License to Thrill (16 page)

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Jo said as the knocking grew more insistent.

“How about Green Day?” Theresa inquired. We must have overlooked
something
, she told herself. That disc has to be in here!

“Checked. I've got their CD right here,” Caylin said, grabbing it off the filing cabinet. “Jeez, that knocking is
really
giving me a headache.”

“Maybe that's not their only CD,” Theresa said, motioning to the disc in Caylin's hand. “Do they have others?”

“Ohmigosh,” Jo breathed, gasping and looking up at the other girls in horror. “I pulled one yesterday! Sandra has them. I totally forgot—she must have at least thirty CDs. We've got to find her!”

This news flash filled Theresa with pure adrenaline. “Okay, okay,” she told the knocker in annoyance, swinging the door open swiftly. But she gasped in horror when she saw not one knocker but two—Antonio and Jonathon!

•  •  •

“Whoa!” Jo gasped, jumping back in shock. Before the fiends could react, she barreled past them, knocking them over, and ran top speed over to the other side of the ballroom. She began grabbing the CDs off the corner shelf.

“Natascia,” Sandra demanded, “just
what
do you think you're doing?”

Jo threw some CDs Caylin and Theresa's way and led them out of the ballroom without a glance in Sandra's direction. Caylin and Theresa were hot on her heels—Jonathon and Antonio were hot on theirs.

“Who's got it?” Caylin yelled, running at light speed toward the exit up ahead. “The Green Day?”

Her pace never faltering, Jo shuffled through the CDs and smiled as if she'd found Willy Wonka's golden ticket. “I got it!” she cheered. She separated it from the rest of the pile without slowing her pace or dropping CDs under her feet. Glancing back, she saw Antonio and Jonathon still in hot pursuit, their arms outstretched and ready to grab.

As she neared the exit doors Jo firmly grasped the Green Day CD in one hand, never slowing her pace for a
second. “Okay, here goes,” she said, voice trembling.

“Please be in there, please be in there,” Theresa chanted, while Caylin went white as a sheet.

Jo held her breath as she opened the cover gingerly. And there, nestled inside, was a shiny CD-ROM reading
Classified
.

The most beautiful sight I've ever seen, Jo thought.

•  •  •

Theresa pushed open the exit doors—and gasped as she ran smack-dab into a man's broad chest. And when she looked up, she discovered she'd bumped into not just any man but
Alfred.

“Dirty rotten girl chaser!” she yelled, kicking him hard in the shins. “It's payback time!” As Alfred doubled over she took off running. Antonio and Jonathon were gaining in a major way.

Theresa ran into the street. A fast-approaching Fiat screeched to a halt and swerved, just barely missing her.

“Bloody idiots!” the driver screamed out the window, but Theresa didn't even stop to react. Not with Jonathon and Antonio so close behind.

“Have some CDs, guys!” Jo hollered, her right hand grasping the Green Day CD case tightly. She dropped the extras behind her. Theresa followed suit, as did Caylin, and discs flew everywhere. The clatter of plastic on concrete mocked Jo's frazzled nerves. The guys faltered, but they instantly regained their footing. Jo ran on without looking back, desperate not to lose hold of her precious cargo.

Caylin felt fingers brushing her back. She shot a look over her shoulder—Jonathon! He was trying to grab her!

Frantic, Caylin led him toward a phone booth. Her heart pounding with fear, she stopped suddenly, sending Jonathon rushing past her and into the booth. She kicked a trash can in front of the door. “Call nine-one-one,” she taunted, her adrenaline overtaking her terror. “You need some major help!”

Caylin left him pounding on the door and ran toward the FBI safe house. She spotted Jo dashing up the sidewalk, the CD case held firmly in her right hand. Caylin poured on the heat to catch up, but she was knocked to the ground by a man in a dark coat who kept on running. Antonio!

“Jo! Look out!” Caylin yelled from the ground.

Jo looked over her shoulder, the action slowing her down a bit. Without a word Antonio pulled even and grabbed the priceless case out of her hand.

“I don't
think
so!” she screamed, tackling him to the ground. Her pulse pounding—from excitement or terror, she couldn't tell—she grabbed for the case in Antonio's hand.

“Hey! Over here!”

Jo looked up to see Caylin up and running and heading right toward her. Antonio did the same and relaxed his grip on the case. Propelled by sheer willpower, Jo yanked the case from his slimy hand. “I believe that belongs to
us
,” she said, tossing the case to Caylin as hard as she could.

Caylin stretched out her fingers and reached for the flying case. Alfred lunged for it, too. Not fast enough. Caylin tripped him and made a successful snag. She exhaled in relief and pounded the pavement with all her might. The FBI safe house was only one block away. She was going to deliver the disc. She
had
to.

Jonathon, free from the phone booth, caught up to her. “Give—me—that,” he demanded, sideswiping Caylin and hitting her hand. The case flew from her grasp.

The feeling of the case slipping through her fingers was the sickest she'd ever had. The sight of Jonathon grabbing it out of midair made her want to throw up. But she wasn't going to let that case get away. Her muscles vibrating with nervous energy, she chased Jonathon for a few feet, then—fueled by the sight of the safe house just two doors up—knocked him over with all her weight, sending the CD case flying and sending Jonathon into a cursing frenzy.

Caylin recovered the case from the gritty cement and ran like lightning to the safe house. She was halfway up the safe house stairs when Jonathon caught up to her and knocked the case out of her hands again, sending it flying onto the porch.

“Nowhere to hide,
Louise
?” he crowed as he dashed past her.

Caylin heard tons of footsteps scrambling all around her, but her eyes never left the CD prize. Just as Jonathon
dove for the disc an FBI agent swung open the screen door of the house, whacking him hard on the head.

With a roar of victory Caylin kicked the case out of Jonathon's grasp and into the house, where it skidded across the floor to safety.

“Put your hands up!” the agent commanded, leveling a gun in Jonathon's direction.

“Yeah, freeze, sucker!” Caylin cheered.

A look of confusion flashed on Jonathon's face. What's he so confused about? she wondered as he was cuffed and taken into the safe house. Surely he realized he ran the risk of being arrested before undertaking such an evil endeavor. Either that or he was a first-class idiot.

Theresa, struggling for breath, made it into the safe house and ran to Caylin's side. Her heart was nearly pounding out of her chest as Jo burst in seconds later, Alfred and Antonio hot on her heels.

Theresa sighed with relief when Alfred and Antonio were cuffed and taken into custody. She checked out the black-clad, totally professional agents who were running the show. When she took a good look at
one
of the agents,
she gasped. She'd know that tall frame, bee-stung lips, and
short brown hair
anywhere. Ugh! What was she doing there?

We've been double-crossed! Theresa thought, her stomach lurching and her lungs ready to burst. She looked over at Caylin and Jo defeatedly, raw terror in her eyes.

“Could it be—” Caylin muttered.

“Surely not,” Jo muttered.

“Short Hair!” Theresa screeched, pointing to the woman in horror.

Short Hair glanced over and winked before returning her attention to Jonathon.

“What?”
Theresa spat out.

“I don't get it,” Caylin muttered. “I just don't—”

Suddenly two uniformed men busted in and trained their guns on Short Hair. “Drop your gun or I'll shoot, ma'am,” one of them demanded. “Scotland Yard. The jig's up.”

Theresa held her breath, terrified of what would happen next.

“Drop the gun, ma'am,” Scotland Yard No. 1 repeated, his voice rising with impatience.

“Danielle Hall, Tower,” Short Hair said calmly in response.

“Tower?” Jo repeated, shell-shocked.

“Release Mr. Nicholson from your custody, Ms. Hall,” Scotland Yard No. 1 demanded.

“But he's guilty!” Jo screeched. “He's a huge part of this whole sick scheme.”

“Do what you're told, Ms. Hall,” Scotland Yard No. 2 bellowed. “He works for
us
.”

“Works for
you
?” Caylin echoed. “But he tried to—”

Scotland Yard No. 1 sighed and showed his identification. “Come on, we're all on the same side here.”

Danielle Hall replaced her gun in her holster. To Jo's relief, there were no further surprises.

Scotland Yard No. 1 nodded. “Good work, ladies. You too, son.”

Jonathon nodded back, pride shining in his eyes, as two FBI agents set about uncuffing him.

“Wait a minute now, let me get something straight here,” Jo began, waving her arms in confusion. “Jonathon Nicholson—the guy who totally tried to grind us into the
pavement out there—he's in cahoots with
Scotland Yard
?”

“Scotland Yard,” Antonio repeated, sounding just as stunned as Jo felt.

Jonathon walked up to the handcuffed duo and leaned into their faces. “Yes, I work for Scotland Yard,” he said smugly, “and I hope you rot in prison for what you did to my friend Frank Devaroux.”

“Well, I'll be darned,” Caylin muttered.

“I can't believe it,” Theresa whispered.

“Neither can I.” Jo shook her head. “Neither can I.”

Without a word Caylin embraced Jo and Theresa in a group hug. “We did it,” she said, feeling exhausted and exhilarated all at once.

“I never doubted us for a second,” Theresa said shakily, then paused. “Well, maybe for a
second
.”

Jo laughed. “Me too,” she admitted. “But we made it. For The Tower. For my dad. For
us
.”

Caylin's heart filled with pride. This was better than winning a tournament, a trophy, or even a gold medal. Because tonight they really were world champions.

“We want all the details, Jonathon,” Jo demanded as she cozied up to him at the World Peace Conference dinner party. If she didn't get the skinny soon, she was liable to die of suspense. “How'd you get yourself in this situation?”

“It's kind of long,” he said, giving her a shy grin.

“We want every bit of the dirt,” Caylin said, her voice rich with delicious anticipation.

Theresa grinned. “Spare nothing.”

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Frank Devaroux was this guy I interned with last summer. He was a real genius computer hacker, totally cool, and we kept in touch when I headed back to school. So a few months ago Dad sent me some old discs they were about to toss from here and said I could just erase and use them for school. But one of the discs had a file on it that couldn't be erased and
actually corrupted my whole hard drive. I sent everything back here to Frank, told him what the deal was, and asked him if he knew what I should do to fix the stuff it had damaged.”

“Was it a virus?” Theresa asked, absolutely fascinated.

Jonathon nodded. “I thought so, but I wasn't sure. So when he got the disc, Frank developed a decoding program to dig into the file. He discovered it was this really elaborate code that took about four or five days to crack, then he finally found that the file contained a list of locations of nuclear warheads in Russia. He knew this list was major.”

“I'll say,” Theresa agreed as she noticed the gold flecks in Jonathon's eyes. “It's really hard to believe they just had it floating around on an unprotected disc.”

“So he destroyed the original, burned the info onto another CD for the feds, and called a meeting with the heads of the FBI for the next day,” he explained. “He hid the disc—I guess in the Green Day case you found—for safety reasons. But later that evening he was killed, anyway. By Alfred and Antonio.”

Caylin gasped. “What slimebuckets.”

“That'd be a compliment for those guys,” Jonathon said solemnly. “We're talking the lowest of the low. So the day Frank died—totally by coincidence—I was here at the embassy to get my computer back from him. That's when Scotland Yard approached me and told me that I, like Frank, was on a list of possible Laqui Bay targets. It wasn't a hit list—just people SY thought they might contact to try to find the disc for them.”

“Why you?” Theresa asked.

“Because of my age and my access to the embassy, I guess they figured I'd be an easy target. I wanted time to think about it, but when Frank was murdered that night, I agreed to help. I had no idea that Frank was a special agent for The Tower until after he was killed. Still, I was forbidden to breathe a word of my involvement to anyone—not my father, the CIA, the FBI,
or
The Tower since it was top secret and happening on London soil.”

“So why did you do it?” Caylin asked. “I mean, you had to work with the guys who killed your friend.”

“It was horrible.” Jonathon turned his gaze downward.
“I hated pretending I was in league with Laqui Bay. But I wanted to nab those jerks—and I had to get to the list before they did. I did it for Frank . . . and for world peace.”

“We were in the same boat,” Jo chimed in. “I still can't believe you were on our side all along.”

“I know, right?” Jonathon exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Antonio had me ask the translators if anyone spoke Arabic, thinking that would be bait for anyone who was working for another terrorist group. His theory was that whoever lied about speaking it must have a reason to lie—like wanting to get inside information. So when you bit, Jo, that's when we figured you were a bad guy.”