Spy School (15 page)

Erica betrayed nothing. Her expression didn’t change. I might as well have told her that I liked rabbits. I was wondering if she’d even heard me, but as she helped me to my feet, she whispered back, “I’m on it. I’ll be in touch.”

I didn’t have time to ask anything else. The principal pointed upstairs toward his office. Chip and I dutifully followed him.

As we did, Chip whispered something to me as well. “Say one word about what you saw down there and you’re dead.”

The crowd parted for us, and I noticed the looks on my fellow students’ faces had changed. They didn’t seem to be pitying me for earning the principal’s wrath anymore. Instead, they were looking at me curiously, wondering how on earth
I
had managed to earn Erica’s concern. Many of the guys looked more impressed than they had upon learning I’d fended off an assassin.

Which made getting attacked by Chip and marched off to the principal’s office almost seem worthwhile.

Almost. But not quite.

Principal’s Office

February 8

1520 hours

The principal was five minutes into his tirade
before I discovered what Erica had meant about being in touch.

I wasn’t paying much attention to the tirade. I’m not sure the principal was either. He was talking to hear himself talk, railing on and on about how the academy held its students to a very high standard and how Chip and I had fallen very short of that and how if either one of us expected to graduate to a dignified field position with such behavior, then we were in for a rude awakening. In fact, we were lucky he didn’t
bounce us out of the school right then and there. . . .

I was surprised to find myself so calm in the face of the storm. In my previous 1,172 days of public school, I’d never gotten in trouble, let alone been sent to the principal’s office. But, though I wasn’t happy with the situation, I also knew the principal
couldn’t
kick me out. His entire mole hunt was based on me being there. In fact, he could have frightened me more by threatening to keep me enrolled.

However, the
real
reason I wasn’t very concerned by the principal was that I had plenty of other things to be very concerned about. Like what Chip and Hauser had been doing in the tunnel.

Had that really been a bomb down there? And what were they doing with it? Did it work? Were they trying to make it work? And if so, why?

What was Scorpio? It sounded like a code name for an operation, but what was the operation? Was the name “Scorpio” a key to explaining it? I knew Scorpio was a mythological giant scorpion—an extremely dangerous beast who had defeated Orion, the almost-invincible hunter. Scorpio was also a constellation and a sign of the zodiac for the duration of October 23 to November 22. Was that a clue? Was Scorpio scheduled to take place then? If so, it was a long way off.

I was glad I’d had a chance to tell Erica about the bomb. Hopefully, she was investigating it while we sat there. I
even considered telling the principal about it, but I didn’t want to do so right in front of Chip. Back in public school, if someone told you something like “Say one word about what you saw down there and you’re dead,” you could assume it was an exaggeration. At spy school, they actually taught you how to back those words up—and gave you the weapons to do it.

Erica was probably far more competent than the principal anyhow. She’d most likely already tracked down the bomb, dismantled it, and figured out who was behind it. Or so I hoped. I was desperate to get out of that office—not merely to find out what was going on, but also to evacuate the building just in case the bomb went off and reduced the place to toothpicks. (I briefly considered that the bomb probably wasn’t live, because if it was, then Chip would have been sweating buckets. But then I also considered that, if Chip was as incompetent as Erica said, he wouldn’t have any idea if the bomb was live or not—and thus, fearing for my life was still prudent.)

Unfortunately, the principal didn’t show any signs of winding down. “Trying to hurt each other is unacceptable,” he was saying. “You’re supposed to try to hurt our
enemies
, for Pete’s sake.”

“Hello, Ben,” Erica said.

I snapped upright in my seat, startled. Erica sounded as
though she were right behind me. I started to turn around. . . .

“Don’t turn around!” Erica ordered.

So I didn’t.

“Don’t do
anything
,” she continued. “And don’t respond to me. I’m not in the room. You’re the only one who can hear me.”

I suddenly realized Erica’s voice wasn’t coming from behind me at all. Instead, it seemed to be coming from
inside
me. Like it was a thought in my head.

“I slipped a miniature Wi-Fi transmitter into your ear downstairs,” Erica explained. “Which means I can hear everything that windbag’s saying.”

I frowned. So
that
was why Erica had cradled my face. It hadn’t been affection at all. It was merely a ruse to wire me.

Having a transmitter in your ear is extremely unsettling. Your gut instinct when someone talks to you—or tells you they’ve slipped a piece of technology into your head without your permission—is to talk back. It took every ounce of control I had to not respond.

As it was, Chip was already eyeing me suspiciously. My startled response to Erica’s first words had grabbed his attention. The principal was still lost in his own world, however. He was so caught up in his pontificating, he wouldn’t have noticed a herd of elephants stampeding through the room.

“You’re exactly where I need you to be,” Erica told me.
“Now, I need you to do two things: First, I need you to pay attention to the principal. Not what he says. What he does. I don’t want you to take your eyes off him for an instant. Try to remember everything. . . . Second, I need you to insult him.”

What?!
I wanted to ask. I
almost
did. It took an incredible amount of self-restraint not to. I couldn’t imagine why Erica could possibly want me to get into even more trouble. But due to the one-sided nature of our communication, there was no way I could ask her.

“I know it’s asking a lot, but you have to trust me.” Erica’s voice was soothing and confident. “I promise you, everything’s going to work out fine.”

For some reason, I believed her. Maybe because Erica was the only person I trusted. Maybe because her words inside my head made me think they were actually
my
words. Most likely, I just wanted to impress her. I probably would have stepped in front of a locomotive if she asked nicely enough. So I looked for an opportunity to cause trouble—and it wasn’t long before I found it.

“When I was a student here, we
knew
how to behave,” the principal chided. “Would you like to know how we were punished for fighting back then?”

“Wow, that would have been a
long
time ago,” I said. “Did they put you in the stockade? They used that a lot in Colonial America.”

The principal wheeled on me. “What did you just say?”

“That you’re old,” I replied. “Was I being too subtle for you?”

To my side, Chip’s eyes had gone wide. I couldn’t tell for sure, as I was keeping my gaze locked on the principal, but he might have been impressed by me.

Erica certainly was. “That’s perfect!” she crowed. “Keep it up!”

The principal turned as red as the bottom of a baboon. He stormed toward me, getting right in my face. “Am I to assume, Mr. Ripley, that you think you’re not already in enough trouble today? Are you asking for an even worse punishment?”

“Whatever it is, it couldn’t be worse than your breath,” I said. “What’d you have for lunch, dog poo?”

This time Chip snickered audibly.

The principal recoiled from me. For a few moments he seemed completely unsure what to do. Apparently, no student had ever talked to him like I’d just done. It looked like he wanted to expel me on the spot—only, he couldn’t, and so he could only grow more apoplectic at the situation. His eyes bugged out from his face and he ran his fingers through his fake hair. “That’s it!” he finally snapped. “I’m putting you on total probation!”

“Make him do it now,” Erica told me.

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

Once again, the principal seemed thrown. All his threats seemed to be having the opposite effect he wanted. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Erica said.

“Right now,” I repeated.

“All right then, Buster. You got it.” The principal went behind his desk, then stared at his computer blankly. After a few moments he snatched a dictionary off the shelf behind him, flipped it open—as though he needed help remembering how to spell his password—then snapped it shut and logged on. He then began to compose an e-mail, dictating what he was writing for my benefit. “To the attention of all academy staff: First-year student Benjamin Ripley is hereby placed on total probation until further notice from this office. . . .”

“Hey.” The whisper was so soft, it took me a moment to realize it wasn’t coming from Erica. It was Chip.

I flicked my eyes over to him.

“That was awesome,” he said, one decibel above a whisper.

“Thanks,” I whispered back.

“. . . and will be denied all standard student privileges from this moment hence,” the principal finished, then fixed me with a hard stare. “You mess with the bull—and you get the horns.”

“That’s funny,” I replied. “When I look at you, I think of the
other
end of the bull.”

“Whoa there, Tiger,” Erica said. “You can take it easy now. Job’s done.”

It would have been nice if she’d told me that
before
I’d said anything else. My final insult had pushed the principal over the edge. So much anger surged through him, I expected lava to spew out of his ears. His lousy toupee had come unmoored from his head and was now askew, giving him the appearance of a poorly frosted cupcake. He stormed back to where I sat and jabbed a stubby finger at my nose. “All right, you little wisenheimer. You don’t think I can get tougher? Then let’s bring the hammer down. From now on, you’re sleeping in the Box.”

“But . . . I’m already sleeping in the Box,” I said.

The principal’s face went blank. “You are? Since when?”

“Uh . . . since I got here,” I replied.

“Why?” he demanded. “What idiot put you in the Box?”

I winced, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer. “
You
did.”

To my side, Chip was trying so hard not to laugh,
he
was turning red. The principal didn’t notice, though. My last answer, true as it may have been, had revved up his ire. His entire body trembled with rage.

Before he could lash into me again, I tried to explain.
“An assassin tried to kill me in my room, remember? So you assigned me to stay in the Box for my safety.”

The principal hesitated again, apparently caught between fury and confusion. “And you’re still there?” he asked, in a furiously confused tone.

“No one ever told me I could move out,” I answered.

“Well, you can’t!” the principal snapped petulantly. “But not because it isn’t safe. Because you’re being punished for insubordination. And you’re going to stay in the Box until I decide otherwise. You’ve crossed a line, mister. From now on, I am going to make it my personal mission to see that you are as miserable as possible for the rest of your time here!” He pressed a red button on his desk.

An instant later two armed agents burst into the room, guns drawn. They both looked surprised—and then disappointed—to see there were only two students sitting before the principal rather than, say, some enemy agents.

“Escort Mr. Ripley directly to the Box,” the principal ordered.

“Uh . . . ,” one of the agents said, “that red button is supposed to be used only for emergencies.”

“This
is
an emergency!” the principal barked. “This boy’s behavior has been downright mutinous. An example must be made.” He swung his gaze back toward me. “Mark my words, Ripley. You will rue the day you ever met me.”

“I already do.” I couldn’t help saying it, even though Erica hadn’t asked me to. It didn’t seem possible that anything I said could get me into
more
trouble.

The agents might not have been thrilled with the principal’s order, but as he was a superior officer, they followed it, grabbing me by the arms, hoisting me to my feet, and marching me out of the office.

Chip Schacter walked right out behind us. The principal had grown so upset with me, he’d evidently forgotten that he’d originally called
both
of us in for a talking-to.

“Ripley, you might be a fraud and a liar, but you also have some serious guts,” Chip said.

“Thanks,” I replied.

Chip’s stare grew menacing. “Though you’d still better keep your mouth shut about you-know-what.”

The agents dragged me away before I could reply.

So I’d earned a tiny bit of Chip Schacter’s respect—and possibly Erica’s—and all I’d had to do was get myself in so much trouble with the principal that my remaining years at spy school were going to be nonstop misery.