"I know that's why I -"
"You need to focus and learn as much as you can."
"I know, but the Circle is -"
"Cameron, the lessons of this school are essential for fighting the evils of the world - no matter what that evil calls itself. You have to learn those lessons," she snapped, and I knew it wasn't advice; it was an order. And she was right. My classes weren't less important now. Not by a long shot.
"And even if that were not the case, I'm afraid there are a number of . . . pressing matters that require my attention for the time being."
And then it hit me: for the first time that I could remember, our oldest faculty member looked . . . old.
Her hands were dry. Her eyes were puffy. And I could have sworn I heard her voice crack as she said, "Now, if I'm not mistaken, you're about to be late for Covert Operations. You don't want to keep our newest teacher waiting."
Chapter Thirteen
Running through the halls toward the elevator to Sublevel Two, I tried to brace myself for what I had to do.
1. Learn what (if anything) Agent Townsend knew about it my mother, Mr. Solomon, and the Circle of Cavan.
2. Discern whether Agent Townsend would lean toward practical or theoretical examinations and how to best master each. (Because being the target of an international terrorist organization is no excuse for letting your GPA slide.) When I reached the small hallway beneath the Grand Staircase and the large mirror that was supposed slide aside and show me the way to the Covert Operations classrooms, I pressed my hand against it waited for the eyes of the painting behind me to flash green.
But the glass beneath my palm stayed cool, and nothing happened.
It was first lecture with Agent Townsend, and I was already late. I actually knocked on the mirror as if there were someone back there, waiting to let me in.
Still nothing.
I was turning, starting for the other elevators, when I saw it: a small, neatly typed piece of paper taped to the wall.
ATTENTION STUDENTS: UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE, THE SUBLEVELS WILL BE
CLOSED. ALL COVERY OPERATIONS COURSES WILL TAKE PLACE IN ROOM
132.
I didn't know what was happening. All I knew for certain was that I was late, so I turned only heel and ran through the empty hall, past the library and the student - all the way to the classroom that had been nothing but a big storage closet at the end of last semester. I almost ran right past it, but at the last second I grabbed that door frame and skidded to a stop.
"Oh, there you are."
Okay, I don't know about regular schools, but let's just say that at the world's premiere spy school, tardiness isn't exactly typical. And when it does happen, it's almost always met with questions like "Was there explosion in the chemistry lab?" or "Do you have another concussion?" It is most certainly never met with "Oh, there you are."
But those were the words Agent Townsend chose, and for someone who had questioned me in top secret facility just hours after one of the world's most wanted men had pseudo kidnapped me, he certainly didn't seem concerned with where I'd been.
"I'm sorry, I -"
"Just . . . sit," he said with barely a glance in our direction.
I took the desk next to Bex, and without looking at the clock, I knew I was three and a half minutes late. Three and a half minutes in which my classmates had been sitting in silence waiting. And as I joined them, I realized our teacher wasn't waiting for me.
Four minutes.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes, we waited. The only noise was the sound of Agent Townsend turning the pages of his newspaper.
It was a test, I told myself. He wanted to see if we were memorizing the front page of the paper he held; he was gauging how still we could be, how silently we could sit. Great operatives are naturally patient, I thought. He wanted to see if we could wait.
Little did he know, Tina Walters doesn't wait for anyone. (Or, well, she does, but evidently she draws the line at ten minutes.)