The Dead Drop (Gilda Joyce, Book 4)
Jennifer Allison
Language: English
Pages: 165
ISBN: B00D5FE184
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
When Gilda lands a summer internship at the International Spy Museum in Washington, D.C., she finds herself caught up in both a museum haunting and a real case of espionage. While investigating a cemetery where Abraham Lincoln?s son was once buried, Gilda stumbles upon a spy?s ?dead drop? of classified information. As she tries to decode the cryptic message, Gilda realizes her case is not only a matter of investigating the supernatural; she?s involved in an urgent matter of national security and faces her most serious challenge yet.
much to be desired, but at least there was food. What Gilda really wanted was a peanut butter, banana, and chocolate sandwich, and she realized that if she wanted to eat, she would have to walk all the way to a grocery store. The front door of the apartment swung open, startling Gilda. “Hey there!” Caitlin’s dishwater blond hair was clipped in a messy updo, her face shiny with sweat. “You would think rain would have made it cooler, but it is nasty out there today. I need a shower.” Caitlin
goofy smiles and arms around one another’s shoulders. Peering at the pictures, Gilda decided that Caitlin must be popular and very social. She has a lot of friends, Gilda thought. For a moment, she imagined returning to school and posting pictures in her locker of herself clowning around with Caitlin’s entourage. I wonder if she’ll introduce me to her friends, or if she’ll think it’s too uncool to hang out with a high school kid. Gilda looked at the titles of the books on Caitlin’s shelf and
Misanthrope. “I usually don’t like being around people anyway.” “How are you going to get secret information from anyone if you hate being around people?” Stargirl demanded. The Misanthrope shrugged. “I didn’t mean that I can’t be around people at all. I just don’t think I would mind too much if I was just living undercover, wearing disguises, with nobody in the neighborhood who knew much about me.” “I think that would be hard,” said Stargirl. “That’s why we spies have to stick together,”
mushroom cloud of sunset-red hair moving through the audience. Beneath the hair there was a middle-aged woman in a well-tailored skirt and jacket who walked gracefully on sling-back pumps. She paused to kiss Boris, then made her way to her seat. “Psst, Marla.” Gilda pointed at the woman. “Do you know that lady?” “That’s Boris Volkov’s wife, Jacqueline,” said Marla as she took tickets from incoming guests. “She’s French.” “I see.” Gilda remembered how Boris had mocked his wife’s attitude toward
appeared on the Spy Museum wall. Gilda knew that Loomis’s original, handwritten messages were now preserved in plastic evidence bags at the CIA. Interestingly, the agency had rejected the opportunity to keep the photographs Gilda had taken as part of her own investigation. “Aren’t these relevant to the history of the case?” Gilda had asked the CIA intelligence officer who had questioned her about her involvement in the discovery of a mole. “Sure,” said the CIA officer, eyeing the photographs