Page 26 of Knight Moves

I kind of expected something unusual would be in Room 101, like a weapons display, high-tech gadgets, or spy notebooks, but it was just a normal classroom. Several rows of desks, a smartboard, and a teacher’s desk. Room 101 could have passed for my English lit class at Excalibur.

We all chose a desk and sat. For a moment it almost seemed as if we were back at Excalibur. I felt the back of my neck prickle like someone was watching me. I turned and caught Jax a couple of desks back, staring at me from the same row.

He lifted a hand and gave me a little wave. “Hey, Red. Hope you’re a good student, because I may have to copy off your paper.”

I was pretty sure he was a smart guy or he wouldn’t be here, so the only logical reason I could fathom for his continued needling was that he was trying to throw me off my game. Maybe he saw me as threat or as significant competition. The only problem—I couldn’t figure out why me. I didn’t see him doing the same to anyone else, so why had he singled me out?

I didn’t respond and turned around in my chair. I wished I’d never insisted he introduce himself, caught sight of his mesmerizing eyes, and stared at him like a star-struck idiot. Maybe just the fact that I’d called him out had made him laser in on me. I made a mental note to never do anything like that again.

I was still thinking about his eyes when Dexter Donovan, aka our limo driver, strode into the room carrying a briefcase.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I hope you found your accommodations satisfactory.” He looked around. When no one complained, he continued. “I know you’re all wondering how we’re going test you for the position of operative. Let me explain. You’ll undergo a series of rigorous physical, emotional, and psychological challenges. I won’t lie to you—we’re looking for a specific type of individual to join UTOP. In order to see how you perform, you’ll be given four major trials, to be held every Friday. You’re expected to complete them. Testing will be weighted toward those whose finish each challenge, but other factors will be considered, as well, though those factors will not be made known to you. UTOP is highly exclusive, which means the challenges will be difficult on many levels. You’ll be tested in many different ways. If, at any time, you wish to quit or leave, you have only to let me or one of the trainers know. There’s no shame in leaving—as I’ve told each of you, this job is not for everyone. Your talents may lie elsewhere and be equally as valuable in protecting national security.”

He paused and surveyed us. The room was so silent I could hear the analog clock on the wall ticking.

“Just so I’m clear, there’s no such thing as failure. About ninety-six percent of UTOP nominees don’t make it. Hopefully, your recruiter told you that most of the people unsuited to the life of an operative are excellent fits elsewhere in the community. For example, your testing may indicate you’re better suited to the research and analysis sector, computer security, the various language divisions, or communications and surveillance, among many, many other options. Are we clear on that?”

I tried to hide my anxiousness. Those odds were not in my favor, especially after the active-shooter disaster. I had to up my game and keep it up for the rest of my time here.

After we nodded, Mr. Donovan smiled. “Good. Now, what are we looking for in an operative? The answer is simple. Someone who is smart, innovative, can think outside the box, and is persistent. However, the primary goal of an operative is gathering intelligence. It’s really as simple as that. So, for the next few days you’ll undergo a series of psychological and IQ tests to determine your suitability. I urge you to answer the questions as honestly and as transparently as possible. Say what you think and feel, not what you think we want to hear. Trust me, the nominees who try to fake the tests are the first to wash out. You’ll also attend regular classes like the ones you were taking before you came here. We have no intention of letting you fall behind academically.”

There were a couple of groans, but Mr. Donovan waved a hand.

“Now, your first trial will be on Friday,” he said. “For your downtime, if you have any, feel free to use the gym, the pool, the library, the gaming room, and all the outdoor areas. Equipment can be checked out in the gym. You may not, however, leave the campus until we specifically permit you to do so, which we will every Saturday.”

He turned to his briefcase and popped it open. We collectively tensed, having no idea what he had in there, but instead of the machine gun or machete I’d imagined, he pulled out a sheaf of paper. “Your personal schedules are here. Please read them carefully and be on time for all your tests and classes. Everyone has something different to do except for the trial on Friday. Good luck to each and every one of you.”

He called out our names one by one, and we picked up our schedules. As soon as we were out in the hall, Wally, Frankie, and I compared ours.

“What do you have first?” I asked Wally.

“Physics,” Wally said. “Room 122. I didn’t see that one coming. I was sort hoping for Seducing the Enemy or something like that.”

Frankie and I laughed, mostly at the idea of Wally seducing anyone successfully. He must have guessed what we were thinking because he looked indignant at our amusement.

“I have Psychological Testing in Room 106,” Frankie said. “I wonder what that is. What do you have, Angel?”

“It says Small Group, Room 108. What the heck is that?”

Wally shrugged. “No idea, but I guarantee it will be more exciting than my physics class.”

I didn’t agree at all. I’d rather read an entire physics textbook than sit in a small group with people I didn’t know.

Unfortunately, it looked like I didn’t have a choice.

Chapter Fifteen

ANGEL SINCLAIR

“Is this Small Group?” I asked when I arrived at Room 108. Bo and Jax were already seated at a round table. A man with his back to me was sitting with them.

The person with his back to me turned around. He was probably in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He smiled and waved me in.

“Hello, Ms. Sinclair. Please close the door behind you. Our group is now complete.”

As instructed, I closed the door and sat in the only chair available between Bo and Jax. My breath hitched in my throat, so I sat on my hands to keep them from showing my nervousness.

“Welcome to Small Group, everyone,” the man said. “My name is Jasper Kingston, and I’m your facilitator. What we do today is simple in construct. I’m going to ask each of you some questions. I may ask the same question to more than one person, and perhaps to all three of you. I want you to answer the questions I present as honestly and openly without wondering what I, or your classmates, might think. I warn you, some questions may be personal.”

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