Free Spy to the Rescue by Jonathan Bernstein Page A

really fast kick. But we’re in an enclosedspace. Shattering a mirror or damaging the elevator might trigger a hundred alarms. I have a better idea.
    â€œHere’s what I can do for you,” I say.
    I take Red out of my pocket and let him see it in my open palm.
    â€œIs that a marble?” he says.
    â€œA red one.” I nod.
    â€œIs it your special one?” he asks, in a tone that suggests he thinks he’s talking to a small child.
    â€œYes, it is,” I say.
    I open my palm and Red shoots across the elevator and drops into the pocket where Sam keeps his phone.
    This is how cocky, cool, and calculating Sam Gunnery appears to be. I won’t say his eyes don’t widen. I won’t say he doesn’t flinch as Red makes contact with his cell phone. But he doesn’t freak out the way I hoped he would.
    Red jumps back into my hand.
    My phone announces a text has arrived. I remove it from my pocket.
    â€œOkay, how did you . . . what is that . . . where did you get it?” Finally, I get the flustered reaction I was waiting for.
    I raise a finger in the air, leisurely look at my phone, scroll through a few texts, and then I look up at him withwhat I hope is an infuriatingly smug oh, you’re still here? smirk.
    â€œGg45 wants a plus-one for the secret Action Bronson show, cheetamode has a source for the green camo Pumas you wanted, and tedb says, Where’s the money you owe me, I ain’t asking again . . .”
    â€œOkay, stop,” says Sam. “What do you need from me that will get me one of whatever that thing is?”
    â€œI need access to the building’s surveillance camera feeds—from first thing this morning till now.”
    Sam takes out his phone and sends a text. He looks up at me. “That all?”
    â€œSeriously?” I say. “It’s done?”
    â€œGood as,” he says. “The Squirrel’s on it.”
    Sam correctly interprets my reaction as dubious.
    â€œThis squirelly little hacker who’s hugely in my debt. He needed a place to hide out for reasons I don’t need to know. I hooked him up, so he’ll get right on it. What’s next on the list?”
    This Sam Gunnery seems very full of himself, but I could use a thimbleful of his confidence right now when I’m in a strange town and wildly out of my depth on a mission I’ve barely prepared for
    â€œThirty-ninth floor,” I say.
    He presses the gold button. The elevator starts to rise.
    â€œAlex,” he says into his phone, “Bridget Wilder and I are going to hang out here a while. There’s an archive section with some of the original blueprints. The history of this place is so rich and inspiring, I really feel like I’m learning to see through the architect’s eyes. Why don’t you and the kids head home? I’ll introduce Bridget to the wonders of the Brooklyn-bound F train and we’ll catch up with you later. Good idea? Love you lots.”
    He smiles at me. “That’s how it’s done.”
    â€œHow what’s done?” I say. “Why the torrent of lies? You’re not coming with me.”
    â€œListen, Bridget Wilder, if that’s even your name, you and your marble owe me. You’re not going anywhere till that little red thing is in my hand.”
    I’m about to protest, but the truth is, Sam Gunnery appears to be a very, very connected guy and, even by my own lofty standards, a very, very skilled liar. He also seems to have a whole lot of experience keeping secrets, so why wouldn’t I want him around as I blunder into unknown territory?
    â€œFine,” I pretend to sulk as we rise past the fourteenth floor. “Say nothing, ask no questions, don’t get in my way. Do your best to be unobtrusive, check in with your squirrel about my surveillance feeds, and then you’ll get a marble.”
    â€œA marble ?” he says. “I want that marble.” He points at