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"That's the sad thing," I said, just as Angel trotted out of the woods. "He didn't. I mean, his name is the Gasman. We're not just whistling Dixie, there."
"Am I the last one?" Angel asked as she got near. "Sorry. Got sidetracked by some wild orchids." She handed me a small bouquet of creamy flowers.
"Ooh, thanks, sweetie," I said, inhaling their delicate scent. "So. Time for weapons class?"
The lieutenant colonel glared first at me, then at Angel. The two guards staggered out of the woods, still holding their rifles, but with their helmets askew and their camo gear trailing behind them.
"Ensigns Baker and Kipowski!" Palmer barked. "All five of these recruits exited the woods within four minutes! Did you see them?"
Looking dazed, the ensigns tried to straighten up. One of them cleared his throat. "We didn't see the tall dark one, sir, or the tall blond one, or the oldest girl. We saw the younger boy, but he… incapacitated us."
Palmer just stared at them.
Gazzy stifled a snicker. "Burritos for lunch," he whispered, and Iggy and Fang tried to hold in their laughter.
"What about this one?" Palmer pointed his pen at Angel, who gave him a sunny smile.
The guards looked at her, and confusion crossed their faces.
I tried not to groan.
"I think I saw her," one said slowly. "I don't remember."
"You don't—" Palmer seemed speechless. I knew it couldn't last.
"I might have seen her," said the other guard, his eyes on the ground. "I just—it's all—I don't know."
I stood up and brushed off my khaki butt. "I guess it's time for weapons class," I said pointedly.
Palmer was still staring at the two guards. I went over to him.
"Lieutenant Colonel," I said. "Can I call you L? No? Well, look, it's not their fault. They probably would have caught anyone else. But we're good at this stuff. As I keep telling you."
"She's a child!" Palmer burst out, gesturing at Angel.
"She's a sneaky and devious child," I explained. "Plus, you know, I think she zapped the guards. With her mind. She can hear people's thoughts and sometimes control them. It's weird, it's scary, but there you go. Your guys never had a chance."
The lieutenant colonel seemed less comforted by my explanation than you might think. Finally, he let his clipboard dangle at his side. "Weapons class," he said. But you could tell his heart wasn't really in it anymore.
37
LIEUTENANT COLONEL Palmer, still looking tense from the demoralizing covert ops training, stood at the front of the classroom. He opened a case on the desk and took out a James Bond-like handgun.
"This is the Beretta M9, a semiautomatic pistol," he said, being careful not to point it at anyone. "It's one of the safest and best-designed handguns in the world and is standard issue for several branches of the U.S. military."
Gazzy raised his hand.
The lieutenant colonel seemed to go a little pale but ignored him. "Capable of handling fifteen-round magazines, this weapon has proved to be one of the most reliable and accurate—"
Gazzy waved his hand back and forth. Impossible to ignore.
Palmer tried looking stern. "This better be good, son," he said, gritting his teeth.
"The Beretta is great and all," said Gazzy earnestly, "but I've heard the military-issued model tends to jam something awful. People think it's the weird finish on the barrels. Plus, it's supposedly really heavy, bowling ball heavy. Kind of like the all-steel M1911 model. And then the trigger's too far away for most people, even if they have big hands…"
Lieutenant Colonel Palmer was nonplussed. Again.
Gazzy looked at him, concerned. "Um, it's still a really neat gun, though," he said. "And did you know—if you stick the spring from a clothespin right under the safety when it's in the left-hand mode, then pull the trigger, it'll explode about two-point-nine seconds later? I mean, throw it first."
