Chapter Fifty-Two
ANGEL SINCLAIR
Unfortunately, after we got back, I wasn’t allowed to go hide in my room. None of us were. It hadn’t been a test. Someone had tried to kidnap me.
We were exhaustively interviewed by Mr. Donovan and a few agents I’d never met before. When I was certain I couldn’t handle another question, Mr. Donovan called an end to the questioning. He wanted to call my mom immediately, but I begged him to wait until tomorrow, after we’d learned the results of the trials. He reluctantly agreed.
I took a shower and changed my clothes, but my head was spinning during dinner and I didn’t have much appetite. Guess I was more shaken by the incident than I had thought. The text from my father kept also playing on repeat in my head. He said he was fine and I should stop looking for him.
If he was fine, why didn’t he tell me he was my father? Why did someone want to kidnap me? Why was he in disguise at the café, and how mortified should I be that he wore makeup better than I did?
There were no answers, only more questions.
At 7:00 p.m. sharp, we filed into the gym. The mood was somber. Jax caught my eye, looking worried. I tried to shoot him back an encouraging look but was pretty sure I failed. Wally and Frankie flanked me on each side.
White Knights until the end.
All of our teachers and trainers were already in the gym, sitting side by side on a raised platform. They smiled at us, but their mood was reserved, too. Several of them stared curiously at me. I’m sure they were wondering why I’d been the target, or whether it had just been random.
After we were seated, Mr. Donovan stood behind the podium and cleared his throat. “Well, it’s certainly been a long, eventful four weeks for everyone. I want you to know that while it has happened a few times before, rarely does an entire class finish without anyone leaving. You all should be extremely proud of yourselves. You performed admirably and deserve our congratulations.”
The teachers and trainers clapped for us, and I exchanged a glance with Frankie and Wally. Frankie was smiling, but Wally looked like he was going to throw up. I just hoped that if he blew, he didn’t dump it in my lap.
“There are also other things you should be proud of,” Mr. Donovan continued. “You should know that no one has ever completed the final trial within the time limit, including adults. In fact, in the six years we’ve used this course for evaluation, not one team has even gotten to the fifth station, let alone gone over the wall. Several of you could have finished within the time provided yesterday, but chose not to, which presents, in itself, an interesting development. What stood out, to me and all of the evaluators, is that you worked together better than most, if not all, of the adult teams. Congratulations.”
The teachers clapped, while we looked at each other and smiled.
Pride, satisfaction, and contentment swept through me. The trials had been hard. Harder than anything I’d ever done in my life. Slash had said they’d test me to my limits and beyond, and he hadn’t been exaggerating. But I’d risen to the occasion when I needed to, and while I hadn’t succeeded at everything, I’d given it my best. I’d made choices that were hard, complex, and emotionally draining. But they were my choices, and no matter what happened, I was proud of what I’d accomplished—what we’d all accomplished.
Mr. Donovan adjusted the microphone and regarded us. “So, now comes the time to announce who is moving on to UTOP. First I want you to know how we evaluated you. While all of the candidates invited to try out for UTOP are exceptionally gifted in many areas, not everyone is suited to the life of an operative. It requires sharp intellect, creative thinking, courage, excellent observation skills, willingness to work hard, and persistence in the face of danger. That’s because an operative must spend hours of extremely difficult and complex preparation before even going on a mission, followed by a short periods of extreme, adrenaline-pumping action during the mission. That, students, is the real life of an operative.”
We were silent. The trials had taught us how frustrating and difficult it could be to figure things out and improvise while under a strict timeline. Yet we’d done well, especially now that we knew we were the only group to ever finish the course, even if it were past the time deadline.
Mr. Donovan took a minute to look purposefully at each one of us. Was I imagining it or did his gaze linger a bit longer on me? “Please remember, it doesn’t mean that you can’t work somewhere else in our intelligence agencies, if you so desire. Trust me, those doors will always be open to you.”
Wally kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat, enough that it was distracting me. “Are you okay?” I whispered to him.
“I’m fine,” he whispered. “Just nervous.”
“It’s okay,” I whispered back. “White Knights forever, remember?”
He blew out a breath and nodded. “I remember.”
Mr. Donovan was still speaking. “Although an operative often works alone, he or she is also an important member of a larger team. So, during your four weeks, we also looked carefully at the dynamics of your interpersonal relationships with each other and your individual personalities. How do you think? How do you process information? How quickly can you think on your feet and execute a task using only the resources you have at hand? How accurately do you grasp the complexity of a situation, and what kind of innovation do you use to get the required results? We’re not looking for students who already have all the answers or are experts in any one field…yet. Skills can be cultivated. We’re looking for potential. Basically, it came down to three things. Can we train you? Can we trust you? And can you excel in this kind of environment?”
I dared a glance at Bo and Jax, who were seated next to each other. They were staring at Mr. Donovan, completely fixated on his words. I was certain we were all playing back every single thing we’d done and said since we arrived, wondering how it would hold up in terms of the evaluation.
We were about to find out.
I gripped my hands together so hard on my lap, my knuckles turned white. Frankie reached over to hold my hand, and after a moment, Wally took the other one. Linked together, we waited to hear our fate.
“Students, I have one final question before I announce who’s going through,” Mr. Donovan said. “Who can remind me the primary objective of an operative?”
Jax raised his hand. “Intelligence gathering.”
“Exactly, Mr. Drummond.” He looked pleased Jax had answered so quickly. “Not high-tech gadgets, fast cars, and gambling in a tuxedo, although there may be times this kind of thing is called for. Intelligence gathering is always key. Now, who can tell me which person at the KIT compound is getting married in a few months?”
For a second we all stared at him in confusion before Frankie shot her hand in the air, waving it around wildly. “Oh, oh. I know.”
“Yes, Ms. Chang.”
“That would be Charles Mayford. He works in the gym. His fiancée, Renee, is a homicide detective. Isn’t that so cool? Kind of like the movies.” She pointed to Charles on the stage, who smiled and waved at her.
“That is correct, Ms. Chang,” he said. “Now, which of you knows Suzanne Robinson?”
Frankie’s hand shot up again. Mr. Donovan looked around at the rest of us, but none of us moved. “Okay, Miss Chang. Who is Ms. Robinson?”
“She works for us in the cafeteria,” Frankie offered cheerfully. “She made cupcakes for Angel’s birthday. She’s really nice.”
“Do you happen to know what Ms. Robinson does other than work in the cafeteria?” he asked.
“She’s studying forensic anthropology at the University of Maryland. She has a boyfriend she’s been dating for two months named Johnny, a dog named Rex, and she also has juvenile diabetes. She’s allergic to shellfish and loves Zumba. Is that enough?”
“That’s enough. Thank you, Miss Chang.”
I stared at Frankie in astonishment, the realization of what was happening finally hitting me. How could I have been so stupid? While the rest of were focused on passing the trials and making ourselves look good to the evaluators, it’d been Frankie who’d completed the actual mission. She was the one whom everyone trusted, even the other candidates. She was so nonthreatening and kind, everyone talked to her. Everyone. She’d gathered intelligence on each person throughout the entire KIT compound. I was certain not one of us had realized it—perhaps not even Frankie herself, who was just being who she was. But she’d been the real operative. She was a natural for the job.
An operative’s primary objective is gathering intelligence. How had we lost sight of that?
He let that sink in for a moment before speaking again. “While we graded you on many factors, intelligence gathering was by far the most important one. That grade, combined with scores in several other critical areas, elevated one person to the top of your class. I’d like you to all congratulation your valedictorian, Frances Chang. Congratulations, Frances. You’re the first in the class to pass into UTOP.”