Chapter Two
ANGEL SINCLAIR
I did, but my anxiety skyrocketed. I had no idea what the US government could possibly want with me, unless it involved my past hacking. I swallowed my nervousness and looked around the busy parking lot. “You want to talk about it here?”
“How about the park?” Slash dipped his dark head to the right. “It’s quieter and just a short walk from here.”
I nodded, so we parted ways with the headmistress. As we began to walk, I shoved my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. The air was cool but not cold, and the sun warmed my head and shoulders. Thankfully, my backpack was light, with just math and physics books.
As we cleared the parking lot, I noticed a brown sedan moving slowly down the street. There was something familiar about the car, although oddly, the driver didn’t appear to have his eyes on the road, but on us. Why would he be watching us?
Now I remembered where I’d seen the car before. Right on my street at home when I was walking the dog. I’m sure it was the same car, because I’m naturally observant and it had been driving slowly past me. Now the same car just appeared at my school out of the blue? What were the odds of that?
Before I could mention it to Slash, the car sped off. For now, I held my tongue and focused on what he had come to talk to me about.
After we made it to the sidewalk, Slash spoke again. “Angel, I’m here to personally invite you to enroll in a specialized institution, a school, sponsored by the US government. Its existence is classified, so before I go any further, I must have your assurance that you will not provide details of this conversation to anyone unless cleared specifically by me.”
I stopped in my tracks, confused. “A specialized school? What does that mean?”
He put a light hand under my elbow, moving me along the sidewalk again. “I’m about to tell you, if I have your assurance that this conversation will remain confidential.”
I didn’t have to ask him how he would hold me to my assurance. He was the NSA, after all. A part of me felt a tiny flicker of concern, but curiosity and interest roared to life in my brain.
“Of course, I give you my assurance.” My voice held a little catch of excitement. “Tell me more.”
We stopped under a large oak that cast long shadows. Slash stood in the shade watching the street while I faced him, staying in the sun and enjoying the warmth.
“The school is called the Underage Training Operative Program, or UTOP,” he said. “It’s a joint program funded by the CIA, NSA, and DIA.”
“What’s the DIA?” I asked.
“The Defense Intelligence Agency.”
“Oh. What kind of school is sponsored by three government intelligence agencies?”
“A very sensitive one. It’s a normal school in many ways. Students are required to take regular coursework in math, science, English, history, and foreign languages. It does, however, have an additional, and significant, curriculum that won’t be discussed at this point.”
That only piqued my interest further. “Does it include classes in computer science and cybersecurity?”
“Of course. The best in the country. I assure you, Angel, the curriculum is quite advanced. The student body is made up of American citizens aged sixteen to twenty-one from all over the US and corresponding territories—all of whom are carefully vetted and who must meet specific intelligence and skill parameters.”
“Such as?”
“In your case, we are, naturally, interested in your hacking skills, both offensive and defensive. But that’s not all. Your innovation and creativity intrigue us, as well as your IQ scores, which are high across the board. You show unique promise.”
I didn’t have to ask him how he knew my IQ scores. But I had a lot of questions. “You said UTOP. The word operative was in there. Are we talking about a spy school?”
He lifted his hands. “Some people might call it that. I like to think of it as a specialized training academy. Because of the sensitive nature of the material that will be covered, students must live on campus in dormitories. It’s essentially four years of a specialized college, courtesy of Uncle Sam.”
That certainly sweetened the deal, but the cautious part of me wanted to know more. “So, what’s the catch?”
“The catch is a commitment of at least of four years of work in whichever intelligence agency we decide to place you with after graduation.”
“Wait. You place us? We don’t get a say where we work?”
“You can express a preference, but ultimately, the decision is made by a committee, based on a number of factors, including jobs where we may have a shortage of skills. But make no mistake. UTOP trains operatives. If selected to the program, that would be your primary function.”
It was a lot for me to take in. My thoughts were jumping around so much, it made me dizzy. “Does this have anything to do with me, Frankie, and Wally taking down Omar Haider?” Haider was the Iraqi hacker who had been targeting US veterans. The three of us had managed to track him down and deliver him to the NSA. Not as quite so neatly as that implied, but that was another story.
Slash nodded. “All of you caught the attention of certain individuals at the NSA and CIA.”
“Wow, that is so cool.” Suddenly, my mouth caught up with my brain. “Wait. Are Wally and Frankie invited, too?”
“They are.”
“No way!” I almost pumped my fist in excitement, but stopped myself, figuring it probably wasn’t something a suave operative would do. “That’s great.”
Slash seemed amused by my reaction. I wondered if he knew how thrilled I was that my only two friends in the world had a chance to do this with me. “Okay, so theoretically, let’s say I want to go to this school, college, training academy, or whatever you want to call it. I just tell my mom and sister I’m going to a spy school, pack up, leave Excalibur, and move into a dorm to begin a new life?”
“Not exactly.” He glanced around as if making sure we couldn’t be overheard. “You tell your mother and sister you have been selected as the recipient of a special government scholarship to attend an exclusive four-year university program with a focus in science and technology and a guaranteed job when you exit.”
“Oh. What about finishing this year of high school? And I’m not sixteen for another couple of weeks.”
“I know. You’re close enough to meet the age deadline, and I’m confident you’re more than capable, intellectually, to handle the academics at UTOP.”
He’d placed an emphasis on intellectually, which made me wonder what other parts he might worry about me being able to handle. Still, I couldn’t deny it was an amazing offer. I’d planned on going to Georgetown University. I was already taking college classes online there and had applied for a full-ride scholarship. I had a good shot at it, but it wasn’t guaranteed. Neither was a job after graduation.
Technically, I wanted to work for the government after graduation. While I would certainly make more money in the private sector, the government is where I would see the real action. This school, UTOP, would guarantee me a job in intelligence and provide me with specialized training for exactly what I wanted to do…at no cost to myself or my family. It seemed like a win-win situation, although with the government, I knew better. There was always a price to pay, perhaps one I couldn’t see at this point.
Still, I was intrigued. I regarded Slash thoughtfully, foreseeing a potential problem. “My mom has to sign off on it?”
“Of course. You’re under eighteen, so it’s up to you to convince her. Keep in mind, she will not know it’s called UTOP. It’s referred to as the George Washington National Training Academy in the official paperwork.”
“Where’s the campus located?”
“About a two-hour drive from here in central Virginia.” He didn’t offer any further details, and I realized that was all I was going to get for now. At the very least, it meant my mom could visit occasionally. I knew that would be important to her.
“There’s something else you need to know, Angel. It’s not as simple as being invited to UTOP and being automatically accepted. You have to pass the trials…or go home.”
My bubble of excitement abruptly deflated. “Trials? What kind of trials?”
He nudged me forward, so we started walking again. “The government selects students who have important skills we need in the operative field. Those students who pass must show certain physical, psychological, and emotional skills to continue their training. I’ll be honest with you, we invite a very small and select number of students to try out for UTOP. You’ll undergo a series of trials for four weeks, most of which are highly challenging on different levels. Unfortunately, only a few of those selected to try out are able to make it through all the trials successfully.”
“Wait. Are you saying I could flunk out because I can’t do a pull-up?”
Slash chuckled. “I assure you, no one is flunked for not being able to do a pull-up. Scores are cumulative and derived from multiple sources. There are physical challenges, yes, but this is not a fitness test. It’s testing your specific capabilities and skills in numerous areas in the field. But it’s also testing the way your mind works, how you process information, and how you handle yourself in stressful and dangerous situations. Also, you don’t flunk. It’s just determined that you don’t have the necessary skills required for an operative. It certainly doesn’t mean you can’t ever work for the government or an intelligence agency. In fact, most students who don’t make it through the trials are given special handlers across the agencies. They go on to secure degrees at regular universities and come back to us later. In fact, the last time I looked, ninety-six percent of students who went through the UTOP trials and didn’t make it still returned to work with one of the agencies. That’s an extraordinarily high percentage.”
“But not as an operative.”
“No.” He paused for a beat. “Not as an operative.”
I stopped, crossed my arms against my chest, and studied him intently. “You actually think I have a shot? Me? A geeky girl with the upper-body strength of an infant?”
Slash’s expression softened a bit as if he were remembering something. It occurred to me he might be thinking of Lexi, and maybe she’d once felt the way I did. “This isn’t boot camp, Angel. Regardless, I won’t lie to you. It will be challenging and test you to your limits. All your limits. But, yes, I think you have what it takes to make it as an operative or I wouldn’t have recommended you.”
That knocked me back for a second. “You personally recommended me?”
“I did.”
So many thoughts ran through my head, most of them screaming in excitement that one of the world’s best wizards behind the keyboard thought I had what it took to be a spy. “And, if I don’t pass, I just come back to Excalibur?”
“Yes, at the four-week point. They will tell you then whether you made it or not. If you don’t make it, you simply tell your mother it didn’t work out. You cannot, however, tell her the details of the trials. That must remain classified.”
“They can tell in four weeks whether I’m spy material or not?”
“They can. Sometimes even sooner.”
I blew out a breath. “Wow. This is a lot to think about.”
“Yes, it is.” He slid a hand into his leather jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. “Here is the information and the registration packet for you and your mother to review. You have one week to let me know your decision. After that, the slot goes to someone else.”
I swallowed hard. “Am I able to talk to Wally and Frankie about this?”
“You may, but you must be in a secure location before you discuss anything about it, and nothing can be exchanged electronically. We’ll know. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Oh, I knew what he meant, all right. The NSA would be watching me. Then it occurred to me that maybe they already were. Perhaps the brown sedan was from the agency, and all of this cloak-and-dagger stuff was part of the deal. It was odd, but I figured that was likely the life of a spy.
A mystery inside a puzzle.
I looked over his shoulder at the rest of the park. Some guy was throwing a Frisbee to his dog, while the young mother had given up on the ducks and was pushing her stroller toward the far side of the pond. It seemed so normal—just an average day in America. People going on about their lives, not having a clue that a short, freckled, redheaded teenager was being recruited by the US government to be a spy.
“I understand, Slash,” I said. And I did.
I had one week to make the decision of my life.