On that particular morning, as the vibrant sun's rays began to creep across the cityscape, illuminating the rooftops of the tall buildings that stood proudly against the sky, the overall ambiance felt somewhat subdued. The sky itself appeared pale and lackluster, as if the sun's warmth had not yet fully penetrated through the thick veil of early morning mist, holding remnants of night's slumber. Nestled amidst the bustling business district, towering above the noise of city life, sat a magnificent office building characterized by its expansive glass walls which gleamed in the sunlight. Within its grand lobby area, the logo of a prominent social foundation stood out prominently, displayed in large, clean white letters set against a rich green background. Beneath this striking logo, a slogan echoed noble ideals: 'Preserving the Roots of the Nation.' Individuals dressed in neatly pressed business attire moved swiftly past, their arms laden with various items including folders, laptops, and steaming paper cups filled with coffee, illustrating a visual tapestry of professionals deeply immersed in their morning hustle. From the street outside, this modern organization appeared to be diligently engaged in the management of multiple community assistance programs, fostering an image of a dedicated entity committed to social betterment.
Meanwhile, ensconced within the metallic confines of an elevator rising steadily towards the top of the building, Amira and Bima stood shoulder to shoulder, both focused intently on the ascending floor numbers. They wore ID cards that prominently bore the emblem of an international donor agency, marking their roles today as members of the "independent evaluation team for border social programs." Their outfits, while simple, were neatly coordinated: each sported collared shirts and slacks complemented by briefcases full of crucial documents. Hidden beneath their shirts were discreetly placed microphones linked to recording devices nestled comfortably in their pockets, always ready to capture the nuances of conversations that might unfold during their pivotal meeting.
As the elevator glided upward with a soft hum, the illuminated floor numbers flickered past them in a slow and deliberate succession. Bima adjusted his shirt collar, making a subtle effort to hide the scar from his recent surgery, which occasionally throbbed with discomfort, particularly at times when his anxieties heightened. In a whisper, more a self-soothing affirmation than a statement meant for Amira's ears, he muttered, "My breathing is still normal."
Amira, glancing sideways, offered a half-smile and injected a light-hearted joke, though it carried the weight of genuine concern. "If your breathing isn't normal, I'll 'evaluate' you first before we start the formal evaluation of this foundation."
Bima managed a brief laugh, acknowledging the humor despite the underlying truth of her words. "Deal," was his terse response.
With a soft 'ding,' the elevator doors slid open to reveal the bright, modern reception area of the eleventh floor. The decor was minimalist yet sophisticated, featuring a sleek white reception desk accompanied by several potted plants arranged neatly around the space. A large screen hung on the wall, continuously playing cheerful videos of the foundation's initiatives in remote villages—showcasing scenes filled with smiling children, enthusiastic volunteers constructing water wells, and providing essential medical services. Strikingly absent were any grim visuals, such as desolate valleys or haunting remnants of historical objects, that typically evoke a darker narrative; instead, the content displayed resonated with 'savior' overtones, portraying the foundation in a benevolent light.
The receptionist, an affable young woman dressed in a tailored blue blazer that perfectly matched her polished appearance, greeted them warmly upon their arrival. "Good morning! How can I assist you today?"
Amira produced her ID card, which hung from her neck like a badge of authority. "We are from a donor agency. We have a scheduled appointment with Mr. Wira, the operational coordinator for the city, at nine o'clock."
The receptionist spent a moment checking her computer screen before nodding politely, confirming their appointment. "Yes, I see it's scheduled for meeting room C. Please hold on for just a moment, and I will notify him right away."
While Amira and Bima settled onto a long, plush sofa, attempting to project an air of relaxation amidst the building tension, the screen in front of them continued to play its insistent loop of cheerful footage. Bima's gaze fixated on one particular repeated clip, where a young volunteer, radiating enthusiasm and joy, lifted a box brimming with aid emblazoned with the foundation's logo—an image that stirred something deep within him.
"Pause," he whispered faintly, knowing fully well he lacked the ability to halt the incessant playback of the video.
Understanding his thoughts without the need for words, Amira recognized who occupied his mind. Dani. The volunteer they had known who had tragically been reported to have taken his own life—a headline that had reverberated through their circles, leaving a multitude of questions and a heavy atmosphere of grief in its wake. Dani's funeral had seen a gathering of unfamiliar faces, while those closer to him struggled with the implications of the loss.
"Focus," Amira reminded him gently, avoiding any hint of reproach in her tone. "If we get too emotional, people like Wira will perceive our weaknesses."
Bima nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words while his heart weighed heavy with grief. "I understand. But that's exactly why I want to hear the explanations directly from their mouths regarding how they frame Dani's situation to 'donors' like us."
In a short time, the door to Conference Room C swung open, revealing a man dressed in a crisp white shirt with a loosely tied tie. He appeared to be in his late thirties, slightly overweight, and sported neatly combed hair, though fatigue lingered in his eyes, an overt indication of many sleepless nights. An ID card prominently displayed his name: 'Wira – Operational Manager.'
"My name is Wira," he introduced himself, extending his hand for a polite and professional handshake. "Thank you for coming today. I apologize for the short notice; we are currently juggling numerous programs."
"It's alright," Amira replied with a calm demeanor. "We understand that active organizations often have a packed agenda."
Bima chimed in with an amicable yet curious tone, "That's precisely why we are here. Donor agencies require clarity regarding the utilization of funds—not just through formal reports, but also via direct, meaningful dialogue."
Wira chuckled gently, as if recognizing the underlying challenges faced by organizations like his. "Good. To be honest, some of our staff feel a wave of tension whenever the phrase 'audit' is mentioned. However, if we do our work properly, there should be nothing to conceal."
To the untrained ear, his reassurances might have appeared genuine, comforting even. Yet to Bima, who had honed his instincts to detect underlying truths, the smoothness of Wira's last sentence rang with the tone of rehearsal, as though it had been crafted to mask deeper concerns.
The three began to file into Meeting Room C, a space that was modestly sized yet functional. An oval table surrounded by six chairs sat in the center, flanked by a whiteboard and a projector screen. In one corner, a water jug awaited, accompanied by several plastic cups, while on the walls hung mission and vision posters of the foundation—visual affirmations of an idealistic essence. Amira instinctively chose a seat with a clear view of the door and part of the corridor through the frosted glass, deliberately considering all potential escape routes.
"Alright," Wira stated, settling into his chair as he powered on his laptop. "I have reviewed the email from your organization. You mentioned wanting to understand the impact of our programs in the field, particularly after... the unfortunate incident a few days ago."
Amira nodded, her expression serious. "The news regarding the volunteer who tragically passed away?"
Wira hesitated for a brief moment, a sigh of sincerity escaping him as if he bore the entirety of the narrative's weight. "Yes, Dani. A wonderful individual. His passing has affected us all deeply."
Bima leaned slightly forward, embodying the role of an auditor who sought to grasp the full context of the situation. "In the report we received from headquarters, it was stated that the foundation cares deeply about the welfare of its volunteers," he ventured. "But do volunteers perceive any pressure in the field?"
A bitter smile played across Wira's lips, an attempt at an appeasing demeanor. "Social work inherently comes with its pressures. Engaging with distressed communities, navigating inadequate resources, and facing high expectations—our volunteers, some have personal burdens they carry. Yet, we do our best to provide counseling services for them."
Amira exchanged a quick glance with Bima, the unspoken understanding between them conveyed that Wira's response aligned with their pre-existing assumptions: an effort to present Dani's death as an isolated incident rather than a reflection of a broader systemic issue.
"We would like to know," she probed gently, "how internal communication transpires after a tragic incident like this? Do other volunteers receive proper explanations, or are they left to speculate?"
Wira inhaled deeply, crafting his words with caution. "We conducted an internal meeting," he explained. "We conveyed that Dani… was grappling with personal issues. We refrained from delving into the specifics, as that was a matter of familial rights."
Bima maintained his calm and professional demeanor while questioning further. "What does 'personal issues' entail?" he asked.
Wira revealed a glimpse of internal struggles: "Perhaps exhaustion," he suggested carefully, failing to mention the pressures of workload. "Or an idealism that may have collided with harsh realities. We certainly don't wish to assign blame. However, we also strive to maintain tranquility among our volunteers."
Amira's gaze bore into Wira, a mixture of empathy and challenge evident in her questioning. "And personally, Mr. Wira? Do you feel a sense of responsibility?"
This inquiry, though seemingly straightforward, bore a weight that carried deeper implications, pressing against the moral integrity of his role. Wira's silence resonated, the control he had maintained now faltering as fatigue overtook him.
"I... always feel accountable for my team," he murmured, his voice descending to a near whisper. "However, many decisions within a vast organization are dictated by higher authorities. I merely implement them."
Bima's response was measured. "From higher authorities?" he echoed, pressing for clarity.
Wira shrugged slightly, delineating the boundaries of his influence. "This foundation is overseen by a board of directors, supported by major sponsors and government partnerships. Often, choices regarding locations, program targets, and even methods of communication… they don't originate from my desk."
Amira introduced a tension-laden note into the conversation. "We recognize that," she stated with diplomatic maturity. "Yet, Mr. Wira, donors also bear responsibilities. Should we suspect any discrepancies in the field that seem misaligned with the values we support—such as recruitment practices leading to acts of violence—we may be compelled to withdraw financial backing. This would inevitably affect the foundation's official reports."
The subtle implication of withdrawal ignited a spark of tension within Wira, the visible change in his demeanor not extreme but palpable to Bima, trained to read such cues.
"Violence?" Wira repeated, almost incredulously. "That seems a rather… extreme term."
In a careful motion, Bima opened the slender folder he had been carrying and extracted several photographs. He intentionally withheld the more graphic images—those depicting anguish and loss—but displayed images of warehouses full of aid boxes mingled with other nondescript items, plus a distant photo of himself taken at a public square earlier, when the military had intervened to quell the event. "The key lies in the details," he shared, his tone inviting but firm. "Overseas, donors scrutinize the news and question, 'What events is the organization we fund associated with?' Without a solid, convincing answer, they may withdraw support. Our aim is to help you shape that answer."
Wira's eyes darted to the photographs, an instant flicker of panic crossing his features before he composed himself and regained a facade of calm.
"The incident at the plaza… it was merely a miscommunication," he asserted, adopting a placating tone. "Our event was disrupted by officers who… perhaps lacked the full picture."
"Is that your organization's take on it?" Amira pushed gently, seeking elaboration beyond the public narrative.
"My assessment," Wira replied with assuredness, "is that we were facilitating a socialization event. Some of our volunteers—yes, perhaps they exhibited a bit too much zeal. They simply need to adapt."
A subtle shift in Bima's posture indicated his concern that unresolved issues lingered. "Mr. Wira," he addressed carefully, "I did not just bring these photographs without significance. We also come carrying a mandate. Our institution can stand as your shield if there are superior pressures pushing the program beyond ethical bounds. However, this is contingent upon someone within this vast network finding the courage to speak up."
Wira leaned in, contemplating what Bima had insinuated. "What are you suggesting?"
Seizing the moment, Bima responded with clarity and intent, leaving no space for misunderstanding. "What I propose," he said, his tone steady, "is that we realize you are not the architect behind this situation. You exist at a 'middle' level; the pressure emanates from higher up, yet the repercussions often befall you and ordinary individuals like Dani. Should any of this come to light through an investigation—or, heaven forbid, an unwanted media leak—the board above will swiftly distance themselves with a convenient scapegoat narrative of 'uncontrolled actions by field staff.'"
Amira chimed in, her voice tender yet imbued with the wisdom of experience. "We have witnessed this pattern in other contexts. Typically, those in positions like yours end up bearing the weight alone, while those issuing directives conceal themselves behind the rigid wall of 'procedure'."
An enveloping silence ensued following their pointed discussion. Outside the room, the sounds of printers and office conversations melded together into a distant hum against the more intimate stillness within the meeting room, punctuated only by the soft whir of the air conditioning.
"Why are you sharing this with me?" Wira queried at last, his voice breaking the heavy quiet.
Amira regarded him with warmth and confident assurance. "Because," she affirmed lightly, "of all the individuals I see before me, you are the one who is most likely to grasp the underlying reality while still possessing the chance to safely step away."
Upon hearing this, Wira scoffed, the bitter edge of his laughter unearthing hidden emotions. "Return to where? To another role? A 'normal' life? After standing in the intermediary position between the board and the field for so long, being the diplomatic 'face' for them?"
Bima remained unwavering in his gaze. "A position where you are not haunted by the memories of people like Dani, pretending that everything is fine."
Those poignant words struck deeply within Wira, compelling him to avert his gaze, visibly shaken.
"If you misjudge my intentions," he murmured delicately yet with an undercurrent of warning, "you both could find yourselves in jeopardy. The forces orchestrating this aren't motivated by mere whimsy."
Amira listened intently, her tone measured. "We have encountered their unyielding tactics in other contexts," she observed, her concern cloaked under the surface of her calm. "And yet, we are still here, standing before you now."
Wira's eyes bore into Amira's, searching her expression for reassurance and courage held within her gaze. "You both… are merely representatives of a donor agency, right?"
Bima and Amira exchanged knowing glances, reaffirming a silent understanding of their shared mission, aware of the delicate balance between revealing the truth and risking too much.
"We're neither the police nor journalists," Bima articulated candidly, "Should you choose to confide in us, our first course of action would not be to rush off to a press conference. However, we have connections with entities who could offer you protection if you decide to take action."
Upon hearing the offer for protection, Wira released a deep sigh, as if the weight of a long-held secret were being lifted from his shoulders.
"There is one aspect," he began, reluctantly yet with an undercurrent of urgency. "That continues to trouble me."
He opened his laptop with haste, navigating through various files, before revealing a document containing a comprehensive list of volunteers' names, their assigned locations, and their statuses: active, on leave, or completed. The last column, however, held certain entries marked with a small letter: "S."
"What does 'S' signify?" Amira asked, her tone shifting from mere curiosity to a deeper concern.
"Officially, it translates to 'completed,'" Wira responded, though his explanation belied the deeper significance behind the terminology. "However, in closed meetings, 'S' indicates 'balanced,' designating those who have 'fulfilled their obligations to the utmost degree.' Some among them… have gone missing. Such as Dani. But whenever I sought further clarification, I was told, 'That's part of the balance; do not inquire further.'"
Bima's attention sharpened, catching the central importance within Wira's revelation. "How many 'S' are documented on this list?"
With a trembling hand, Wira turned the page, feeling the severity of the reality he was beginning to unveil. "Twenty-seven over the span of three years."
A chill ran down Amira's spine upon hearing that figure. "And all considered mere 'suicides' or have simply 'disappeared'?"
"None were ever officially logged as criminal cases," Wira replied bitterly. "Each disappearance carries a justifying narrative of familial conflict, job opportunities abroad, or loss of communication. Yet, the families of those who vanished… have frequented this office, lamenting and seeking answers in the lobby. I was utterly powerless to assist them."
"Who authorized the marking of these individuals with an 'S'?" Bima inquired cautiously, his instincts pricking at the layers of deception surrounding them.
Wira hesitated, deliberating deeply before he finally divulged the information. "It stems from an edict from above," he disclosed quietly. "From a contact known solely as… 'N-0'."
Amira and Bima exchanged glances, their expressions mirroring shared shock and a profound concern for the escalating circumstances. It was an unprecedented revelation; a mid-level operative had just acknowledged the existence of "N-0" as a direct contact within their field—the murky intersection of power and accountability.
"Mr. Wira," Amira intoned, her voice laced with both understanding and resolve. "If you are amenable to cooperating, we can funnel this information through the appropriate channels. However, we wish to emphasize that we do not wish to compel you; we acknowledge the risks that accompany this decision."
Wira stared at his laptop screen, then gradually closed it, a soft whisper escaping his lips. "I need time," he murmured. "Two days. If, after two days, I remain unharmed and still in my position, I would be willing to discuss matters further. Somewhere beyond the confines of the office."
"Two days," Bima repeated, affirming his commitment to Wira's stipulations while solidifying their understanding. "We will wait. However, please do not disclose the details of our meeting to others."
Wira regarded him with a hint of a smile that lacked joy, signaling his cautious trust. "I'm not naïve enough to invite further risk upon myself," he replied.
With that, the trio rose from their seats, exchanged firm handshakes, and departed from Meeting Room C. As Amira glanced back at the frosted glass adorning the corridor, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a figure standing far down the passage, flitting from view shortly after, as if someone had just subtly observed their gathering from the shadows.
Inside the descending elevator, Bima pressed his back against the cold metal wall, taking deliberate breaths to calm his racing heart. "Do you believe he will choose to divulge everything?" he pondered thoughtfully.
Amira maintained a steady nod, imbued with a sense of trust as she articulated the weight of their situation. "He's displaying signs of hesitation. The inquiry is rather—will he hesitate toward us or toward those opposite him, ultimately revealing our presence?"
Just then, Bima's cell phone vibrated, slicing through the tension of the unfolding mystery. A message from Dito flashed on the screen: "The audio is clear. The name 'N-0' has been recorded unequivocally. But exercise caution: the signal on the 11th floor dropped for thirty seconds, indicating the presence of a jamming device. It's plausible that we are not the only ones eavesdropping on these conversations."
With these fresh layers of intrigue unfurling before them, the story now suspends the audience between revelation and tension—the cryptic designation 'S,' a list of twenty-seven names, alongside the elusive figure known only as 'N-0.' Wira may yet choose to divulge critical information, potentially positioning himself as a key witness. Conversely, should he opt to align with his superiors, the next two days could very well transform into a carefully orchestrated trap under the guise of negotiation. Meanwhile, in a world hidden among the undercurrents of unrest, other unseen eyes may be watching their every move, lurking just beyond the shadows.