cool to be honest, but I don't appreciate deception.
"And you'll do well to remember mine," I retort.
"Oh yes, Cameron," he drawls, "educate me Blondie, isn't that a boy's name?"
I growl before launching myself at him, aiming a punch to his chest, but instead of eliciting his pain, I hear the cracking of my knuckles against his rock hard chest, and sharp jabs of pain shoot up my arm.
"Fuck! What are you? Rock?" I call loudly as I cradle my poor hand against my own chest. I don't notice the chuckling until Zach's eyes break away from mine to view the others sniggering behind. Even Lep has a small upturn of his lips on his red face. Bex's eyes are twinkling with mirth, just like when someone cracks a joke that is actually funny. Some of the other boys behind are laughing openly, even with Zach glaring at them.
"That's enough," Lep grumbles, finally taking control of the situation. I drop my hand from my chest so that it rests by my side. It still throbs; the knuckles are still white over the red skin. I lift my eyes to meet Zach's and I put as much of my anger through them. If looks could kill, he would be bleeding to death by now, with knives embedded into his stomach. I would be as well by now, as his eyes are filled with as much venom as mine own.
"Trainees. I will be overseeing your training. You will call me Sir. No more I can't, I won't. You can and you will." Lep points at me for emphasis. "You'll do whatever I ask. If I ask you to braid your pretty blonde hair in pigtails and sing I'm a little teapot, you'll ask in what key sir."
Why does everyone reference to my blonde hair?
"You have an agent assigned to you each," Lep continues, "Baxter, you have Morgan."
Shit. I want Grant. He's only one I know apart from the jerk. He would be fun.
"McHenry, you get Winters. Don't kill each other. Sutton, you have Anderson. Your IQ's will be enough to keep you busy for the time being. You have training different to the others. See if we can stretch ya shall we? Morgan, you got Goode. Don't take out one of my assets, ya hear me?"
My eyes widen in response. No, no, no, no.
Zach walks over to me like a predator, and I watch as his eyes rake over me. "Looks like it's just you and me Blondie," he says quietly. I watch as Macey Bex and Liz walk over the separate corners of the room, conversing with their partners easily enough. If only it could be just as easy for me. My eyes flicker back to Zach as we soundlessly look at each other for just a second. God, his eyes are so green. There's a dark ring of forest green on the outside, encompassing a bright vibrant green that has flecks of light brown scattered throughout them.
His eyes look down to where my hands are and he gently lifts my right one, the one that is still sore and red from hitting his goddamn chest. He lifts it so that it rests between us. "Next time you hit someone, wrap your thumb along the outside, and don't tuck it into your fist. Keep your wrist straight, and aim to connect with the first two knuckles," Zach murmurs, whilst playing with my hand with feather light touches, moulding it into the right shape as he speaks. "Like this," he says, tracing a finger across my knuckles, and then holding my closed fist against his chest, showing me how to land my punch most effectively. "Now try again with the other hand."
"You want me to hit you again?"
"I need to know that you've learned how to throw a punch. If you keep doing it wrong, you'll end up with a broken wrist. Now do it again," he speaks, whilst gesturing to his chest.
"It'll hurt," I blurt out, whilst clenching my left hand into a fist like he taught me. He laughs, and I narrow my eyes in annoyance.
"I doubt that very much somehow. You're just a small adorable little thing."
"Careful. This small adorable little thing bites. Didn't I hurt you just a little bit?" I question, dropping my fist in defeat.
He leans in slightly, "I barely felt it," he retorts quietly.
That's it. I take advantage of his close proximity and punch him again with my left fist. It definitely hurt a lot less, but god, it's like punching a cement wall. His facial expression barely flickers with recognition of me hitting him.
"Better." He nods over to a punching bag that hanging off a metal bar protruding out from the wall. He walks behind it and pushes his weight against it. "Hit this two hundred times in succession. Then, I'll teach you how to kick. And then, maybe I will be able to feel you trying." I walk up to the punching bag and hit it once with as much force as I can muster.
"Fuck you Newbie," I grunt as I punch it again.
He laughs in return, "I'm counting on it, Blondie."
A/N: A lot happens here! Review, PM, come chat and tell me what you think!
