In the third book in the New York Times bestselling Spy School series, Ben gets kicked out of the CIA’s spy school and enrolls with the enemy. During a spy school game of Capture the Flag, twelve-year-old Ben Ripley accidentally shoots a live mortar into the principal’s office—and immediately gets himself expelled. Not long after going back to the boring real world, Ben gets an offer to join evil crime organization SPYDER. And he accepts. Ben can tell he’s a key part of their sinister plan, but he’s not quite sure what the plan is . Can Ben figure out what SPYDER is up to—and get word to the good guys without getting caught—before it’s too late? Gr 5–7—After getting expelled from spy school (for accidentally shooting a live mortar into his principal's office), 13-year-old Ben Ripley is recruited by SPYDER, an organization dedicated to educating the next generation of bad guys. Acting as a double agent under deep cover, Ben tries to infiltrate the evil school and uncover their nefarious plans. With tongue-in-cheek humor and a gripping pace, readers who've enjoyed Gibbs's previous novels will not be disappointed. Though this works as a stand-alone, familiarity with the other books in the "Spy School" series will make for a more satisfying read. With tongue-in-cheek humor and a gripping pace, readers who’ve enjoyed Gibbs’s previous novels will not be disappointed. ― School Library Journal Stuart Gibbs is the New York Times bestselling author of the Charlie Thorne series, FunJungle series, Moon Base Alpha series, Once Upon a Tim 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. Stuart lives with his family in Los Angeles. You can learn more about what he’s up to at StuartGibbs.com. Chapter 1: Heavy Artillery 1 HEAVY ARTILLERY Battle Zone September 3 1100 hours I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, seven enemy agents in hot pursuit. I had spent a great deal of time preparing for this moment. I had practiced self-defense. I had studied how to remain calm under pressure. I had read everything I could find on mortal combat. And so I had hoped that when the time came and I found myself in the thick of battle, I would be able to handle myself with cool, spy-like aplomb. Instead, I was screaming. Thankfully, it wasn’t a girly shriek. It was more of a sustained “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Which could be roughly translated as: “I’m in serious trouble. Someone please help me.” It’s one thing to study action sequences. It’s a whole other thing to find yourself in the middle of one. I dodged through piles of dirt and debris, aware the agents were gaining on me. They were all screaming too, although this was more of a war cry. Translation: “Once we catch you, you’re dead meat.” I was dressed for combat, clad from head to toe in camouflage gear, but it obviously wasn’t working, because the enemy could see me perfectly well. Sniper fire whistled past me. Something screeched through the air high above and exploded in the distance. Not far ahead, a foxhole came into view. To most people, it would have looked like just a big, grubby hole in the dirt, but to me, it was beautiful. I shouted into my radio headset, “Erica! I’m coming in hot!” “Okay,” Erica replied calmly. “I’m ready.” She didn’t sound like she was in the heat of battle at all. Instead, she sounded bizarrely relaxed, as though she were lounging in a hammock at a beach resort. I leapt into the foxhole. It was four feet deep. Erica Hale sat inside, leaning against the dirt wall, casually leafing through a Guns & Ammo magazine despite all the chaos around her. Like me, she was wearing camouflage gear, but somehow she looked stylish in hers. Then again, Erica would have looked stylish in a potato sack. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever met, as well as the smartest, the most athletic, and the deadliest. “There’s a horde of enemy agents right behind me,” I panted. “Heavily armed. They ambushed me as I was nearing the objective.…” “Ben, take it easy.” Erica calmly tucked the magazine into her knapsack. “What are you so worked up about?” “They’re going to be here any second!” I exclaimed. “And they’re ruthless!” “They’re twelve years old,” Erica said flatly. She had a good point. They were only twelve. And the war around us was merely a combat simulation. We were in the midst of our traditional Survival and Combat Skills Assessment exam at the CIA’s Academy of Espionage. Our weapons were only paintball guns, and the battlefield was a mock-up on the academy firing range. But it felt real enough. “Some of them are pretty big twelve-year-olds,” I said defensively. Their war cry was growing louder. They were almost upon us. “How many of them are there?” Erica asked. “Seven.” In one fluid movement, Erica sprang to her feet and fired her paintball gun over the lip of the foxhole. Five s