Spy School Revolution

Product Description

In the eighth book in the New York Times bestselling Spy School series, Ben Ripley faces the Croatoan—a new evil organization that’s so mysterious, the only proof it exists is from the American Revolution.

With SPYDER defeated, Ben Ripley is looking forward to his life getting back to normal, or as normal as possible when you’re a superspy in training. Until someone bombs the CIA conference room next door. To Ben’s astonishment, the attacker is none other than Erica Hale, the spy-in-training he respects more than any other.

His mission: prove Erica is not a double agent working against the US, locate the fabled colonial-era insurgent group that’s blackmailing her, figure out what their devious plot is, and thwart it.

But this time, Ben finds himself up against opponents he has never encountered before: his own friends. How can he succeed when he doesn’t even know who he can trust?

About the Author

Stuart Gibbs is the N
ew York Times bestselling author of the Charlie Thorne series, the FunJungle series, Moon Base Alpha series, and Spy School series. He has written screenplays, worked on a whole bunch of animated films, developed TV shows, been a newspaper columnist, and researched capybaras (the world’s largest rodents). Stuart lives with his family in Los Angeles. You can learn more about what he’s up to at StuartGibbs.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1: Declassification

1 DECLASSIFICATION
CIA headquarters

Langley, Virginia

April 16

1000 hours

“I’m afraid we have lied to you,” said Alexander Hale. “A lot.”

My parents regarded him with surprise for what might have been the twentieth time that morning. They had already been surprised when Alexander and I had arrived at their house as they were leaving for work; they had been even more surprised to learn that their bosses had already given them the day off so that we could have an emergency meeting; and they had been
extremely surprised when Alexander had driven us to CIA headquarters and been allowed through the imposing gates with nothing more than a grin and a cursory examination of his ID. Their eyes had been wide and their jaws agape almost nonstop.

“What exactly have you lied to us about?” my mother asked.

“Er… Just about everything,” Alexander replied.

The four of us were sitting in a conference room on the top floor of the main building at headquarters. For security reasons, there were no windows, and the door had a coded keypad entry lock. There were no pictures on the walls, and every piece of furniture was a bland beige-like color. It was the most nondescript room ever built.

The building we were in didn’t even have a name. Everyone simply called it “the main building.” It sat in the center of the CIA campus, a sprawling tract of land in suburban Virginia, about thirty minutes from Washington, DC. There were a few smaller buildings arrayed around the main building, and all of that was ringed by acres of woods.

A box of doughnuts sat in the middle of the conference table: an assortment of glazed, chocolate, coconut, jelly, and ones with pink icing and sprinkles. My parents had each taken a doughnut but barely touched it. I had eaten two already; they were fantastic.

My parents were still dressed for their day jobs; Dad had his butcher’s clothes on for work at the grocery store, while Mom was dressed for a day of accounting. I was in my usual school uniform, shorts and a polo shirt. Meanwhile, Alexander wore a custom-made three-piece suit and shoes so polished they were almost blinding.

I said, “Remember, back in February, when I got that medal for saving the president’s life?”

“How could we ever forget?” Dad asked. “That was one of the proudest days of our lives.”

“Well, the day I saved the president, I wasn’t at the White House to hang out with his son,” I said. “I was there on a mission.”

“A mission?” Dad repeated, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps we should start at the b