“The president does not take—”
The gray-haired official holds up a hand, cutting off his partner’s angry words. Quietly, he says, “I will have your message sent, and I hope it is as important as you believe. If not, you’ll discover there’s a cost to your misjudgment. Is that a price you are willing to pay?”
Cost. I know what Dr. Barnes’s price is for a failure in judgment. Does the president require the same payment? I have not worked in this office long enough to know its secrets, but I know Michal did not fully place his faith in President Collindar. I don’t either, but I have only to think of Tomas and all those whose lives could be threatened to know that no matter the price, I will pay it.
A nod is all it takes for the gray-haired official to disappear through a small door to the left. When he returns he says, “I’ve relayed your message. You’re to wait here.”
For what, he doesn’t say. The president? Officials who have deemed my request inappropriate? The only thing I am certain of is that my request to speak to the president has not gone unnoticed. Younger officials whom I have seen working in the cramped offices on the upper floors whisper to each other as they walk down the stairs in groups of twos and threes. While they pretend to be on some kind of errand, the looks they send in my direction speak of their true purpose. I hear one whisper that they hope I know what I am doing.
I hope I do, too. The more people who walk by, the more certain I am that news of this meeting request will spread beyond this building. Michal’s job in this office was arranged through Symon’s connections within the government. Symon planted Michal here to keep an eye on the president and report her plans, but I doubt Michal was the only informant assigned to that task.
Resisting the urge to pace, I keep my eyes straight ahead and hope the nerves I feel do not show on my face. After what seems like hours, a dark-haired woman in ceremonial red appears at the top of the stairs. She gives me a considering look before handing the gray-haired official a note. He reads it, nods, and walks over to me. “This way.”
He leads me to the double doors of the president’s private quarters. Opening the doors, he steps back and says, “You are to wait in this room. They will come for you when they are ready.”
Before I can ask who “they” is, the official nudges me into a small antechamber. The doors behind me close. The dim lights and gray walls make the room feel as if it is caught in shadow. A bright white door stands directly in front of me. The silver knob is polished to a shine.
A memory stirs. Six white doors with silver handles. Five marked with black numbers. The sixth is the exit. This door resembles the ones I stood in front of during the third part of The Testing. A test designed not only to evaluate our individual academic skills, but to examine our ability to assess correctly the strengths and weaknesses of our teammates.
“Malencia Vale.” A female voice emanates from a small speaker in the wall. “You may now enter.”
I put my hand on the knob and take a deep breath. During The Testing I had to make a decision—to walk through the door and face the test I found inside or to leave without entering. To believe that my teammates were working toward the same goal or to think that one who should be working for the common good had betrayed. During The Testing, I left through the exit. Today, I turn the knob and go inside.
No one is there.
The large room is painted a sunny yellow. Situated on one side is a long black table. On the other is a grouping of blue-cushioned chairs in front of a crackling fire. To the right of the fireplace is a closed door.
I open my bag, turn off the Transit Communicator, and take a seat in one of the cushioned chairs as the door opens. President Collindar stalks in. Her tall stature and sleekly cut black hair command attention, as does her fitted red jacket. She nods to acknowledge my presence and turns to speak to someone standing in the doorway behind her. “I’ve given you all the information I have. I hope you’ll be ready.”
“You can trust me,” a male voice says.
My breath catches as a gray-haired man comes into the room and gives me a broad smile. The same smile I saw him give this morning, just a moment before he pulled the trigger and ended Michal’s life. A smile that belongs to the rebel leader—Symon Dean.