Only the Good Spy Young (Gallagher Girls) by Ally Carter

that night I stood without a coat in the freezing cold, trying to decipher what they had to say.
    Behind me, a pigeon cawed. The sound was eerie and loud as I squinted through the dark toward the ledge. It cawed again.
    “Stupid birds,” Liz said, shooing her hands toward the lone pigeon that sat perched on the railing.
    Most people don’t know that anything can be a cutout, a go-between, a messenger for spies. This part of the mansion existed because pigeons had once been some of the best. They never talked when interrogated; even the best spy satellites in the world couldn’t track them.
    “Go on,” Liz said again. “Get—”
    “Wait,” I said, reaching for my best friend’s hand, staring at the small bird that sat stoically, waiting in the dark.
    “Cam.” Bex’s voice was soft. “Cam, what is it?”
    I inched toward the bird and reached for the tiny slip of paper wrapped delicately around its leg.
    If you’re reading this, you’ve found it. And if you’ve found it, you know. Must see you. Meet me at the place where we did the brush passes. Send me back the time.
    Please come.
    And please be careful.
    The words were neatly typed. There was no signature—no name of any kind. And even though I knew it had been reckless to send it, reckless for me to read it—totally and completely foolish to even think about doing as it said—the truth of the matter is that a spy’s life isn’t about never taking chances. It’s about taking chances that are worth the risk.

“W hat about the old ventilation shafts in the basement?” Bex asked as we sat beside a roaring fire in the library late the next night.
    I shook my head. “Covered with eight inches of fresh concrete.”
    “The trick fireplace on the second floor?” Macey tried.
    “Maybe.” I considered the locks and bars that had been added over winter break. “Assuming we could get a blowtorch. Do any of you have a blowtorch?”
    Liz perked up as if she were about to say that yes, she did have a blowtorch in the back of her closet.
    “I’m afraid to know,” I said, holding out my hand to stop her.
    “Boy, they really want to keep us in, don’t they?” Macey said.
    “No.” Bex shook her head and stared at me. “They want to keep the Circle out.” She waited a second, as the truth of the matter settled down on the three of us. “This is dangerous. Too dangerous.”
    “I’m with Bex,” Macey said. “He’s asking you to take a really big risk, Cam.”
    They were right, but all I could think about was the way he’d walked into the center of the very people who were scouring the world to find him. “Maybe it’s my turn.”
    “Okay. Fine. Let’s say it isn’t true,” Bex offered. “Let’s say Mr. Solomon is innocent and wrongly accused and that he didn’t kill . . .” She looked away, then back again. “Let’s say he is the man we know. Does the Mr. Solomon we know tell you to sneak out of the Gallagher Academy, go into town, and meet up with a known fugitive? Does Joe Solomon tell you to be stupid?”
    The answer was obvious. That was probably why none of us said it.
    “Why don’t we go?” Liz said, pointing to herself and Bex and Macey. “See him. Get the message. Bring it back.”
    “I can’t explain it, guys,” I said, shaking my head. “I just know I’ve got to go.”
    “That doesn’t mean you have to be stupid!” Bex shot back, and I realized that Bex was being cautious. Bex had become the voice of reason. “You didn’t see it, Cammie,” she went on. “You didn’t have to watch them drug you and drag you away like a doll. You were there, Cam, but you didn’t have to watch your friend almost go away forever. You don’t know how that feels.”
    “Yeah,” Macey said softly. “She does .”
    I looked at the girls I would trust with my life. Then I thought about my dad and the man he’d probably trusted with his.
    “I have to go,” I said. “It’s my mission.”
    “You’re our mission,” Bex