Page 87 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

Evelyn steps toward a panel set into the wall and places her palm against it. A soft tone sounds, followed by a voice saying, “Director authorization.”

Evelyn looks at me. “We call the protocol that conceals the agency Code Fourteen. It is initiated whenever someone without operational clearance enters the floor.”

I glance at Miles. “Did I trigger it?”

“No. The floor was converted before we arrived.”

“Because of me.”

“Yes.”

Evelyn’s palm remains against the panel as she says, “Code Fourteen cleared. Return to standard configuration.”

For one beat, nothing happens. Then the room begins changing. All on its own. The Lancaster Business Solutions sign rises silently toward the ceiling. Behind it, a different emblem slides out from the wall—an intricate silver symbol encircled by the words Clandestine Services Agency.

The four large screens go dark. A second later, they light again with maps, agency-status displays, secure communications indicators, and the CSA emblem.

I stare at it all with my mouth hanging open. I startle when my attention is pulled to the desktop nearest me as it sinks slightly. Its perfectly blank surface rolls away, replaced by another one holding a recessed keyboard, secured controls, and an integrated screen.

The same movement travels across the room. Desk after desk opens like the building is waking up.

A series of panels along the east wall lifts into the ceiling, revealing framed portraits that had been hidden behind them. Conference-room glass clears. A secured elevator door appears where a flat section of wall had been. The slogan Your secrets are safe with us rotates out of sight, replaced by a digital mission-status board.

Even the lighting changes. The warm, bland corporate glow sharpens into something clearer and brighter, and I can’t stop staring at all of it, desperate to take it all in, knowing I’m missing some of it.

The room isn’t becoming something new. It is stopping its performance. For years, so many people I love have walked into this room when they go to work, seeing it with its real face.

Beside me, Miles is completely still. He isn’t watching the transformation— he’s watching me. I turn slowly, trying to take everything in at once.

Charlie’s fake spreadsheet disappears from one of her three monitors. In its place, a map fills one screen, along with camera feeds and columns of data I can’t begin to interpret on the others. Emerson’s monitors light with names, photographs, travel records, and hundreds of lines connecting one person to another. Neither of them reacts to the transformation. This is normal to them. This is work.

“Oh,” I say. It is the least adequate word I think I’ve ever said.

Evelyn lowers her hand from the panel. “Welcome to the CSA.”

I look up at the silver emblem. Then at Miles. “You really are a spy.”

“Intelligence operative.”

Evelyn gestures toward the room. “We’ll keep the visit short, but I can show you the main floor.” She begins with the briefing area at the front. Operatives gather there before missions. The large screens can display live feeds, maps, intercepted communications, and information from analysts.

She shows me the conference rooms and tells me that they’re soundproof.

“Because you discuss secrets?”

“Because Ledger and Jace can argue loudly,” Miles says.

Evelyn makes a small attempt to hide a smile. “Both are true.”

We move past the first row of desks. Evelyn explains only the broadest functions. Analysts. Technical teams. Operatives. Mission support. Everything is general enough that I know she has carefully selected every word.

Then Miles points toward a cluster of desks near the center. “That’s Jace’s.” His desk is clean except for a framed picture of Mackenzie and a small object shaped like a helicopter.

“Ledger’s.” A whiteboard beside his desk has a line down the middle. One side says Ledger, and the other says ZOE in the CIA. There are tally marks under both names.

I stare. “They keep score at work?”

“Ledger does. Zoe keeps her own scoreboard.”