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41 " Maybe the bomber was only looking to cause a little bit of trouble,” I suggested. “To send a message or something.” “What message does blowing up a bunch of canned peas send?” Erica asked. “Um… stop serving us canned peas?” “I think you could probably get that point across with an e-mail.” “Not if you wanted to ensure there were no more canned peas to serve. "
― Stuart Gibbs , Spy School (Spy School, #1)
42 " peas "
43 " And so, I stared back into his steel gray eyes and made the worst decision of my life. “I’m in,” I said. "
44 " thought of this, but she didn’t deny it was possible either. “We can always come back to the names on that list. But if phase two of our plan works out, we won’t even need to investigate them. The enemy’s going to come right to us.” Erica finished typing with a flourish, then pressed the enter "
45 " a pamphlet detailing emergency procedures for everything ranging from poisoning to nerve gas attacks. "
46 " RECRUITMENT Ripley Residence 2107 Mockingbird Road Vienna, Virginia January 16 1530 hours “Hello, Ben,” said the man in my living room. “My name is Alexander Hale. I work for the CIA.” And just like that, my life became interesting. It hadn’t been, up till then. Not by a long shot. That day had been a prime example: day 4,583, seven months into the twelfth year of my mundane existence. I had dragged myself out of bed, eaten breakfast, gone to middle school, been bored in class, stared at girls I was too embarrassed to approach, had lunch, slogged through gym, fallen asleep in math, been harassed by Dirk the Jerk, taken the bus home . . . And found a man in a tuxedo sitting on the couch. I didn’t doubt he was a spy for a second. Alexander Hale looked exactly like I’d always imagined a spy would. A tiny bit older, perhaps—he seemed about fifty—but still suave and debonair. He had a small scar on his chin—from a bullet, I guessed, or maybe something more exotic, like a crossbow. There was something very James Bond about him; I could imagine he’d been in a car chase on the way over and taken out the bad guys without breaking a sweat. My parents weren’t home. They never were when I got back from school. Alexander had obviously “let himself in.” The photo album from our family vacation to Virginia Beach sat open on the "