The Dead Drop by Jennifer Allison Read Free Book Online Page A

earnestly through rectangular glasses; his eyes were the color of evening fog. “On the contrary, our work together is incredibly useful. No—we mustn’t stop. Now—let’s move on to the next target.”
    The psychic spy leaned back in his chair and did his best to relax his body and release his fears—to allow himself to focus on the target. He had the usual floating sensation that preceded his ability to view a distant place, but he was disturbed by the stray images that emerged. He abruptly pulled himself out of his trance when that face appeared again: the cold white skin, the dead stare of those eyes, and—most disturbing—the star-shaped blood stain.
    “Something wrong?” Loomis asked.
    “No—not really. I just need to start over.” For the first time in his life, the psychic spy felt he couldn’t be honest. He was under pressure to find a specific target and he couldn’t let his country down. The face is irrelevant, he told himself. It’s a distraction.
    The psychic spy closed his eyes, slowed his heartbeat and breathing. Gradually, his brainwaves changed and he felt as if his body were floating, moving swiftly through the misty realm from which he would attempt to perceive objects and people around the globe. He knew he was drawing closer to his tar get—a suspected terrorist training camp in a mountainous region.
    But as the mist cleared, he didn’t see mountains. I’m in the wrong place , he told himself. He found himself in an apartment building, but he saw no signs of weaponry or combat training. For a moment, his spirits lifted, because he spied a girl in the apartment—a girl who resembled his spirit guide. She came back, he told himself. She’s back to help me. But confusion and disappointment returned when he realized this girl was not his spirit guide at all: this girl sat at a typewriter and wore cat’s-eye sunglasses.

8

    The Acquisition
    Gilda sat at her desk in a corner of the cluttered office space she now shared with Matthew Morrow, April, Janet, and Marla. The last employee to use the desk was now on maternity leave: she had left a photograph of herself wearing a purple wig, dark sunglasses, and displaying a cheesy grin along with a group of kids who appeared to be about ten or eleven years old. Gilda guessed it was a picture from one of the “spy camps” that took place at the museum during the summer.
    After wiping a film of dust from the desk and arranging her belongings, Gilda leaned back in her chair and took a bite of the “disguise dog” she had purchased at the Spy City Café—a hot dog loaded with spicy chili. She loved the feeling of sitting in a real office and having her own desk—a desk far more inspiring than the desks at school with their tiny, insufficient writing tables attached. She had her own telephone, stapler, Spy Museum coffee cup, and hanging file folders filled with museum program brochures. She also liked sitting near Matthew Morrow because she got the feeling he was the kind of person who knew things about espionage—things he might be willing to teach her if she could convince him she wasn’t just an ordinary high school intern.
    “Did they give you the test yet?” Matthew leaned back in his chair and stared at his computer screen as he spoke.
    “What test?”
    “You know, the museum test.”
    Gilda spun around in her swivel chair to face Matthew, who still tapped away on his computer. “April didn’t tell me about any test.”
    “You’re kidding me. You haven’t taken the test yet?!”
    “He’s teasing you,” said Janet, who seemed to perennially sit on the floor, now busy cutting cipher wheels from construction paper and affixing the decoder rings together with metal clips. “You have such a deadpan sense of humor, Matthew; nobody can ever tell when you’re joking.”
    “I’m not joking. I wouldn’t joke about the test.” His eyes twinkled but he didn’t smile.
    Welcoming an opportunity to strike up a conversation with