Read The Dead Drop Online

Authors: Jennifer Allison

The Dead Drop (5 page)

Marla had a young, sporty look, and Janet looked completely opposite: her plump face was smooth and unlined, but her dowdy blond hairstyle, frumpy cardigan, and reading glasses suspended from a chain gave her an almost matronly demeanor.
Janet has what I like to call a “young elderly” look where she could be either twenty-nine or forty-five,
Gilda thought.
“Aren’t you glad you came all this way just to sit on the floor and stick things in folders?” Marla joked.
“It beats sitting home and watching the weeds grow,” Gilda replied, secretly feeling a little worried that she would in fact spend the summer stuffing envelopes.
“Based on the bio you submitted, I’m sure you don’t spend much time sitting around.” April turned to Janet and Marla. “Did the two of you see Gilda’s bio?” She picked up a piece of paper that was lying on top of a stack of books and waved it in front of their faces.
NEW SUMMER INTERN!
Fifteen-year-old Gilda Joyce joins us this week all the way from the Detroit area. Gilda impressed us with the diversity and uniqueness of her academic and extracurricular interests, which include: “solving mysteries, writing novels, ghost hunting, people-watching (spying, of course!), flea-market and garage-sale shopping, street fashion, and cooking for comfort.”
Be sure to stop by and say hello to Gilda!
“Oh, yeah. It was cute,” said Marla. Janet made no response and merely continued stuffing envelopes.
Gilda wasn’t too concerned about the less-than-enthusiastic response from Janet and Marla because she was suddenly very interested in the phone conversation the man wearing the black T-shirt was having. “The artifacts might be of interest,” he said, “although we do already have a lipstick gun in the museum, as you know.”
Gilda’s ears perked up at the mention of the Spy Museum’s “lipstick gun.” On the museum’s website, she had read about the small silver handgun disguised as a tube of lipstick that could fire a single bullet. Along with objects including an umbrella that shot poison pellets, the lipstick gun was one of the Spy Museum’s more whimsical, if deadly, examples of Cold War secret weaponry.
Gilda felt a familiar ticklish sensation in her left ear. She wished she could somehow tap into the man’s phone conversation so she could hear what the person at the other end of the line was saying.
“I’m sorry.” Gilda realized that April was staring at her and waiting for her to respond to a question. “What were you saying?”
“Uh-oh. Usually it takes the interns at least a couple weeks to get attention-deficit disorder.”
“At which point we move them over to the marketing department,” Marla joked.
“Can you keep your staff members under control, April?” The man in the black T-shirt hung up the phone, stood up, and stretched. He was strikingly tall and thin. “Some of us have work to do.” He reached across a cluttered desk to shake Gilda’s hand. “Hi—I’m Matthew Morrow.”
“Sorry,” said April, “I forgot to introduce you.”
“Saving the best for last, huh?” Matthew joked.
Janet burst into laughter and then reddened.
There was something odd about that little outburst,
Gilda thought.
“Matthew is our resident historian,” said April. “He’s written a book about espionage and he taught at Harvard for a couple years.”
I always assumed that real historians probably look really old and dust-covered, as if they’ve been sitting around in an attic forever,
Gilda thought.
But this guy looks like a totally normal person in his twenties.
“Who were you talking to just now on the phone?” April asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“There aren’t any secrets around here, Matthew.”
“That’s right,” said Marla from her spot on the floor. “She has ways of finding out things.”
“Well, if you must know, I was speaking with a former KGB officer who defected to the U.S. during the Cold War.”
“Interesting!” April turned to Gilda to explain. “‘Defecting’ means he was a spy who switched sides from the Soviet Union to America during the Cold War.”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me about defecting and switching sides,” said Gilda. “For example, this year there were these two groups of girls at school who hated each other. This one girl was in the more popular group, but then she defected over to the
other
group and told them all this secret stuff about the first group. Then the two groups kept glaring at each other across the lunchroom and planting false rumors and stuff, although they never actually got into an all-out fight. It was just like the Cold War.”
Matthew regarded Gilda with a deadpan expression. “I see I’m not the only historian on staff anymore.”
“I actually think she summed up the Cold War pretty well,” said April. “Just throw in the threat of nuclear war and it was basically the high school lunchroom.”
“Anyway,” Matthew continued, “the man’s name is Boris Volkov, and he said he recently discovered a couple objects in his attic that we might want to see for our collections.”
“Was one of them a lipstick gun?” Gilda felt her cheeks turn pink as both Matthew and April stared at her.
“Impressive eavesdropping,” said Matthew.
“No kidding,” April laughed. “She’s perfect for this place.”
Gilda realized she really wanted to go with Matthew to visit this ex-KGB agent and see whatever it was he had “discovered in his attic.” She sensed, though, that people wouldn’t like it if she simply asked if she could go. After all, she had only just arrived at the museum, and it was her first day of work.
“Speaking of former spies,” said April, glancing at her watch, “Gilda still needs to meet Jasper. Follow me, Gilda.”
“Nice to meet you, Matthew.” Gilda followed April from the office reluctantly, wishing she could ask Matthew a few more questions.
“Jasper is the executive director of the museum and a former CIA senior intelligence officer.” April led Gilda into a large corner office where an expansive desk and a leather-covered armchair filled a room lined with bright windows—a striking contrast with the cluttered cubicles of the room where Matthew, April, Marla, and Janet worked together.
Gilda suddenly felt mortified as a suntanned man with salt-and-pepper hair rose from the desk to greet her.
It was the man from the Metro—Jasper Clarke!
“But—” Gilda stammered, “you said your name was Jake!”
“All my friends call me Jake.
You
said your name was Penelope Stunn from California.”
April was amused. “Well, this seems like a match made in heaven.”
Gilda couldn’t believe she had already been caught fibbing to the executive director of the Spy Museum. “I guess I was practicing ‘living my cover identity’ to get into the mood for my first day of work,” Gilda explained.
April cackled. “Seems like you might have a real spy recruit here, Jasper.”
“Indeed.”
Gilda was relieved that April found the exchange funny, but she was unnerved by Jasper Clarke, who regarded her with very blue eyes that seemed to look
through
her. His poised demeanor suggested the social graces of a man who had been to hundreds of cocktail parties in as many cities—someone who could converse with just about anyone on just about any topic. He also struck Gilda as someone who was constantly processing secrets in some part of his mind—taking speedy inventory, noticing a million details at once, and filing away data to draw upon if it became relevant later.
“Actually, I apologize,” said Jasper. “I should have introduced myself and told you exactly who I was when I overheard you talking to your roommate.”
Gilda felt a queasy mixture of embarrassment and vulnerability, realizing that he had been watching her—that he had known all along exactly who she was from the first moment she had attempted to fool him.
“That’s terrible, Jasper. You let Gilda think you were just some weird guy on the Metro?”
“Old habits die hard.”
“Jasper likes to see how much information he can get from other people without telling anything about himself.”
“Ah,” said Jasper, pointing a finger in the air. “But Gilda didn’t tell me anything about herself. Only lies.”
“Excellent work, Agent Gilda,” said April with a wry smile.
This is the first time I’ve ever been praised for lying,
Gilda thought. She was surprised to feel as disconcerted as she felt relieved.
Jasper picked up his briefcase and began stuffing some folders inside. “I’m actually just on my way to a meeting, but, Gilda, I hope you’ll have a wonderful experience here at the Spy Museum.” He extended his hand again and Gilda shook it. “No hard feelings, right?”
“Right.”
“Has Gilda checked out the permanent exhibit yet?”
“That’s where she’s headed next.”
“Well—enjoy!”
As Gilda left Jasper Clarke’s office, she felt excited to discover more of her surroundings at the museum, but also uneasy.
With these people, I’ve met my match,
she thought.
6
The Life of a Spy
Dear Wendy:
I just finished my first day of work. Picture this: I’m sitting in my apartment in Washington, D.C., wearing my red power suit. Pretty mature, huh? Now picture this: I just put on a wig and also practiced applying a fake mustache from my disguise kit. (I don’t want you to worry that I’ve become too serious and sophisticated now that I’m working in the nation’s capital.)
I know you’ll be relieved to hear that I’m totally in my element at the Spy Museum!
Today I watched a Spy Museum movie about the good and bad reasons people become spies. Good reasons: patriotism and a passion for intrigue. Bad reasons: greed and egotism. The movie also talked about the risks of getting caught spying on a foreign government--little things like deportation, jail, and death.
“Do YOU have what it takes to be a spy?” the movie asked.
My answer: a resounding YES. However, it’s also true that I’m not a “perfect” spy.
 
 
My strengths as a spy:
I’m naturally curious and even nosy.
I pay attention to details.
I don’t mind being an outsider (well, half the time I don’t mind).
I’m a “people person.” (Please stop sniggering.)
People underestimate me: they assume I’m not a threat, and this gives me more time to investigate them.
I’m used to keeping secrets from my family. (Best friends are another story altogether.)
I’m courageous. (Hey, I didn’t say I don’t get scared.)
Psychic abilities!
 
 
My weaknesses as a spy (keep snide comments to yourself, please):
Spies are supposed to “blend in with the scenery,” and my penchant for fashion makes me stand out in a crowd.
My need to tell my best friend (that’s you, in case you’ve forgotten) everything could become a liability.
I have little interest in technology and no experience with surveillance equipment.
Lack of decoding expertise. (By the way, when I toured the Spy Museum, I learned how the Nazis used a code-making machine called ENIGMA during World War II: it resembles a sinister-looking typewriter. Anyway, a bunch of mathematicians managed to decipher this very complex machine-made code during the war. Let’s hear it for the math kids! Maybe you can ask if you can learn some decoding techniques at math camp, okay? That might be more useful than all of these pointless long-division problems you keep doing--or maybe it’s calculus, but whatever.)
Since you aren’t here to explore this place with me, I’m sending you another installment of my Washington, D.C., virtual travel service! Aren’t you excited?
“WHO KNEW?” GILDA JOYCE HIGHLIGHTS,
FAVORITES & “JUST PLAIN WEIRD” OBJECTS
AT THE INTERNATIONAL SPY MUSEUM
The Lipstick Gun (the “Kiss of Death”): This was created by the KGB (the intelligence agency for the Soviet Union during the Cold War in case you’re clueless). There’s something spooky about looking into what you think is a lipstick and instead seeing a little hole from which a bullet might fire.
“Sisterhood of Spies” Exhibit: Listen, there’s A LOT they don’t teach us in school. Who knew that there were so many female spies throughout history--women who went around hiding secret notes in their bonnets, sausage curls, petticoats, and china dolls?
 
 
The Jefferson wheel cipher: Who knew that Thomas Jefferson, one of the Founding Fathers of our nation, also invented a way to encode and decode messages? (And why is it that presidents don’t invent things anymore? I guess they’re way too busy to carve things out of wood.) The wheel cipher Jefferson made looks like a little wooden rolling pin, but it’s actually made of twenty-six round wooden pieces, each engraved with letters of the alphabet and threaded onto an iron spindle. When you turn the wheels, you can scramble and unscramble words in lots of different ways. Great for passing secret notes during math class!
 
 
Rectal tool concealment kit: This is exactly what the name says. It’s basically a container concealing a bunch of tools--lock picks, drills to be stored “where the sun don’t shine,” as my Grandma Joyce would put it. It was for very serious spies who were in imminent danger of being captured--kind of an emergency escape kit. I don’t see why you’re laughing. I’m sure the people who had to use it didn’t find the idea of spies going around with tools concealed in their butts the least bit funny.
 
 
MOLES, SIGNAL SITES, AND “DEAD DROPS”: No, a “mole” isn’t a nearly blind furry animal that burrows underground, and it isn’t a beauty mark on your skin. In the spy world (or “intelligence community,” as they like to call it in this town), a “mole” is a person who has access to important secrets--probably someone working for the military, the CIA, or the FBI. But this person is also secretly working for an enemy organization, and informing them of classified information, often in exchange for money. Because it’s too risky for moles (and other spies, for that matter) to meet their contacts in person, they use code names and “dead drops” to communicate with their foreign contacts without being seen associating with them in person.
 
 
DEAD DROPS: It’s usually too dangerous for spy handlers (like CIA officers working overseas) to meet directly with their “assets”--the people who are willing to give them secret information. After all, if spotted together, they might be arrested or even killed. Instead, they use “dead drops”--agreed-upon locations where they will drop off messages and packages of information for each other to pick up without meeting in person. They use “concealment devices” to hide the information they drop off: an empty soda can or a twig can be left out in the open while hiding classified information. Spies usually have “signal sites”--maybe a chalk mark on a mailbox or sign--to alert one another that a communication “drop” has been made.
 
 
SPY CITY: Even though the Cold War is officially over, the Russians and Americans (among others) are apparently spying on each other as much as ever. Kind of makes you wonder what’s going on right outside the Spy Museum!

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