That morning after my parents had left, I’d been planning on breaking into my very suspicious neighbor’s apartment to look for bodies. Okay, maybe Mr. Dwarins was innocent but my parents had to have had a reason to move to this apartment. 

It wasn’t because this place was safe, Baxter Street was quite the opposite. The street reeked of cigarettes and of trash because many people couldn’t afford to pay the trash bill. Homeless people hung out on the streets asking for money.

We weren’t poor, the government paid us plenty. In fact, Mom could pull some strings and get us to live at the White House. The only reason I could think of for living here was that there was some criminal needed to be caught.

I didn’t like this dump and I sure didn’t like living in it so I was going to give all the help I could. Starting with investigating the home of the suspicious. I knew what I was doing, I was the daughter of Kendall and Ethan Bergs after all. How humiliating would it be for the daughter of the FBI’s greatest agents to not even be able to break into an old man’s apartment?

It had been too long since my last encounter with an investigation but just as I was about to break into my neighbor’s apartment, I was interrupted. Dr. Colten, Dad’s old college buddy, had come to visit. So instead of digging through my neighbor’s apartment, here I was greeting a bald man.

“Hi, Elle,” Dr. Colten said. “Are your parents at home? I should have called but I had no service.”

“No, my dad’s at work and my mom’s at the grocery store,” I said.

“Oh, I have a meeting with Frank the head of Secret Service today at the White House for lunch,” I could tell Dr. Colten was trying to impress me but I was not easily impressed. Okay, I was a little impressed, just a bit. “I need to get this case delivered by 12 o’clock sharp today. It’s urgent. I would do it myself but I can’t be at two places at once

“I could give the case to my parents when they get home,” I offered. “But it’s already eleven-thirty and traffic would be bad, everyone’s on their lunch break, plus we’re talking about New York. I don’t think they can beat traffic.” Dr. Colten sighed but then brightened.

“You could deliver the case. I bet if you left now you could get the case delivered in thirty minutes.”

“Ummm…” I didn’t want to say yes but Dr. Colten said it was important. If my dad’s friend says it’s important then it’s probably worth my time. “I guess I could.” 

As soon as those four words were out of my mouth Dr. Colten thrust a black briefcase into my hand. It looked like a...briefcase. I had expected it to be more abnormal but it didn’t even have a lock. 

“All you need to do is deliver the case to the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge before twelve o’clock.” Dr. Colten said looking at his watch. “You don’t even have to wait for someone, they’ll pick it up after you leave. Just deliver the case before 12 o’clock and don’t tell anyone. It’s top-secret” It was an unusual request and the instructions were quite specific but FBI agents were known to be a little weird. Who knew what they thought? My own parents were agents but I didn’t understand them half the time. 

“Okay, sure thing,” I told him. “Should I tell my parents you stopped by?” Dr. Colten wiped the sweat off his bald head. I wondered what made him decide to shave his head, I remembered Dr. Colten to always have his hair styled oh-so-carefully every day. 

“Actually, that’s okay. I’ll call them and tell them myself. I’ll let your mom know you might not be here when she comes back from the store. They’ll understand though, right? I wouldn’t want you to do something your parents won’t approve of.”

“I’ll leave a note for them. I haven’t been on the Brooklyn Bridge yet and so this is a good opportunity.” 

“What a coincidence. Well enjoy the bridge while it still lasts,” Dr. Colten said as he walked toward the elevator.

“Wait, what?” 

“I mean while the warm weather lasts,” Dr. Colten stepped into the elevator and waved. I waved back and looked at the case.

What was in this case? Why was it so important? Maybe I could take a quick peek… I went inside my apartment and sat on the couch. No one would know if I just took a quick peek. It can’t be that important if there isn’t a lock on it. No, I shouldn’t, it’s FBI business. I chewed at my lip. It can’t be too bad, just a quick look… I opened the case and looked inside. What was inside, shocked me. 

Of course, this happens to me. No other thirteen-year-old girl had to deliver a case from an FBI agent. No other thirteen-year-old girl had to deliver a case with a bomb in it.

And so just like that my morning turned from normal to dangerous. I think I sat there for about three minutes. Just staring at the black bomb, the colorful wires, thinking to myself my parents were going to kill me. They had warned me about accepting things from agents. Agents usually meant there was danger lurking and this time was no exception.

Finally, I stood up and called my mom on the landline. She was at the grocery store, how long could that take? Mom would come home and stop the bomb. She would know what to do. I tapped my feet as I waited for her to pick up. She didn’t pick up and the call went to voice mail. I tried calling her again. 

After a few seconds, I heard a small beeping sound coming from the only room in the apartment. I left the landline, still ringing and walked into my parent’s room. Normally, I wouldn’t be allowed in here but today was not a typical day. I looked around the room to find the source of the beeping sound, it was coming from the bedstand. I moved some papers to uncover my mom’s phone.

Ugh, she must have left it at home. Just my luck. What do I do now? My dad didn’t have a phone, he thought they were useless. He always said, “Destroy the evidence or better yet don’t have any evidence. The phone is evidence.” If I couldn’t contact my parents then what could I do? I couldn’t stop the bomb on my own, I didn’t know how to. I could call the police but what could they do? The police would think I’m lying, I could barely even believe my own eyes. Even if they did believe me, there was no way they could make it here on time.

I’m doomed, I’m doomed,  I’m doomed… I paced my parent’s room as I cursed myself. “Why me?” I yelled as I kicked the bedstand next to the bed. Pain shot through my leg and I cried out. “Ouch! Stupid thing.” I sat on the bed and rubbed my foot.

After a bit, the pain went away and I finally noticed the bedstand. The bedstand had opened when I kicked it and inside, papers and files were piled high. I picked up the first manila file and thumbed it open. There, staring at me was my neighbor. It was an old mug-shot of him. From the look of his face, it was probably from about twenty years back but it was definitely him. See I knew he was evil...Wait...what? Agent? No, it can’t be true. But yet it was, my neighbor, the suspicious, bearded Mr. Dwarins was an agent. I skimmed through the file.

Jake Dwarins Gender: Male Age: 68 Years in Service: 41 Occupation: Former FBI’s Director of WMDD 

Woah, he’s impressive. What is WMDD again? I tapped against the file trying to jog my memory. Come on, Elle, what did your parents say. WMDD, WMDD WMDD, WMDD...It’s an acronym, ugh. What can “W” stand for? Wanted, warrant...Weapons! That’s it, WMD stood for Weapons of Mass Destruction and WMDD couldn’t be that different from WMDD.

“Beep, Beep,” I heard a sound from the living room. I hurried out to the living room with the file in my hand. I looked around to find the source of the beep. The noise had come from the bomb that was still in the opened briefcase. The bomb was flashing red and the little red timer read ten minutes. I watched as the timer went down from ten minutes to nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds, to nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds. Nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds. Nine minutes and fifty-six seconds. Nine minutes and fifty-five... I snapped myself out my haze and forced my self to pick up the bomb.

“You have to move, Eleanore Marylyn Bergs. You have to go to your neighbor, no matter how creepy they are and diffuse the bomb,” I talked to myself. “Because if you don’t, you’re going to be as dead as a dodo.” I followed my own instructions and walked out of my apartment. I took a deep breath and knocked on my neighbor’s door. Please be home, I prayed. It was funny how just 15 minutes ago I was praying he wasn’t home. 

After a few seconds, no one answered and the timer had gone down to nine minutes and forty-two seconds. I tried again but yet again no one answered. I tried a third time, then I put my ear to the door and listened closely. I heard a faint sigh of a man but still, no one answered.

“Mr. Dwarins, I know you’re in there,” I called pounding on the door. “Please let me in. I need your help.”

“Go away, go find someone else to feed your girl scout cookies to,” a raspy voice answered.

“No, it’s an emergency,” I replied.

“Than call your mom or 911, anyone but me,” Mr. Dwarins stubbornly said.

“But you were the director of WMDD,” I was testing my luck and this was a dangerous thing to say in public but I was desperate. 

Suddenly the door opened and Mr. Dwarins’ elderly face appeared.  “Who told you that?” He questioned.

“It doesn’t matter. The point is I’m holding an active bomb right now,” I said matter-of-factly. “And you’re the only one who knows how to defuse it.”

“What bomb?” he asked, then looked down. Mr. Dwarins spotted the bomb and picked it up. “A time bomb?” Mr. Dwarins inspected the bomb. “Poorly done, homemade.”

“Uh, so you can stop it?” I asked.

“Of course I can,” Mr. Dwarins looked at me as if I was crazy. “Come in.” I walked into his apartment and sat down on his couch. Meanwhile, Mr. Dwarins went into his room and brought out a toolbox. “How did you even get this bomb? You didn’t make it did you?”

“No, Dr. Colten one of my dad’s old college buddies came over with a briefcase and he asked me to deliver it onto the Brooklyn Bridge by 12 o’clock,” I said covering my face with my hands. “I’m so stupid.”

“No, you’re not it was an honest mistake. You thought it was a friend of your dad’s right?” My neighbor reassured me while doing all sorts of things with the bomb.

“Well that’s the thing, my dad hadn’t mentioned him for years. Dr. Colten also said he had a meeting with Frank the head of Secret Service at the White House at 12. He couldn’t have possibly gotten there in time. Also, he said he couldn’t call my parents when he was coming to my apartment because he didn’t have service but then mentioned that he would tell my parents that he came over himself. I’m so stupid. I’m probably the dumbest person alive. How can such a dumb person come from such smart parents?” I rambled on about my stupidity.

“Stop. You’re not stupid. A stupid person might do dumb things but what makes them stupid is that they don’t acknowledge their mistakes. Stupid people don’t know what they did wrong so they never grow from their mistakes. An intelligent person isn’t always perfect or right but they realize their mistakes and weaknesses and they try to improve from them.” Mr. Dwarins said, “If smart people always were right and perfect then we wouldn’t have any smart people. Everyone makes mistakes even your parents, but what matters is that they don’t let those mistakes stop them.”

“But my parents couldn’t have made as many and stupid mistakes like me,” I said.

“You’re right, you’re parents couldn’t have made as many and stupid mistakes as you,” Mr. Dwarns replied. “They made more and stupider mistakes than you.”

“Yeah, right,” I said disbelievingly. “How would you know?”

“I helped train your parents. I saw your parents in their weakest moments. I saw them when they were about to give up. But they didn’t, they tried again and again until they were successful,” Mr. Dwarins went on. “I was there when your mother was failing in her classes and was going to drop out of training. I was there on September 12, 2001, when your father had a resign letter written up. He felt like the nine-eleven attack was all his fault because he couldn’t decode a code in time. But you know what? He might have been able to stop the attack. He might have been able to save millions of people, but it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t. He wasn’t the one who attacked the U.S, he wasn’t one of the terrorists. He was a good guy who had done nothing wrong. In the same sense, it’s not your fault. It’s Dr. Colten’s fault, he made the bomb, he wanted to blow the bridge up, and he will take full blame for the bomb.”

“If I’d refused the briefcase we wouldn’t be in this mess though,” I sighed.

“You could think that all you want but it’s not true,” Mr. Dwarins said. “Don’t you think Dr. Colten would have found another way. He would have made another person do his dirty work. Besides we’re not in a mess anymore.”

“Wait, what?” I exclaimed. “Did you defuse it?”

“I defused it a long time ago,” Mr. Dwarrins said. “It’s a weak bomb.”

“Really? You defused it!” I exclaimed. “You stopped it, you stopped it, you stopped it!”

“No, we stopped it.” I opened my mouth to argue but then thought the better of it. I realized that my old neighbor was right. We had stopped, I had helped stop a bomb. I had saved the world, just like I had watched my parents do thousands of times.