She packed her borrowed textbook, gave a little wave, and walked out the door. She didn't run. Running was a tell. She walked with the measured pace of a teacher who had a faculty meeting to attend.
For a split second, his eyes widened. He quickly closed the notebook. "Just doodling."
A crackle. Then: "Copy, 084. Rooftop. Five minutes. And Ameri?" She packed her borrowed textbook, gave a little
In one fluid, microsecond movement, her hand darted under the riser. Her thumb and forefinger pinched the USB drive. It slid into her palm, then into the hidden pocket sewn into the seam of her cardigan.
"Yes?"
"Nonsense," Ameri chirped, her voice still honey-sweet. She picked up a stack of blank worksheets and began distributing them, working her way around the room. When she reached Taro’s table, she "accidentally" dropped the worksheets.
A collective groan rose from the six students scattered at two long tables. Perfect. Stoichiometry was the universal language of teenage despair. It was the perfect cover. She walked with the measured pace of a
Undercover. And her target was in this room.
Taro stared at her. His eyes narrowed. He glanced at his laptop riser. Nothing. The drive was gone. His face went pale, then a dangerous red. "Just doodling