“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Honestly, I don’t know what’s more worrisome: what Megan is saying or that she’s saying it with Barbies. But maybe the most shocking thing is how utterly un-Megan-like Megan is being in this moment.
She’s wearing a black tank top and baggy camouflage cargo pants and has a yellow highlighter stuck through her belt like a knife. Most of her glossy black hair is tucked up into a ski cap, but a few strands peek out. A decent portion of them are now a very dark shade of fuchsia.
“Is that permanent?” I ask, reaching out to touch her new pink hair before she slaps my hand away.
“I’m trying something new,” she says, undaunted. She points to Barbie’s Dream House and says, “We enter through the skylight in the master bedroom. Here.”
Rosie points to the Barbie jeep and says, “Where are we going to get our mobile observation unit?”
“Noah’s going to borrow his mom’s van,” Megan says.
Rosie nods, but Noah just says, “I am?”
“You are,” Megan says. “Now does anyone have any questions?”
“Who are you?” I ask. “And what have you done with Megan?”
But she just cuts her eyes at me.
“Now, we can’t be sure about the exact layout of Dominic’s place, but judging from the plans on file with the historical preservation society, that block of row houses was reconstructed after the war, and the following changes were allowed. The skylight is our window. Pardon the pun. So —”
“I’m not sure about this,” I say. I look through Barbie’s skylight at the friendship bracelets that are serving as rappelling cables, the unicorn stickers that represent cameras.
“The plan is solid,” Megan says. “This is our chance and we have to take it.”
“I know that, but if one of you gets hurt, I will never forgive myself.”
“If one of us gets hurt?” Megan shoots back. “Have you forgotten that you overheard him saying that he is supposed to kill somebody? What if the Scarred Man’s target is my mom? Did you think of that? Or Rosie’s dad? Or one of Noah’s parents? What if it’s your grandfather he’s after, Grace? Is it too risky then?”
She’s like a little camo-clad machine gun as she talks. A little camo-clad machine gun who has a point.
“Okay,” I say.
“Good.” Megan nods. “Let’s go.”
Darkness looks different in Adria than in anyplace else on earth. The flickering yellow of the streetlight mixes with the too-bright white of the moon. I look up and watch it bounce off the tile roofs of the narrow houses that stand side by side at attention. There are iron balconies and window boxes filled with white flowers. It’s like something from a postcard — from a dream.
All but one house in the row.
It keeps its shutters pulled tight even on the prettiest of days. Its locks have been upgraded and the owner never, ever sits on the stoop and talks and laughs like the other people on the block. This man comes and goes at irregular hours, and no one ever gets asked inside.
It looks like a row house.
It feels like a fortress.
At 11:00 p.m., the buildings appear dark gray against an inky-blue sky. The colors are too rich, though. Almost like watching a cartoon. But it’s no drawing — certainly not the dark figure that dashes across the rooftops, swooping and jumping like a low-flying bird. When it does a full twist mid-jump, I know the bird is just showing off.
“Focus, Rosie,” I say, forgetting that she can hear me.
“I need to concentrate here, Grace,” she replies, and I startle. There are always too many voices in my head. I really didn’t need three more. But Megan insisted we wear the little earbuds that she smuggled out of the security center of the embassy. I’ve been back less than two weeks, and already I’ve turned the sweetest girl on Embassy Row into a thief and a conspiracy theorist. Even for me, it is an impressively quick act of corruption.
“Okay, guys.” Rosie sounds slightly out of breath but more alive than I’ve ever heard her. “I’m at our entry point. Waiting for your go.”
And now I’m certain of two things.
1. We might actually try this ridiculous thing.
2. We all watch entirely too many movies.
Megan picks up a small tablet that shows a closed-circuit feed of the prime minister’s office. Standing at attention not far from the PM’s side is the Scarred Man.
“Are we clear?” Rosie asks again.
“Go. Go. Go,” Megan says.
Noah and I look at each other, then both reach for the doors of the van. In a flash, we’re out and crossing the street.