Cammie had finally finished unpacking all her things, and by then, it was 6:43p.m. Zach had disappeared about an hour ago, saying he had to make an important phone call; he had refused to tell her who he was calling, though. The front door opens and slams shut, and Zach walks into the walk-in closet where Cammie was still standing amongst her clothes.
"There's a formal party at the Lapidus Lounge at the Ritz Carlton in Coconut Grove. It's at seven," Zach explains. "There will be a couple there going by the names of Mr. and Mrs. Hemlock. We have reason to believe that they may have the disk with the blueprints for the nuclear weapon that was stolen from the Pentagon. But it may actually not be them. We just have to find out which room they're staying in, and we can snoop around their things for a bit. If we find something suspicious, then they could be a prime suspect. But if not…"
"And how do you think we'll get one of them to spill their room number?" Cammie asks, putting her hand on her hip. Her mind was scrolling through different questions she could ask to get them to tell.
"That's the part Joe left out. He said it was up to us to figure it out."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. Joe? As in Joe Solomon?" Cammie gasps, even though she knew there were probably dozens of spies named Joe. It was a pretty common name.
"Yeah… I know he was your Co-Ops teacher at Gallagher, but he was also my Co-Ops teacher at Blackthorne," Zach explains.
Cammie's mind was reeling with all the information Zach had just given her, since he had been so secretive about everything up until then. "Mr. Solomon? At… Blackthorne?" she asks in a daze. It seems she could only speak if it was in questions.
"What, you think there are only spy schools for girls?"
"Blackthorne is a… boy's spy school?"
"Jeez, Gallagher girl, I would have thought you were faster than this," Zach jokes, tapping her temple with his pointer finger. Cammie rolls her eyes and slaps his hand away from her.
"This is serious, Zach. Where's Blackthorne? Why did you know about Gallagher but we didn't even know about you?" she asks.
"That information is top secret, Cam. Just focus on the party for now, okay? You'll figure it out eventually," he replies, winking at her and walking out of the closet.
Just focus on the party for now, Cammie repeats in her head. She turns to face all her clothes that were now hanging on the decorative hangers of the Four Seasons. I'll figure the rest out eventually.
After much internal debate, Cammie takes a strapless red dress off a hanger. She shuts the closet door and she strips off all her clothes and slips the dress over her head. In the mirror, Cammie twirled back and forth, examining the dress that she hadn't worn since learning how to ballroom dance in Madame Dabney's C&A class. Maybe it'll finally come in handy tonight.
The dress was a shimmery rose color, and it hugged Cammie's curves perfectly. It fell to just above her knees, and had a ruched waist. She picks out a pair of gold high heels and straps them on. Then she puts on a gold choker necklace, gold hoop earrings, and gold bangle bracelets. Cammie sets her Chi curling iron on high and lays it down on a small shelf in front of a mirror to warm up, where all her other hair and makeup products were. It was like a small vanity right in her walk-in closet.
A half hour later, Cammie had curled all her hair, and it spiraled down in brown locks to a few inches below her armpits. Right after she unplugs her curling iron and spritzes herself with Chanel No.5 perfume, Zach knocks on the closet door. She grabs a red silk clutch purse with a gold latch and opens the door. "I'm ready," she announces.
Zach stood there in a sleek black tux and shiny black dress shoes. His bright green eyes peeked out from under his dark brown hair, which he kept flicking off his forehead even though it would have looked fine where it was at. "You look great," he compliments with a shy grin.
"Thanks," Cammie replies with a smile, "You too." She squeezes past him through the narrow doorway and fills her red clutch with some pocket litter, in addition to her hotel room key. She and Zach leave the hotel room and into the hallway, down the elevator, and into the lobby. There were a few other people in dazzling ball gowns and sleek tuxes, walking outside into the sunset.
Outside, Zach leads Cammie over to a midnight-black Lamborghini parked against the curb. A driver climbs out of the driver's seat and tosses the keys to Zach, who climbs in and guns the engine. Cammie climbs into the passenger's seat, not knowing what to expect. "Where did you get this car from?" she asks as he drives the car into traffic, towards the Ritz Carlton in Coconut Grove.
"I just bought it. We can't go around riding taxis all the time if our cover is a wealthy couple. Besides, the CIA gave me an insane budget for this mission," Zach boasts with a smirk.
"True," Cammie replies. If they were pretending to be ridiculously rich, they obviously shouldn't take a taxi everywhere they go. And, yes, it was also true that the CIA gave huge budgets to every mission, in case the need for anything arises.
"Hey, here's a fake wedding ring to go with your cover," Zach says, tossing something gold into the air. Cammie catches it and lifts it up to her eye. There was a large diamond surrounded by two smaller diamonds on each side, and the gold band fit exactly around her left ring finger.
"Fake wedding ring?"
"Okay, it's not actually fake. The gold and diamonds are real. Again, we have a massive budget. But… it's fake, as in, its only to match your cover. Um, you know what I mean," Zach explains awkwardly, running one hand through the dark brown hair on the back of his head. Now that she looked more carefully, Cammie saw the thick golden wedding ring on his finger too.
Finally, they arrive in Coconut Grove, an elegant neighborhood of parks, shopping centers, hotels, and houses in the center of Miami. In the distance, Cammie immediately spots the Ritz Carlton, a massive yellowish-gold hotel. It wasn't as tall as the Four Seasons, but it was spread over a great expanse of land with pools and palm trees all around it. They pull up to the parking valet tent in front of the entrance, and Zach takes out the keys and steps outside. As he hands the valet attendant the keys, Cammie steps outside of the car and stands next to Zach, like a normal wife would.
Zach holds out his elbow out to Cammie and asks, "May I?"
She smiles graciously and replies, "You may." She loops her hand through the crook of his elbow and they walk through the massive front doors of the hotel, held open by silent doormen. The valet attendant drives off in the Lamborghini to park it in the expansive parking lot.
Inside the hotel, the Ritz Carlton was just as elegant and chic as the Four Seasons. Instead of Latin statues and a waterfall wall, the lobby was decorated in a classy brown-and-gold color scheme. There were chairs and heavy curtains and looming grandfather clocks all around, making it look like one massive living room.
They walk down the hallway and up to the heavy oak doors of the Lapidus Lounge. A thick red velvet rope was strung across the entrance, and a bouncer was standing next to a lady with a headset and clipboard. "This hotel is just lovely," Cammie says, looking around at all the detail in the furnished hallways as they wait in line behind two other couples.
"I know. Too bad we couldn't have stayed here for our honeymoon," Zach answers, lowering his lips to her ear. Tingles shoot down her spine, even though she knew he was just keeping up the charade of their covers. Cammie shoots him a sly look over her shoulder, hoping he knew she was just playing along too.
"Name?" the lady with the clipboard asks, her pen hovering over the paper.
"Mr. and Mrs. Goode," he answers. The lady's eyes scan over the clipboard and her pen makes two checkmarks on the list. She nods at the bouncer, and he unhooks the velvet VIP rope, motioning into the lounge.
They walk into the lounge-slash-bar, which was already bustling with wealthy-looking couples. All the tables and chairs had been removed from the room to make room for the crowd, and soft classical music was playing. A few couples who knew how to ballroom dance were slowly sweeping across the hardwood floor in one corner of the room. The lights around the walls of the room were dimmed, adding a more elegant ambiance to the room. Zach swiftly took two flutes of champagne from a waitress walking by and hands one to Cammie. "Cheers," he tells her, lifting his flute into the air.
Cammie lifts her flute to his, carefully clinking the glass together and making sure not to spill any of the bubbly, honey-colored liquid. "Cheers," she repeats. They both take small sips and the champagne fizzes as it goes down her throat.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Zachary Goode. How are ya, man?" says a self-assured male voice from behind them. Cammie turns around to see an extremely handsome man their age, with a chiseled jaw, a blonde buzz cut, and broad arms. Cammie hypothesized that if the squinted and tilted her head a bit, which she wouldn't even think about doing at an extravagant party like this, he would look exactly like a Greek god.
"Hey, Grant! What's up?" Zach replies, bumping his fist against his friend's. Cammie's brain clicks. This was Grant Newman, the spy that would be helping them during their mission.
"Not much. But aren't you going to introduce me to this beautiful woman?" Grant asks with a smirk almost identical to the one on Zach's face. Do all boys know how to smirk like this, or is it just a spy thing?, Cammie wonders.
"This is Cameron. We got married about three months ago," Zach explains.
Cammie shakes Grant's large hand and says, "Nice to meet you."
"You too, Cameron."
"Call me Cammie."
"Sure thing, Cammie," Grant replies with a wink.
Suddenly, somebody wraps their arms around Cammie's shoulders and lets out a loud shriek. "Cammieeee!" the person squeals in a high voice. She gasps as she recognizes the voice she hadn't heard in way too long.
"Bex!" Cammie exclaims, spinning around and hugging her friend. They both squeezed each other so hard they were left gasping for air; huge bear-hugs from spies could do that to you. "I haven't seen you in forever!"
"I know, right?! And hey. Why wasn't I invited to your wedding?" she demands.
Cammie smiles awkwardly, hoping Bex was keeping up with their covers. But by the teasing look in her eyes, she obviously was. She wasn't as blonde as Liz was sometimes. "Oh, it was a sudden thing. It wasn't even a real formal wedding. Just a spontaneous Las Vegas kinda thing. Except not really, because we weren't drunk, and we actually meant it. We just wanted to be married as quick as possible," Cammie lies off the top of her head.
"I know, I was just kidding you," Bex says, giving Cammie's shoulder a tiny shove. But then her French-tipped nails dig into Cammie's skin as she pulls her friend closer to whisper in her ear, "But who's that hot guy talking to Zach over there?"
"Wait… you know who Zach is?"
"Obviously. We're working together, remember?" Bex answers. She made it sound like they were co-workers at a business instead of conspiring spies in a mission. "He introduced himself to me over the phone. But who is that guy with him? He looks like… a god!"
"That's exactly what I thought!" Cammie blurts. "His name is Grant. Grant Newman. Didn't Zach tell you about him on the phone?"
"No. Zach just said Liz and I would be helping you and him."
"Figures. You practically have to tie Zach down to a polygraph test to get any information out of him. But yeah, you and Liz are helping us, but so are two of Zach's friends. Grant and Jonas. I haven't met Jonas yet, though. Speaking of Liz, where is she?" Cammie asks, quickly informing Bex on everything.
"I got a phone call from Zach to come here. Just in case. But just in case of what… I don't know. Liz wasn't on call. So she's not here. I have a feeling we'll be seeing her later, though," Bex reports.
Cammie nods, and turns her head as she feels a warm hand on her shoulder.
It was Zach. "Would you like to meet some of the other guests at the party?" he hints. "I'm sure you and Bex will be able to catch up later." He places his empty champagne flute on a passing waitress' tray.
"Right," Cammie notes. "See you, Bex."
"Bye, Cam."
Cammie follows Zach through the crowd, which has some how gotten larger as time passed. If any more people showed up at the party, it would begin getting seriously cramped. "Meet my teacher from Blackthorne, Dr. Steve Sanders," Zach introduces her to a fifty-something year old man with a terrible brown comb-over and a hint of a beer-belly, but with deep blue eyes and a bright smile.
"Please, call me Dr. Steve," he says, pumping Cammie's hand up and down in a frenzied handshake.
"Well. A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Steve," Cammie replies, glancing at Zach. But his eyes were still watching Dr. Steve, who lets go of Cammie's hand and motions them both closer to him.
Cammie and Zach lean in, and Dr. Steve whispers, "According to Joe Solomon, Mrs. Hemlock is wearing white silk gloves. I have no idea what she looks like, though, and lots of ladies are wearing white silk gloves. So good luck." He stands up straight and loudly claps his hands together. "Well!" he exclaims, "I really must try one of their hand-shaken martinis. Adios!"
"And I think I'll go sample one of their raspberry-mint cocktails," Cammie says, hinting that they should split up to look for Mrs. Hemlock before the party was over. "I'll meet up with you later."
In order to make their relationship at least a little more convincing, she puts her hand on Zach's shoulder and reaches up to kiss him on the cheek. His skin was smooth, warm, and smelled like Polo Ralph Lauren aftershave. She gives him a small smile before turning and weaving her way through the crowd.
Cammie casually stood a few yards away from every woman who wore white silk gloves, waiting for the woman's name to come up in the conversation. Whenever somebody would address the woman as somebody else other than Mrs. Hemlock, Cammie would move on to the next victim. And the whole way through the room, she kept her eyes glued to the waitress' trays as if she were looking for a particular drink. Eventually, she finds the raspberry-mint cocktails, and she plucks one from the tray.
As Cammie takes her first sip, though, the urge to spit the drink back up overwhelms her. But, like any good spy, she overcomes her urge and keeps a straight face. She had just heard a man call a woman 'Mrs. Hemlock,' somewhere behind her. The man continued to talk about stocks and trading and then something else that Cammie couldn't quite hear.
She turns around and sees the man talking to a lady who looked to be about thirty. Mrs. Hemlock wore an emerald-green floor-length dress. She had fiery red hair that cascaded down her back in waves, and black stilettos. But best of all, she had white silk gloves up to her elbows. Cammie took a deep breath and gripped her cocktail glass more firmly.
Time to improvise.
"Somebody said that my course of work
would be an interesting source of material."
- Melita Norwood
Cammie stepped up to their little circle and held a hand out to Mrs. Hemlock. All their talking stopped abruptly as they stared at her, but her smile didn't waver. "Mrs. Hemlock! How are the stocks going? I've been meaning to ask you about the best thing out there, but I kept forgetting," Cammie blurts, forcing her voice to sound like the overly-excited party people here.
Mrs. Hemlock takes Cammie's hand and shakes it warily. A little shock shoots through Cammie's fingertips as their hands connect. "Why, the stocks are good… Very good. May I ask your name again?" Mrs. Hemlock asks.
Cammie makes her smile to go wider, letting out an 'oh, please' chuckle. "Cameron Goode. We met once before at a party very much like this one," Cammie improvises. She hoped Mrs. Hemlock wouldn't ask which party, because she'd have no idea what to say then. She was making it all up, after all.
Mrs. Hemlock stares at Cammie for a few seconds before a polite smile broke across her lips. "The very same Cameron I met at that one fundraiser…?" she asks.
"The very same," Cammie confirms.
"I forgot what the cause of the fundraiser was for, though. Remind me?"
"Oh, I have no idea, either," she lies. "It was so long ago, and all the causes of all the different fundraisers seem to run together." Cammie waves her hand dismissively in the air.
"Very true," Mrs. Hemlock imparts. Her gaze scans the crowd, as if looking for a distraction.
"So, what about this hotel?" Cammie asks, hoping that Mrs. Hemlock would randomly mention the number of her hotel room. "Very elegant, don't you think?"
"I've seen better. The rooms aren't even that appealing."
"Oh, really?" Cammie replies, pretending to act appalled. "I truly hate hotels that try to put out so much effort to look nice from the outside, but once you get a room, then it looks terrible."
"That's exactly what it's like!" Mrs. Hemlock exclaims.
"Well, at least you have a good view of Miami, am I right?"
"Definitely! We always make sure to stay in the room with the best view," she boasts.
"So you must be on the very top floor, right? If the hotel room doesn't have a good view, I always request a different room," Cammie adds. "Or if I don't like the room number, I'll change the rooms so its easy to remember."
"I do that too!"
"Really?" Cammie exclaims, pretending to be baffled. "I especially like hotel rooms with all the same numbers. It just makes it so much easier to memorize."
"I'm doing that right now," Mrs. Hemlock admits with a low chuckle. Cammie laughs along and scans the room. I think I have enough information on her hotel room, she thinks. She takes a long sip of her raspberry-mint cocktail. Suddenly she's aware of Mrs. Hemlock's face right next to hers. "Do you know somebody here by the name of Cammie Morgan?" she whispers. "I need to find her to… talk about something."
"Sorry, I don't know anybody named Cammie. I'll look out for her, though. Speaking of which, I have to go. Nice talking to you," Cammie tells her, her heart pounding. She spins around, weaving through the crowd and trying to put as much distance between her and Mrs. Hemlock. She puts her half-drank cocktail on a waitress' tray, not in the mood to drink anymore.
Why does Mrs. Hemlock want to 'talk' to me?
Cammie spots Zach standing by the wall, casually sipping a cherry martini and looking around the room. She grabs his arm, her nails digging into the sleeves of his tux. "Let's dance," she suggests calmly, pulling him towards the corner of the room. Zach abandons his drink on a small table, curious as to what Cammie so desperately had to talk to him about alone on the dancefloor.
"I find the earth to be a place of misery
in which I am surrounded by
the conformity that kills society."
- Matt LeBlanc
(Author's Note: Sorry if it's seemed like Zach's a better spy than Cammie. Trust me, she's just been caught a bit off-guard after everything that has happened so quickly. Later on in the story, Zach won't be able to complete the mission without her (: So… yeah. Lol. Leave a comment!)