Hi everyone! I know its been a while but I've been dealing with some issues and I have a new story out about Ally Carter's Embassy Row series! If you like Embassy Row please take a look! OR write some Embassy Row fics because last I checked there were only 23 and I don't think Heist Society is doing to hot either which is really sad! Please get involved where you can guys! Reading or writing, one encourages the other. I would really love to see some more fics because I have officially run out. (Sadness...) Anyway, if you are reading my story here, thanks so much and I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter 18

Cammie's POV

Before I knew it, we arrived in Tel Aviv. My first step was going to be finding Dad's retire Mossad contact, Samael Lauder Poschkitstein.

I remembered a story dad had told me years ago when I thought about it. He'd said, "When I go to Israel, I always make an effort to go to Tel Aviv. There I use a dead letter drop, that's older than you by the way, to contact a friend."

I remembered begging him to tell me how to dead drop a letter, and eventually, when I was eight, he caved.

He said, "First, find a place the letter will be safe and unnoticed. Do not use a trash can, unless you want to have an uncomfortable conversation about why you're rummaging around in the trash. Also be careful of how serious that country trakes litering."

We both vividly remembered a story including a dead letter drop in Dubai and an uncomfortable near arrest. I was funny now, but in the moment it was definitely not so funny. Mom was worried sick when the US consulate called her and told her the police tried to arrest Dad.

"Make sure no one is watching," he'd continued, "Never leave anything classified or harmful to the mission objective in the letter dro. And most importantly, never sign your name."

I took everything I had learned from him under carful consideration and went to work on preparing today's letter for the dead drop. I wrote:

SLAP,

Guess who is in town?

(Its not me by the way)

Usual hangout?

Usual time?

Good.

See you there,

MAM

Perfect. We left the letters in Dad's old dead drop. It was simialr to the one Josh and I had used in Roseville. Tomorrow we would be meeting just before the mid day prayers at a mosque eight streets south of here.

Another thing that Dad had taught me, was how to leave more information, but only for the intended reader. The number of lines told the intended reader how many streets over or up and down they needed to move to find the right house of worship. The initials at the top and bottom told the intended reader what direction they were mooving in. The initals with less letters was the one to chose, and like looking to a compass on a map were written down like North South East and West. North and South were used the most, because it left the letter a bit less conspicuous. If we did need to indicate west or east, we could always write in a language that is read right to left, up and down rows. It was a great system.

We didn't wait for a reply. Meets like this, you showed and if the other party was more than 15 minutes late, you bailed and not just out of the meeting, sometimes out of the country if a spy is really paranoid. I'm really paranoid. I hope I don't have to leave the country. I have too much work to do.

When we arrived to the mosque, I was wrapped in a head scarf, and Zach and Mr. Solomon wore proper attire as well.(Forgive my inability to name these items. I'm also nervous to try naming them and saying the wrong ones.)

We waited. No one showed. We headed back to the hotel room we had been renting across the street from another one of Dad's old safe houses. When we turned the lights on, an elderly man was slumped over, fast asleep on our couch. I recognized him from the single time I'd met him. At Dad's funeral.

"Samael?" I shook him worriedly. Was he sick? Was he injured? Dead? No one had answers so my mind created its own, but it also created quite a bit of panic.

"Who goes there?" He tried to sound intimidating. He reached under his head for the gun that wasn't there and yelled, "What are you doing in my house?"

"Samael? Do you remember me? Or Mr. Solomon? It's Cammie, Matthew's daughter."

"You can't be, Cammie is 12."

"Mr. Poschkitstein, I assure you, this is Matthew's daughter. Matthew disappeared after he spoke to you years ago. Do you remember what you talked about?"

He obviously had a little something to drink. I could smell it on his breath and in his clothes. He smelled like a brewery.

"The Circle of Cavan, he was searching for the origins."

"Yes we know that, but do you know what he was going to Greece for? Why was he going to Athens?"

"He was running." Samael told us, with that he finally looked up and when he saw Zach's face, he reached a shaky hand up, pointing toward Zach's eyes. "He feared the woman of emerald and fire. That was all he told me."

"Yes, but did you tell him anything?"

"I do not remember." he said.

"It was only a few years ago!" I insisted.

"Cammie, a few years is more than an eternity in the spy world." I glared at him, "Hey, Gallagher Girl, your words not mine."

I had to agree with him, however reluctantly. Maybe by tomorrow, when Samael was sober we could have a real conversation.