Balancer (11 page)

Agreeing to Disagree

Nicole closed her
eyes as the cooling breeze hit her face through the open passenger window. Amy pulled her car out onto Beltway and into the flow of the weekend traffic.

Amy had been very quiet after the visit and hadn’t put any music on when they’d got in her car at the hospital parking lot. There didn’t seem to be any words for what they’d just experienced so the drive had been silent.

Nicole thought about it all now as the countless cars whizzed past her passenger window; how she and Amy had left the children’s ward and headed out through the main wards. All the time she had been careful to avert her gaze from all the sick people she passed. The truth was, she could have saved any one of those patients, just as she’d saved Elise. She promised herself something then, though, and she was going to stick to it.

Not anyone. Not anything.

Amy appeared lost in her own thoughts and was looking uncharacteristically pale and drawn as she drove, seemingly having to focus all of her attention on the road ahead.

She looked at Nicole. “Are you OK?”

Nicole nodded. “You?”

Amy shrugged. That was it for the rest of the journey.

As Amy pulled up alongside Nicole’s driveway, both took in the arid devastation that was Mrs. Truman’s front yard.

Two or three of Nicole’s other neighbors were now gathering around the property, no doubt remarking on the terrible and mysterious overnight transformation. It was a testament to Mrs. Truman’s miserly reputation that the only surprise seemed to be that this kind of incident hadn’t happened before. Nevertheless, the whole scene made Nicole want to scoot down in her seat and become invisible forever.

“They wouldn’t believe you even if you fessed up,” Amy said, as if reading Nicole’s mind.

Nicole knew she was right.

“So, what’s the call on the lake?”

Nicole felt torn. All week she’d been looking forward to getting away with Amy, but this new turn of events had meant that Lake Fairfax would in no way be the haven of relaxation she had intended. She knew she would spend all of her time there worrying about something triggering her powers. Keeping true to her promise, she needed to work on not reviving or killing things for the time being, and she said as much to Amy.

Her best friend didn’t seem to take the news particularly well, though, and Amy gave her muted hum, which confused Nicole.

“You’re mad at me?”

“No,” Amy sighed, but she wasn’t convincing and Nicole’s expression showed that she didn’t believe her. “All I know is, the things you can do — it’s the stuff you see in movies. You can save lives, Nix, and you just want to forget about it cuz you want to be normal?”

Nicole felt the pressure on her. “But I don’t know what else I might kill.”

Amy turned in her seat and gazed at her friend.

“Maybe. But the worst thing about it is that you’re not even going to try,” Amy said. “You just promised yourself you’d never do it again! It seems to me that all you’re interested in is getting back to your room and sticking your head in the sand. What a waste of a gift!”

Nicole knew Amy had a point, but for the life of her, she just didn’t know what else she could do. She felt a rasp of annoyance at her friend for being so critical when she could have no idea what it felt like to be in her position.

“Maybe you’re just annoyed because I’m getting all the attention for once.”

There. It was out there and she had said it. Nicole folded her arms and stared at the road in front of her, where she could see her neighbors taking photographs of the plant damage. One was on a cell phone, most likely talking to the police.

“Maybe.”

Silence reigned in the car.

Nicole didn’t want the day to end like this, but it seemed inevitable when Amy spoke again.

“If we’re not going to the lake, do you mind if I get home? I’m beat.”

“Sure. Or you could hang out here? We have beds.”

“Well, Drake said he’d come out and see us at the lake, so …”

“Drake. Of course.”

A little sigh escaped Nicole, but Amy didn’t call her on it. Amy seemed intent on spending the rest of the day with Drake, and Nicole wasn’t going to argue this time. There probably wasn’t anything more to say right now, and they’d have to agree to disagree.

Thanking Amy for her support and giving her a quick hug, Nicole headed up her driveway for a more restful end to her weekend.

It was to be a big break after another dramatic few hours, and though she wished her best friend could still be by her side, her mom would be home a little later on that evening. Nicole would put some pizza on the table and choose a movie for them to watch together. That would be a nice surprise for her.

Whatever Amy thought, Nicole couldn’t risk endangering others, and for that reason, she had made that promise and would stick to it. From now on, she would use all of her energy to return to being a normal, shy schoolgirl if it was the last thing she did.

The adventures of SuperNix would end
now.

That’s a Federal Crime

T
he driveway gravel
crunched as it compacted under Agent Carter’s polished shoes. He exchanged a determined look with Bishop, and they marched past a parked car, stopping at the porch of the picket-fenced property, the blue glow of dawn illuminating their every move.

Twenty P.R.E.S.S. special ops agents now surrounded the unassuming two-story house in Arlington. The elite group had stealthily moved in during the first three minutes of “Operation Microwave,” and they were now in position and ready, waiting for the special agents’ signal.

Carter paused a moment before hammering on the red front door. The past 24 hours had provided the kind of frenetic activity that he thrived on. A breakthrough at DARPA had come as an enormous relief after their investigation looked as though it were going nowhere.

Following up Bishop’s hunch about the weapons development there, the agents had paid a visit to the labs at the heavily guarded scientific facility. Their classified ranking had enabled them to interview the top scientist, Dr. Kate Houseman. She had taken them step by step through the crowd control weapon and its application. It would shoot a radioactive microwave beam at any hostile or unwanted presence. Until the target moved out of the beam’s path, the person would feel a fiery burning sensation in their skin. They would, effectively, be microwaved. Although originally designed for nonlethal defense, the weapon could result in fatalities if adjusted to a higher power setting.

This all seemed to match up to the forensic pathology of the animals from the wildfire and Flour Mill Run, and Carter had wanted to know whether the ray could be portable, to which he had received a negative response. However, it seemed to the agents that the events were too much of a coincidence, both geographically and scientifically. Bishop had also noted the scientist’s overzealous rejection of the idea.

And something else had felt awry about the interview, and as the agents left, neither felt satisfied by the lead scientist’s take on the weapon, and she also seemed to be hiding something. That was confirmed later that day, when P.R.E.S.S. secretly intercepted the contents of Dr. Houseman’s email correspondence.

Another scientist, referred to in the emails as “T.S.”, had repeatedly failed to turn up to work, and his colleagues had been worried — too worried, in fact — to let the FBI in on this. The missing scientist was a first-generation American. His family resided in a Middle Eastern country that was on Homeland Security’s watch list. Tarun “Terry” Srinivasta had recently been marked on Homeland’s watch list with DARPA for another indiscretion for some anti-war demonstrations at a university. He’d also been reported missing from work around the time of the wildfire and the Flour Mill Run fish kill.

Evidently, Houseman and her superiors had wanted to keep the absent scientist under wraps and deal with him themselves. T.S. had been put on probation, and there was every indication that DARPA was about to let him go. Bishop had understood that it was probably in case the program’s security had been compromised, however, if there was one thing he knew rattled Carter more than anything, it was when organizations covered the tracks of their own.

Bishop watched as Carter read the emails over again, and he could sense that his partner’s next step was going to be massive. Carter had an unquestionable loyalty to his country — but he could be loyal to a fault. Even so, Carter was someone you’d want on your side. Bishop knew that. And he knew not to kiss up to Carter — he hated that, thought it was a sign of weakness. Bishop often wondered whether Carter’s dislike of this kind of conspiracy dated back to cliques in school. Perhaps he was usually picked last for sports? Regardless, Bishop was right to suspect Carter would strike back with force.

With the Senate’s pressure increasing and the agents needing results, Carter hadn’t been willing to wait. Wielding the Patriot Act enabled them to have their questions answered, and fast.

One call to Homeland Security had sealed the deal, and two hours later, in the early hours of Tuesday morning, the convoy — which included the agents’ Suburban plus two unmarked special ops vehicles — had moved into the cozy Arlington neighborhood.

Which is where the agents now found themselves, on the cusp of what they suspected would be a crucial weapons seizure. After a longer pause, Carter knocked again. Silence followed, punctuated by the breaths of the agents and the low crunch of leaves as soldiers spread around the property.

No answer.

Carter cleared his throat and hammered on the door. He waited. Then he gave the signal.

Immediately, the black-clad P.R.E.S.S. teams sprang into action. Those covering the rear of the property struck first, and Carter and Bishop stood back to allow the soldiers in front to strike down the front door.

With a single hard punch of their door-breaching ram, the red door splintered noisily in two and landed hard on the hallway floor of the house.

The operatives went in first, weapons readied. The soldiers cleared each room in near complete darkness thanks to their night vision goggles. All that was visible to the unaided eye was the occasional sweep of red lasers in a visual symphony of organized chaos.

“Foyer clear.”

“Living room … clear.”

“Dining room … clear.”

The sound of broken glass could be heard as windows were smashed and contents upended. The special ops soldiers had been briefed to be on the lookout for anything that might resemble non-consumer electronic equipment, and it sounded as though they’d found something.

Then a cry rang out from inside the home, and the agents could hear the desperate protests of the scientist.

The special agents’ earpieces buzzed to life.

“Suspect apprehended and area secured.”

It was time for the agents to make their presence known.

Bishop indicated for Carter to go first, and Carter stepped onto the broken door and inside the house.

It was dark, and a pungent smell of exotic spices seemed to infuse the rooms as the agents passed through. These houses were built for their airiness, yet in this semidarkness, this house seemed the total opposite. The house was a mess; clothes were strewn everywhere, and the kitchen, located off the large living space, was filled with many unwashed glasses and used napkins and tissues.

Bishop thought he detected a faint whiff of something chemical mixed with the spices. It was almost sweet, with a hint of menthol. He raised a handkerchief to his nose, even though the operatives hadn’t detected any poison or toxins.

“Sir.” The operation commander appeared upstairs next to a set of stairs leading into the attic. “You might want to see this.”

The wooden steps creaked as the agents ascended. Up in the attic, a bare fluorescent tube lit the whole room, giving it an eerie glow.

A full-scale laboratory came into view. In the corner of the poorly ventilated room, a workbench was littered with implements and gadgets. Nearby, a dirty cloth concealed an object with a circular shape. Beyond the object was a window. Agent Bishop consulted his digital compass, which showed that the window faced west — the direction of the town of Reston.

Bishop looked at Carter, who seemed excited by this turn of events. Carter hurried over and dragged off the cloth to reveal some sort of receiver dish with a complicated-looking gadget attached to it.

Bishop drew in a sharp breath.

Was this it?

At that same moment, a clattering of footsteps came from the steps below, and the scientist was practically pushed into the attic by a special ops soldier. After his body had cleared the attic opening, another soldier dragged him forward and threw him to his knees in front of Carter.

With the soldier’s gun aimed squarely at him, Dr. Srinivasta stared around him wildly, and without being asked, he raised his hands to his head. He was shaking and had evidently lost his ability to talk.

Carter stood over the scientist, a messy-haired man in his late 20s still sporting some remnants of acne. He regarded him pitilessly.

The scientist tried to stifle a racking cough. His nose and eyes were bloodshot and streaming with tears. He looked terrible.

“Dr. Srinivasta?”

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Do anything stupid and your hands will be the first parts of you I shoot.”

The scientist nodded.

“Do you know what this country does with terrorists like you?”

Dr. Srinivasta’s expression clouded.

“Terrorists? No, I’m not …”

Agent Carter spoke loudly and deliberately into the scientist’s ear: “WHAT IS THIS?” He pointed to the odd-looking gadget on the workbench.

“It’s nothing. It’s just a project I’ve been working on. It’s a …”

The doctor was speaking nervously and with a moderate accent, which confused Agent Carter.

“I can’t understand you. Speak clearly!”

“It’s a … here, let me just show you.” The doctor timidly gestured that he’d like to demonstrate something. He moved slowly, keeping his hands in full view, as he understood there were multiple weapons trained at his head.

“Slowly, doctor,” Carter said. “I don’t feel like cleaning up a big mess. Remember, one wrong move …”

As the beleaguered scientist crawled over to the gadget, Bishop got a whiff of the smell from earlier and suddenly recognized it. Then several things clicked into place at once, and he realized where all of this was about to lead. He also knew it was too late to stop the scientist or warn Carter, so he braced himself.

With shaking hands, Dr. Srinivasta reached across to the cupboard next to the large dish and flicked a button.

Suddenly the deafening sound of white noise filled the room, causing the agents to jump. A TV screen had come to life, but was only showing static. The scientist turned back, acknowledging the presence of Carter’s gun. He wasn’t about to do anything unwise.

Then, with a press of a button on a small black plastic box, Dr. Srinivasta pointed back to the static-filled television in the corner. All of a sudden, the unmistakable sound of a vigorous Bhangra beat and the vivid colors of a Bollywood soap opera filled the dark room.

Agent Carter turned pale and looked like he had just seen a ghost.

Bishop wanted the floor to open up and swallow them both.

If it looks like a satellite dish and sounds like a satellite dish … Oh crap, it’s a homebrew satellite box to receive Indian television broadcasts for free.

The scientist hung his head in shame.

“I know I shouldn’t have built it. But I couldn’t get these shows online, and my cable company doesn’t offer my wife’s favorite shows. It took so little time for me to build. My wife, she … she misses her shows. Please don’t arrest me.”

If the situation weren’t so humiliating, Bishop would have burst into gales of laughter.

Neither he nor the special ops commander could meet Carter’s eyes.

Despite no order to stand down, the special ops soldiers withdrew their weapons, suppressing their amusement. Bishop could have sworn he saw one of them jokingly moving his hips to the infectious Bhangra beat.

Dr. Srinivasta looked up at Carter. “Please, sir. Don’t arrest me.” The doctor began coughing loudly for a few moments before continuing, “I am no terrorist.”

Bishop thought he looked a bit sick.

“All right,” Carter growled.

Carter lowered his gun and, almost slumping to the floor in relief, Dr. Srinivasta coughed again.

“Excuse me. May I?” he asked as he produced cherry cough drops from his pocket, releasing the familiar scent Bishop had detected earlier.

Sweet cherry and menthol …

“I’ve had terrible flu for a while now. It kept on coming back,” he said as he sucked on the sweet lozenge.

With that, Carter went over to the receiver and turned off the vibrant and romantic Bollywood dance sequence. Silence was restored to the attic, but it increased the feeling of awkwardness and discomfort of the agents. Carter, battling a variety of conflicting emotions, pressed his earpiece.

“All units stand down. Operation Microwave is over. Repeat, Microwave is over. All units head back to base.” He then turned to Bishop. “I’ll see you in the car.” Agent Carter headed back down the flight of stairs and presumably, Bishop thought, went to go scream in their Suburban.

Bishop extended an arm to the shaken scientist to help him to his feet. It was just as well that they could prosecute him for the federal offense of satellite signal theft. Doing so would help with the paperwork back at HQ, although the report they’d file would certainly garner some interest and criticism. Bishop was pretty sure there wasn’t anybody who’d want to sign their names to a report that rationalized why twenty agents were needed to apprehend a single man and his homemade satellite box. Naturally, Bishop would see to it that Dr. Srinivasta was exonerated of all charges in exchange for his silence, and he would personally ensure that his job at DARPA was safe.

What made their quiet exit from the home even remotely possible was the scientist’s cultural misperception that this must be how illegal satellite raids were conducted in the United States. Although it all seemed very Hollywood, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, Bishop figured. The agents were happy to leave without a trace, and the scientist was more than happy to agree to anything that kept him out of jail.

As the special ops soldiers filed out, Bishop creaked back down the stairs and shuddered at the thought of what had just happened.

It was times like these that he worried about Carter’s lack of humanity.

Just what would Carter have done if Dr. Srinivasta were the real culprit? Heaven help that person.