I Am the Mission: The Unknown Assassin Book 2 by Allen Zadoff

Author:Allen Zadoff
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction / Boys & Men, Juvenile Fiction / Action & Adventure / General, Juvenile Fiction / Law & Crime
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2014-06-16T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

TWO BOYS WITH RIFLES STAND GUARD AT THE ROADBLOCK.

It has been fortified since we drove past it yesterday, a thick wooden barrier placed across the road with a spike strip below it that would puncture the tires on any vehicle smaller than a half-track.

When the armed boys see Francisco, they nod. One of them pulls back the spike strip while the other opens the gate.

“That’s a pretty serious roadblock,” I say after we pass through.

“These are serious times,” Francisco says, but he doesn’t elaborate.

I inventory the security measures I’ve seen: one road in and out of the valley, a military-style roadblock at its base; a laser perimeter around the camp with sentries at night; high-tech digital signal blocking around and above. And these are just the defenses I’ve identified. There are likely more hidden out of sight.

What exactly is Moore protecting inside Camp Liberty?

We drive the steep mile-long incline that leads out of the valley.

“Look over your shoulder,” Francisco says.

I look back. In the daylight, Liberty looks almost quaint, a scattering of buildings nestled in the green embrace of a mountain pass.

“What do you think?”

“It’s small,” I say.

“From up here, you see that it’s lucky to exist at all.”

“That’s why you work so hard to protect it?” I say.

“I work hard because it’s my home now.”

“Are you a permanent?”

“Where did you hear that term?”

“Lee told me.”

“Yeah, I’m a permanent,” he says. “Something like that.”

“How did you persuade your parents to let you stay?”

“They didn’t have a choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m nineteen now,” he says. “My parents don’t get a vote anymore.”

Usually I can tell someone’s age, but it’s been hard to determine with Francisco. The long hair and beard make him appear older, but when I look at his eyes now, I can see that he’s just a few years older than me.

“Must be nice,” I say. “To be independent, I mean.”

“It’s got pluses and minuses,” he says.

Three white panel vans approach us heading toward the camp. It’s a narrow road, and Francisco has to slow and move to the very edge to allow them to pass. As they go by, he toots his horn once and waves. The lead driver waves back.

I glance through the window of the second van, and in the moment it takes to pass, I see her.

The English teacher with wild hair. The one who tried to kill Moore.

At least I think it’s her. She’s in the passenger seat, looking away from me, a wool cap pulled low over her hair. I’m rarely wrong about things like this. My memory works like a photographic database, logging facial structures, eye shapes, hairstyles, and postural quirks.

If it’s the English teacher, why would she be invited back to camp after what happened at the center?

I consider asking Francisco about it, but I decide against it.

A few seconds later the vans are gone, and Francisco pulls back out onto the road. We start around the long curve that leads to the other side of the mountain and civilization.

“Why do you think Moore invited me to stay?” I say.

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