In response, Brooke hit a few keys on the arm of her chair, and a thin green line appeared on the middle of the screen. “Play audio,” she said, her voice loud and clear.

The lights dimmed slightly, and as a voice filled the room, the green line on the screen began to move in sync with the words. I could only infer that whoever our bosses were, they were even bigger drama queens than the girls in this room—which, as you might have guessed, was really saying something.

“Hello, girls,” the voice said. I had an incredible urge to respond with “Good morning, Charlie,” but somehow, given the sudden seriousness that had settled over my teammates, I doubted anyone would appreciate the reference.

“As you know, the CIA databases have been accessed by an unknown entity twice in the past week. While neither of the hacks lasted more than thirty seconds, we have reason to believe that the limited window of time allowed the hackers to access highly classified information.”

The voice didn’t expand on what that information was. I was beginning to hate the word classified.

“We’ve managed to track the source of the breach to somewhere in Bayport, and have therefore included our most up-to-date analyses of the Peyton firm’s activities this month: financial records, interaction logs, and limited audio surveillance. You’ll want to go over it all with a fine-tooth comb. For the duration of this mission, you should refrain from using your database to access ours. Since there’s no link between the two and no mention of the Squad program in any of our files, your system should be secure.”

Somehow, I was less than shocked that the CIA didn’t have an electronic paper trail detailing its use of teenage cheerleaders as secret agents. This whole operation had top-secret written all over it.

Without warning, the green line on the screen was replaced with a picture of a guy I vaguely recognized as an international playboy who had recently broken up with a celebutante heiress who shall remain nameless.

“Girls, this is Heath Shannon.”

There were a couple of girly sighs in the room, and my resultant eye roll was nothing short of reflexive.

“According to our surveillance, his contact with Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray has increased significantly since the first leak earlier this week. Whatever information the firm has managed to acquire, they’ll be looking for a buyer, and right now, Heath Shannon is our best lead. We have reason to believe that he has contacts on the information black market who would be more than willing to pay for the kind of information accessed during the leaks.”

The picture changed, this time to reveal an office building nestled in between a Starbucks and a bookstore. It could have been anywhere, but I was going to go out on a limb and guess it was in Bayport.

“This is the office building for Infotech Limited,” the voice continued. “A privately owned technology company, specializing in internet security, virus protection, and advanced TWD.”

“Technological weapons defense.” Tara whispered the clarification in my left ear.

“Infotech’s Pentagon contract was terminated in 2004. Our systems have changed some since then, but of all of Peyton’s clients, they’re the most likely suspects in the breach.”

Everyone seemed awfully sure that these leaks were tied to the law firm. It made me wonder just how evil these lawyers were.

A third picture flashed up on the screen—a map. As the voice continued talking, bright dots of light appeared all over the map, which covered most of the globe. “The illuminated points on this map represent our operatives worldwide,” the voice said. “Take a good, long look at the numbers here, girls. This is what’s at stake. Our latest analysis of the leaks suggests that the information accessed includes the names and aliases of some of our overseas operatives. We don’t know which ones, and we don’t know how many, but we do know that Peyton has started the ball rolling on brokering a deal with Heath Shannon’s terrorist contacts. This must not come to pass. The lives of these operatives—and our national security—are in your hands.”

Again, I thought, with the melodrama. But then I glanced at Tara, who was sitting beside me, and I noticed how very pale she’d gone. I found myself staring at my partner instead of the screen. I didn’t know much about Tara, but I did know she was a professional. Tara was cool, calm, and collected. So why did she look like she’d been hit in the face with a very large, very heavy fish?

I wasn’t a profiler like Zee. I wasn’t even a people person, but I could tell, just by looking at her, that something was wrong. To Tara, this wasn’t just a case. This was personal.

I looked back at the thousands and thousands of dots on the map and thought about the way that operatives caught at Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray had a tendency to disappear. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine foreign governments or terrorist organizations being any more forgiving. Maybe Tara had it right. Life and death, even represented by dots on a map, had to be personal. And just like that, this Mission was real, and everything I’d thought and joked about at the mall seemed a thousand miles away.

“Your mission is threefold,” the voice said, leaving the map on the screen so that not one of us could forget what was at stake. “First and foremost, we have to shut down the leaks. Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray cannot be allowed to access any more of our operatives’ locations. Penetrate Infotech’s system, disable it, and acquire any and all files that relate to information they may have already forwarded on to the firm. That leads me to your second initiative. We need to know what information Peyton has access to and how much—if any—of it has already been sold. To do that, you’ll need to reinstate our surveillance inside Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray. Our organization is not in a position to send another agent in unnoticed, so we’re going to have to go with a stealth bug, and one of you is going to have to plant it.”

My mind organized the information that the voice was imparting, even as I sat there, pinned to my seat with some kind of horrific fascination. The gears in my mind turned and spun, coming to the logical conclusions, as if this whole situation were just another piece of code to be puzzled out in the nooks and crannies of my brain.

The government had a leak. Like a person with a nasty virus, it was sick, and we were the lucky ones who got to play doctor. First, we had to attack the metaphorical virus, which meant eliminating the leak before it could wreak any more havoc on our national security. And then, we had to assess the damage that had already been done. To do that, we needed to bug the nefarious law firm. As my mind processed all of this, in the span of seconds, I knew exactly what our third task was going to be. You stop the virus, you assess the damage, and then you do what you can to treat the symptoms that already exist.

“Finally, we need you to put a tail on Heath Shannon. You girls can blend in a way that our agents can’t, and sooner or later, Shannon is going to go back to Peyton to finalize the deal for whatever information they’ve already acquired.”

And by information, he meant sensitive data that could and would be deadly if we didn’t stop its transfer. Finding out what the leak entailed wasn’t enough. That was damage control; it wasn’t a solution.

“We believe that the information trade will be physical, rather than electronic, so your orders are to wait until after Shannon leaves the firm to take him down and retrieve the data before it falls into enemy hands.”

Just listening to the instructions made my heart pound a little faster. Hacking into secured systems and messing with their files? Taking down an international playboy who doubled as a freelance baddie? Even with the seriousness of the situation, I couldn’t push down the thought that this was the stuff that dreams were made of.

“And girls?” the voice added.

Yes, Charlie? I thought.

I expected him to tell us to be careful, but instead, he said, “Good luck at your game on Saturday. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

And then just like that, the audio feed switched off, and the screen flashed back to the index that Tara and I had examined in the car. For a split second, there was silence, and then, I just couldn’t restrain myself.

“Is it always like this?” I asked. “With the messages and the melodrama and a faceless voice telling us what to do?”