CMHS

                                    

                                          
Following Joe Solomon into the CoveOps elevator brought a strange set of emotions to the surface. On one hand, he is Joe Solomon (and close proximity to six junior spy boys hadn't diminished his hotness.) On the other, there were about a million other things I wanted to be doing. But I also knew I couldn't do anything about any of them-not really. So I was glad to be locked inside that elevator. It felt good to follow him through the maze of Sublevel One. 
                          
I wanted a mission-a task, a purpose. And when he said, "I suppose you know what this is," I was relieved to look at the big steel door in front of me. 
                          
"It's the Safetronic 4700," I said in awe. 
                          
He smiled. "That's right. We just got it in." He kicked the steel door like a used car salesman kicks tires. "It's the best commercially-available safe in the world-just the type of thing an operative might encounter in the field." 
                          
I ran my hands across the smooth shiny surface. "It's uncrackable." 
                          
He laughed. "I hope not." 
                          
And then he pushed me inside. 
                          
-*- 
                          
As much as I dearly love being a Gallagher Girl sometimes, it kind of cramps my style-especially when pushed and locked inside the world's best safe. On a great TV night. When I have a headache. 
                          
And when I'm not alone. 
                          
I heard the laughter behind me and turned to see the hollow, empty room that might have been a suburban garage. If all garages are made from titanium and are located 30 yards under ground. 
                          
"Well, he said he was bringing me company," Zach said slowly. Then he shook his head. "I should have known." He smiled. "So, shall we get cozy?" 
                          
"NO!" I snapped and he laughed. That's right. Actual laughter. I could have killed him then, and there would have been no witnesses (but I also would have been the only person with means and opportunity, so I didn't.) I sauntered over to the locks. "We get to work." 
                          
My focus narrowed; my fingers flew. There's something so liberating about finding a zone, being free of thought and doubts and relying on instinct, on action. Everything faded away. I focused on the mechanisms, tried to shake them from my mind, remembered that life was like that assignment-unlocking one door at a time, and the longer I stood there the more I felt myself fade away, my consciousness go on cruise control until... 
                          
"Wow, you're super cute when you focus." 
                          
"ZACH!" 
                          
He made a show of looking around the empty room. "Yeah, must have been." 
                          
"Just... Just be quiet and let me-" 
                          
"No, I mean it. You get this little wrinkly thing." He held his thumb and forefinger to the center of his forehead. "Right here. It's just cute as-" 
                          
"Do you want to stay in here all night?" I snapped.
                          
He leaned against the wall beside me, crossed his arms. "Might as well." Then he looked around the room. "I've stayed in worse." 
                          
But then my stomach growled. (Please tell me he didn't hear that. Please tell me he didn't hear that.) "Well, I-" It growled again. Louder. (Please tell me he'll at least ACT like he didn't hear that.) 
                          
"I've got homework." 
                          
"Yeah." He chuckled then interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms out, popping his knuckles. "Gotta study hard, get ready for that next mission." 
                          
I so didn't want to have that fight. Not then. Not ever. Sadly because I've been trained not to start fights I can't win. The boys had beaten us. We knew the rules. We did our best. They just did...better. 
                          
I stared at the mechanisms my fingers seemed frozen to. "Look, I-" 
                          
"Why don't you ever ask me about it?" he asked, and I couldn't help myself, I looked at him, but he just glanced away. Something lingered in the air between us, and I knew he wasn't talking about missions or homework or anything else that only seems important when you're sixteen. It was a different Zach entirely who said, "I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours." 
                          
Maybe it was the impenetrable door, the six feet of solid steel that surrounded us on all sides. We had to come to a vault for Zach to let his defenses fall, and at that moment he reminded me of a bird that had fallen from its nest. I started to reach for him, to comfort him, but then I remembered Grandpa Morgan's warnings that there are some wild things you're not supposed to touch. 
                          
"It was a mission." 
                          
I don't know why I said it. The words were foreign to me-not English-not something I had ever said, and yet they slid so effortlessly from my throat they must have been back there, fully formed, for years waiting for that chance to seep free. 
                          
"My dad went on a mission. He didn't come home. Nobody knows what...happened." 
                          
Then Zach looked at me. "Somebody knows." 
                          
And then the lock miraculously turned. The tumblers fell into place. The door swung open, a metallic grating sound echoing through the still, quiet room, Zach's haunting words following me as I started up the stairs.