Beauty.”
He yawned again on a stretch, reaching his stubby arms toward the ceiling. His T-shirt rode up over his pale, pudgy stomach. He blinked a few times and yawned once more. “One of you two kids made coffee.” He inhaled loudly. “I smell it.”
While David continued clicking through the Web site, Chapling poured a cup and wandered over.
He took a sip. “Little weak.”
I gave him a sympathetic look. “David made it.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
David shot him a playful glare.
Chapling took another sip. “TL says we’ll be hacking into Eduardo Villanueva’s computer today.”
“I already did.”
He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Let me get a little more java in me and we’ll— Wait . . . what’d you say?”
I lifted my brows. “Already did it.”
He sighed. “Why do I come to work anymore?”
I didn’t bother reminding him he never left work.
He circled around me and climbed up onto his chair. “Smartgirlsmartgirl. Course, with a little bit of time,” Chapling muttered, “I would’ve figured out how to hack in, too.”
“Of course,” I agreed. Chapling was, hands down, the most intelligent person I knew. I’d learned a lot from him.
“Got it.” David stood up. He pointed to my computer. “I found yours and Beaker’s cover.”
I narrowed in on the screen, and my eyes widened. “Uh-uh. Forget it. There’s no way I’m doing that. There’s no way Beaker would do that. You’ve got to be crazy. No.” I shook my head. “No. No. No. No. No.”
[4]
After an hour of David’s trying to convince me this cover would work, reluctantly—let me repeat that—reluctantly, I went with his idea. But I was seriously dreading presenting it to Beaker tomorrow morning.
Putting that aside, David and I spent the rest of the day designing the Barracuda Key mission. He taught me how to view everything omnisciently and then step into the mission and go through the different scenarios we might encounter.
The entire process was incredibly involved, detailed, and organized. It amazed me that TL went through this every single time. But that was his job as the strategist, in charge of planning and implementing the missions, as well as keeping all of us Specialists in line. A lot of pressure came with designing a mission. If something went wrong, then all the blame fell on the strategist’s shoulders. In this case, that would be me.
Frankly, the whole process wore me out. And made me admire TL even more.
It was late when we finally finished putting together the mission. Then I practiced presenting it over and over again while David watched and gave input.
Now it was early morning, and here I sat in the conference room. David was across from me, calmly waiting on TL’s arrival.
Beside me, Beaker slumped in her chair, chomping on yet another piece of gum. “Don’t know why you can’t just tell me why I’m here.”
I studied her ever-present sour profile while she scowled at the wall behind David. She was going to be so PO’ed when she found out our cover.
“What are you”— chew, snap, chew —“staring at?”
How beautiful you are, I wanted to snide, but instead asked, “Why do you chew so much gum? It’s not good for your jaws, you know.”
She slid me a sideways smirk. “Anything else, O Gifted One?”
My nostrils flared. I couldn’t recall ever having that reaction to anyone before. Then again, Beaker brought out the worst in me.
The door opened, and we turned to see TL step in.
He nodded. “Good morning. Glad to see everyone’s prompt.” He took his seat at the head of the table and placed a small, thin box in front of him.
I recognized it. It held the monitoring patches we were each given months ago when we first
He yawned again on a stretch, reaching his stubby arms toward the ceiling. His T-shirt rode up over his pale, pudgy stomach. He blinked a few times and yawned once more. “One of you two kids made coffee.” He inhaled loudly. “I smell it.”
While David continued clicking through the Web site, Chapling poured a cup and wandered over.
He took a sip. “Little weak.”
I gave him a sympathetic look. “David made it.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
David shot him a playful glare.
Chapling took another sip. “TL says we’ll be hacking into Eduardo Villanueva’s computer today.”
“I already did.”
He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Let me get a little more java in me and we’ll— Wait . . . what’d you say?”
I lifted my brows. “Already did it.”
He sighed. “Why do I come to work anymore?”
I didn’t bother reminding him he never left work.
He circled around me and climbed up onto his chair. “Smartgirlsmartgirl. Course, with a little bit of time,” Chapling muttered, “I would’ve figured out how to hack in, too.”
“Of course,” I agreed. Chapling was, hands down, the most intelligent person I knew. I’d learned a lot from him.
“Got it.” David stood up. He pointed to my computer. “I found yours and Beaker’s cover.”
I narrowed in on the screen, and my eyes widened. “Uh-uh. Forget it. There’s no way I’m doing that. There’s no way Beaker would do that. You’ve got to be crazy. No.” I shook my head. “No. No. No. No. No.”
[4]
After an hour of David’s trying to convince me this cover would work, reluctantly—let me repeat that—reluctantly, I went with his idea. But I was seriously dreading presenting it to Beaker tomorrow morning.
Putting that aside, David and I spent the rest of the day designing the Barracuda Key mission. He taught me how to view everything omnisciently and then step into the mission and go through the different scenarios we might encounter.
The entire process was incredibly involved, detailed, and organized. It amazed me that TL went through this every single time. But that was his job as the strategist, in charge of planning and implementing the missions, as well as keeping all of us Specialists in line. A lot of pressure came with designing a mission. If something went wrong, then all the blame fell on the strategist’s shoulders. In this case, that would be me.
Frankly, the whole process wore me out. And made me admire TL even more.
It was late when we finally finished putting together the mission. Then I practiced presenting it over and over again while David watched and gave input.
Now it was early morning, and here I sat in the conference room. David was across from me, calmly waiting on TL’s arrival.
Beside me, Beaker slumped in her chair, chomping on yet another piece of gum. “Don’t know why you can’t just tell me why I’m here.”
I studied her ever-present sour profile while she scowled at the wall behind David. She was going to be so PO’ed when she found out our cover.
“What are you”— chew, snap, chew —“staring at?”
How beautiful you are, I wanted to snide, but instead asked, “Why do you chew so much gum? It’s not good for your jaws, you know.”
She slid me a sideways smirk. “Anything else, O Gifted One?”
My nostrils flared. I couldn’t recall ever having that reaction to anyone before. Then again, Beaker brought out the worst in me.
The door opened, and we turned to see TL step in.
He nodded. “Good morning. Glad to see everyone’s prompt.” He took his seat at the head of the table and placed a small, thin box in front of him.
I recognized it. It held the monitoring patches we were each given months ago when we first
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