So I walked toward the doors and stepped inside, certain of one thing: Joe Solomon was very much alive.
Well, actually, technically, I tried to step inside.
Girls filled the entryway and covered the stairs, and it took all the strength I could muster to press out the rain and into the crowd that was staring as my mother and Agent Townsend stood in the middle of the foyer floor.
"What's going -"
"Shhh," a senior hissed, stopping Tina midsentence.
"You're welcome, by the way," Townsend said, turning toward the stairs, but my mother blocked him, looking anything but graceful.
"You had no right to take my daughter out of my school -"
"Your school?"
He should have been afraid. The last time I'd seen my mother look that way had been on a street in Washington, D.C., as he sister lay bleeding.
He should have been terrified.
"My daughter is not some pawn to be used on a whim!"
"Now, Rachel, don't think of her as a pawn. It's more like . . . what is it you Americans say . . . we dangled an apple out in front of Joe Solomon and -"
"The term is carrot," my mother corrected. "And it doesn't apply to teenage girls."
There was a knowing gleam in Townsend's eyes as he smiled. "Oh, is it? Maybe you use apples for something else?"
Some people think the key to strength is knowing how to hit. But that's now it. As I stood peering through the crowd at my mother and the man who had taken me out of the safety of the mansion, I knew real strength is not hitting when what you want to do most is kill.
Townsend must have sensed it too, because something changed in him then. "We had thirty agents in the park's interior and another sixty on the perimeter grid. We had eyes on her the whole time. We knew Solomon would show himself and as soon as he did, our agents were on him. She was fine."
He leaned closer to my mother, not blinking, not teasing, not even mocking. He laughed, but not like it was funny. It was closer to a laugh of disbelief.
"Ms. Morgan, we got him!"
"If you even put a student in danger again -"
"Oh, I thought you Gallagher Girls were immune to danger."
Despite the hundred girls that filled the foyer, no one moved or gasped or tried to defend our honor. We stood silently, waiting for our headmistress to say, "Oh, we are quite used to being underestimated, Agent Townsend. In fact, we welcome it."
That conversation probably violated every spy code and teacher code and headmistress code know to man, but that didn't matter. They couldn't see the hundred girls who stood watching. Despite their training, they didn't hear the way we held our collective breath.
This fight was like the tide: it had been a long time coming and there was no way to hold it back.
"Joe Solomon agreed to take this job only when he knew he would be teaching your daughter, isn't that right."
Mom folded her hands in front of her. "I've already answered that question in great detail for people with far more authority that you."
"And that didn't strike you as odd? A man like Joe Solomon coming here?" He laughed again. "But of course the Circle has always liked to recruit agents young. What is it they say, the greener the fruit, the easier it turns?"
"Yes," my mother admitted.
"He was here a year and a half?" Townsend asked, but my mother's voice was clam, as if he'd asked about the weather.
"He was."
"That's a long time - long enough to recruit anyone he might need. Turn someone?"
"As I already informed your superiors, Agent Townsend, if the Circle has any Allies here, they'd better pray that you find them before I do."
Agent Townsend was a large man, for covert operations. He was at least six inches taller and seventy pounds heavier than my mother (and that wasn't counting his ego), and yet there wasn't a doubt in my mind that he knew she was exactly right.
He watched her slowly turn and start up the stairs. She was almost gone when he called,
"Joe Solomon isn't going to hurt your daughter, Ms. Morgan. You don't have to worry about him hurting anyone ever again."
I realized in that moment that he believed it - he really did - and for a second I wanted to believe him. He was a good spy, after all. A senior operative. A teacher. And standing there, surrounded by my sisterhood, I might have convinced myself that it was true - that I was safe.
But then my mother stopped and turned.
"I'm sorry, Agent Townsend, but Joe Solomon is the last of Cammie's worries."
* * *
Our chef was making my favorite soup for dinner, but my roommates and I didn't run to the Grand Hall. We stood silently side by side while the rest of our school slowly drifted down the halls and up the stairs, carried away by a wave of gossip and fear and disbelief.
"Sublevel Two." I didn't whisper. I know that was foolish now, but at the moment, I , Cammie the Chameleon, didn't have the strength to hide. "We're going to find a way into Sublevel Two."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
HOW NOT TO BREAK INTO
SUBLEVEL TWO
(A list by Cameron Morgan, with
help from Macey McHenry)
·Digging: Because a person would have to dig . . . a lot. And besides, the maintenance staff would totally notice any big holes that appeared in the middle of the lacrosse field.
(Plus, it can totally ruin a manicure.)
·Anything involving an elevator shaft: Sure, every Gallagher Girls gets her very own crossbar on the first day of eighth grade, but it's not as simple as prying open the doors and shimming on down to the subs. (Besides, in our experience, doors at the Gallagher Academy aren't exactly pry-able.)