Dot jerked upright. “Why did we stop? Is there something wrong?”
“Stay here,” the driver said flatly, which did nothing to calm her. He got out and shut the door behind him, walked to the front, and lifted the hood of the car. She couldn’t see him, since the hood was shielding him, and her thoughts ran wild. Was he still there? Was someone else out there? Who was he really? Where were they?
She jumped when his door opened and he climbed back in. “Something wrong?”
“This is Thornton Road,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Leads directly to the camp. Anyone driving down here has to be sure they haven’t been followed. I was checking for other vehicles.”
The camp.“And what… What if you had seen one?”
“I’d have kept driving and come back later. Everything is closely monitored around here and patrolled twenty-four hours a day. Nobody gets in or out without their knowing.”
Wide awake now, she stared as they sped up a gravel driveway, passed a lone sign that declaredPROHIBITED AREA, DEPARTMENT OF NATIONAL DEFENCE, then paused at a guardhouse. The man within checked their paperwork, then they continued, eventually turning onto a smaller road lined by apple trees. In the field on her left, Dot noticed a huge array of antennae poking into the air like massive porcupine quills, and her earlier apprehension began to give way to anticipation. Antennae suggested communications. Wireless telegraphs and more.
The driver parked in front of a building but left the engine running. He retrieved her bag from the trunk and set it by the building’s entrance.
“Welcome to Camp X,” he said, opening her door.
Camp X! What a wonderful name for an Intelligence Department!
“Someone will be waiting for you inside. Good luck.” He returned to the front seat, put the car in gear, and rolled away.
Dot watched him disappear into the night, slightly dazed. When she could no longer hear his tires on the gravel, she picked up her bagand entered the building. As she’d been told, a man waited within. He was older, and his dark hair was streaked with grey, well on its way to matching his bushy silver moustache. The smile beneath it was cordial.
“Petty Officer Wren Wilson, I presume. I am Major Nelson, but you may call me Gerald. How shall I address you?”
“Dot.”
“Fine. That’s just fine.” He flashed another smile. “Welcome to Camp X, also known as Spy School.”
Dot blinked up at him. “I’m sorry. Spy School?”
“Indeed. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all, sir,” she stammered. “It’s a bit of a surprise, though, as I wasn’t told what to expect. Only that I would be working with intelligence of some kind.”
“Ah well. This is most definitely the place to be for intelligence.”
She scanned the room for clues. What did they need from her? Where were the radios?
“Before we begin, you are familiar with our strict policy of secrecy, I assume.”
“I did sign the Official Secrecy Oath.”
“Excellent. As a reminder, any word mentioned about this place or the people in it, including yourself, would be considered treason.”
Dot nodded.
“I imagine you’re wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into. In a nutshell, we recruit and train secret agents, saboteurs, fighters, other recruiters, and partisan workers out of promising young people like yourself. Oh, and assassins.” He gestured down the corridor. “Shall we?”
All the blood drained from Dot’s face. “Assassins, sir?”
“When needs must. It is war, after all. You, Petty Officer Wren Wilson, have been identified as having talents perfectly suited to a clandestine war effort.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or were your superiors incorrect?”
“No, sir,” she replied, but the urge to bolt pulled at her. Chief Wren Alder and Captain Powell had thought she’d make a good assassin?
“All right. Let’s begin our tour. It’s a shame it’s so late in the evening, but you will get the general idea.”
She picked up her suitcase, moving quickly to keep pace. Major Nelson—Gerald—strode down the corridor with his hands clasped behind his back, passing doorways and outlining the bare bones of the camp.
