“This is way more exciting in the movies.” Roux yawned after the clock passed five and we didn’t have anything. Tiny tendrils of panic were starting to wind their way around my throat, and I knew that if we didn’t find anything, this whole deal was over. I had blown my parents’ cover, Angelo’s cover, and my cover, all within the span of a day, and pretty soon, the rest of the world would know who we were. There would likely be government inquiries, arrests, and I’d probably be separated from my parents and put—
“What’s that?” Jesse asked, interrupting my depressing train of thought. (I guess he had a point with the whole apocalyptic-thinking thing.) “Go back, go back.”
I scrolled back up and saw an e-mail titled, “Re: auction.” “My dad was talking about an auction on the phone the other day,” Jesse said. “He was angry that someone was trying to sell a story after they said he could have it.”
“That would have been good to know two hours ago!” I said, clicking on it as fast as I could.
“Sorry, I didn’t think it was important! We don’t all do this for a living, you know.”
I let it slide because, fair enough. At that point, I was just glad that Jesse was still talking to me.
The e-mail was short and to the point: “‘Due to your request, I can no longer participate in our discussion regarding the International story. We at Meredian Media—’ Did he name it after your mom?”
“Yeah,” Jesse admitted.
“Awww!” Roux and I both squealed.
“Where was I?” I continued. “Oh, yeah. ‘We at Meredian Media have a longstanding policy not to pay for information relevant to our articles. To do so would violate our journalistic integrity, as well as our moral code.’” I paused again. “Your dad has an eloquent way of telling people to take a hike.”
“He does,” Jesse said. “Where’s the trail, though? No forwards, no replies.”
We searched for the recipient’s e-mail address next and found a slew of e-mails, nearly thirty in all. “Gotcha!” Roux said, sitting up so she could squint at the screen. “Can you guys even read that? I think I need glasses.”
I shoved over and pulled the computer onto my lap so that all three of us could look at it. “He was selling the story,” I realized. “Your dad agreed to run it at first, but then the guy turned around and offered it to another magazine to try and get a bidding war going. He wanted your dad to pay for the info.”
“How much did he want for it?” Roux asked. “That’s a lot of zeroes.”
“That’s Egalité magazine,” Jesse said. “My dad hates their publisher because he used to work for my dad and then left and took half of his reporters with him. Seriously, don’t say Egalité around my dad.”
“But it doesn’t say that he bought the story, just that he wanted to buy it.”
“Can’t you look at his bank accounts?” Roux said. “See if he made any big withdrawals?”
“I could if I were working at the Collective’s headquarters right now.” I sighed. “They have all the technology for that. But out in the field, all I do is open the safes.” I was starting to realize how far out of my depth I was.
“Roger didn’t buy it,” Jesse said. “Trust me.”
Roux and I turned to look at him. “If he bought it, two things would be happening. One, my dad would be ripping his hair out and swearing up and down the halls. He hates Egalité so much that, trust me, we’d know if they got the story.”
“I recommend anger management,” Roux said.
“And two,” Jesse continued, ignoring her, “if they did already buy the story, everyone would know. He’d be leaking bits and pieces to the press on a daily basis.”
“He didn’t buy it yet,” I clarified. “He still might.” I saw an attachment on another e-mail and opened it up.
The first thing I saw was my face.
“Holy shit!” I gasped. “That’s me.” I leaned a little closer to inspect the image. “Is that what I look like?”
It was a dossier about me, I soon realized, and it was just one of about a dozen. My parents, Angelo, different spies that had come and gone over the years—we were all there. Someone had put them all together, and I felt the cold wash of terror start to seep into my skin. “This isn’t just someone out to get the Collective,” I whispered. “It’s someone from inside the Collective. Oh my God.” I had never considered the possibility before, but now I was looking at old passports, addresses, and birth dates. There were snapshots of me and Angelo outside Gramercy Park—me barely tall enough to reach the lock that I was picking—and a copy of my actual birth certificate. Only a Collective insider could have had this much information.
The e-mail was much worse.
“They have used minors to commit international espionage,” I read aloud, “and have operated outside the law for scores of years.” I sat back and put my hand to my mouth. I was the minor, I knew it.
“You’re shaking,” Jesse murmured.
“You think? That’s my family they’re talking about! They’re talking about me! There are a lot of people who could be in a huge amount of danger right now!” The room felt too hot and small. “If this person’s selling this information to the highest bidder, he’s basically selling a hit list and …” I couldn’t even finish that sentence.