Spy Ski School (24 page)

The discovery that I was heading into an area with the potential for death by avalanche didn't do much to lift my spirits. Or, unfortunately, to dampen Warren's.

“So, if Shang is onto you,” he teased, “you think he might try to kill you?”

“I'm kind of hoping that's not the case,” I replied. “But if he
was
planning anything, we'd know about it, right? We listened to the room all night and didn't hear anything.”

“Well,” Woodchuck pointed out, “if Leo Shang was really onto you, then wouldn't he suspect you bugged the room?”

“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling queasy. “I guess.”

Warren snickered again, as though the idea of my being a target was the funniest thing in the world.

I found myself imagining that laugh turning into a scream as Warren suddenly fell off the chair and plummeted to the ground far below us.

Then I shoved that thought aside and tried to think of what to do. If Leo Shang really did want me dead, would his men already be tailing me? If so, I couldn't have been heading to a worse place than a remote mountain peak on the edge of the wilderness. And up on the chairlift, I was helpless. I swung around to look at the chairs behind us. I could see only the next six, but there didn't seem to be any of Shang's goons back there. There weren't many people there at all and they were all normal-size humans, as opposed to Shang's beefed-up mountains of muscle. We had reached Blue Sky before most of the other skiers. Despite this, I remained extremely worried about my safety. Maybe I was being paranoid, but then again, Shang's helicopter pilot had already mysteriously disappeared. I didn't want to be next.

I needed to discuss my potential danger with Erica, right away. However, it wasn't really the kind of conversation I was supposed to shout at the top of my lungs from one chairlift to the other.

Then it occurred to me that I might not have to. I was wearing the exact same ski outfit I'd worn the day before; after all, I had only one. The radio transmitter Erica had given me to infiltrate the Shangs' suite was still in the pocket. I stuck it in my ear, wondering if Erica had her radio on.

She did. Her radio didn't seem to be in her ear, as I could
only hear her faintly. I figured it was still in her pocket as well, probably in her parka, as it was picking up everything she and Zoe said.

I was about to try to get their attention when I heard Zoe ask, “So, what do you think about Mike?”

Rather than interrupt, I kept silent. I wanted to know what Erica thought I should do about Shang—but I really wanted to know the answer to Zoe's question, too.

“I don't think he's as big a threat as my grandfather does,” Erica replied.

“I don't mean do you think he's a threat,” Zoe corrected. “I mean, what do you think of him as a boy?”

“What are you doing?” Erica asked, sounding extremely confused.

“Trying to have girl talk,” Zoe replied.

“What's girl talk?”

“Um, pretty much exactly what it sounds like. We're girls, and we talk about interesting stuff.”

“Like possible threats to national security?”

“Er, no. Like boys.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because it's fun.”

“It doesn't sound fun,” Erica countered. “It sounds like an interrogation.”

“I guess it is,” Zoe admitted. “But I promise, it's way
better than that. And it goes both ways. We get to ask each other questions about boys. If you want, you can go first.”

“Is this a covert conversation?”

“Absolutely. We're both sworn to secrecy.”

There was a pause as Erica mulled this over. Then she said, “Do you like Warren?”

“Warren?” Zoe shrieked, loud enough so we could hear her back on our lift. Then she lowered her voice so only Erica and I could hear it and said, “Ew, gross! No way.”

“Did you hear that?” Warren asked me excitedly. “Zoe's talking about me! I think she's into me.”

I almost felt bad about letting Warren cling to this. But then he said, “See, girls like me because I
don't
screw up my missions.”

I ignored him and went back to eavesdropping.

“Okay, your turn,” Zoe said. “Do you like Mike?”

“Kind of,” Erica said.

To my surprise, this made me feel almost as bad as learning that my life might be in danger.

Zoe wasn't satisfied, though. “You can't say ‘kind of.' You have to say ‘yes' or ‘no.' ”

“Why not?”

“Because ‘kind of' is evasive. If you were interrogating a bad guy and you asked him if he was planning a terrorist attack, would you let him off with saying ‘kind of'?”

“That's
different. There's no room for nuance where public safety is concerned.”

“The same goes for boys. You don't ‘kind of' like a boy. You ‘kind of' like asparagus. With boys, you either like them or you don't.”

“Not necessarily. I could like them as a friend.”

“First of all, you don't have friends. Second, we're not talking about liking someone as a friend. We're talking about
like
like. Like, would you want to date the guy?”

“I don't want to date
anybody
. Personal relationships get in the way of effective espionage.”

“Not necessarily.”

“They certainly did this week. Ben got all turned around with this Jessica business when Mike came along. And he was definitely upset when I started paying attention to Mike. . . .”

“Well, Ben really likes you.”

“I'm well aware of that. And so, when the time came to win Jessica back over, he overdid it. He rebounded toward her much too hard, leading her on romantically instead of just trying to be friends with her.”

“I read the transcripts of everything you and Ben said yesterday,” Zoe said. “It didn't seem like he was leading Jessica on to me.”

“The transcripts don't convey emotion. I
heard
Ben and I can assure you, he was leading Jessica on. I mean, he got her
to hug him. That's not appropriate friend behavior.”

“Actually, it kind of is.”

“I don't think so. And she did it in front of a roaring fire, no less. And Ben made no attempt to stop her. Or to set any kind of boundaries at all. Trust me, Ben wasn't merely trying to befriend Jessica. He was trying to romance her—and it all blew up in his face.”

I almost took the earpiece from my ear, feeling even worse than I had before. I hadn't thought I was doing any of what Erica said, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I
had
overplayed my hand, leading Jessica on, getting her to hug me, and then ruining everything.

But then, to my surprise, Zoe started laughing. Hard. “Oh my gosh,” she gasped. “Erica, you're hilarious.”

“What's so funny?” Erica demanded.

“You know so much about everything in the entire world,” Zoe explained, “except yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You're jealous of Jessica Shang! Because she hugged Ben.”

“That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard in my life,” Erica snapped. Only, while this was exactly the sort of thing I'd heard Erica say plenty of times, the way she said it didn't sound like Erica at all. Instead, she sounded strangely ill at ease. As though Zoe had struck a nerve.

Zoe seemed to sense this too. “I don't think it's so dumb,” she said. “And just so you know, you don't have anything to worry about. Ben has no interest in Jessica Shang.”

“He has a crush on her,” Erica said flatly.

“He only thinks she's pretty,” Zoe emphasized. “But he
likes
you. A lot. And if you're jealous of Jessica, I'm betting you like him, too.”

“This conversation is over,” Erica said.

“Oh, come on!” Zoe protested. “You need to deal with your feelings, not avoid them.”

“I'm not avoiding my feelings,” Erica replied. “We need to stop talking! Listen!”

Zoe stopped talking and listened. I ceased eavesdropping and focused on my surroundings too.

We were almost at the top of the mountain. The end of the lift was only a few chairs ahead of us. Beyond it, I could see a flat, wide-open plain of snow, which ended abruptly in what must have been a sharp drop.

The lift machinery was quite loud, whirring and clanking as each new chair arrived. I could barely hear anything over it.

But there was something. A thrumming noise. Distant, but getting louder.

“All I hear is a helicopter,” Zoe said.

“It's coming toward us,” Erica explained.

Zoe didn't question this. Neither did I. Erica might not have understood her own emotions—or anyone else's for that matter—but if anyone knew how to tell the direction a helicopter was traveling merely from the sound, it was her.

I swiveled around in my seat, scanning the surrounding mountains. Despite the clear day, it was hard to pick out the helicopter, but I eventually found it: a black blur on the western horizon, quickly growing bigger as it approached.

“Is something wrong?” Woodchuck asked, sensing my unease.

“Erica thinks so,” I told him, pointing. “There's a helicopter coming this way fast.”

“So?” Warren asked. “It's probably just search and rescue.”

“Those are red.” Woodchuck's face was creased with concern. “That one's not. It looks like it's for heli-skiing, but those are supposed to stay well clear of the resort.”

My phone suddenly started ringing. So did Warren's. And Woodchuck's. And Erica's and Zoe's. At exactly the same moment. And they rang with the very specific ringtone we used to specify an emergency alert.

Before any of us could answer, though, the helicopter started shooting.

Blue Sky Basin

Vail Mountain

December 30

1015 hours

Luckily for us, there was
a small control room at the top of the ski lift. Our chairs moved behind it just in time. The bullets ricocheted off it and shattered the windows, but they didn't reach us.

Still, the control room wasn't much protection. Especially since it shielded us from only one direction. Unfortunately, there wasn't much other cover on the mountaintop. Only a small stand of trees fifty feet away.

Ahead of us, Erica and Zoe's chair arrived at the end of
the lift. The two of them leapt off it and raced for the trees.

The helicopter roared over our heads, so low that the wind from its rotors pushed down on us like an open hand.

My chair reached the end of the lift and Woodchuck, Warren, and I sprang off it, poling as hard as we could after the girls.

Thankfully, there weren't any other skiers on the mountaintop at the moment. What few were around had already started down the slopes and were well clear of the gunfire. Which left only us to serve as targets.

And as targets went, we were awfully good ones. We were now right out in the open. If the stand of trees had been downhill from us, we could have at least skied to it quickly; instead, we had to cross flat ground. That wasn't easy on skis. Especially with two feet of new snow piled up. We all had to go with a combination of pushing with our poles and galloping along with our skis on, which was like trying to sprint with two-by-fours nailed to our shoes. In addition, we were at one of the highest points at the ski resort, nearly two miles above sea level, so the altitude was taking a toll on Warren, Zoe, and me. I felt like I could barely breathe in the thin air. Our progress was agonizingly slow.

To the east, the helicopter banked, coming around for another attack.

“We are screwed!” Warren cried. “We're sitting ptarmigans out here!”

“Ptarmigans?” Woodchuck asked.

“Don't get him started,” I gasped.

I pushed on my poles as hard as I could, straining with every ounce of strength, racing for the safety of the trees. Zoe and Warren did the same. Even though both were beginners, in the heat of the moment, they were handling themselves well. Woodchuck was right beside us.

However, Erica suddenly veered off, away from the trees and out into the open.

“What are you doing?” I yelled.

“Saving your butts!” she yelled back. “Get yourselves to cover!”

The helicopter was coming back, moving quickly toward us again.

I now saw what Erica was heading for: A Sno-Cat was parked at the edge of the snowfield. It was a large vehicle with treads instead of tires, used to groom snow and do other maintenance around the resort. This one had a trailer hitched to the back, also with treads instead of wheels, and atop that sat one of the ski patrol's avalanche howitzers.

Erica didn't have enough time to get there, though. The only shelter between her and it was a lone outhouse, set atop the mountain since it was several miles to the closest real bathroom. Erica popped off her skis and dove behind it as the helicopter opened fire again. Bullets shredded the tiny
building, then raced across the snowy plain toward us, leaving a trail of tiny geysers. We reached the safety of the trees just in time. The bullets ricocheted off the trunks, snapping branches and annihilating pinecones.