They're very eager to help."
"I'm still a student at this school and -"
"Now, now, Ms. Morgan. Wither you're a trained operative I'm supposed to distrust and respect, or a sixteen-year-old girl -"
"Just turned seventeen," I corrected him.
" - I'm supposed to go east on. You can't have it both ways." He released my arm and steeped away. "I would have thought your precious Mr. Solomon would have taught you better than that."
"He's not my Mr. Solomon."
"Sure he is. Isn't that why you and your little friends tried to hack into my records? Stake out my office? Put some nasty concoction inside the apple of an unsuspecting teacher?"
I didn't say a thing.
"That's good; don't dent it. Denying the undeniable just makes you sound like a fool as well as a liar. In this profession, you can be one - sometimes the other. But never both.
He moved through the Hall of History, eyeing our most prized possessions as if they were trinkets at a fair.
He didn't face me as he asked, "You believed him, didn't you? Thought he was a good guy? Well, that's your mistake. No one - and I do mean no one - in this line of work is ever truly a good guy. It we were, we'd be doing something bloody well different form this."
He didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't know . . . anything. I started toward my mother's office, needing her more than ever, desperate to shoe her - to prove that we weren't fools.
"She's not in there," he called across the empty hall. I felt my blood turn cold.
"Where is she?"
He smiled slightly. "Gone."
"What did you do to her?"
"Me?" he laughed. Yes, actual laughage. "Allow me to clear some things up for you, Ms.
Morgan." He stepped closer. "I'm not a member of the Circle. I've never even seen Blackthorne. Of course, we probably had something like it - couldn't rule it out." He shook his head. "But I was never a part of that."
"A part of what?"
"I am the bloody good guy."
I stood silent, watching him walk away, until . . .
"You're wrong!" I yelled, the words echoing down the empty hall. "You're wrong about everything!"
Agent Townsend stopped and turned slowly.
"Nine hours ago, a CIA transport team was ambushed outside of Langley. Three guards were killed and Joe Solomon was taken." He stared at me down the long corridor. "Your innocent man is back with the Circle tonight, Ms. Morgan. They have him. He's free."
That night I had the strangest dream. I was standing at the top of the Grand Staircase in a long beautiful dress. I heard the sounds of the Virginia reel come sweeping toward me, and below me, people crowed the foyer floor. But the strangest thing of all was that my father was standing at the bottom of the staircase, waiting.
I descended the stairs and took his arm, and together we made our way through the crowd that filled the Grand Hall. There was dancing and drinking. It was a party, but the feeling in the room was that there was no reason at all to celebrate.
And then suddenly, a man appeared, holding a sword.
I knew I had to stop him - I had to make it stop - but the man moved faster toward where I stood. His eyes pulled closer in the dim ballroom, and I stared at a face I knew.
A face I've kissed.
"No." I might have said the word, but I hand was over my mouth. Strong arms were holding me down while I kicked at the covers wrapped tightly around my legs.