We were sitting calmly,checking our (synchronized) watches, and all thinking the exact same thing:something is definitely different.

The Gallagher mansion is madeof stone and wood. It has carved banisters and towering fireplaces a girl cancurl up in front of on snowy days and read all about who killed JFK (the realstory), but somehow that elevator had brought us into a space that didn'tbelong in the same century, much less the same building, as the rest of themansion. The walls were frosted glass. The tables were stainless steel. But theabsolute weirdest thing about the Covert Operations classroom was that ourteacher wasn't in it.

Joe Solomon was late—so late, I was beginning to get a little resentfulthat I hadn't taken the time to go steal some M&M's from my mom's desk,because, frankly, a two-year-old Tic Tac simply doesn't satisfy the hunger of agrowing girl.

We sat quietly as the secondsticked away, but I guess the silence became too much for Tina Walters, becauseshe leaned across the aisle and said, "Cammie, what do you know abouthim?"

Well, I only knew what Bex hadtold me, but Tina's mom writes a gossip column in a major metropolitan newspaperthat shall remain nameless (since that's her cover and all), so there was noway Tina wasn't going to try to get to the bottom of this story. Soon I wastrapped under an avalanche of questions like, "Where's he from?" and"Does he have a girlfriend?" and "Is it true he killed a Turkishambassador with a thong?" I wasn't sure if she was talking about thesandals or the panties, but in any case, I didn't have the answer.