I set my bag on the table least visible from the windows, open it, and take out the tracking monitor so I can watch it while I work. Ian is still on campus, only a couple of buildings away.

“What’s that?”

I explain about the tracking device I placed in Ian’s bag and the tests I need to create for Raffe and Enzo.

“How many people are on the list the president gave you?”

“Twelve.” I run down the names on the list and the reasons the president gave for each one. Stacia seems surprised to hear that the head of her residence is on the list, but doesn’t interrupt. While I speak, I pull out the other items I brought with me. Six four-inch-square pieces of steel. Wires. A switch. A thumb-size solar battery. More metal for a circuit board.

“What are you doing?”

“Building a pulse radio. Or at least something that will look like one,” I say as I work to attach wires. “I want Raffe to believe there’s information recorded on this that will help the president bring an end to The Testing.”

“Why?”

“I’m still working out the details, but if he takes it out of my room or finds a way to steal it I’ll know he can’t be trusted to follow my lead.” I need people who are willing to stop The Testing, but whom I can also depend on at any cost.

“And then what?” Stacia crosses her arms. “Raffe isn’t stupid. If he takes the recorder and figures out that the recording isn’t real, he’ll know you’re onto him. The minute he tells his father or one of the administrators on your list we’re all in trouble.”

I put down my tools and sigh. “Do you have a better idea?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Stacia takes the box I have built in her hands and turns it over. “If Raffe fails this test, there has to be a consequence that ensures he is unable to tell anyone about it. And the only way to guarantee that is if after failing the test, Raffe is dead.”

Chapter 8

“I CAN’T . . .”

Stacia’s cool, calculating eyes meet mine. “You’re planning on killing Dr. Barnes and eleven of his supporters. You really think one more is going to matter to the president as long as you help her achieve her goal?”

“No,” I whisper. I’m certain it won’t. But it matters to me. Raffe saved my life. My legs begin to tremble. I place my hands on the cool worktable as a wave of dizziness crashes over me.

“Just because you like Raffe doesn’t mean he’s not a threat. As far as I can tell you have two choices—keep him out of this, or give him a test that will allow us to know if you’re right to trust him and that will remove him from the equation if you’re wrong.”

Keep Raffe out of this plan? I doubt he would let that happen. He already knows about the false rebellion and the true nature of The Testing. More, he’s aware of my understanding of both. He will be watching what I do. If he is not a member of my team, he will certainly interfere with or possibly work against us. Even without knowing what I am about to do, Raffe could cause this plan to fail. My brother and the rebels could die. The Testing would continue. And the rest of the country . . . It is impossible to know what the repercussions would be, but I know I can’t risk them happening. Not if I can potentially stop them.

Trying not to think about what I am doing, I slide the second tracking device into the box. Then I go to the cabinets where chemicals are stored.

Locked.

Not a surprise but also not a deterrent, since the same kind of closure was on the wooden chests where my brothers used to store their personal items. When I was little, they teased me by hiding my favorite rag doll in those locked containers. Since my father believed in fair play, he taught me to pop the locks on the chests with a wire or thin piece of metal. Once my brothers learned I could open the locks, they stopped taking my doll. I haven’t had reason to use that skill much since then, but I have not lost the ability. Within moments, the cabinet doors stand open. As Stacia compliments my breaking-and-entering skills, I find what I need to create something else my father taught me. Something that could serve the purpose that Stacia suggests. Potassium nitrate, charcoal powder, and sulfur powder.

Stacia nods as I put the chemicals on the table and start to measure, hoping that I recall the proper ratios. I mete out the same amounts of each chemical twice—so when I am done there are two bowls that contain seventy-five percent potassium nitrate and smaller amounts of sulfur and charcoal. I keep an eye on the clock as the two of us grind the chemicals together. The process is slow, but dividing the labor makes it go quicker.

Stacia passes the time by chatting. “I can understand why the president might want to stop it, but The Testing can’t be all bad. I mean, there has to be some kind of benchmark for who gets to be in charge and who doesn’t.”

“Killing candidates seems like an extreme method of making that choice,” I say, although I can’t help but think of what I am doing now and wonder if my choices are just as extreme.

“I can’t imagine they kill everyone who doesn’t pass. Right?” Stacia stops and looks at me. “I mean, this country is still rebuilding. Killing off over eighty Testing candidates every year isn’t logical.”

“Then what do you think happened to them?” I’ve often wondered if the candidates who weren’t killed as direct penalties for failure have survived.

“I don’t know.” Stacia starts her work again. “We can’t remember our Testing, but who’s to say it was as bad as you’ve been told? And even if it is, think about the penalty for leaders who fail. They’re not the only ones who suffer the consequences when that happens. How else can you tell if someone can handle that?”