“Okay,” Abby said, “pull out. We’ll regroup and—”
But then Abby’s words didn’t matter—nothing mattered besides the woman who was walking toward me, hand raised, saying, “Signorina! It’s so good to see you again.”
See you again…
For a moment I could have sworn I’d misunderstood—she must have been confused. But there was a smile of recognition on the woman’s face as she leaned closer and gripped my hands and kissed me once on each check, saying, “Ciao, ciao.”
“Yes, yes,” I said when finally her hands left mine. “It’s so good to see you too.”
“I told you, Roma is lovely in the autumn, is it not?”
“It is.” I nodded, mirroring the woman’s stance and expressions, trying my best to make Madame Dabney proud.
“You’re here to see your box, no?”
Well, as a spy, needless to say, my first instinct was to lie. As a chameleon, what I really wanted to do was hide. But right then, more than anything, I was a girl who needed answers. So when the woman gestured to the stone staircase that spiraled down into the lower level and asked, “Shall we?” all I could think about were the words your box. And smile.
I had a box.
Across the lobby floor, I saw Townsend start my way, and Abby’s voice was in my ear, saying, “Cammie, wait for Townsend. Wait for Townsend!”
But I’d already done enough waiting for a lifetime. I turned and followed the woman down the stairs, to a long hall with arched ceilings. The woman led me to a heavy door, too glossy and modern to really belong in that ancient building, and I knew that we were leaving the part of the bank the public got to see.
“Please,” the woman said, gesturing to a small box beside the door.
“It’s a retinal scan,” I said.
“Sì,” she told me with a smile.
Townsend had reached the bottom of the stairs and was heading our way. “We really should be—”
“There’s a retinal scan,” I told him. He seemed slightly taken aback, but not so much that the woman noticed.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, staring right at me. “But we really should be leaving.”
“And who might you be?” the woman asked, looking Townsend up and down.
“My guard,” I told her.
“Of course,” she said, unfazed. “As I explained to the signorina last summer, privacy and security are paramount. You are welcome to wait here, but once we are through these doors—”
“No,” Townsend said just as, through my ear, Zach shouted, “Cammie, don’t!”
But it was too late, because the heavy doors were already sliding aside, and I was already inside.
The woman kept talking about the weather and banking laws. She said something about liking my shoes and the changes to my hair. It was small talk. Never in my life have I been a fan of small talk—especially not when so many more pressing questions were flooding my mind.
Like, when had I been there, and why? Like, how did they have my retinal image, and where were we going? As we walked, I felt the floor sloping steadily downward. Gradually, the voices in my ears dissolved into static, and I was alone with the woman and the thick stone walls, on a path I totally didn’t remember walking before.
As we turned a corner, I saw a man in a well-cut suit. The woman smiled at him, and he came forward.
“If the young lady will permit…” He reached for my hand and placed my forefinger into a small device that scanned my finger and pricked, pulling a tiny bit of blood.
“Ow!” I exclaimed, more out of shock than pain, and the man smiled as if he’d heard that before. Heck, he might have heard it from me.
Then the device beeped and another door swung open, and the man gestured me inside.
Number of minutes I waited: 20 Number of minutes it felt like I waited: 2,000,000 Number of times I wished I’d brought a book or something: 10 Number of tiles in the ceiling of that particular room: 49 Number of crazy scenarios that swirled through my head: 940