ONE

A thrill went up my spine at the delicious click of the lock springing open. In the dim light of the exit sign, I placed my lock pick tools back into the cloth bag, feeling for their places with my gloved fingers. I didn’t know why Commander Eckle was always harping at me about being careful. Just that day he’d been all “Katie, your belongings are to be in their proper places and secure at all times. A spy does not, under any circumstances, leave anything behind,” his eyes staring me down under his fat furry eyebrows. As if I would make a mistake like that. I was fifteen, not ten, and I hadn’t screwed up in months, thank you very much. Not that anyone at United Espionage seemed to notice.

I shoved my lock pick bag into my tiny backpack. Carefully.

The shiny brass doorplate read “711B Human Resources.” I eased the door open and slipped inside, shutting it behind me. I tapped on the small work light attached to my shirt and tiptoed around the desk. The cabinets glowed in the pale red of my work light, casting eerie shadows.

My gloved finger glided over the names on the front of the cabinet drawers until I came to “Personnel.” The metal drawer squeaked as I pulled it open. I reached for the file marked “Culpepper, Franklin,” my pulse quickening.

Right on top was the form I was after; “Dismissal” was printed in bold black letters across the top of the page.

Perfect.

I could just hear Commander Eckle of fat furry eyebrow fame congratulating me, offering me an elevated position at United Espionage, and giving me a wholly fabulous new mission. Except I couldn’t really, because it would never happen. I was lucky to go on missions, even routine missions, at all. It was rare enough to get flagged to work at the U.E., but to get actual missions as a teen was, as I was constantly being told, “one in a million.” My chances of getting a super fab mission that might actually involve a little bad guy butt kicking and possibly even allow me to save the world were close to nil. But a girl can dream.

I reached inside my shirt and pulled out my mini cam. Just as I depressed the pinhead-sized button to snap a picture, a disturbing sound came from outside the elevator had come to life.

There was someone else in the building.

I distinctly remember my brief explaining how ONC Corp.’s high security didn’t allow anyone in the building between the hours of eleven p.m. and five a.m. If you’re going to be a big suspicious international drug company, firing high-ranking people like Franklin without releasing the cause, you could at least stick to your own rules and let a spy do her work uninterrupted.

I closed the file and turned to the file cabinet hurriedly trying to remember if Culpepper came before or after Cramer. After.

The elevator stopped with a loud “BING!” I grabbed my backpack and dove under the desk. Getting caught wasn’t on my list of fun things to do, and besides the humiliation of anyone seeing me in the skintight black outfit that hugged every curve or lack thereof certainly wouldn’t do much for my budding career as a spy. I pushed myself as far back under the desk as possible, the red glow from my work light showing a mere six inches between myself and the office chair. I turned off my light and sat still.

Footsteps thudded down the hall, growing louder as they approached. I held my breath, hoping 711B was not their destination. The footsteps sounded right outside the office door.

They continued on. I let out my breath.

What were they doing here? It must be suspicious–it was the middle of the night after all.

My knees hugged close to my chest, I listened. I know hiding is what we’re supposed to do when confronted with an intangible on a routine mission. But if I could get the scoop on this intruder —

I held still as the steps returned and passed by.

— they would all thank me.

The elevator’s sharp “BING!” was my cue. I jumped out from under the desk and hit the map function on my wristwatch. A 3-D projection of the building shot up in front of me. Two green lines glowed, showing my possible escape routes, both through the roof–the air shaft I had rappelled down earlier and a route that had been unavailable on my entrance into the building: the stairs to the roof.

I had to get going. Punching off my watch, I rushed to the door and found a handy auto lock button. Pulling the door shut behind me, I dashed across the hall to the stairwell.

The heavy door shut behind me and I was enclosed in darkness. The damp earthy smell of the stairwell filled my nose. I pulled my night vision glasses down and the stairwell came into view, cast in night vision green.

Up I went, my feet soft on the stairs, my heart pounding despite my hours at the dojo. Stair climbing definitely needed to be added to my training regime. Thirteen flights of stairs is no joke.

I opened the heavy door and stepped out into the fresh night air of the rooftop. Breathing deeply, I cleared my lungs of the dank air from the stairwell and walked towards the edge of the office building.

Blending into the shadows created by the large vent of the air shaft, I crouched down. The lights of the city spread out as far as I could see. One car sat in the parking lot below, just out of the pool of light cast by the streetlamp. I pulled my mini cam back out of my top and held it to my eye.

The car was not coming into focus so much. Why couldn’t I have been issued one of those super cams that can do up close work AND distance work?

As I watched, a figure exited the building. I leaned forward and eagerly snapped some pictures. Very very fuzzy pictures.

I leaned back on my heels. So much for turning a routine mission into a career boosting one. Melissa, my mentor, would no doubt be highly entertained by my attempt, while admonishing me for deviating from my course of action. “Stick to the plan, Katie. Don’t worry, you’ll get there some day.” Easy for her to say–she wasn’t Elite yet, but she was an Expert Spy and got plenty of glamorous missions.

I tucked my mini cam away and watched the car pull out of the lot and disappear into the hills behind the building.

I reached around for my backpack.

It wasn’t there.

Oh. My. God.

The last time I had seen my pack it was under the desk of 711B. I could kiss my dreams goodbye of quickly rising from my position as a Novice Spy and going all the way to become an Elite Spy, Level 1.

I stepped right to the edge of the building and looked down. The dumpsters were tiny specks twenty stories below. The walls down to the ground were smooth; stationary windows flush with the outer wall. There was nothing to grip, even with my gloves on. Not that it mattered. I had to go back for my pack.

Yeah, I was starting to think I had made a bit of a mistake in the carefulness department. Mr. Fat Furry Eyebrows wasn’t going to take this well at all. But it wasn’t entirely my fault. It was the nighttime intruder who was going around breaking the rules, popping up where they didn’t belong and intriguing young spies like myself. What was I supposed to do, just ignore them? I had a sinking feeling the Commander would say “yes.”

I took another deep breath, remembering all too clearly the image my watch had brought up for my entrance into the building earlier in the evening. The roof’s air shaft had been the only entrance glowing green. Even the stairwell door I had just come through had glowed red. Electronic security kept the door locked from the inside.

Of course, earlier in the evening I had rappelled up the side of the building and down the air shaft–with a rappelling hook tucked safely away in my backpack thirteen flights down.

There was the emergency button on my heel to alert the U.E.–Novice, Expert and Elite Spies all had them. I so did not want to use it. I hadn’t screwed up in months and I had already risen from Novice Spy, Level 5 to Novice Spy, Level 3. If I didn’t want to completely ruin my chances of ever moving up the ranks, or worse, ending up like Crandall The Desk Guy, I couldn’t have an emergency call on my record.

There was only one thing to do. I went and took the metal grating off the top of the air shaft. I wedged my body against the sides of the air vent to make my way inch by inch down thirteen floors to retrieve my backpack from 711B. Sans my lock picking tools. This was not going to be easy and I would be late reporting back to headquarters, but I had gotten the pictures of Franklin’s file so at least the mission would technically be a success. That counted for something.

Right?