I Am the Traitor

by Allen Zadoff

  A moment later the blinds are closed, and the sun is gone.

  I open my eyes again. I see the white panels of a hospital drop ceiling above me. I note movement at the foot of the bed. A woman sits across from me, her chair pulled back against the wall so she can watch me.

  It’s Mother.

  I blink hard, wondering if I’m dreaming.

  I try to speak, but my throat is too dry.

  “There’s water next to you in the blue cup,” she says.

  I reach for it. I am no longer tied down, my movement restricted in any way. The cool water soothes my throat.

  “Slowly,” Mother says. “You’ll choke on it.”

  I finish the water in five gulps. Refill the cup and drink again.

  I sit up in bed.

  “You’ve been on quite an adventure,” Mother says.

  I rub my eyes. This is not a dream. Mother is right here dressed in slacks and a white blouse, a suit jacket slung casually over the back of her chair.

  I sort through the events from the time I walked into the mayor’s mansion, up until the arrival of the FBI, followed by the ambulance driving me to the hospital.

  I think of Tanya and Howard, waiting down the street at the baseball field.

  Did they get away?

  “They are safe,” Mother says, as if she can read my thoughts.

  “They?”

  “Tanya and Howard. I imagine you’re wondering about them,” Mother says. “After all, you risked everything for them. I’m assuming there was a reason.”

  I’m trying to find the right thing to say, searching for my next move.

  “No games, Zach. I’m putting my cards on the table. I expect you to do the same.”

  “Where are they?” I say.

  “They’re alive,” Mother says.

  I feel relieved, but I don’t express it to Mother. Instead, I adjust my position so I can see her better. As I move, I feel a pain deep in my chest.

  I reach up and explore the area with my fingers. There’s a bandage, under which I feel stitches, tightly closing the wound over my scar.

  A sensation passes through me, constricting my chest.

  Fear.

  “Was I operated on?” I say.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Mother says. “A previous procedure was reversed.”

  Mother holds up a plastic specimen container. She shakes it. Something rattles against the sides.

  “What is it?”

  She tosses it to me. I look at the familiar device in the bottom of the container.

  “My chip,” I say.

  “Our chip, technically. It was on loan to you. We’ve taken back possession.”

  “What did you replace it with?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “We took out the chip, washed and closed the wound. You’ll still have a scar, but it won’t be any worse than before. You can have a plastic surgeon evaluate it in a few months.”

  “I’m confused,” I say. “Why would you take out the chip?”

  “For one thing, it had been tampered with.”

  I put the specimen container next to the bed.

  I sip at my drink. Mother is running this show. I would be wise to slow down, let her lead the conversation, and listen closely.

  “Am I mistaken about that?” she says. “The tampering?”

  “No.”

  “How did you find out about the device?” Mother asks.

  The chip’s existence was supposed to be a secret to me. There’s no reason to lie about it now.

  “Francisco explained it to me,” I say.

  Francisco, the Beta agent, the second of five Program assassins. He had disappeared, and I was sent to complete his mission.

  “You met Francisco?” Mother says.

  Her tone is relaxed, but she sits up straight in the chair, her posture belying her true feelings.

  “He was still alive when I got inside Moore’s compound.”

  “You didn’t tell us.”

  “There are many things we didn’t tell each other,” I say, touching my chest.

  “He was a traitor, wasn’t he?” Mother says.

  “Yes.”

  I see Mother’s hand clench into a fist.

  “And you, Zach. Are you a traitor?”

  I consider the question.

  “It depends on your definition,” I say.

  Mother stands up slowly, slips her suit jacket on.

  “Get dressed,” she says. “You’ll find clothes that fit you in the closet.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “I want to show you something.”

  I don’t know what Mother is up to, but my best move is to go along until I understand better.

  I get out of bed, testing the strength in my legs and stretching to activate sore muscles. I’m stronger, my nutrients replenished, my body rested from the trials of the last few days.

  “How long have I been here?” I say.

  “Two days. We’ve been feeding you intravenously to give your body time to heal.”

  I open the closet door. I find jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket laid out on a shelf along with underwear.

  Mother turns her back to give me privacy. By doing so, she leaves herself open to attack.

  It might be a test; it might be a demonstration of faith.

  I have the advantage, but I don’t act on it.

  Once I’m dressed, Mother opens the door and steps back, inviting me to walk through ahead of her. The skin on the back of my neck tingles.

  I am in danger. I can feel it.

  Mother senses my trepidation. She says, “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already.”

  “There are things worse than death,” I say.

  “What could be worse?” Mother says.

  I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

  I walk through the door.

  I’M NOT IN A HOSPITAL.

  It’s obvious as soon as I step out the door, into a long, carpeted hallway lined with ornate wooden panels. Mother directs me down the hall, out into the bright sunshine of a small campus.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “It used to be a university,” Mother says. “We’ve adapted it for our own use.”

  “We?”

  “The Program,” Mother says. “This is our new training academy.”

  She guides me to a vista between two buildings and points at a farmhouse about a half mile away.

  “Do you recognize that place?”

  I study the farmhouse. The design is familiar, as is the color of the paint on the wooden shingles.

  “That’s where it began,” I say.

  Mother nods.

  I’m looking at the training house where I was taken by Mike when I was twelve years old. It was in that house that I had my first experience of The Program.

  “We’ve all grown up since then,” Mother says. “I need these damn glasses now.”

  She takes eyeglasses from a case and slides them on. I recognize the same glasses I saw during our video call the other day.

  I look back at the campus around us. “This is The Program?”

  She nods. “The farmhouse, this campus. You’ve come home, Zach.”

  The doors of a building fly open across the quadrangle, and children stream out, backpacks flung over their shoulders. I see kids as young as seven or eight, others in their midteens. As they pass by, the kids acknowledge Mother with deferential nods and set faces, no smiles. A few of them steal glances at me, then look away quickly, their postures stiff and focused.

  “We’ve been up and running here for about eighteen months,” Mother says.

  “Are the kids recruits?”

  “They’re being trained much like you were. We’ve had to adjust the process, of course, to deal with the greater numbers.”

  “Where are they from?”

  “Some of them are street kids, some orphans, others the byproduct of Program operations like yourself,” Mother says. “
But wherever they come from, we are their family now.”

  I look at the young faces passing by. I think about the risks inherent in training so many kids, divulging the secrets of The Program to recruits who might not make it through the coursework.

  “What happens if they don’t graduate?” I ask.

  If Mother lets any of these kids go, they take the secrets of The Program with them.

  “Our goal is to make sure everyone graduates,” she says. “If there is failure, it means we have failed. It’s on us, not them.”

  She’s looking right at me as she says it.

  “What you see is only the tip of the iceberg,” Mother says. She points to a massive building with an arched roof on our right. “Let me give you a tour.”

  WE STEP INTO A LARGE, EMPTY GYMNASIUM.

  Almost empty.

  Because a girl is stretching out on a mat on the far side of the gym. She cracks her neck and readjusts her position, executing a series of powerful kicks, her leg traveling ever higher as she maintains her balance on one foot.

  She stops when she sees us. Mother waves her over, and she trots toward us.

  The moment she turns, I know who it is.

  Tanya.

  It takes me a second to process what I’m seeing, but just a second.

  Tanya is the Gamma agent. She was always the Gamma. I was a fool to believe differently.

  She walks up to us wearing workout tights and a small T-shirt that accentuates her body. Her bearing is different, relaxed but authoritative.

  I say, “Everything that happened between us—it was an act?”

  Her expression remains passive.

  “Isn’t that what we do, Zach? We act. We play a role.”

  “Not all of us. I was trying to keep you alive.”

  “You’re lying to yourself. You didn’t really care about me. You were working out some kind of misplaced guilt for past missions. You made yourself feel better by being vulnerable for a little while and doing a good deed for a couple of kids. If you really cared about us, you would have dropped us off at the first police station. Put us in the hands of the authorities.”

  “That wouldn’t have protected you. Not from The Program.”

  “Who was the prime target? You or us?”

  She’s right.

  The Program was after me, not them. I should have dropped them off, gotten them away from me and into the hands of people who could help them. But I didn’t. Why?

  Tanya and Mother trade glances. Tanya says, “You kept what you thought were two innocent kids with you, when you were the target. I had heard so much about the famous Zach Abram, I wanted to see how you worked in the field. Well, I saw what I needed to see. You’re selfish and, worse, you’re dangerous. I watched that helicopter go down with Father in it—”

  Mother stiffens next to me.

  Tanya blinks. She noticed it, too.

  Tanya lowers her voice. “I saw Father die, and maybe it wasn’t your fault directly. So I gave you the benefit of the doubt, at least until you went to the mayor. But when push came to shove, you were more than willing to destroy The Program. That’s when I understood that you would sacrifice anything to get what you wanted. Your friend Howard. Mother. The Program. Me. None of us really mattered to you. The only thing you cared about was finding your father.”

  “That’s not true, Tanya.”

  “We have a code. Primary objective: Protect The Program. Secondary objective: Survive. You’re very good at the second, but you seem to have forgotten the first. You came damn close to destroying everything we’ve built here. Thank God Mike stopped you.”

  She knows about the video he sent to the mayor.

  I look at Tanya, her jaw set tight, her eyes defiant.

  A few days ago I thought I loved this girl. Now I know I was wrong. My feelings have betrayed me again.

  Sam, Miranda, Tanya.

  Mike was right. Every time I let my feelings guide me, I make mistakes, and people get hurt. Now I’ve made the biggest mistake of all, and innocent people are going to suffer for it.

  “What happened to Howard?” I ask.

  “I turned him over to The Program,” Tanya says, her voice cold.

  I look at her and my face burns with shame.

  “You had me fooled,” I say. “Why didn’t you kill me? You had plenty of opportunity.”

  She looks to Mother for permission to speak.

  “Tell him,” Mother says.

  “I was following orders,” Tanya says with a shrug.

  “What was your mission?”

  “Get close, report, and keep you alive.”

  “Keep me alive?”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? You thought you were the one keeping me alive,” she says, “but it was the other way around. I was making sure nothing happened to you, because The Program wanted you back.”

  I race through my memories of the days since I broke into the holding house. So much has happened between Tanya and me. Could it all have been part of a plan?

  Mother watches my face. “Naturally, you’ll have questions,” she says. She turns back to Tanya. “Thank you for your hard work.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  I look into Tanya’s eyes. I don’t see the girl I thought I knew.

  I see a soldier. Cold, calculating, dangerous.

  Tanya walks across the gymnasium, returning to her workout mat. She doesn’t look back.

  Mother gestures to the doors. “Let’s talk outside,” she says.

  I STAND ALONE ON THE STAIRS OUTSIDE THE GYM, TRYING TO UNDERSTAND WHAT I’VE JUST SEEN.

  Child soldiers walk side by side across the quad in front of me, their cadence perfectly in sync.

  Mother joins me a moment later.

  “Where is Howard?” I ask.

  “We have him. We’re questioning him, making sure we understand the full nature of his involvement with you.”

  I imagine Howard being tortured somewhere on this campus where I cannot get to him.

  “Why don’t you question me instead? I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “You’ll tell us and he’ll tell us. Then we’ll compare the stories. You know that’s the only way.”

  I clench my fists, trying to keep myself from doing or saying anything that might put Howard at greater jeopardy.

  “Why did you take me into the gym, Mother?”

  “I wanted you to know the truth.”

  “What truth? That I’m fallible? That I can be fooled so easily by an agent?”

  “I wanted you to know that my goal was to keep you alive. I did everything in my power to do so.”

  “If you were trying to keep me alive, why was Mike trying to kill me?”

  Mother’s eyelid flutters, but just barely. It’s enough to suggest she might be surprised by what I’ve said. But she recovers quickly.

  “Perhaps it seemed like he was trying to kill you, but I would suggest that he was several steps ahead of you, leading you where he wanted you to go.”

  “Like walking a dog.”

  Mother shrugs. “Your words, not mine. For my part, I was trying to bring you back to us by any means necessary. I did so at great expense to The Program. I don’t need to remind you of that, do I? Of the losses we’ve suffered because of you?”

  She closes her eyes, and a pained expression crosses her face.

  “Terrible losses,” she says. “But not insurmountable ones.”

  She opens her eyes and looks at me.

  “The Program is not one person,” Mother says. “Nobody can be more important than the organization. Not Father, not me. The Program comes first and foremost.”

  “Protect The Program.”

  “Your first objective, and mine.”

  “If the objective is to protect The Program, why did you release my image to the media? The whole world knows my face as the face of a terrorist.”

  Mother starts down the steps.

  “Perhaps that was an overreaction,” Mo
ther says. “I regret it, but it was not my call.”

  Whose call could it have been? Who is more powerful than Mother?

  “The good news is faces can be changed,” she says. “As can stories in the media. Mistakes happen all the time.”

  Mother begins to walk, gesturing for me to follow her.

  “We’ll find a way to make it right,” Mother says. “That is, if you decide to stay with us.”

  I look at her, surprised.

  “It’s time for you to make a choice about The Program, Zach.”

  “A choice? That’s a novel idea.”

  I think of the farmhouse not too far from here. That first day with The Program.

  Join us or die. That’s what Mother said.

  “You were a child then. You can’t give a child real choices. They’re not capable of understanding them. But you’re not a child anymore, are you?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Today is the day you decide whether you’re going to stay with us.”

  “I can be a part of The Program again? Even after all that’s happened?”

  “Mike and I have talked a lot about it. He tells me young men have growing pains and we have to allow for that. If The Program doesn’t learn to flex, it will break. That’s Mike’s opinion. He’s urged me to flex in your case.”

  “So you would put me back on assignment?”

  “Eventually, yes.”

  “And if I choose not to stay?”

  “You’d be free to forge your own path. If you check your bank balance, you’ll find five hundred thousand dollars in the account, a onetime payment you can use to resettle yourself, go to college, whatever you choose to do. We’ve removed your chip, so we have our property back. We will arrange a new, clean identity for you to start over.”

  “Others have left before me?”

  Mother shakes her head. “You’d be the first.”

  “Why me?”

  She smiles like she’s been waiting for this moment. “You already know the answer, don’t you?”

  “My father helped to create The Program.”

  She nods, indicating the campus with widespread arms.

  “Everything around us. It’s all because of him. If you choose to leave, you’re on your own. If you stay—then it’s time for you to learn the truth about your father.”

  “Is he alive?” I ask.