Balancer

by Patrick Wong

  You’re in huge trouble.

  He pressed Send. That should get their attention, even if it did state the obvious. He continued:

  But the good news is: They’re scared of you.

  He pressed Send and took a few breaths before typing again.

  Professor DuBois’ emails …

  No, keep it short and to the point.

  He deleted the line and replaced it with:

  I messed up.

  He pressed Send. After a breath, he typed the words he himself feared to accept:

  DuBois knows you’re a Balancer. FBI found out through him.

  Use their fear of you to fight them.

  He typed his next sentence as though his heart were dictating to his fingers:

  I’m so sorry. I only wanted to help.

  That was as much as he needed them to know now. He pressed Send and sat back in his chair.

  Desperately hoping he had reached Nicole in time, he racked his brain for what to do next. He refreshed AmesAndNix.com, and a message appeared on the screen telling him the site was down for server maintenance.

  Damn them.

  The feds had taken it down already. He was lucky it had occurred to him to save the video, but after the trouble he’d caused with DuBois, that was the least he could do. He could help Nicole out by setting up new links to AmesAndNix.com and keeping her SOS message going when he got back.

  He grabbed his coat again, but by the time he reached his door, instead of a spur to action, he felt depressed. He threw down his coat and slumped back at his desk.

  Who was he kidding? Would they honestly want him around after his massive screw-up?

  BEEP.

  Just then, the iChat messenger flashed. Ben looked up. What he saw lightened his heavy heart.

  It’s not your fault. Without you, I wouldn’t know what I am.

  Thank you for everything. Nx

  Renewed hope coursed through him.

  He still felt like rushing over there on his bike, but he had to be realistic. Physical heroics were simply not his thing. There was, however, one thing he was very good at doing. Sending emails may not be as cool as how Batman would’ve done it, but it could at least buy Nicole and Amy some time.

  He was going to send a message to Professor DuBois and see just how far off track he could send the feds.

  He began typing furiously, all the time fearing that it may be too little, too late.

  Blessing in Disguise

  With Ben’s words ringing in her ears, Nicole stood in front of the opened cabinets in the Madigan family’s kitchen, piling any easy-to-carry food into a backpack. She could hear Amy rummaging around upstairs, gathering anything useful she could think of for Nicole to take.

  With her mind a blur, Nicole started grabbing the sorts of items she might bring camping: water, dry foods, wrapped snacks, energy bars, warm clothes.

  Every time she tried to concentrate on the task at hand, her mind returned to her iChat with Ben:

  The feds were scared of her.

  Ben was right, and that was the one thing she could hold on to. Now that she thought about it, the way they had approached her had been with a great deal of caution. They had feigned kindness, wanting to reel her in by handling her with care. They wanted her to come along willingly. She could swear to them that she meant no harm until she was blue in the face, but that wouldn’t matter. They wanted her regardless of the reasoning behind her actions.

  Fear might be her only bargaining chip left.

  Amy’s phone played a short Jenna Kidd ringtone on the countertop. Nicole glanced across, but with absolutely no time to spare, she ignored it and closed the cupboards.

  She pulled out a drawer and grabbed a handful of Troy’s candy stash. She didn’t feel too guilty — there was more than enough to spare, and she’d need something to keep her energy up. She had no idea what would be in store for her over the next few hours.

  Amy’s phone played the same ringtone again.

  Seconds later, Amy hurried in, dropping the bundle of clothes she’d collected onto the countertop. She picked up her smartphone.

  “That’s my warmest fall coat. There’s a good waterproof shell and some spare jeans there, too.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nicole gathered up the articles she thought she’d find most useful and crammed them in her backpack.

  She noticed Amy’s expression furrowed as she glanced at the past alerts on her smartphone. Nicole is nearby.

  “Well, duh, I know that. Stupid phone.”

  “What?” Nicole asked, super-sensitive to any new kind of development.

  Something in Amy’s face told her this was not a good one.

  “It’s that friend-finder app. I assigned alerts for you with your favorite Jenna Kidd song. According to this, you’re a couple blocks away but getting closer. The GPS must be all messed up, because you’re right here.”

  Nicole gasped, filled with a new horror.

  Her phone!

  “Amy! That’s not me!” Nicole held up her hands to show she had nothing on her. “I had to leave my phone behind in the bathroom when I escaped out the window.”

  Everything clicked into place for Amy now.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Nicole stared back at Amy, who was rendered speechless. For a moment, it was like the room stood still — Nicole paralyzed with fear, watching Amy hold out her phone in her palm as if it were alien.

  Another alert sounded, sending them both jumping out of their skins and Amy’s phone clattering to the tiled floor. Amy scrambled to retrieve it.

  Nicole is 2 minutes away.

  Amy showed her smartphone’s display. She clicked the button, and a map of their neighborhood maximized on the screen. In the center of the map, a small picture of Nicole blinked rapidly and was moving fast toward the icon of Amy’s house.

  “They know you’re here. They know.”

  Nicole felt familiar terror pump through her veins. She could beat herself up for being so careless, but the mistake may have been a blessing in disguise. On one hand, her text message history had surely given the feds more information than they could have dreamed of, on the other, it had given her a head start.

  “I gotta move!”

  Adrenaline found its way back into Nicole’s blood again, and she zipped up her backpack. Quickly, Amy opened one of the junk drawers, which was full of bits of gadgets, batteries and parts.

  “Here, take this flashlight, and take my mom’s spare phone. It’s old but good in emergencies.”

  “Sure, anything!” Nicole took the blocky, old-fashioned cell and pocketed it gratefully.

  “GO!”

  Amy busted Nicole through the French windows toward the backyard, where Troy’s bike lay discarded. She picked it up and wheeled it alongside Nicole. “Take this.”

  Nicole nodded thankfully and climbed onto the bike.

  Just then came the unmistakable sound of screeching SUVs coming around the block.

  Nicole stared at Amy, terrified. The FBI was on a mission, and the agents weren’t going to stop until they had her.

  “I’ll try to stall them for as long as possible,” Amy yelled as Nicole wheeled the bicycle toward a gap in the hedge.

  Amy ran to look past the side gate and saw a second fleet of black SUVs and sedans speeding down her street, toward her house. They were like sinister black, mechanical wolves trying to surround them.

  Nicole paused at the gap in the hedge and looked back. Even from this distance, the best friends knew their exchange of looks said so much. It was a fleeting gaze that spoke of goodbye and good luck, thank you and I love you and everything in between.

  Then, with a flick of her long, dark hair, Nicole pushed down hard on the pedals of Troy’s bicycle. It was too small for her, but it would be her best hope to get away, as it was faster than running.

  Before Amy knew it, Nicole had disappeared. She took a few moments to breathe, smoothed down her T-shirt and hair (although that was p
ointless), and then hurried to the kitchen to put it back in order before she had to let the feds in.

  There had not been enough time to tell Nicole that she had received the test results from the hospital that afternoon when she’d gotten home from school. Her doctor had pronounced her formally in remission from leukemia. She would never forget the sound of her mother’s grateful sobs over the phone when she’d called to give her the amazing news.

  She understood that Nicole would already know deep down that she was well again. Amy shuddered when she thought of what could have been — how her black-and-white thinking had almost prevented her best friend from saving her.

  But Nicole had found a way. It hadn’t killed anyone, but it had led the FBI straight to her door. Amy knew Nicole would still think it was worth it, though, and would have done it a thousand times over.

  The very least Amy could do now was ensure that Nicole would have enough of a head start. She vowed to do everything in her power to make it so.

  Oscar-Worthy Performance

  With the rapid response team in position in front of the two-story property at 1487 Dasher Avenue, Agent Carter got out of his SUV and calmly rebuttoned his jacket. His partner, Bishop, emerged too, looking ruffled and angry.

  Side by side, they headed up the sloped driveway of the Madigan family home. They appeared united, and even walked in tandem.

  But that was on the outside. Actually, Bishop was furious with Carter. On the short drive over, he had told him so, and the pair had argued in low hisses for the remainder of the journey. Bishop thought his partner had totally misread the whole situation, and if he hadn’t been so disrespectful in lying to the girl, then they’d all be driving together to P.R.E.S.S. right now.

  Instead, she now had to be hunted down like a common criminal. She was smart, she had a conscience, and they had given her every reason not to trust them.

  “Let me.” Bishop expressed a little more of his fury toward his partner by stepping in front of him to knock on the front door.

  Carter suppressed his response.

  They waited.

  After the appropriate amount of time, Bishop knocked again, this time a little louder to reflect the urgency. He knew a crack team of sharpshooters was in position behind him, their cross hairs ranged on the house, but he wasn’t going to let their presence push him into making any more blunders.

  “We’re obviously gonna …” But before Carter could finish his sentence — in which he was going to suggest the need for a door-breaching ram — the front door opened.

  Two things immediately struck the agents as odd.

  When the door opened, it let out a delightful tinkle of piano playing coming from somewhere inside the house. Also, the door seemed to open by itself, as there was nobody at eye level.

  Bishop looked down to find a young boy of about 8 years old staring up at them.

  “Hello!” he said jauntily.

  “We’re looking for Amy Madigan.”

  “That’s my sister,” he replied plainly, with no apparent sign of moving to let them in.

  “Then you must be Troy Madigan,” Carter cut in. He knelt down and offered his hand for the boy to shake, turning on his considerable charm.

  Too little, too late, thought Bishop, and he smirked as the boy transferred a sticky substance onto Carter’s hand as he shook it.

  “We’d like to talk with her if you’d let us in.”

  The boy considered this.

  “Are you the police?”

  “Even better. We’re the FBI.” Carter showed the boy his badge. It clearly impressed him, and his eyes widened.

  “Is she in trouble?”

  “I bet you’d like that, right?” Bishop cut in. Troy grinned mischievously.

  “I’ll get her. She’s in charge when mom’s out.” He turned his head over his shoulder, and with an ear-piercing screech, shouted, “Amy Enid Madigan, it’s for you!”

  He turned back and smiled up at the agents with a toothy grin.

  “She hates her middle name.”

  The piano music stopped abruptly, and seconds later Amy Madigan appeared, ruffling her younger brother’s hair.

  Bishop had to do a double take.

  He had been expecting the perky, long-haired teen from the AmesAndNix.com video, but in her place stood an elfin, green-eyed girl with very short, cropped hair.

  She peered out at the SUVs and the number of officers in position in front of her house, then proceeded to look pale.

  “Oh, God. This is about the video, right?”

  Bishop felt blindsided, and even Carter had to take a moment to check himself. They’d assumed Nicole had escaped from the bathroom and run directly here to shoot the SOS video. But something wasn’t adding up. Amy was looking so … different.

  “Forgive me, I’m forgetting myself. Please, come in.”

  Amy opened the door wider for them to enter and guided them inside, the perfect hostess.

  “Look, I’m so sorry to cause all this trouble. I just knew we took the joke too far when we shot that video last weekend. It was supposed to look like one of those ‘found footage’ sequences to trick people into thinking something was wrong. I put it up a moment ago, and the second I pressed ‘Upload’ I had a feeling it was a bad idea.”

  She craned her neck to view the SUVs and sedans through the sitting room window.

  “Whoa. Are they all for us?”

  She gave them a wide-eyed stare, her green eyes as clear and catlike as a favorite marble Bishop once had.

  But it wasn’t convincing enough for Carter.

  “OK, Amy, enough of the chat. You know this isn’t about the video. Is she here?”

  Amy blinked and seemed to grow angry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Nicole came here. Directly after she ran away from us.”

  “No, she didn’t …” Amy began. “What — she ran away from you?” Amy held up her hands. “Look, it was totally my fault. Completely. I overstepped the mark.”

  “So you’re telling us she’s not here?”

  “God’s honest truth.” Amy tapped her heart.

  “And if we search the place, we’ll find nothing?”

  “Exactly.”

  Amy blinked back.

  Stalemate.

  Carter touched his earpiece. “This is Carter, sweep the house.”

  “Whoa, hold on a second there.” Amy reached out her hand and pushed it against Carter’s chest. “I studied Civics — don’t I have some kind of rights? Wasn’t there something called the First Amendment?”

  “First Amendment?” Carter smirked. “You referring to freedom of speech? I don’t see how that applies here. I think you were meaning to declare your rights to the Fourth Amendment: unlawful search and seizure.”

  “Damn right. That’s it. I claim the Four Amendment.”

  Carter grabbed Amy’s hand and pushes it aside. “Sorry, but I’m afraid the Fourth Amendment is moot when there’s been large-scale terrorist activities. And that stunt your friend pulled at the Patriot Center pretty much gives me complete freedom to do whatever the hell I want to your house.”

  Amy took a step back. This was big. Much bigger than she was ready to accept.

  Chaos descended.

  Twenty heavily armed officers came crashing through the open door and dispersed throughout the house. Half took the downstairs, and the others headed to the upper floors. Highly trained, their actions were effortless and fluid and utterly devastating.

  Amy stood calmly observing, her hands neatly folded, while listening to the sounds of the search all around her. Cupboards were being flung opened, furniture upended, boxes emptied. Anything big enough to hold a person was being searched.

  Her mom was going to have a fit.

  All the time, the agents didn’t take their eyes off of her. Just then, a different voice from outside cut the tense atmosphere.

  “What in our Dear Lord’s name is happening here?”

  Mrs. Jessica stormed t
hrough the open French windows and fixed her death stare on the agents.

  Carter stepped forward. “Ma’am, we’re from the FBI …”

  “Oh, you don’t have to tell me who you are.” Mrs. Jessica drew herself up to a formidable stature. “I take it you have a search warrant? That would be the only thing I can think of that would authorize you to victimize these poor children in such a way.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re looking for Nicole Aaronson. Have you seen her?”

  Mrs. Jessica didn’t flinch. If either of the agents had been watching Amy right then, they would have seen her issue a little prayer that Mrs. Jessica’s mood dice had rolled in her favor that day.

  “Well, you just missed her. She jumped right over my fence and disappeared into the field behind my garden. Come, I’ll show you. I figure she must be heading for the river.”

  The elderly lady indicated for them all to follow her, and she led them into Amy’s backyard. She pointed over the fence, past her own house and to the roads at the back.

  “See that hole in my fence? She went clean through that. Boy, she must be in some trouble.”

  Carter turned and thanked Mrs. Jessica respectfully. He had known the likes of Mrs. Jessica before, and they were usually those who had attended certain rallies in their youth and had bones to pick with the FBI. But this time, it seemed, she was being smart and cooperating.

  “Bishop, you get back to the SUV and notify P.R.E.S.S. We’ll need roadblocks in place, and I need that chopper overhead.” Carter pressed his earphone. “Fan out. Our suspect has escaped toward the river directly west of our location. She’s somewhere between us and the river.”

  Bishop jogged back to their Suburban at the front of the property.

  Then, just at the moment Carter turned to survey the woods, he caught sight of a thin bicycle trail bisecting some of the dank fall leaves in the Madigans’ backyard. Amy kept quiet, not wanting to preempt his discovery, but Carter was quick to notice the trail that Nicole’s bicycle ride had made.

  Then he pressed his earpiece, and from Amy’s vantage point, she could see him straighten up as he heard about a further development.

  They had found something inside the house.