Greenland - The specialists: model spy

Table of Contents

SPEAK

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Published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2007

Copyright Shannon Greenland, 2007

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Greenland, Shannon.
The specialists : model spy / by Shannon Greenland. p. cm.

[1. SpiesFiction. 2. EspionageFiction. 3. OrphansFiction. 4. GeniusFiction.]

I. Title. II. Title: Model spy.
PZ7.G8458Sp 2007
[Fic]dc22 2006029425

eISBN : 978-1-101-11848-1

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

To all the ladies who read and critiqued this novel: Tara Greenbaum, Alesia Holliday, Courtney Nighbert, Terri Ridgell, Suzi Smith, and Lisa Whitaker.

To Joe Blanchard for talking computers with me.

To Karen Chaplin, my awesome editor, who is just as organized and meticulous as I am. We go well together!

To Nadia Cornier, my fantastic agent, who patiently puts up with my Hey, did you get this? e-mails.

To Britta Harris, my good friend, who sat with me that one yard sale morning and brainstormed a series about teenage spies.

And extra special thanks go to Alesia Holliday for mentoring me throughout writing and selling my first young adult book. You rock, girl!

Finally, for my dad for reasons too numerous to list.
Love you, daddio!

[1]

<()-()-()>

No, no, no, I muttered to myself.

There, thatll do. Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I shut down my computer and grabbed my books. I hurried out of my dorm room, heading toward the science building.

Late for class. Again. Why was my brain always three gigabytes behind where it should be?

At 8:30 in the morning, vehicles jammed the parking lot. Fast-forward fourteen hours and the spaces would be empty; everybody would be out partying, having fun. Except me.

I made my way across campus, cutting through the universitys parking lot. I noticed a black four-door car pulling into the lot. Despite the tinted windows, I could see four shadowy figures inside. The car circled around the loop, slowing to a crawl. There were no parking spaces available.

Cutting across a row, I peeked over my shoulder. The dark car rounded the corner into my lane. I picked up my walking pace, my ears tuned to the engine behind me.

I zigzagged across another row, and the car sped up and followed. I swallowed, my heart ping-ponging irregularly, and started to run. The driver gassed the engine and came to a stop beside me, blocking my way.

All four doors opened, and I froze in place. Dressed in suits, three men and a woman stepped out.

Miss Kelly James? the woman asked.

Hugging my books to my chest, I gave a jerky nod, unable to do much else.

The woman pulled out a gold badge. Youre under arrest for threatening homeland security and suspected terrorism.

One of the men spun me around and pushed me up against the car. My books scattered on the pavement as he grabbed my arms and pulled them back.

The woman patted her hands down my body. You have the right to remain silent...

Her voice trailed to a faraway mute.

I stared at my clasped hands on the table in front of me. Id chewed my thumbnails down to the quick. I hadnt bitten my fingernails in years, not since I took up lollipops. Speaking of which, I would gladly give a few of my 191 IQ points for a watermelon-flavored one right now.

I peered up at the blurry clock and realized I still wore my reading glasses. Never could remember to take them off. Shoving them on top of my head, I read the time. 9:34.

Id been in this overly warm, white-walled interrogation room with its stale coffee odor for exactly thirty-one minutes. It seemed more like hours.

Only a metal desk and three noncushioned chairs occupied the center of the room. Id seen enough TV to know the wall-length mirror in front of me was two-way.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

And all for a guy. David. A hot guy. But still.

Lifting my head, I stared at my reflection. I looked tired. Worn out. Stressed. All those words popped into my mind as I studied my limp blond ponytail, pale face, and the dark shadows under my eyes.

Were people staring back at me? Talking? Discussing what Id done?

I would tell them what they wanted to know. But no one had asked me any questions. They drove me in silence to the police station, escorted me in, sat me down in this room, and told me theyd be back. That had been thirty-one minutes ago. 9:36.

Correction, thirty-three minutes ago.

My mind shifted to David.

David. David. David. Until moving into the dorm two months ago, I hadnt realized guys existed. Well, I realized, just not realized.

He was popular at East Iowa University: He played baseball, was in a fraternity, and worked in the admissions office.

Not popular enough for me to go to jail for him, though.

His words came back to me as I closed my eyes. Im adopted and my parents are hiding it from me. The way hed said it, his urgency, made me go all mushy and decide to help. Its just... well, hed been so nice to me. Before him, no one had ever taken the time to get to know me.

I found some papers. Letters from a man named Mike Share, saying if anything ever happened to him, the man I know as my father would raise his baby boy. I found an adoption document with a government seal and Top Secret stamped on it. It had my name, my fathers name, and Mike Shares name. When I turned eighteen I did some research, but the State Department told me I wasnt adopted. Somethings going on, and I need to figure it out.