8. Trust Me, It’s Pudding
CHAPTER 8
TRUST ME, IT’S PUDDING
ZOE
I look diagonally across the street toward the éireann Expressions Gallery from where we are seated at an outdoor table at the Blarney Bean Café , and sip my cup of tea. We’ve already scouted the building as much as we can. It seems pretty straightforward.
Ledger ordered a full Irish breakfast, and the massive plate in front of him has bacon, sausages, black and white pudding, baked beans, eggs, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, soda bread, and toast with marmalade. I can’t imagine one human being able to eat that much food in one meal.
“ I thought they said black and white pudding is included.” Ledger glances back toward the doors. “ I think they forgot it. Since Evan suggested it, I want to be sure to try it.”
I try to hold back a smile. “ They didn’t forget it.” I point first at the dark disk that looks like a speckled hockey puck, and then I point at the tan one. “ Black pudding, white pudding.”
Ledger pokes at it with his fork. “ That is not pudding.”
I shrug.
“ What is it?”
“ A spicy but somewhat sweet sausage with oatmeal. That one’s ‘black’ because it also contains pig’s blood.”
For as big, tough, and commanding as Ledger’s presence is, he’s looking awfully green right now, and those eyes are comically wide.
“ You knew it wasn’t just chocolate and vanilla pudding together in a bowl? Thanks for the warning.”
“ If I warned you, I would’ve missed out on seeing that look on your face.”
He blinks a few times like he’s simultaneously feeling deceived and like he absolutely should’ve expected it. I smile as I take a sip of my tea.
Ledger eyes me as he cuts into an egg. “ I thought you hadn’t been to Ireland before.”
“ I haven’t, but I have been to England .”
“ They eat it there, too?”
“ Yep ,” I say, and pull my phone from my backpack so I can go over the details in the briefing again. Since we aren’t checking into a hotel, we left our bags in a storage locker. There are plenty of things that no covert operative would leave behind, and all of those are in the backpack at my feet. But our clothes, shoes, and non-sensitive equipment? We really didn’t want to lug them around with us.
I rub my finger on the locket of my necklace as I read through the part again about what security measures the gallery owner said that the tapestry has, the dossier about the employees who will be working, and the details about the tracker. I check my backpack to make sure the tiny piece of technology is right where I expect it to be. The reason most of my missions go off without a hitch is because of my preparedness.
Of course, my partner here is the King of Improvisation . The guy who likes to go in with a half-baked plan and just “figure it out” as he goes along. If we were both metaphorically on a high cliff and someone came along and dropped two bags with paragliding equipment, one at my feet and the other at Ledger’s , and then told us we have ten minutes to jump off the cliff and get to a specific point in the distance, we would act very differently.
I would strap on my harness, making sure it’s secure, and put on my gloves and helmet. Then I’d survey all the areas I could see between the cliff and the target location, check the wind speed and direction, and determine the best spot to land in order to make it to the target. Since I wouldn’t be able to find out the wind information closer to the target, I’d also make contingency plans. I’d lay out my canopy perfectly, connect it to my harness, and be ready and waiting to go at the sound of the whistle.
Ledger , on the other hand, would spend the entire ten minutes talking with whoever was also up on that cliff, about stuff that wasn’t even mission-related, until the very moment the whistle blew. Then he would whoop loud enough to echo off the surrounding cliffs as he ran toward the edge, paragliding equipment bag in hand, and leap off the cliff with nothing more than a hope that he could get strapped into his harness as he fell, put on his helmet and gloves, and open and attach his paragliding canopy in time for the wind to catch it before he plummeted to his death.
Sometimes , I admire his adaptability. I wish I could just go with the flow more easily. But most of the time? Let’s just say that this job requires planning to be successful.
I glance over at the man— he is already three-fourths of the way through scarfing down his breakfast. “ This black ‘pudding’ isn’t half bad. Want a bite?”
“ I’m not really a breakfast eater.”
“ Not a breakfast eater, or just afraid to try it?”
I meet his eyes, take his fork from his hand, cut off a big piece, put it in my mouth, and chew, all without taking my eyes off him. He actually looks a little impressed, which I take to mean one more tally mark for me. Do I like black pudding? No . Am I going to let Ledger know that I don’t? Absolutely not .
“ By the way,” I say after I swallow, “before we head back to the airport, we are stopping at a restaurant that serves cheese.”
“ Cheese ?”
I nod.
“ Why cheese?”
“ It’s just something I do when I’m in another country, and I’m not going to skip the cheese just because you’re on this mission, too.”
“ But why cheese ? I mean, I like cheese as much as the next guy, but— ”
“ But not as much as the next girl,” I say, pointing to myself. “ And I won’t be leaving this country without trying its cheese.”
I am skilled enough at reading body language that I can tell when someone’s checking me out, even discretely, and if they like what they see. I’ve caught it from enough people to feel fairly confident about my looks. There’s something about Ledger checking me out and liking what he sees, though, that feels different. I don’t know why, but I do like it.
I just really hope that my skill in hiding any of my own body language is greater than Ledger’s skill in reading body language, because I really don’t want him picking up on how often I’ve checked him out. Try as I might, I’ve never been able to control my pupil’s dilation. And if Ledger is paying attention, I’m sure he can see plain as day that my pupils widen every time my eyes glide over his shoulders or take in how beautiful his face is.
People have started walking into the gallery, so I send a secure message to Packston , my tech op, letting him know that we are about to start, and then I put in my earpiece. I see Ledger doing the same, even though we likely won’t need our tech ops at all for this mission.
“ Good morning,” Packston says. It’s four a.m. in Langley , and Packston’s voice sounds like he either hasn’t been awake long or hasn’t talked at all since he woke.
“ Sorry to wake you so early,” I say so he knows my comms are working.
“ I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m always up this early.”
“ Of course you are,” I say, even though we both know it’s not true.
I’m not sure he even heard me, though, because at the same time, Ledger is saying, “ Heyyy , Kella ! Good morning! Nothing like rising before the sun, huh?” Then Ledger turns to me and says, “ Let’s go make history.”
I know from working with Ledger a year and a half ago that it’s what he says before embarking on any mission. I smile at him, knowing that I’ll be the one winning this particular mission, and it’s always the winner who writes the history. So I say, “ I’ll bring the pen.”
I tell Packston that I’m going radio silent as we put on our backpacks and cross the street to the gallery. We step into a small lobby where nine people are standing, already waiting for the tour. Six are obvious tourists, plus a mom with two small children who look local. A tall man with light brown skin and natural curls that are long and sticking out in every direction points at Ledger and me with both hands. “ You here for the tour?”
We nod, and he says, “ Our printer is on the fritz, so if I could I get you to come up and write your names on your name tag, we’ll get started soon.”
I’m closer, so I walk up to the counter where a package of peel-and-stick name tags sits next to a black Sharpie . I write Shauna on one of them and stick it to my shirt. Then I write Account on the other one, peel off the back, then go over to Ledger and stick it to his shirt. I pat his very firm chest twice, then say, “ If anyone asks, tell them your last name is Book .” Ledger can drive me nuts at times, but he’s also rather fun to mess with .
“ Haha . ‘ Account Book ,’ because my name is Ledger . So clever.” He walks over to the desk with the name badges, and I figure he’s making himself a new one. Probably with the name Lincoln , since I’m pretty sure that’s his favorite cover name. But when he turns around with a name badge in his hand, he sticks it on my shirt, covering Shauna . I look down to see he’s scrawled Stainless on it.
“ If anyone asks, don’t tell them your last name is ‘ Steele ’ or you’ll blow your cover.”
I don’t have time to say any kind of comeback before the man with the wild curls starts talking. “ Welcome , everyone. I’m Kieran , and I’ll be your tour guide today. It looks like we’ve got a fun group. We’ve got,” and he starts reading off the names of everyone in the group, having to squint or cock his head with a couple of them to decipher their handwriting. Then he gets to me and Ledger and says, “ And here, we’ve got… ‘ Account ’ and ‘ Stainless ?’” He glances at our faces like he’s trying to confirm that he read them right.
“ Yeah , our parents are a little weird,” Ledger says.
I nod. “ I mean, they’d have to be to have two kids who are so vastly”— I motion between me and Ledger — “different from each other.”
“ Well , it was really only one of our parents who was weird.” He puts a hand beside his mouth like he’s attempting to be discreet, then mouths in about as exaggerated of a way as possible, Our dad . Then he puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a brotherly one-armed hug. “ And Stainless , here, is the spitting image of our dad. No one can look at her without saying, ‘ I know exactly who your daddy is.’”
I bristle and shrug his arm off my shoulder. Then I take a slow, deep breath. What was that he said yesterday about an insult only working if it is a direct hit? This one hits the bull’s eye, and he doesn’t even have the slightest clue that he aimed at a target.
Keiran leads us all into the first room, which has paintings on all the walls. It’s the “ Impressionist Instagram ” room, as our tour guide refers to it. Ledger motions at a painting of a woman sitting by a table, looking like she’s either really bored or just disappointed about the way her life has gone. “ Oh , look— there’s a painting of you!” Before I’ve had a chance to give either a courtesy laugh or a retort, his eyes have landed on me and he sees whatever expression resides on my face after his comment about my “dad.” He leans in and asks in a quiet voice, “ Is everything okay?” His head is tilted to the side a bit and his eyebrows are drawn together.
I nod. “ Just fine.” Then in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, I ask “ Did Monet get royalties for inventing the original filter?” Not the greatest question, I know, but I couldn’t think of another quickly enough, and it seems like one our tour guide would appreciate.
I try to ignore Ledger’s gaze on me as Keiran says, “ Unfortunately , no. But he’s definitely rolling in ‘exposure’ currency, which is worth exactly zero at the bank. Legend has it, though, that he’s still collecting likes in the afterlife.”
I pretend to look around while trying to keep my mind on how, exactly, I’m going to disable security on the tapestry and how uncomfortable it feels to see a genuinely concerned look on Ledger’s face when I know the look is because of me. That’s not how we interact. But it still manages to take me back to that small moment in time a year and a half ago when it was how we interacted. We know from experience, though, that spies can’t date spies. It doesn’t work for so many reasons.
It especially doesn’t work for me. No relationships ever do.
Then Kieran leads us into the “ Sculpture Selfie ” room, where we all gaze at a bunch of marble “influencers” frozen in time.
Packston hasn’t said a word in my ear since we started our mission. Not that he needs to, but he usually likes doing a running commentary. I’m about to check to see if my earpiece is actually working, but then I hear something that I’m pretty sure is soft snoring.
“ And this is the Tapestry Room ,” Kieran says as we all file into the next area. “ Also known as the ‘ Threaded Views ’ Room , as I like to call it. Take a look around, and you’ll see ones from Greece to Greenland , from the Renaissance ‘like and subscribe’ period to up all the way to nineteen ninety-nine. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch any of them because their historical updates are still buffering.”
Kieran walks just beside the tapestry that we are here for, and my heart rate picks up. It’s about two feet wide by five feet long, and it’s mounted on the wall inside a clear case. He motions to it and says, “ This piece is called Threads of Accord , and I bet you’re wondering why you couldn’t touch it if you wanted to. It’s the most expensive piece in the whole gallery. Worth two-point-five million Euros .” He emphasizes each word, then pauses to give everyone a moment to gasp at its worth before he continues.
“ The clear case it’s in keeps it protected from the elements. Like light, air pollution, and your hands . See those fingerprints all over your cell phone? Yeah , we don’t want those on our tapestries. So this one is all safe and locked up inside its little home. It also has an alarm that will go off if it tries to leave home, which is pretty much just like it was for me when I left for college. In fact, there are rumors that the gallery went to my mamma and recorded her wail to use as the alarm sound. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bump it or do anything to set it off.” He gives an exaggerated shudder.
“ This is the pièce de résistance of our Trust Me , I’m a Tapestry collection. What you’re looking at, ladies and gentlemen, is not just a piece of fabric, but a historical group chat between two rival factions who decided to swipe right on peace. Observe the intricate patterns—each thread is a message, each color a status update, showing how their lives got so entangled that they could no longer even remember what the feud was about in the first place.
“ Now , the centerpiece of it, this handshake here, is the original ‘no hard feelings’ emoji. And if you squint and cock your head just right, you might see the fine print in the corner that says, ‘ Terms and conditions may apply, including but not limited to, annual potluck dinners and mandatory trust falls at team-building retreats.’ Truly , this tapestry teaches us that trust is the foundation of any great reconciliation.”
Ledger shifts his weight uncomfortably, and I know he’s thinking about the lost trust between us. Right now, though, my mind is one hundred percent on getting past the security on that box so I can place the tracker.
As the last few people exit the room to follow Keiran to the “ Cubist Clickbait ” room, I take off my backpack and say to Ledger , “ Okay , you guard the door and I’ll disable the security.”
“ No ,” he says, taking off his own backpack, “ you guard the door and I’ll disable it.”
I put my backpack on the floor and crouch to start pulling my tools from it. “ I’m faster at it.” Plus , I can guarantee that the steps to disable it haven’t been running through his mind on repeat since reading the briefing on the plane last night, as it has for me.
He shakes his head. “ No , I am.”
I try to let out a slow, calming breath, which isn’t exactly slow and sounds more like a huff since my active mission adrenaline just kicked in. “ When we were in Egypt , you know you couldn’t have opened that safe as fast as I did. And what about in Algiers ?” I can tell by the look on his face that he knows I’m right. “ You’re really good at making friends and talking your way out of things, right? That’s your specialty; go do your specialty.”
“ Fine ,” he huffs— apparently his active mission adrenaline kicked in, too— and goes into the hall just out of view of the room.
I start by waving at the security camera in the corner, just to acknowledge to the owner of this gallery that I know she’s watching. She was sent pictures of both Ledger and me, so even without the wave, she should know we’re not the thieves and that we are placing the tracker, but it feels polite.
“ Packston ? You awake?”
“ Um , yeah,” I hear his scratchy voice through my headpiece. “ Yeah . Of course, I am.”
“ Of course. Will you let the gallery owner know that we are working on placing the tracker right now so she can pull the footage?”
The clear case holding the tapestry might be five feet tall and a couple of feet wide, but it’s only about three inches deep, and the locking mechanism is on the side, toward the bottom. It has an electronic component and a key component, so I first pull out my jammer to temporarily disable the electronic part before using my picks to get it unlocked. There are tiny sensors between the back of the case and the front, so I slip a thin, transparent film over them to mimic the case’s closed state so I can trick the sensors into thinking it hasn’t been opened.
I swing open the front of the case, then pull the tracker from the side pocket of my backpack. It’s small— about the size of the tip of a pencil— and has a short, stiff wire-like thread attached to it that allows me to kind of weave it up into the tapestry just a bit.
Ledger pokes his head into the room. “ Don’t set off the alarm. We don’t want to cause Kieran any PTS .”
“ And based on his shudder,” I say, “ I really don’t want to hear his mom’s wail. ”
I don’t look at Ledger , but I hear his soft chuckle from just outside the room.
When I get the tracker mostly into place, I peel off the backing to reveal the sticky part that is strong enough to hold it in place without damaging the tapestry or leaving residue, and then I maneuver it behind a thread so it’s completely hidden.
I pull up the tracking software on my phone, activate it, make sure it’s receiving the signal, and smile. The signal is nice and strong. I swing the front of the case closed, slide the film off the sensors, and am just using my picks to relock the case when I hear Kieran’s voice coming down the hall toward us.
“ Oh , there you are, Account . You’re about to miss the Abstract Algorithms room.”
“ I was just heading back to you. That tapestry with the llamas really caught my attention and I had to look at it longer.” Ledger is doing a good job of keeping Keiran from coming close enough to see into the room.
“ That’s one of my favorites, too. Where is Stainless ?”
I get the case locked and disable my jammer. “ Packston ?” I say in a low voice. “ All finished. The tapestry is secure again.”
“ She wasn’t with the group?” I hear Ledger say from just outside the room. “ She did mention how much she was drawn to the painting with the woman sitting at the table, looking serious, like she doesn’t even have the ability to have fun. Maybe she went back to that room. I’ll go look with you.”
Ledger can’t see me, but I still roll my eyes as I put everything back into my backpack. I peek around the doorway and see their retreating backs as they head back to the Impressionist room. I walk in the opposite direction— the direction the group had headed after leaving the tapestry room, and when I’m about halfway there, I turn around and head back.
My timing is perfect. Ledger and Kieran turn the corner to my hall after not finding me in the Impressionist room. “ Oh , there you are, Account !” I hook my thumb behind me. “ I stayed in the Cubist room a bit longer, then I couldn’t find you with the group.”
“ I’ve spent quite a bit of time in that room myself. Let’s get back to the others, though. You’re in for a real treat as we head into the Gothic GIFs room.”
Ledger raises an eyebrow in my direction as we walk, and I give him a small smile, confirming that the mission was a success. I catch his smile even though he’s not directing it at me. But I can tell that it’s a smile of admiration at a job well done, which is my favorite kind of smile. Then I smile to myself even bigger because I think it’s safe to say that I won this mission.
A few hours later, we’ve grabbed our stashed luggage from the lockers, have gone through security at the main terminal, with Ledger lamenting the fact that we aren’t heading back to the private terminal, and are sitting down to eat lunch before our flight to Belgrade .
I’m eating boxty with smoked salmon and a nice wedge of coolea, a Dutch -style Gouda cheese that has a bit of a caramel-like flavor, while Ledger eats a corned beef sandwich. The cheese is good and I savor every second it’s in my mouth, but I’m the one lamenting not having the time to eat at one of Dublin’s amazing restaurants.
“ You know,” Ledger says as he finishes a bite, “if we keep finishing missions as fast as we finished today’s, we’ll be back home by the end of the week.”
“ And then we can leave the memory of a joint mission behind us.”
He lifts his rhubarb and ginger Irish soda and I lift my elderflower one. “ Here’s to finishing quickly,” he says, and we bump our bottles together.
He comes in a little hot, though, and our bottles don’t bump so much as they smash, causing a bit of a carbonation explosion that covers our table and what was left of our food in soda.
I’m choosing not to see it as a bad omen for this mission.