Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Five

I remember the first time I ever saw Sublevel One.  I remember the smooth, clean interior.  The feel of the glass beneath my fingers and the glare of silver desks.  I remember thinking that it was endles—that eternity was nothing compared to the sheer size of that lower level.

Sublevel Two is nothing like that.  It's built out of dirt, stone, and secrets.  Rock crumbled around us while wet air from the lake seemed to be the only thing holding the place together.  I was reminded of the days at the beach when my brother and I had spent hours constructing our elaborate moats.  That's what this place was.  Someone had stolen one of our little red shovels and used it to carve out this maze of tunnels and zigzags and all the things that people who always want to run, never want to see.  I felt something buzz in my chest and I had to swallow the lump in my throat before I choked on it.  Trapped.  This was what it felt like for an animal to live in a cage.  

It was dark and dust, but I'm pretty sure that I saw Woods look down at me through the corner of her eyes.  But no.  That can't be right.  Charlotte Woods never looks anywhere but straight ahead.  "Pay attention, ladies," she said, her chin high.  "The first day is the last day you get a tour."

We followed her through that rocky labyrinth.  We passed doors that were labeled as Holocaust and another labeled Kennedy.  We passed the largest library I'd ever seen and I lingered, peaking into the doorway and wondering what sort of information was held in the depths of the most secure building in the world and just how much of it was secrets, rigged to explode with a single touch.

Woods cleared her throat.  I'm not sure if it was meant for me or not, but that's what it felt like as I ran to catch up with the pack of girls that was rapidly moving away from me.

Sublevel Two might not have been so ominous if it actually had a stable lighting system.  The few lights that it does have are few and far between, casting two seperate shadows—one in front you and one behind.  Looking ahead, our path seemed to extend into nothingness.  Over my shoulder, it was the same.  The chill of fall seemed to seep through the walls as I shuffled along, thinking that if Sublevel One was the public image of Covert Operations, then Sublevel Two was undoubtably its dark, mysterious shadow.

We made a sharp turn down a tunnel that led directly to a pair of sleek metal doors, these ones larger than any of the others we had passed.  As we stepped in, lights flickered on, one right after another, lighting farther and farther into that massive room.  Pice by illuminated piece, our surroundings started to make sense.  Smooth doors slid open to reveal coats and shirts.  Dresses, skirts, and pants of every color.  A collection of hair lined the walls, each color sitting atop different plastic heads.  Necklaces and bracelets.  Watches and earrings.  Any sort of accessories that a group of sixteen-year-old girls could dream up, waiting at our fingertips.  

It was a closet.  A very big closet with a very covert purpose.  But the weirdest thing about that closet was not the bulletproof bras or the shoes with the knives in the heels.  The weirdest thing about the closet was that there was a man standing at the back of it.

It was an old man, hunched over against his shaky cane, his eyebrows almost too busy to see his eyes.  He looked like a grandpa—or, well, what I'm pretty sure grandfathers are supposed to look like when their name isn't Joe Solomon.  "Ladies," Woods said, ignoring our guest.  "What do we know about disguises?"

We hadn’t read the chapter yet—it was only our first day back, after all—but Alice had no problem with the question.  “Disguise isn’t about hiding yourself,” she told the room.  “It’s about creating someone else.  Eyes, hair, and nose are the most important features to change—and, obviously, any distinguishing marks.  Moles and scars, for example. Sometimes it’s crucial to change the lips as well, but that depends on who you’re trying to dodge and”—she gave me a playful jab with her elbow—“how well they know your lips, if you get what I’m saying.”