by Patrick Wong
“You are someone the government wants to get its hands on. I’ve seen all the FBI and Homeland Security alerts — you are their No. 1 most-wanted person. I suspect you know it’s true. They hunted you down because they’re afraid of you.”
“They’re afraid of me? But I’m just a kid. Why should they be afraid of me?”
“They fear what you may become. But that’s what makes you special. Because you can get their attention. You can deliver a message to the president in a way no one else can.”
“All this,” Nicole indicated to the room, “just to get a message to the president?”
“You have no idea how many ways we have tried. I have connections high up, but there are some areas even I cannot go. Despite our recent actions, we are not a violent people, Nicole. The government forces us to fight. My family and their people just want the things that America takes for granted — freedom and democracy.”
Nicole finished her food. Her mind was buzzing now despite her tiredness. She had seen the frantic faces of people fleeing the violence in the region on news reports, and she had to admit she felt desensitized to it.
“Didn’t you also kill for what you believe in?” DuBois’ voice was gentler now. “Agent Carter — the government — was pursuing you. You knew what was really right. So you fought back with lethal force.”
“So, you don’t even want me to Balance?”
“No, I don’t,” DuBois replied. “President Roosevelt once said, ‘Speak softly and carry a big stick.’ The government knows how powerful you are, Nicole. So you just have to bring them the message.”
“What kind of message?”
“We’re working on the precise wording. But it will be something simple, to make the president understand. You can approach him, get close, and then just … say it.”
Nicole felt torn.
“Nicole, you can stop all the violence now. Nobody else has to die from either side. Just deliver the message, and we will leave you be.”
“How do I know you’ll leave me alone after I deliver the message?”
“Do this, and I’ll have no more use for you. I’ll be leaving you next to the president. It’ll be up to you to control your own fate afterward.”
It’s Pronounced Like a French J
Two hours after making her decision, Nicole took a shower and cleaned up as best as she could. Although she suspected she was being monitored, her emotions were completely drained and she no longer had the energy to even consider worrying about her privacy.
A pile of clothing like those she had been wearing before she’d left for Florida had appeared while she was in the shower. She figured they must want her to look as normal as possible.
Nicole’s captors blindfolded her and escorted her to a long limousine parked close to the facility that she’d been held in. Based on the sounds of cars that she heard, she suspected she was in a busy area with dense, urban-like traffic. At least she wasn’t hidden far from civilization.
A few minutes after leaving, her captors removed the blindfold. By the motorway signs, she established that she was close to D.C. She recalled the syringe of drugs and concluded that they must have knocked her out long enough to transport her from Florida back to Washington, D.C., without her noticing. In truth, the glass box could have been anywhere, and the past two days had been a strange and brutal warping of time.
Waiting for her in the back of the limousine was a sleek, fair-skinned man with dark brown hair who introduced himself as Max. He had given Nicole 3-by-5-inch index cards with the message she was to deliver to the president on them. And then he’d fallen silent. She figured him to be only a year or two older than her. His hands were folded on his lap, and he stared down at them, as though in some kind of meditative state. Although he appeared strong, lean and athletic, she could tell that something wasn’t quite right about his legs. Max winced in pain each time he moved them. Regardless, even with weakened legs, he was more than capable of restraining her. Had they met under different circumstances, Nicole might have found him attractive and even considered Balancing to heal him. But as it stood, Nicole was determined to do nothing and let him suffer in his private pain.
“Have you had enough time?”
His soft voice had a lilt of a Middle Eastern accent, and it surprised her. She glanced up at him. He held her gaze with his hard stare.
“For learning the message? Just give me a few minutes to read it over.” Nicole flipped through the cards several times for most of the duration of the ride. About an hour passed as her attention vacillated between the cards, her friends, her parents and Max.
“We’re nearly there. Let’s practice,” Max said. He reached across and took the flashcards from her. “Say it to me.”
“Mr. President, my name is Nicole Aaronson, and I have a message for you. Forgive my interruption, but the people of Tazhbekistan …”
Max leaned forward and held up his hand to stop her. “Zh. It’s pronounced like a French j. Try it.”
Nicole repeated the sound he’d made.
“Good enough. I’ll prompt you. ‘The common people of Tazhbekistan asked me to convey this message. Our government is desperate, brutal and corrupt. Thousands of innocent people have been murdered in the fight for their freedom.’ Go on.”
Nicole cleared her throat and continued. “‘We have tried to rise up, but they crushed us. Then your western armies came and sided against us. Though there may be reasons you haven’t intervened for us, the Tazhbekistani people implore you to …’” Nicole stumbled then. She had been reading over and over, but her mind was starting to waver, possibly from lack of sleep.
Max took up where she had left off. “‘Please help the Tazhbekistani people. They only want freedom.’” Max’s voice began to waver then too, and a tear formed in his eye. He cleared his throat, pushing back his pain. “One more line?”
“Oh. ‘That is my only request. Please do this for me. Thank you for your time, Mr. President.’” Nicole paused and looked up at Max. “I’m asking the president to do this for me?”
“You got it. You are the Balancer; they will do what you want.” Max handed back the cards, folded his arms and looked out the window, his biceps and triceps muscling up under his shirt.
Nicole glanced over the words again. She had been chosen to deliver this message because she was the Balancer. That was an interesting concept to her — that somehow her opinion might matter to the President of the United States. Max accepted Nicole’s power of persuasion as if there were no question of its success. Nicole wasn’t sure what to think about this. She studied him, and thought how his face still looked sad. He intrigued Nicole.
“So, how come you’re here?”
Max regarded her for a moment. “DuBois had family from Tazhbekistan, and so it was more of a case of me finding him.”
Nicole nodded. “Your family? Were they hurt?”
“Yes. All of them. I used to fight in the rebel army.”
“You were in the army? You seem … young. Like you should be in school like me,” Nicole offered, genuinely sympathetic.
“I wish I could just study. But I was forced into things that left me little choice. It’s a rebel army; they take anybody strong enough to carry a weapon.” He unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his shirt sleeve to show her a military insignia tattoo. “But the last time I saw my mother, she made me swear to leave the country. She died when the peacekeepers stormed our villages.” He paused, as though to mark that event with a moment of grave silence. “Of course I honored my word. I’m an orphan now.” He said this with a detached tone to his voice, as if approaching the pain of it would swallow him up.
“I’m sorry.”
Max’s gaze had a look about it, like it was X-ray vision. “You know, if you just deliver this message, you’ll be left alone. That’s all my boss wants.”
“I don’t have much of a choice either way.”
“I know how you feel.”
Nicole gave a bitter laugh in resp
onse. “Do you?”
Max stared at her for a moment and then choked out a laugh of his own. “You know, the government sent me pictures of my own brother after they were finished with him. Pictures!” He screwed up his face in disgust for a moment. “The torture, the acts of terrible violence — I will never, ever forget. But I have to live. So when you have a power — like yours — it’s your responsibility to use it for the right things. You could do so much in the world.”
It was Nicole’s turn to issue a small laugh. “No offense, but I’m not really feeling special. So far everyone would rather kill me and my friends than get my help.”
“‘Everyone’ meaning the government, right? Because all my boss did was find you, lock you up and ask you to do this one thing for him.”
Nicole scoffed. “He’s killed my friends and he’s threatened to kill my parents if I don’t!” She started to cry, but she did her best to hold back the tears. “Why didn’t he just ask? He could have just asked me to deliver the message. I would’ve done it. Really. He didn’t need to hurt my friends. From what I’ve heard, it’s a message worth saying.”
This touched Max, and Nicole thought it made him feel uncomfortable — an unexpected sense of guilt, perhaps?
“There’s an old saying we have back home. It doesn’t translate particularly well, but it goes something along the lines of, ‘The apple that is rotting in the barrel still has seeds that can grow a tree.’ Everything has potential, Nicole Aaronson. You just have to know how to find it.”
Nicole felt that the more she talked to Max, the more she understood why her anger was not intended for him. Max was a pawn in this game as much as she was. He might be being pushed to desperation like she was, too. All they wanted was to convey a peaceful message, right?
A Virginia University campus sign caught Max’s attention. “Just five minutes before we park. Why don’t you go through it one more time?”
Nicole lowered the cards and took a deep breath. She began to recite the message, word for word.
What Are We Looking For?
Muffled silence blanketed the cabin of the cutting-edge PRESS jet. A bank of TV monitors lined one side of the plane, their volume muted. The 24-hour news channel was repeating images of the president’s motorcade as it approached a rally at Virginia University.
Velasquez had attempted to boost the spirits of the two teenagers with talk of going home, but that had fallen flat. Amy was the most silent anyone had ever known her to be. Ben was aware that this jet had some impressive technology, but right now he had no interest in it. Maybe his usual zest for such things would come back when Nicole returned. It was a small consolation for Amy and Ben that they were on their way closer to home. They’d left behind them the kind of human wreckage they could have never been prepared for. It also distressed Amy that they’d had to leave Drake’s body behind.
Barnard had been fast asleep for the past hour, legs up, with an odd snore escaping here and there. Ben hadn’t been able to sleep and was reading Barnard’s manuscripts again to see whether there was any further mention of the fate of the Taker or Giver. The triptych suggested that they could work in harmony. But although the picture presented them as being of similar ages, it wasn’t clear what other similarities they may have.
The phone rang, and a communications agent showed the caller’s name to Agent Bishop. Bishop pointed to Amy, and the agent handed her the phone. She struggled to keep it together on the phone call to Nicole’s dad. Amy had no words for him, and had only agreed to answer his call out of duty. She got the feeling Mr. Aaronson needed to hear consolation from her, or at least her sense of worry for Nicole. But she didn’t feel it. The only loss she could feel was wider than the ocean, and it was all for Drake. At the time, she could tell Mr. Aaronson was trying to be brave, and he expressed his touching concern for her, but none of it could untangle the terrible mess in her heart. Velasquez held her hand throughout the call, which was punctuated by painful silences, and when it got to be too much, the agent took charge of the phone. Now, Amy was numb all over.
Before Amy had left the treehouse, she had taken a T-shirt of Drake’s, on which his cologne still lingered.
She would hold up the T-shirt and take a long breath of him. It felt bittersweet to still sense him, and to know that, in time, his presence would fade from the T-shirt, too.
The worst thing was feeling so completely alone.
All of a sudden, Ben nudged Amy, which made her jump.
“Sorry, but where’s the sound?” he asked, scrambling around for the remote and hurrying to the screen. “Look!”
On the screen, the president was standing behind a lectern outside Virginia University with hundreds of students crowding around him, some holding banners. The president looked suddenly confused, his speech interrupted by a disturbance in the crowd.
“Can’t a guy get some undivided attention from the audience without being interrupted? Not a great deal has changed since my days at school.” The president waved toward the Virginia University campus, and laughter scattered through the audience.
“Can somebody please turn up the sound on this thing?” Ben demanded.
The forcefulness in Ben’s voice was completely out of character. “What are we looking at?” Bishop asked, moving over to join them.
“I thought I saw something,” Ben replied. “There.”
He pointed to a dot in the corner. Sure enough, when Bishop looked toward the screen, he could see a figure moving through the crowd.
“It’s Nicole,” Ben asserted. “I’m certain.”
He hoped they wouldn’t ask him to explain exactly how he’d managed to pick her out of the crowd — he had always just been able to do that.
Bishop took a closer look.
“I don’t see her.”
“There!” Ben pointed.
The figure grew closer, but then suddenly disappeared as a person in front blocked their view. There was further jostling from the students around Nicole, and then the camera returned to the president.
The president began to wrap up his speech. “I’m not saying we are done with talking. By no means. But words without actions become rhetoric if we’re not careful. I, for one, am proud to be a man of my word. That is what we’re about. I say it, so I do it. That is what I commit to. And that is what we all expect.” The chiseled president stabbed his forefinger to the air to emphasize each word of that last sentence, and the audience rewarded him with a huge round of applause. “God bless you all, and God bless the United States of America!” he shouted to an even larger roar of applause.
The scene on the screen switched to the lively crowd, and, off to the side, Ben, Bishop and Velasquez could still see the figure advancing until she got to the podium.
The president stepped down from the podium and began to shake hands with members of the crowd, his security detail close by.
“Risky strategy,” Velasquez commented. “He must really be worried about the next election.”
“Not especially. Virginia installed metal detectors as policy, so no one there will be armed,” Bishop responded. Velasquez nodded.
“There. You’re right!” Bishop recognized Nicole. She had a strange, trance-like expression on her face. He felt the adrenaline kick back in, and he clicked his fingers at Velasquez. “Dial me through to Division. The president’s men need to know ASAP.” Bishop leaned in close. “What is she doing?”
Nicole was now on the screen, watching the president as he progressed through the enthusiastic crowd. She had an intent look in her eyes.
When he arrived before her and shook her hand, she held on to his, stopping him from moving on.
The president looked confused that a teenager would be so bold as to grip and hold his arm, and he locked eyes with her.
The microphone following the president through the crowd picked up the distinct voice of Nicole, and everyone in the plane held their breath in silence.
“Mr. President, my name is Nicole Aaronson, and I
have a message for you.”
Did You Understand My Message?
Nicole watched the president’s face furrow in surprise. Behind him, two or three suited Secret Service agents moved forward, yanked the president’s hand from Nicole, and began pulling him away.
“Gentlemen, I got this,” the president said, brushing off his security detail.
“Hello, Nicole. What would you like to tell me?”
“It’s a message I have to convey to you.” Nicole glanced down at her index cards and resolved to continue reading from them as clearly and loudly as she could.
“From whom? Nicole, would you mind emailing me this message? I promise I will take the time to read it.”
Nicole hadn’t rehearsed for interruptions, and the president’s eyes were looking down into hers. He knew how nervous people could get when speaking to him, and he was trying his best to give her a moment of his undivided attention before resuming his walk through the crowd.
“Sir. We must move on now.” The Secret Service agent’s eyes were urging more than impatient.
“Nicole, right? Your name was Nicole Aaronson? I will be sure to look for your email.”
“We have tried to rise up, but they crushed us. Then your western armies came and sided against us.” Nicole could see more of the president’s security detail arrive. Some of the men were holding their earpieces tighter to their ears to receive orders, while others were reaching back toward their guns. All around Nicole, students were jostling to hear her, and news cameras were now trained in on her conversation with the president. Max had been right — if she had the ear of the president, then everyone else would listen too. She continued on.
“Though there may be reasons you haven’t intervened for us, the Tazhbekistani people implore you to help the rebel factions in the south. They have secured the oil wells …”
“Mr. President.” Now a Secret Service agent stepped between Nicole and the president. He pressed his earpiece to listen to the information coming through. Nicole could vaguely hear the instructions. Distracted, the agent shouted back to the person speaking in his earpiece. “Repeat that last order?”
