Humans are animals that live in societies. From our daily life to instincts, we have a need to express our observations, experience, ideas and feelings to others. In fact, the more other people understand, the better.

Sometimes, there is no desperate need to express ourselves but an interest in our lives, relationships, feelings, ideas or things that we encounter.

This is why humans dance, sing and most commonly, write.

(Taken from Human Sociology 101)

This was my favorite passage from my favorite textbook in my days at Blackthorne. It was a reminder that I was human, not a killing machine and definitely not a Circle of Cavan member. It got me out of my past alive.

And this is why, at the age of 16, I took the initiative to write a report on my encounters with Cammie Morgan. It was another reminder that I was human.

Cammie's tale has been told to the world long time ago. The CIA has kept one of the copies in their reference library and each day, many agents are still reading it. M16 has made a 500-page deduction of the Circle and psychology behaviors of teenage spies. KGB has taken inspiration from Cammie and used her spy techniques. And I'm sure the Russian mafia is currently trying to use some of the Circle's ideas for kidnapping and hypnotizing.

But like the old saying, 'Each story has two sides.' So I give you my side of the story. This is the report I had written when I was 16.

I think the world is ready now.

Enjoy.

-Z

Blackthorne Mission Report

(Standard protocol)

Operative Zachary Goode

03 26 hours

Blackthorne Training Field

The ditches were cold tonight. I could hear the waterfall, thundering in the distance. I could hear the chirping of crickets, rubbing their feelers in the undergrowth. But most of all, I could hear the rifles. Clacking into place, their long barrels glinting in the moonlight and shifting under arms.

I didn't have one, I had an Armalite 15, 9mm barrel. It was a concealer gun, hidden under my jacket.

I tilted my head and listened to the footsteps. There was no need for comms tonight, I knew exactly where they were. The crunching was getting louder…I could hear the dirt crumbling…closer…I could hear his ragged breathing…closer…closer

"Oomph!"

Headlock.

Flip using momentum.

Elbow to abdomen.

Dodge front kick.

Lash out with heel.

Hit sweet spot right over eye.

Pin him down with roundhouse kick.

Pull out concealed carry gun with right hand.

Shoot.

And I watched the guy's blue eyes grow wide as red liquid exploded on his chest.

"Argh, Zach! Look what you did to my shirt!" Despite that it was freezing, Grant took off his stained top as we jogged back to campus. I swear, the guy can withstand any temperature. It was in January, for crying out loud. "Blasted paint-filled bullets."

I laughed and scooped up a handful of cold ditch water and splashed it at him; "Better not let Devereux catch you without your shirt on. He'll make you do laps until you puke."

Grant snorted, "Right, like that'll ever stop me."

"Zach! You left your comms!" Jonas was waiting for us at the door of the dormitories block. The lucky duck ran the comms center and he only needed to jog for two minutes to get back to our room while we practically had to cross the whole campus. In his hand was a thin wire and he was waving it in front of my face, "You could've gotten us binned!"

I shrugged and climbed up the stairs to our dorm, "I knew where you were. Got Grant pretty well on my own." I smirked at Grant.

"Stop being such a bloody hawk," Grant did the most ridiculous British accent I had ever heard.

"Now, now, I would say that if I were you, Mossad. I can work on my headlock, you know," I laughed.

"Shut it, guys," Jonas shot a dirty look at Grant and rubbed the pinch spot. "We have Devereux again in five hours. Someone better get his Biology essay done by breakfast." He gave me a meaningful look.

I tried to act nonchalant, "He gave me another week. I'm not sweating it."

"You had the whole winter break to do it, Zach. Where were you?" Grant asked, dropping onto his bed and pulled off his muddy boots.

Usually, when your best friend asks you about your whereabouts at Christmas, you'd answer easily. When a trained assassin asks you, you try not to meet his gaze and hope he/she can't tell that you're lying.

I was both so I could simply look Grant in the eye and say, "I was with my mother."

"Gentlemen, what did I teach you?" Professor Devereux snarled, his voice sharp and cold in the morning light. "Last night, your mission was to kill directly and by that, I mean fast."

He paused and surveyed us, "But none of could do it, except for one. I'm very disappointed." I felt his gaze flicker to me but I stayed motionless. He knew nothing and it would stay like that.

"I don't care if you know how to punch a pressure point, I don't care if you know how to break someone's leg and leave them lying there. But they are still alive. They still can have the chance to fight back. Nearly all of you could've been sabotaged because you didn't kill your opponent. Take my advice gentlemen, don't stop until they're dead."

"But, of course, the key to a successful operative about his killer instinct," he continued as a slight breeze picked up, ruffling the rifle range's grassy field. I stiffened. He had called us 'operatives', that was a lie. Everyone here knew that. Blackthorne boys were never operatives- we were assassins. We could never be the good guys. It was a burden to us.

But teachers here liked to pretend. Just what they were trained for. Just what we were trained for.

"Not everyone has the killer instinct. Not everyone has the ability to take a life and live it down. Some people go crazy. They run away, distract themselves or simply…" Devereux made a finger gun, pointed it at his temple and cocked his head.

As if suicide was that simple.

"As I said earlier, only very few of you managed to use the guns you were assigned with according to my orders so let's see if we can…inject this reflex as much as we can to each one of you gentlemen," Devereux gave us a twisted smile and pulled off the tarp that usually covered the targets when we didn't use them.

Seeing what our professor had done to the targets, we knew exactly why he was appointed as our Special Operations teacher. He had replaced the bulls-eye targets with life-sized pictures of people. He started to hand out the guns. When he came by my side, "Good work last night, Zach. I saw you shoot Grant. You were trained, weren't you?" It wasn't a question and I was 99% sure has was about to add 'by your mother' at the end.

I wasn't exactly proud of last night, shooting my best friend, even if it was only paint-bullets, so I mumbled as softly as I could, "Thanks." I took the gun from his hands. It was heavier than the one I used last night. We were using real bullets today, lets hope no one points it in the wrong direction.

"Off you go, gentlemen," Devereux rubbed his hands together. In a softer voice, he added, "This should be interesting." I couldn't help but think that this was meant for me.

Despite the direct order from our professor, 7 Blackthorne boys stood motionlessly on the grass facing the new targets. None of us had fired real bullets before. None of us had shot a person that we didn't know before. None of us knew if we had the killer instinct. And none of us knew if we could still live with the fact we killed someone. It would hit the targets, hard. The shots would be loud, deafening. None of us was confident around real bullets yet.

None of us.

But one.

I let my brain go autopilot and I watched my arms rise up in front of me. My brain had gone fuzzy, like someone had shoved a muffler into my conscience's mouth. I felt like I had cut all ties with the world, with everything.

I was just following my instinct like a hawk. My killer instinct.

And the first gunshot was fired in the crisp morning air.

A hole appeared in the forehead of one of the targets. Then the chest. And in between the eyes.

"Excellent."

I could recognize Dr. Steve's voice anywhere. I had known him ever since I was 8 years old. He was standing right behind me on the rifle range. No, wait, correction. A Circle of Cavan agent was standing behind me. I hated him for what he was a part of. For what I saw him do so many times over the breaks. For what he did to me. For uncovering the so-called killing instinct in me.

"Professor Devereux!" I could almost feel Dr. Steve smiling. I imagined his sickly sweet smile, it was worse than our Special Operation's teacher. My hand started to tremble and I quickly used my other hand to steady it, now holding the gun commando style with both hands. "Mr. Goode seems to excel at this exercise, I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to excuse him for the rest of the lesson?"

I fixed my eyes on the target in front of me, staring at the bullet holes. I took me pretty much all of my whole body strength not to swing the gun around and put a hole between Dr. Steve's eyes. I. Must. Not. Lose. It. In. Front. Of. Dr. Steve.

Devereux walked over and inspected me, "Yes, I suppose so. You may take him, Dr. Sanders."

Dr. Steve let out a half-laugh like he was the most innocent person in the world, "Please, call me Dr. Steve." Then he steered me away from my surprised classmates.

Once we were out of earshot, Dr. Steve leaned close to me and whispered, "Your mother wants to see you."

"Hello sweetheart," Mom greeted me behind her desk without even looking up from her computer screen. "Sit."

"Professor Devereux told me you had exceptional performance last night," she smiled, white flashing behind red lips. Mom had a way of knowing small little things around Blackthorne but I had never seen her anywhere around the campus besides in her office. Her office had nothing in it, not even a single photograph. It told nothing about a person called Catherine Goode. This was a technique drilled into every Blackthorne boy. Don't let anything give away yourself.

"I trained you well over the break," Mom continued. "I think you're ready for something more than that small task in Singapore."

"For what?" the words felt heavy. I could already predict what she was about to say. Join the Circle. Assassinate any possible traitors. Tie up any loose ends.

"Joe can tell you," Mom replied, swiveling her computer screen. She had fixed a video camera at the top of the screen and I supposed Joe Solomon had done the same since I was staring right at him on the screen.

"Hey," I smiled. Joe Solomon was probably the only person in the world I trusted. He was the only person who could help me take down the Circle. And he knew me. Every time I saw him, I would remember the most important thing he had ever said to me.

"Do you like what the Circle's doing, Zach?" Joe asked.

"No," I whispered. Even for a thirteen year old, what my mother was doing was completely inhumane.

"Do you want to end it?" He asked again.

"Yes," I replied firmly.

"Help me end it," he spoke solemnly.

"Sure."

Joe smiled, "We can do this, together, Zach."

"How's school, Zach?" Joe said. This was a cutout. Does anyone know about us? Are you still resisting?

"Fine," I replied. Everything's fine. We can bring them down.

"Good," Joe nodded. Keep going, Zach. It'll be over soon. "Right, Zach. This is a very simple operation. All you need to do is to keep an eye on this girl, Cameron Morgan."

As if on cue, my mother handed me a file. Inside was a stack of papers, clipped to it was a student photo of a girl with dishwater blonde hair. She looked normal, not beautiful but still pretty. She had the kind of face that would slip past your mind without a second thought. It was the face of a pavement artist.

I scanned through the papers. They were records of her in the CIA database. There was something interesting from last year's November, apparently she had sneaked out from school to have a clandestine relationship with a boy. I smirked, this was one interesting girl.

"Keep an eye on her?" I repeated.

"Track her, study her," Joe said. "Know her."

A million questions ran through my head but I didn't ask.

A good operative never questions orders. No matter how ridiculous, no matter how impossible.

"Sure thing," I replied. Then I noticed a small slip of paper at the very back of the file, it read 'keep Cammie safe' in Joe's handwriting. While covertly studying it and wondering about what it meant, I asked, "Just one question. How am I going to do that?"

My mother answered cryptically, "We'll drop you in with the boys."

"We're going to the Gallagher Academy, Zach!" Jonas practically squealed as I walked into the dorm later that day.

I froze in mid-step, "What. Did. You. Say?" Gallagher…that rang a few bells. Warning bells, that is.

"The Gallagher Academy For Gifted Young Women," Jonah recited. He then sat down in front of his computer and opened up a window, his eyes gleaming maniacally. "I did some research on it, I think it's something like ours. Apparently, it has the toughest curriculum in the world."

"Who cares Johnny boy? The most important thing is that it's a girls' school," Grant lay down on his bed and flexed his muscles. "Time to tone up my abs, don't you think?"

"I know what it is," I snapped. Cold fury was starting to build up in my chest. It was the same type of fury whenever I saw Dr. Steve's stupid phony smile. "I don't care."

Grant stopped and raised an eyebrow at me, "What's wrong, bro?"

I hissed in a low voice. "It was my mother's school."

Seven years ago

Virginia circus fair

The girl in front of me was eating cotton candy as her father bent down to pick up something. Mom and I were right behind them, watching the clowns. A few minutes later, Mom squeezed my hand and whispered, "Let's go Zach."

"But I want to watch the clowns," I protested, not wanting to leave the show.

"Later, sweetheart," she was already standing up, pulling on my hand more forcefully.

"It's nearly over," I wanted to say. But I knew that I shouldn't protest against her anymore. I sighed, took one last glance at the trumpet-playing clown and followed my mother out of the Big Top.

"Where are we going?" I asked but my mother wasn't listening. Her eyes were entirely focused on a point, but the edges of her pupils were everywhere, seeing everything. Her grip on me had tightened and she was standing up straight. I knew this look. This was the Catherine Goode operative look. This was her Gallagher Girl stance. This was when my own mother was dangerous.

She started walking quickly but not fast enough to attract attention. Mom pushed her way through the crowd. I tried to follow her the best as I could but she was like a chameleon, she seemed to have disappeared. I opened my mouth to call out but suddenly she was there, squeezing on my shoulders.

"Stay here for a moment, okay? Yell if anyone comes by," she smiled but her eyes were cold and distant. I nodded. I already knew the drill. 'Anyone' meant suspicious people. For instance, police. I leaned against the wall, scuffling my feet like any little boy at the age of eleven would do.

Later, I saw my mother walking closely behind another woman. My mother's arm was around the other lady's waist and I could almost make out the outline of a concealer gun in my mother's sleeve. The woman was expressionless but her eyes were defiant. The two women headed into a narrow alleyway and I slid against the wall to get closer to the alley. I peered around the corner and I knew that I could probably never forget what I saw.

My mother had pinned the other woman against the brick wall, "Tell me. Give it to me."

The other woman shook her head, "The CIA has it already."

"No, not yet," my mother hissed and took out her gun. She tapped it against the other woman's temple. "Whom did you make the dead-letter drop with?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything," the other woman snarled. My mother barely blinked as she fired a bullet quietly into the woman's thigh- a silencer did the trick. She then grabbed both cheeks of the woman's face so she wouldn't scream as red liquid started to pool at their feet.

"Come again, sweetie?"

The woman's eyeballs were already rolling back as she choked out, "Matthew Morgan."

My mother smiled, "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Then she tightened her finger on the trigger again. The bullet made a soft thud as it disappeared into the woman's temple. There wasn't even any blood. My mother then heaved the body into a pile of bulging rubbish bags.

Then she took out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. She lighted all of the cigarettes and sprayed them on the dead body and the trash bags, making them catch fire. She tossed the box to the other side of the alleyway; I noticed that she hadn't left her fingerprints on anything since she was wearing gloves.

If anyone asked, some gang that hadn't bothered to stub out their fags had caused the fire. No one would find a dead body in there.

That was the first time I had seen my mother kill someone.

Later that day

"Mom, where did you go to school?" I asked. My mother had to learn how to kill somewhere right?

Mom turned to me and smiled, "The Gallagher Academy."

"So you learnt everything you know there?"

"Pretty much, honey. Why?" Mom continued to flip through her magazine. She learnt how to kill at Gallagher. Gallagher teaches you how to kill. Gallagher Girls are killers. Like mom. Every single one of them kills. I hated them. They turned my mother into a blood-crazed murderer. I hated my mother.

"Nothing. But where do I go?" I asked quietly.

"Blackthorne Institute," Mom replied.

"Is it like Gallagher, Mom?" I asked again.

"It's a little like that," Mom laughed but my blood ran cold. I was going to be an assassin. Like mom.

"So…they're like us. Assassins?" Grant queried.

"Not sure," Jonah scanned the info on his screen again. "It only mentioned 'finest operatives'. I mean, the teachers call us 'operatives' sometimes, right?"

"The teachers," I said. "Lie."

Grant shrugged, "Look, we get to stay in a posh mansion, flirt with pretty yet smart and maybe dangerous girls so why are you so agitated again, Zach?"

I shook my head, "It doesn't matter."

Estimated destination: Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. Roseville, Virginia

Actual destination: The Mall, Washington D.C.

Time taken to reach destination by helicopter: 4 hours

Time arrived: 13 30

Time estimated to leave: Until Dr. Steve stops rambling on about pointless stuff that we already know again and again and again... (Which was 54 times, last time Operative Goode counted)

"Remember, gentlemen," Dr. Steve said for the fifty-fifth time. "Don't let anything reveal about yourselves." The Blackthorne Burden, as dubbed by me.

"Dr. Steve, can we get onto whatever we're doing here now?" Chester Parker piped up.

"All right, Mr. Parker," Dr. Steve sighed. "There are girls from the Gallagher Academy here. I want you to tail them, find out what their mission is and follow them to their destination. But I warn you, gentlemen. Expect these ladies to be good."

A silence greeted his words.

"No questions? Excellent," Dr. Steve then hopped out of the helicopter and disappeared.

"Cherchez la femme*," Grant smiled lazily as we spotted a group of girls wearing the Gallagher uniform coming out of a van. "Which one do you want, Zach? The one with black hair- ooh, I know- the one with the cute butt? No, wait! The blonde has an angel face. She looks good next to you."

"Blonde?" I perked my head up and sure enough, Cameron Morgan was the blonde with the angel face in the middle of her classmates.

"You know what? You'll get Blondie and I'll have her friend," Grant jerked his chin at a rather muscular girl standing next to Cameron. Rebecca Baxter. I remembered the name from the file. And I knew about the Baxters.

"She's British," I said automatically. Then I wanted to punch myself for revealing too much.

Grant shot me an odd look, "How do you know she's a Brit?"

"Her eyes are green," I said, trying to make my voice sound 'know-it-all'-ly. "British people usually have that color eyes because of the less sunlight in Europe. And most of her stuff are from Harrods."

"Who cares how they look like?" Jonas grumbled. He had been silent the whole time Grant was picking out girls. "Just focus on our mission." He then very covertly slipped an earpiece into my trench coat pocket. Comms, he mouthed.

"Thank you, genius," I said sarcastically. I enclosed my hand around it then I pretended to run my hand through my hair and swiftly fitting the comms unit in my ear.

"Mossad to Hawk. Mossad to Hawk. Come in, Hawk," Grant's voice was much louder in my ear now.

"Yes, Mossad. I read you loud and clear," I sighed, Grant was standing right next to me.

"What's the plan, guys?" Jonas whispered excitedly, bouncing on the cold bench that we were sitting on.

"Mossad, Libris, keep eyeball and visual on Blondie and the Brit, I'll be back-up. Rendezvous in two and a half hours," I commanded. I felt much confident now, slipping into my cover. I was just an ordinary teenage guy, walking around The Mall in Washington D.C. Simple. Easy.

"Copy that," murmured Jonah as he set off into the crowd while Grant pulled on a red baseball cap and strayed a few feet in front of me.

I smiled. Now, a normal guy in D.C. during January would go to the nearest Starbucks to get a steaming mocha and maybe some M and Ms to keep his strength up. ('A good operative knows how important keeping warm is and the sugar level in his body high enough to be able to go into combat at a moment's notice. Especially in cold weather.' Direct quote from Covert Performances in Extreme Conditions) I plunged my hand into my pocket and felt a fifty-dollar bill in there.

Mocha and chocolate it is.

"This is too easy," Grant laughed easily as we gathered again at the park bench, with Jonas a little way behind us. "No action, no nothing. I don't think they even spotted us yet."

"That's rich coming from someone who switched shirts twice in half an hour," Jonah snorted in to his comms.

Grant shrugged, "Didn't you see them in front of the National Museum? They stopped in mid-stride and spun around like ballerinas! They were bloody obvious."

"Okay, we'll rotate," I said, ignoring Grant's ridiculous comment. "Grant and I will get eyeball and visual. Jonas, you're back-up."

Jonas started to nod but froze and whispered, "They're looking." I glanced at the closest piece of glass (which was the Marks and Spencer display window) and I could see the reflection of Rebecca Baxter and Cameron Morgan looking at us. The Baxter girl was spinning around, flinging her arms wide open and I saw Grant flashing his flirting smile at her.

"Act natural!" Grant muttered at Jonas who was currently impersonating a moonstruck squirrel. I immediately tried to diffuse the tension by forcing out laughter and flashing a grin at the nearest female (who was not a Gallagher Girl, that is).

"Alright, guys. Cool it," I nodded at Grant. "Let's go."

"They are so following us," an unfamiliar voice squealed. I mentally rolled my eyes. Cameron Morgan and the Brit had to camouflage themselves by slipping in a group of normal civilian girls. Normal civilian girls who loved to drool on eye-candy, namely Grant and I.

Observation #1: The Subject thinks blending in with similar uniform will throw the Operatives off their trail. Please, don't take us for idiots.

"Hawk, Mossad, where are you?" Jonas asked in my ear.

"Escalators down to the Metro," Grant replied crisply, leaning against the handrails.

"Argh, Mossad. That just complicates everything," Jonas complained. "Moving surveillance is torture." I rolled my eyes again at Jonas' whining. As far as I was concerned, Blackthorne Boys do not whine.

"Let's run and get it!" a British-accented voice cut through the air as people gave a mad dash onto the train.

"Mossad, get on!" I quickly said into my comms unit and immediately jumped out of the way of the crowd.

"What about you?" Grant asked as he squeezed into the train compartment.

"I'm staying put," I replied before Grant went silent as the train went into the tunnel. There was a bench in the station and I sat down, looking exactly like a teenage boy waiting for the next train and looking at the advertisements through the glass.

But I saw a highly trained operative studying two girls standing in the shadows below the escalators. After five minutes, one of the girls left the other and went up the escalators.

"Libris," I said into my comms. "Position?"

"Right outside the Metro station," Jonas replied.

"I've got eyeball on the Brit, she's coming up from the escalators, tail her," I then got up and started to walk towards the lifts.

"I thought you and Mossad took the train," Jonas said.

I smiled, "No teenage girl hangs out at the mall for half a day and only leaves during rush hour. I'd leave way before that."

"You're good, Hawk," Jonas laughed. "Okay, I've got eyeball."

"Me too," I muttered and my hand shot out to press the elevator button.

Right before Cameron Morgan's hand touched it.

"Hey," I did the half-nod thing all typical cute/flirty American teenage boys did.

"Hi," Cameron Morgan replied shortly, pressing the button again.

Observation #2: The Subject seems like she is in a hurry.

I didn't talk when the elevator came. I positioned myself at the back of the elevator, leaning on the railings. By standing slightly behind her, I could observe Cameron Morgan easier than any other angle.

She had chocolate brown eyes and she had a small dimple on her right cheek. She looked too innocent for a killer but a good operative knows that looks are deceiving. Maybe she'd pull out a holster in a split second and I'd have a chance to show her what I thought of her school turning my mother into a killer.

"So," I started, pointing at the crest on her coat. "The Guggenheim Academy." I purposely said the name wrongly despite that I knew exactly how to pronounce correctly (as well with 12 different accents).

"Gallagher Academy," she corrected.

"I've never heard of it," I replied. Correction, I've heard of it, and not to mention, despised it ever since I saw my mother kill someone.

"Well, it's my school," she looked off to the side, as if to say, you'd never hear of a girls' school for killers, right?

"You in a hurry or something?" I said. In a hurry to kill an innocent man in the middle of D.C? I sneered in my head.

"Actually, I'm supposed to meet my teacher at the ruby slipper exhibit. I've only got twenty minutes, and if I'm late, he'll kill me." Not unless you kill him first.

She was lying, I noted. She wasn't wearing a watch and yet she knew the exact time, "How do you know?"

"Because he said, 'meet me at the ruby slipper exhibit.'" Cameron Morgan replied. I paused for a moment, pondering if she was lying about her destination.

Observation #3: The Subject is ridiculously straightforward and blunt.

"No," I almost laughed out loud and shook my head. "How do you know you only have twenty minutes? You're not wearing a watch." It was hard to not add, I thought girl killers were better than this.

"My friend just told me," she answered a little too quickly while her right hand rubbed her left wrist. Correction, I thought. The last time you saw your British friend was almost seven minutes ago.

"You fidget a lot," I said again. She had tugged on her sleeves for five times and brushed her fingers through her hair twice in our thirty-second elevator ride. Low blood sugar? I guessed.

"I'm sorry." Sure you're not, a Jonas-like voice snorted in my head.

"I have low blood sugar." Ha, I knew it. Serves you right for not buying something to eat in weather as cold as this.

"I need to eat something." Goodness me, did she ever read Covert Performances in Extreme Conditions? She was a pathetic excuse for an assassin. That was good in some sense- she'd get binned before she could ever tighten the finger on the trigger. She wouldn't have to be like Mom.

Because of the fact the probably she wouldn't be an assassin (and out of the goodness of my heart), I scooped out the half eaten bag of M and Ms I had bought earlier, "Here. I ate most of them already." Then I regretted not coating the candy in rat poison.

"Oh…um… That's okay. Thanks though." Smart girl. Looks like I didn't need the rat poison after all.

"Oh, okay," I slid the chocolate back into my pocket. More blood sugar for me then.

"Thanks for the candy," and she strode out of the elevator once the doors slid open and I causally followed her out.

"Where are you going?" She spun on her heels, brown eyes flashing.

"I thought we were going to meet your teacher in the wonderful world of Oz," I joked. Let's see if girl killers have a sense of humor because my mother clearly doesn't.

"We?" Oh, no, Cameron Morgan. 'We' as in Grant, Jonas, your British Baxter friend and that fountain over there.

"Sure, I'm going with you."

"No, you're not."

"Look," I took out the 'normal American civilian boy' card. "It's dark. You're by yourself. And this is D.C." I gestured around to emphasize my point. "And you've only got," thirteen minutes and thirty seconds. But I didn't say that, "Fifteen minutes to meet your teacher."

"Fine," she said grudgingly. I smirked. Like Grant said, this was too easy.

"You can really walk fast," I said cheerily. "So, do you have a name?" Innocent question. Do I expect an innocent answer?

"Sure. Lots of them."

No, I do not. So I smiled. She is so like Mom.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, genuinely curious. I doubted girl killers could keep boyfriends. I mean, where's my dad? Mom probably scared him off.

"Look, thanks for the chivalry and all but this isn't necessary," she said. Her tone seemed to say, I could take care of myself perfectly well, you know. I could kill you with my bag. Of course, you'd be able to kill me with your backpack. 20 bucks says that you have a concealer in your coat. Heck, even I'm not that evil.

Observation #4: The Subject likes to work alone.

"It's just up here," she tilted her head to look at the entrance sign for the Museum of American History. Ah, so she was telling the truth about the Ruby Slippers exhibit.

"And there's a cop over there," she jerked her chin to her left. I wanted to scoff. The cop in question was an old man and had a limp so I was pretty sure my granny could run faster than he could (if I had a grandmother, that is).

"What? You think that guy could do a better job at protecting you than I can?"

"No, I think if you don't leave me alone, I could scream and that cop will arrest you." So she had a sense of humor after all. Yep, she had killer humor. Get it? Killer humor.

Anyways, the girl radar thing in me told me that I should back off or she'd get suspicious. I nodded, took a step back and smiled because my spy radar told me that I was 98% finished with my mission.

"Hey," she called, as she was about to walk through the doors. "Thanks anyways." I nodded again. No, thank YOU because I have successfully achieved my mission objective.

While she grabbed a brochure off the help desk, I wasted no time as I rushed up the stairs to the ruby slippers exhibit. Usually, I would've flipped my trench around to change my appearance for a bit but Cameron was already five seconds to the deadline. She probably thought no one could tail her in five seconds. Unless they had already been tailing her first, that is. Like me.

When I got to the third floor, I saw Joe standing five feet away from the slippers in the shadows. He caught my eye and I mouthed 'Cameron Morgan' to him. He nodded and mouthed back 'wait'.

Two seconds later, Cameron appeared and Joe said to her, "You're four seconds late."

"But I'm alone," she replied.

"No, Ms. Morgan. You're not."

I took that as my cue to walk up to her, smile and say, "Hi again, Gallagher Girl."

"Nice work, Zach," Joe winked at me. But Cameron was glaring daggers at me and the phrase 'if looks could kill' popped into my head. And since she was a Gallagher Girl, I was pretty sure she could kill me. Like mom.

"Hi, Blackthorne Boy," Cameron said coldly. I froze and let my mouth fall slightly open (which is not very attractive, now I look back on it), how did she know? That sort of information was classified.

"Very good, Ms. Morgan," Joe was almost chuckling. "But not good enough." I openly smirked, Joe could say that again. For a horrible killer, Cameron Morgan had a lot to learn.

Cameron paused for a moment and a mixture of emotions crossed her face. Shock, anger, confusion… I smirked again.

Okay, I admit it. I had used her, flirted with her, acted all knight in shining armor for her but in the end, I had bested her. Yep, Zachary Goode had bested the so-called Gallagher Girl. Some 'finely trained operative' she was.

"Your mission was…what?" her voice was strained. Trying to keep it from screaming, I suppose. "To keep us from achieving our mission?"

I cocked my head, "Something like that." She finally understood my present existence. I smirked and gave a half-laugh at her naïve-ness (well, as naïve you can get for a female killer). "I thought I could just make you late for your meeting. I didn't think you'd actually tell me where it is and walk me halfway there."

Then a large group of tourists wandered into the exhibit. I immediately could spot a tiny gap between the mass of bodies and I slipped into the crowd. At the corner of my eye, I could see Joe putting an arm around Cameron's shoulders and guiding her in the opposite direction.

Before they exited the room, I could've sworn she looked back towards me but I had already walked away.

"And so the girl fell into the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. That was a sad thing, her hair looked quite nice," Chester laughed as we settled back in our helicopter. "It was interesting to meet them."

"Interesting, my ass," Grant grumbled. "Zach told me to be a decoy for the two girls. I think I went at least halfway to Brooklyn."

I shrugged, "At least you got to tail your Brit for the whole day."

"I suppose," Grant huffed.

"So do you think they're killers?" Jonah was obviously not into the mission.

"Nah, they look too…easy," Chester said. "Too innocent to have any killer instinct." He spat out the last two words like Professor Devereux did.

"Don't underestimate the ladies," Dr. Steve said softly from the pilot seat. I could already feel his gaze flickering towards me. I knew for a fact that he was thinking the same thing, as I was, Mom.

* Literal meaning: Look for the woman.

07 53 hours

Gallagher Academy Grand Hall

Day 1 of Gallagher/Blackthorne Exchange Program

Like any other human being, I enjoy attention. For a teenage boy, it's only normal that you'd like to have a girl's attention on you. Now times that by a hundred and you'll get the feeling as I walked into the Gallagher Academy's Grand Hall next morning.

I heard forks dropping and I could see heads turning to look at the fifteen boys from Blackthorne Institute entered the room just as the headmistress said, "For more than a hundred years, this institution has remained secluded, but yesterday, some of your classmates were able to meet another set of exceptional students from another exceptional institution."

I smirked and scanned the room, trying not to wrinkle my nose at the fact that this was where my mother had turned into a killer. I spotted Cameron Morgan sitting in the midst of them with Rebecca Baxter by her side with a face that I recognized from the newspapers, Macey McHenry, the senator's daughter. I almost laughed at the irony of it- the senator's daughter training to be a murderer. It would be an outrage if anyone knew.

"Members of the Gallagher trustees, along with the board of directors from the Blackthorne Institute, have long thought that our students would have a lot to learn from each other," Headmistress Morgan smiled at us. I tried not to recoil from her gaze. She was one of the reasons why this wretched place hadn't closed down like it should. And yet she was a mother to a Gallagher Girl. Like mother, like daughter. "And this year, we're going to see that happen."

"When Gillian Gallagher," the murderer who started it all, I growled in my head, "was a girl, this hall had been home to balls and cotillions, friends and family, but it hasn't had many guests in the last century. I'm so glad today is an exception."

Then I noticed Dr. Steve was really exaggerating the 'guests' thing. He was actually shaking hands and waving at the students. I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

As if Dr. Steven Sanders was ever as nice like that.

"It is my pleasure to introduce Dr. Steven Sanders. Dr. Sanders…" the headmistress trailed off as Dr. Steve went up to the podium and tilted the microphone to him and said, "Dr. Steve."

"Excuse me?" the headmistress asked.

"Call me Dr. Steve," he said with a punch at the air.

"Of course," the headmistress told him and turned to face the student body. "Dr. Steve and his students will be spending the remainder of the semester with us." As soon as she finished her sentence, a low whisper rippled through the crowd.

"They will be attending you classes, eating with you at meals. Ladies, this is a wonderful opportunity and I hope you will use this time to forge bonds of friendship that you can carry throughout your lives."

I smiled at her words, as if any of them would like to socialize with the son of Catherine Goode. Then I automatically glanced at Cameron Morgan. She was staring at me, her face expressionless as a girl leaned close to her ear and reading her lips, she said, 'I wouldn't mind being bonded to him.'

Blackthorne boys are supposed to be smooth, suave and traceless. We aren't supposed to look like assassins. We can't reveal anything about where Blackthorne is located. We couldn't show anyone our burden.

So that's why Dr. Steve gave us all brand new uniforms once we stepped inside the Gallagher Academy and personally checked our dorms for any traces of notes on the covert uses of M16 rifles.

And of course, Jonas Rodney had to play up the totally not suave, socially awkward high school boy act. The paranoid worrywart.

"Um…I'm Jonas," he shifted from foot to foot as Dr. Steve pushed him to the front of the class of girls to introduce himself. He pulled nervously on his tie like it was a lever to teleport him to the other side of the planet. "I'm sixteen. I'm a sophomore-"

"Thus your enrollment in this class," the Countries of the World teacher said drily. "Welcome, Jonas. Please have a seat."

"Excellent job, Jonas," Dr. Steve said and the teacher started to hand out sheets of papers. "Excellent job. Now, Jonas here is on the research track of study." Correction. Jonas had the counter-surveillance skills of Grant. "I don't suppose any of you young ladies could show Jonas around?"

"Humph!" a rather tiny girl sitting at the first aisle made a sound, probably due to the fact that Rebecca Baxter had kicked her chair.

But Dr. Steve didn't notice any of that and said, "Excellent. Jonas, you can spend the day with Ms. …"

"Sutton, Liz Sutton," the girl said.

"Excellent," Dr. Steve said again. "Now, Grant, if you would-"

"I'm Grant," Grant said confidently as he recognized Rebecca Baxter from yesterday and slid into the seat beside her.

I spotted Cameron Morgan sitting at the last aisle of the room. I didn't wait for Dr. Steve to ask me and I immediately took the empty seat beside her, behind Grant.

"I'm Zach and I think I've found my guide."

"Excellent."

"So, we meet again," I said in a slow drawl once class was over. I didn't wait for an answer as I looked around like a curious tourist would. "So this is the famous Gallagher Academy." So this was where my mother grew up. So this was where my mother turned into a murderer.

"Yes," she was surprisingly polite to me, despite what I did to her yesterday. "This is the second-floor corridor. Most of our classes are down this hall." I already knew that. Thanks to mother.

Observation #5: The Subject is apparently either very well or poorly trained for being able to stay cool-slash-polite in the Operative's presence.

"And you're…the famous Cammie Morgan," every girl liked flattery, right? And I was a man on a mission. It would be nice to make everything easier.

She blinked, surprised that I knew her name. Then after a while, she mumbled, "Come on. Culture and Assimilation is on the fourth floor." Wait, female killers learnt culture? Where was the 'Fastest Way to Put a Bullet Through Your Temple' class? Didn't they learn how to kill here?

"Whoa," I stopped suddenly (for effect, that is). "Did you just say you're taking me to culture class?" I could feel a mocking smile spreading across my face, hiding my surprise.

"Yes."

"Boy, when they say you've got the toughest curriculum in the world…they mean it." So they weren't like me. At all. They had culture class!

"Culture and Assimilation has been a part of the Gallagher curriculum for more than a hundred years, Zach," she said through gritted teeth and had a look in her eyes that seemed like she wanted to shove me down the stairs.

We turned down a corridor as she said, "A Gallagher Girl can blend into any culture- any environment." I smirked. Easy to say for a pavement artist. "Assimilation isn't a matter of social graces. It's a matter of life and death." I chuckled as she said it.

Observation #6: The Subject is incredibly dramatic. Fortunately, Operative Goode is incredibly dynamic.

Suddenly, we heard notes of Beethoven floating down the hall and a rather old and fragile lady said, "Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will be studying the art of…the dance!" I arched an eyebrow. So Gallagher Girls had dance class instead of learning how to use rifles. Interesting.

"I have been saving this very special class for the arrival of our very special guests." I couldn't let this opportunity pass so I whispered in Cameron Morgan's ear, "Did you hear that? I'm special."

"That's a matter of-," she started to say reproachfully but the old lady cut in and said, "Oh, Cameron dear, would you and your friend like to demonstrate for the rest of the class?" Then Cameron looked like she wanted to die at that instant. I decided that I liked this Madame Dabney woman.

As we were lead to the middle of the tea room, Madame Dabney said to me, "You much be Zachary Goode." I searched her eyes for any flash of recognition. Any sign she knew my mother. But she must've been a very skilled old lady because she could tell me nothing.

"Welcome to the Gallagher Academy. Now, I must ask that you place your right hand firmly in the center of Cameron's lower back." I smiled rather cockily as I put my arm around her waist, enjoying the dreading look on Cameron's face.

"Okay, now. Everyone find a partner," Madame Dabney instructed. "Yes, girls, some of you will have to take turns being the boy." And she reminded me of Professor Devereux when he said 'Yes, boys, some of you will have to take turns being the girl in this seducing exercise.'

I patiently watched Jonas step on Liz's foot the same time she stepped on his. I smiled- they looked adorable together. A pair of awkward little turtles. Remind me to get their wedding invitation.

But Cameron wasn't looking at her friends She was glaring sightlessly into my chest and I knew she was thinking of yesterday. When Madame Dabney asked her to put her hand in mine's, she held on like a death grip.

"What's the matter, Gallagher Girl?" I asked. "You're not actually mad about yesterday, are you?"

She didn't answer and continued to stare straight forward (I was pretty sure she wasn't admiring my toned chest). I smiled- she looked so cute when she was silently fuming. She did that little pouty thing girls did and she had a dent between her eyebrows.

"It was a cover, Gallagher Girl. An op," I wondered if I was mean enough to say it, "Maybe you're familiar with the concept?" Yes, I was that mean.

And with a stroke of pure luck, Madame Dabney chose that exact moment to push us closer together to start dancing, "Hold your partners tightly." And Cameron looked like she wanted to bolt.

Observation #7: The Subject is uncomfortable with close proximity of the Operative. This is hilarious.

I really do like old little ladies in tea rooms now.

07 33 hours

Gallagher Academy Grand Hall

Day 7 of Gallagher/Blackthorne Exchange Program

"How is she?"

"Normal," I replied.

Joe turned to look at Cameron Morgan at the breakfast table, "You know what I mean. Your opinion, Zach?"

"She reminds me of Mom," I said softly.

"She looks like Catherine, I know. But she's different."

I scoffed and followed Joe's gaze. Cameron was talking with her friend, Tina Walters, who you should, under no circumstance, believe a single word she says. They were both staring at the sterling-silver orange juice pitcher and I was sure that they weren't just checking up on their make up.

"Not all Gallagher Girls turn out like Catherine, Zach. It's time to let go of this hatred."

"I don't hate Gallagher," I lied.

"I've spent 18 years in the field, Zach. I know hate what I see it," Joe glanced at me. "They aren't assassins, Zach. They aren't-" Joe swallowed. "Like us. They're sisters, they're only ordinary girls. Just smarter and stronger."

I didn't answer.

"I'm taking the class out to town for an op today," Joe said when he noticed my ignorance. "Partner up with Cammie and you'll see."

"What? Am I supposed to get all friendly with her today?" sarcasm was a powerful weapon.

"No. I'm just asking you to suspend judgment."

"Today's about the basics, ladies and gentlemen," Joe said, twisting around to talk to the class at the back of the van. "I want to see you move; see you work together. Pay attention to your surroundings, and remember- half of your success in this business comes from looking like you belong, so today your cover is that you're a bunch of private-school students enjoying a trip to town." Been there, done that.

"What are we really?" a familiar, slightly British-accented voice piped up.

"A bunch of spies," Joe paused for a while and I could see him flip a quarter into the air in the back view mirror in the van. "Playing tag."

"Brush pass, Ms. Baxter," Joe asked. "Define it?"

"The act of covertly passing an object between two agents." Seventh grade, second semester break, a training op in New York with Mom and Dr. Steve. That was the kind of intensive training the Circle had given me.

"Correct," Joe said and I could feel Cameron's eyes flicker towards me. "The little things can get away from you, ladies and gentlemen. The little things matter."

"So right you are," Dr. Steve chimed in. "As I was telling Headmistress Morgan just this-" I exhaled sharply in frustration. The man should learn how to shut up.

"It's you and the street today," Joe continued like he hadn't heard Dr. Steve speak at all. I admire his ignorance. "Today's test might be low-tech, but this is trade craft at its most essential."

And he pulled out a small box from beneath his seat. It was a cache of comms units and tiny cameras that were concealed within pins and earrings, tie clips and silver cross necklaces.

"Watch. Listen. Remember to communicate. Observe," Joe said as he passed to box around. "Pair off. Blend in, and remember, we'll be watching."

Before I got out of the van, I heard Joe say, "Oh no, Ms. Morgan. I believe you already have a partner."

Observation #8: The Subject seems unnaturally uncomfortable. The Operative is confused if this strange behavior is related to the temperature of negative one degree Celsius or the stress of the operation Operative Solomon has given her. Or maybe it's just close proximity with Operative Goode again.

"Come on, Gallagher Girl," I headed for the square. "This should be fun." I sat down on the steps of the gazebo in the middle of the square. Then I memorized the position of the shops around us.

Movie theatre and Abrams and Son Pharmacy behind us.

Anderson's Accessories on the west.

Dunkin' Donuts on the east.

And south was…Cameron. Staring straight behind me. I had seen enough romance movies to see the hurt in her eyes.

Observation #9: The Subject seems greatly disturbed by the presence of the pharmacy behind the Operative.

And I remembered the clandestine boyfriend she had. Josh Abrams. I guessed she would've come down here often to meet him.

"So, come here often?" I couldn't resist.

"I used to, but then the deputy director of the CIA made me promise to stop." She probably wasn't kidding.

I let out a half-laugh and looked up at her. Her gaze was back on me, happier now. That's better.

"Okay, Ms. Walters, you're it," Joe was speaking in my ear. "Be aware of your casual observers and let's make those passes quick and clean."

Tina and Eva walked past each other on the south side of the square. I didn't need to see their hands touch to hear Joe say, "Well done."

I tilted my head back, closed my eyes and felt the weak sunlight warm my face. Blackthorne didn't have much sunlight. I better enjoy it while I can. And, of course, count the windows on the gazebo. Just for a precaution.

"So what about you?" Cameron asked. "Exactly where does the Blackthorn Institute call home?" She had a quirky smirk on her face, like how Mom looked like when she was interrogating someone. Just more…innocent. I liked that quirky smirk on Cameron's face.

"Oh," I cocked an eyebrow. Remember the Blackthorne burden, Zach. "That's classified."

"So you can sleep inside the walls of my school, but I can't even know where yours is?"

I remembered how little she knew about my world and laughed. She'd never understand. "Trust me, Gallagher Girl, you wouldn't want to sleep in my school."

Before Cameron could say anything, Joe fired another instruction into our ears, "Two men are playing chess in the southwest corner of the square. How many moves from checkmate is the man in the green cap, Ms. Baxter?"

"Six," Rebecca replied immediately, her eyes barely leaving Grants'. I smirked. I doubted she would like to even be next to Grant if she knew what he was.

"What do you mean? Why can't you tell me?" Cameron demanded.

Observation #10: The Subject's curiosity is overwhelming. Or maybe it's just because she's a spy. Not a very good one, though. Spies need to know that they're better off not knowing anything…classified.

"Just trust me, Gallagher Girl," then another question popped into my head. A question that nobody could answer me. "Can you trust me?" I paused at my own words, still staring into her brown eyes. No one could trust me. No one could trust spies. And definitely not assassins-slash-Circle members.

"Ms. Morrison, you just passed three parked cars on Main Street. What were their tag numbers?" Joe's voice cut into my thoughts but I was still looking into Cameron's eyes. Catherine's eyes. They were exactly like Mother's. They had seen the same thing as Mother when she was her age. How did Mom's eyes get so cold, so evil? Yet Cameron's eyes were warm. Hot chocolate warm. I liked her eyes.

"There was an ATM behind you, Ms. Alvarez. ATMs equal cameras. Tighten it up, ladies."

"Solomon's good." I said automatically.

"Yeah, he is."

"They say you're good, too." The CIA, that is. And this time, the flattery was sincere. I looked into Cameron's eyes again and registered surprise in the brown depths. I smiled.

"Okay, Zach," I heard Joe say. "Without turning around, tell me how many windows over look the square from the west side."

I had already counted. "Fourteen."

To Cameron, I said, "They say you're a real pavement artist." I knew that from the first time I saw your picture.

I leaned back on the steps again, "You know, it's probably a good thing we got to trail you in D.C. If you'd been following me, I probably never would have seen you." I steeled myself for a moment. How did a girl like Cammie take praise like this? Spies never got compliments. Their work was never noticed. And they liked it that way.

Observation #11: The Operative thinks that the Subject does not take praise that well since she turned around and walked away. Then the Operative felt like kicking himself in the head.

"Nice pass, Ms. Baxter," Joe's voice sounded in my ear. I snapped my head up and focused on Cammie. She was my partner after all.

She turned down a side street on the far side, passing the pharmacy. I saw movement in the shop and I knew Cammie was making a big mistake. The biggest mistake any person who has been in a relationship could ever make.

She saw him.

And he saw her.

"Cammie, is that you?" His voice sounded so immature. And Cammie stopped in mid-step. She was staring at Josh. Her face didn't show a single emotion but I could see it in her eyes. It was the look of a deer caught in headlights. And she made the biggest mistake any covert operative could ever make- she froze on the field.

"Hi, Josh," I heard her voice through the comms unit. I glanced around; nearly every Gallagher Girl was sneaking glances at the pair. Clearly, this clandestine relationship wasn't clandestine anymore.

"Oh, it's a…school thing," Cammie replied.

Observation #12: The Subject is clinging to her cover. Desperately. And she is about to lose it.

"So, how have you been?" she asked.

"Okay. How about you?"

"Okay." I could literally feel the lie.

"So we're both okay," Josh (who from this moment I shall dub as Jimmy because of his stupid baby-like face) forced a smile. "Good for us."

The Zach Goode radar senses an awkward moment. Time to fly to the rescue. I stood up casually from the gazebo and started to inch towards the two, planning on how I should perform my 'knight in shining armor' moment.

"Josh." I immediately stiffened. Another voice, another girl. A girly girl who liked pink. She looked like walking cotton candy when she came out of the pharmacy's side door. "Josh, your dad said he could…" She spotted Cammie and trailed off. So they knew each other. I'm not sure if the Zach in shining armor package covered catfights.

The Operative wants to make it out of this with as little claw marks as possible.

"Oh my gosh, Cammie! It's great to see you!" I raised an eyebrow. Was this sarcasm? Or was this genuine? Then Pink Lady hugged Cammie. I'm guessing it's genuine.

"Hi, DeeDee,"Cammie said. I was well trained enough to know when someone's faking a smile. "It's really…good…to see you to."

Observation #13: The Subject does not lie beautifully. That's just sad.

At the corner of my eye, I saw Cammie studying DeeDee and Jimmy. I could see exactly what she was seeing- they tried not to look at each other. But obvious panic showed that they were more than friends now.

Then Joe Solomon's order came at the worst time ever, "Okay, Ms. Morgan, let's see you hand off." But Cammie didn't react. She must either be very highly trained or she was too caught up in her thoughts between Jims and Pink Lady.

Observation #14: The Subject is either very highly trained or she's too caught up in her thoughts regarding Jimmy and Pink Lady.

"We're…I mean…I'm…" DeeDee stammered. "I'm on the committee for the spring fling- it's a dance…and you know…kind of a big deal. And Josh is helping me get the businesses to donate door prizes and stuff. For the fling. Next Friday night. And-"

The moment couldn't get any more awkward (and not to mention, the quarter was still in Cammie's gloved hand. Hey, we had a mission to bring home, remember?).

So I strolled over and cut in, "Cammie, there you are." I remembered to look at Jimmy and DeeDee like it was the first time I had ever seen them in my life. Then I turned my gaze back to Cammie. "I was wondering where you'd disappear to." I stretched out my hand to them, "I'm Zach."

After that, many things happened at once. DeeDee gave me a jack o' lantern smile. Jims frowned and made that really, really confused and retarded face when you're doing Advanced Chemistry homework (It was the face that I don't do, thank you very much).

And Cammie, being the Gallagher Girl who was trained by Madame Dabney for the past four years, said, "Zach, this is DeeDee. And Josh. They're…" She trailed off. They were, obviously, impossible to classify.

"We're friends of Cammie," DeeDee finished for Cammie.

"Zach and I…" Cammie started to say. I almost frowned, she wasn't supposed to act like this. All her training was slowly slipping away, she was on the verge of letting out something important. In other words, the spy part of her mind was frosting over.

So, to keep the secret of her sisterhood safe, I said, "I go to school with Cammie."

"Really?" DeeDee asked. "I thought it was a girls' school?"

"Actually, my school's doing an exchange with Gallagher this semester," I smiled and slipped my hand into Cammie's.

Observation #15: The Operative cannot ignore the fact that the Subject's hands, although gloved, were warm and soft.

Nothing like Mom's. Her hand wasn't commanding or jerking me away sharply. It was…nice. And I liked it.

While I could've stood there and held Cammie's hand for the whole week, I carefully tipped our joined hands so the back of her hand was facing upwards and the quarter easily fell into my palm.

"Oh, that's really great!" DeeDee beamed. But I had kicked enough guys to know that Jimmy was hurting where it hurts most when he looked at us. Not physically though.

"Cam, the van's leaving in ten," it wasn't completely a lie. I nodded at Jims and DeeDee, "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," DeeDee replied but Jimmy said nothing, he was glaring now.

As I walked past the dry cleaners, I heard the rest of their conversation through Cammie's comms.

"Oh…well…I'll let you get back to your party plans," Cammie said and she started to turn away.

"You could come," Jimmy said abruptly. "Next Friday. You know, the whole town's going to be there. You could come if you want." I rolled my eyes. Jimmy Abrams was officially the most pathetic teenage guy on Earth. No wonder he and Cammie didn't make it.

"And bring Zach," DeeDee said. And I didn't need to turn my back to know that Jim winced.

"That sounds like fun." I smiled. The Cameron Morgan I knew was back- she was, once again, The Girl Who Lies.

"Verdict?" Joe asked at dinner.

I thoughtfully scooped a spoonful of crème brulee, "Not Mom."

"I told you so," Joe still hadn't lost his Blackthorne arrogance. "You should find her more in her free time to get this mission done. After dinner, perhaps?"

I snorted, "The mansion's huge, where am I supposed to look for Cammie?"

Joe raised an eyebrow, "Since when do you call her Cammie?"

"No idea."

He smiled knowingly, "Le coeur a ses raisons que la raisons ne connaît point."

"Don't change the subject," I growled.

"Fine, fine. It's all very simple- who is she?"

"Gallagher Girl, sister of Gillian Gallagher," I replied.

"That's right. Find her family and you can find her," Joe nonchalantly finished up his dessert.

Observation #16: The Subject is a very sentimental and down to earth person since the Operative found her next to a tapestry of the Gallagher family tree.

She was gazing longingly at it.

No, it couldn't be just family belonging that brought her here.

The tapestry, it's curving backwards in the draft.

There's something behind it, not solid wall, that is.

Ah, yes. It's a secret passageway.

Cammie wants to go inside but what's holding her back?

Oh, right. Jimmy-visits.

So behind the tapestry is a secret passageway into Roseville, Virginia and Cammie used it quite often until her relationship had been uncovered.

Behold my great and mighty deduction skills.

I stepped closer but Cammie didn't move at all. I doubted that she even heard me at all.

"You know, I don't think I ever got the rest of my tour," I said. "So what do you say? Is this when I get my Cammie Morgan no-passageway-too-secret, no-wall-too-high tour?" I walked past her, hooked a finger behind the tapestry and peeked behind it. Theory confirmed. There was space behind it.

I savored the look of surprise on her face. "How do you know about…"

I pointed to myself and said, "Spy." slash assassin. I tilted my head to the side and leaned one shoulder. A small part of my mind reminded me that this was signature body language that I was genuinely engaged in this conversation and was feeling…playful. Or it could mean that I was challenging her.

Both reasons were favorable.

"So," I said when she didn't answer. "That was Jimmy?"

"Josh," she corrected.

Observation #17: The Subject is still defensive of her ex. It was possible that she still had feelings for him. She needs to learn how to move on.

"Whatever," I certainly didn't care about his details. I smirked, "He's a cutie." I amuse myself sometimes.

Cammie wasn't feeling that amused. She rolled her eyes and said, "What do you want, Zach? If you came to make fun, go ahead. Mock away."

This was another Catherine Goode moment. So sarcastic and so challenging. It was hard to keep the smiled off my face, "Gee, you know, I would…but you just took the fun out of it."

"Sorry." I was confused. This was another side of Cammie Morgan. Defensive, hard, cold… I didn't like it.

She tried to sidestep me but I blocked her way, "Hey. Why'd you freeze out there today?"

She studied me for a while and said, "I'm fine. I'm over it." No one believes it when you say 'I'm fine.'

"No you aren't, Gallagher Girl. But you will be." I half smiled.

22 32 hours

Location Unknown

"You saw her today, didn't you?"

"Yeah, at the square in front of the shop. Said she was on a school trip or something."

The first speaker snorted, "Gallagher Girls are absolute sluts. You should've dumped her."

My fist clenched. Gallagher Girls were anything but sluts.

"I don't know, D-man. She seemed okay at first."

"Josh, you wouldn't know if a slut came up to you and socked you in the face."

I approve with this statement.

Jimmy boy didn't reply and D-man continued to speak angrily, "That slut's crazy, making up some cock-and-bull story about her homeschooled and cat called Suzie. This whole time, she was just some daddy's girl who doesn't care about anyone's feelings."

Then I savored the surprised look on both guys' faces as my fist came out of the dark and slammed into D-man's nose. Before they could come around, I had already reached the tapestry of the Gallagher family tree.

**The heart has reasons that reasons knows nothing of.

14 03 hours

Day 30 of Gallagher/Blackthorne Exchange Program

"What's the matter, Gallagher Girl?" I asked Cammie as we started to walk to C&A. "You seem…jumpy." And the fact that she flinched every time anyone mentioned the word 'dress'.

"Nothing," she said quickly. Then we entered the C&A classroom and sat down.

"This all-school exam…" Madame Dabney was speaking in this weird bubbly voice. It was quite irritating. "Ooh, ladies and gentlemen. In all my years of teaching at this fine institution, I have never ever had the opportunity to organize such an exciting educational experience."

The class shifted around me. Liz Sutton went still, Eva and Tina looked away from Grant and Jonas was starting to look like an overcooked lobster. (Yeah, he's still in his 'awkward sophomore' cover. It's also very irritating.)

"This Friday evening, all students in grades eight through twelve will be invited to a formal examination," Madame Dabney paused as if she expected a huge round of applause. "A ball, ladies and gentlemen. There's going to be a ball!"

The class shifted around me again. Tine audibly gasped, Liz's eyes were about to fall out of their sockets, Jonas was red in the face, Grant was probably laughing and Cammie…well, she had as much expression as a rock, like she had known this would happen all along. And she was probably dreading it.

So I smirked.

But before Madame Dabney said, "Tomorrow during this time, you will each be fitted for a gown." She smiled at the girls. Then she turned to us, "And tuxedos. On Friday evening you will be asked to participate in a cumulative examination- a night that will encompass everything we teach. And you will be expected to dance."

Tuxes plus dancing with a touch of espionage. I hope Jonas stops his 'awkward sophomore' thing before Friday night.

According to Jonas Rodney and the evidence of Grant Chapman, Blackthorne Boys are equipped to do anything- mentally, physically and emotionally. But the few hours before the dance quite proved Operative Rodney and Chapman wrong.

"Stupid, damned tie," the seniors were swearing at inanimate objects.

"Great, I pulled a muscle in P&E. How the hell am I supposed to dance?" juniors were freaking out.

"What. The. HELL?" the sophomores were frustrated at their hair. (Jonas said that, not me.) He was standing in front of his mirror, a tube of hair gel in hand and his hair looked like some woodland animal had crawled into it and died. So Grant went over to him and gave Jonas a noogie. But hey, it helped his hair look 'sexy and tousled'. Direct quote from Grant.

After everyone had calmed down, I looked towards Grant and Jonas, "It's time."

"Well," I walked up to Cammie. "You don't look hideous." She was wearing a strapless, wine red, floor length dress and high heels. (She was balanced quite well on them. Bravo.) Her hair was pulled up in a French twist sort of thing and Macey McHenry did her make-up. (I recognized the signature bold eyeliner.)

Observation #18: The Subject did not, in fact, look hideous. She looked stunning.

"Ditto," she replied. I suddenly felt a bit self-conscious in my simple tux. Maybe I should've got some of Jonas' hair gel. But I had no time to consider since Cammie suddenly jerked at an awkward angle. Hmm, maybe she didn't balance so well on these heels after all.

"Easy, Gallagher Girl," I suppressed a laugh and took her elbow. (I was a gentleman after all, thank you very much.)

She pulled her arm away, "I am perfectly capable of walking down the stairs by myself." So stubborn.

Of course, she was capable of throwing me down the stairs as well.

Then Madame Dabney came by in her gauzy scarf, "A lady always gracefully accepts a gentleman's arm when offered, Cammie dear."

I really do love little old ladies in tea rooms.

"Stop it."

"What?" she was probably jealous of my confidence since she was quite the definition of worry.

"You're enjoying this way too much. You're smirking." My smirk indeed widened as she said that.

"I've got news for you, Gallagher Girl, if you're not enjoying this, you're in the wrong business."

As you probably know, the Gallagher Academy's campus is a mansion. But I was used to seeing it as a school (and I'm pretty sure everyone did).

Tonight, it was again, itself.

A mansion for balls and black tie parties.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen. You all look very nice, but I'm afraid you aren't quite finished getting ready." Joe walked up to us with a stack of files underneath his arm. "I'm afraid we didn't mention that tonight is something of a masquerade ball."

"But we haven't got mask…or disguises or-" Courtney started.

"These are your disguises, Ms. Bauer." Joe cut her off and started to hand out the folders. "Cover legends, ladies and gentlemen. You have three minutes to memorize every piece of information within them."

Immediately, Liz's hand shot into the air.

Joe smiled. "Even if you are not on the CoveOps track, Ms. Sutton. Spies are the ultimate actors, ladies and gentlemen. It's the heart of what we do. So tonight your mission is simple: you will become somebody else."

He started to walk away but paused to say, "It's an exam, people. Culture, languages, observation… The real tests in these subjects don't have anything to do with words on a piece of paper. Tonight isn't about knowing the answers, ladies and gentlemen. It's about living them."

I looked down at the file Jonas handed to me. I expected a driver's license, an ID or at least a passport. But all I found were a few newspaper clippings about robberies at the Louvre, the New York Gallery of Contemporary Art and the National Museum of Art in Beijing. All the pictures in the clippings were photos of stolen artwork with my silhouette in front of them.

I smiled. I knew exactly who and what I was. And I just hope that Cammie's cover didn't have anything against charming and debonair international art thieves.

I was dancing with Liz when I noticed something wrong.

"Ms. Morgan, you look just beautiful." Dr. Steve said to Cammie. Dr. Steve was, after all, a Circle of Cavan member and no doubt he knew about my mission with Cammie. What was he doing with her tonight? Why was he being all…flirty? (I know Dr. Steve and he is a low functioning sociopath.)

He was the only person that asked her to dance. He, the person who had taught me more about Special Operations than Professor Devereux, had made a mistake about her cover legend. This was not possible, unless…

Then I recognized that glint in his eyes. He wasn't Dr. Steve tonight. He was a member of the Circle.

"I'm sorry. You must have confused me with someone else. My name is Tiffany St. James." Cammie replied politely. I wanted to yell at her to get out of there.

But as a highly trained assassin-slash-operative, my body did a reflex action. (Which really means doing the opposite of screaming at Cammie to get away from Dr. Steve.) I twirled Liz and grinned at her.

"Excellent, Ms. Morgan…I mean, Ms. St. James." Dr. Steve shook his head in amusement. "Just excellent." The only reason why Dr. Steve should add the word 'just' to his 'excellent' is when he's up to no good.

"And I was named after my grandmother… And I'm a Gemini…and a vegetarian…and…" Liz rattled on about her cover.

I laughed and twirled her. At the same time, I kept an eye on Cammie and Dr. Steve.

Number of hours the ball lasted: 5 hours and 27 minutes

Number of people Operative Goode danced with: 57 (This thing counted for a grade, after all and dancing with more people serves as multiple-angle surveillance for both the Subject and/or Dr. Steve.)

Number of times Operative Goode wanted to confront Dr. Steve: 57

Number of successful confrontations: 0 (Because the rat disappeared somewhere so the Operative had no choice but to dance.)

Then the Operative realized the best way to keep the Subject safe was to keep the Subject close to himself. Which means…

"Tiffany is the life of the party," I said as I walked towards Mr. Mosckowitz and Cammie. "Excuse me, Mr. Secretary, but I believe this is your drink." I offered him a glass.

He twirled his fake mustache until it came off, then quickly stuck it back on, "Oh yes. It is!" He took the glass and leaned in to Cammie, "It is my drink, isn't it?"

"Yes," Cammie whispered back.

"Thank you, my good man," he said to me, his voice becoming British. "Good show!" I was about to say something witty back when Cammie's eyes were focused on something far away. She stood up straighter, her position tenser and her chin was tilted higher. It was her Gallagher stance.

I followed her gaze and traced it back to her mother. But why? The Headmistress was looking much more worried than when I danced with her. (Grant dared me to do that.)

"Isn't that right, Tiffany?" Mr. Mosckowitz said and our gazes snapped back to him. And Cammie hesitated for a while before nodding.

Observation #19: The Subject appears to be worried and concerned about something.

Obviously, something was wrong. And that was what I was here for.

"I wonder, Mr. Secretary, would you mind if I borrowed Tiffany for a moment?" I asked him.

"Not at all," he replied.

"They're playing our song," I put my drink on a passing tray, took Cammie's arm smoothly and pulled her onto the dance floor.

"So tell me, Tiffany St. James," I said. "What does a girl like you do for fun?"

"I didn't tell you my name was Tiffany St. James. How did you know?" Her worries seem to be gone now.

Observation #20: The Subject seems to have recovered from her earlier shock.

"Oh," I cocked an eyebrow. "I always make it a point to know the names of-" I saw Dr. Steve lurking in the corners of the Grand Hall, looking straight at us. I instinctively held Cammie tighter and closer. "-beautiful women."

Then I dipped her. And it was a good thing I had because with Cammie out of my line of sight, I could see that Dr. Steve had something sinister in his hand now and he was turning it over and over in his palm. My instincts told me that the object was bad news.

So I did something that I wasn't very proud of.

As I winked at Cammie, I…unclasped her strapless bra.

"Come on, Gallagher Girl," I spun her around, making sure the bra was correctly unclasped. "Relax a little." The loosening of her muscles should make the bra looser and hopefully she would leave the Grand Hall and I could deal with Dr. Steve.

The Operative really wants to kick himself in head for doing such a horrible thing and not confronting Dr. Steve earlier.

I held Cammie's waist and I felt a pressure building up on my arm. Yes, the bra was sliding downwards now. I looked into her eyes and hopefully, this staring would make her want to leave the room even more.

It worked.

"I gotta go," she said suddenly and pulled away. I wanted to heave a sigh of relief and maybe smile for a bit but the guy in me reminded my facial muscles that I had no clue what was happening to her.

"Ms. Morgan!" Madame Dabney walked by and warned her.

"I mean," Cammie turned back and said, "if you could excuse me for a moment. Thank you very much for the dance."

I made sure my face didn't betray anything. She started to walk away again but I held onto her hand until I could see the outline of her bra working its way lower and lower and I was sure that she would go far away from the Grand Hall (and away from Dr. Steve).

Once her back was turned, I immediately disappeared behind the Beethoven string quartet. (No one actually bothers to check the back door there.) And I appeared a little way off the front doors of the Grand Hall, where I saw Dr. Steve talking to Cammie. I swore under my breath because my plan kind of backfired on me.

Change of plans: The Subject's safety comes first. Get Dr. Steve away from the Subject and interrogate him later.

"Oh, excellent, Ms. Morgan…or shall I say Ms. St. James…" he winked. Get away from him, Cammie! "I was hoping-"

"Sorry, Dr. Steve, I've got to do…something." Then Cammie disappeared down the hallway. Dr. Steve wanted to follow but I stood in front of him, blocking his way.

"Let me handle this." I insisted. I hoped I sounded like I was supposed to be helping him with whatever Circle op he was doing. Or else Mom would know…

And if he were under the impression I was on his side, he'd make sure no one came close to us. (That was good since…you know…) I didn't wait for his reaction and I sped towards the Gallagher family tapestry.

I arrived there just seconds before Cammie appeared.

"What are you doing here?" she was breathing heavily.

"Looking for you," I controlled my breathing and made sure it didn't look like I had sprinted a mile like her.

"Why?"

"Because this is where you came the other day."

"Oh."

I stepped closer and put my hands into my pockets. If I knew Gallagher Girls like I did, they'd register this body language for putting someone at ease. (But it's clearly not putting Cammie at ease.)

I tilted my head and asked, "So what is it, Gallagher Girl?"

I would probably never know her answer for the rest of my life because sirens exploded all around us.

"CODE BLACK CODE BLACK CODE BLACK" the mechanical voice echoed around the corridor.

I think at the same moment, a small mound landed on Cammie's feet.