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The Plot to Assassinate the President – Part 01

On that Saturday morning, New York was a little quieter compared to its bustling weekdays. Flashy cars, carrying flappers who had danced until dawn at speakeasies, zipped by, while the usual coffee and breakfast stands were notably absent. Busy businessmen were nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by children frolicking in the streets with their dogs.

Gradually, a stream of people emerged from various corners, all converging toward the towering Empire State Building at the heart of Manhattan. Visible from anywhere on the island, it was a skyscraper that symbolized the New World.

“People are gathering already,” Kazuya said, looking around from the convertible’s backseat. His handcuffs had been removed.

“Indeed,” Victorique said.

“So the speech starts first thing in the morning. We need to get going.”

Detective Benjamin regarded Kazuya with suspicion. “If you turned out to be the assassin, I’ll shoot you dead on the spot.”

“Benjamin,” Victorique growled in a raspy voice, holding a golden pipe in her hand. “I trust you understand what would happen if you did that.”

“Come on. I’m just joking. I’ll just arrest him, with minimal injuries. Ah!”

The light turned green, and the convertible sped towards the Empire State Building.

The Empire State Building, a modern Tower of Babel, featured a black and gray exterior of cold iron, resembling a sword thrust into the ground by a giant’s hand. Despite its visibility from any point on Manhattan Island, its immense size made it impossible to fully appreciate its grandeur the closer you got.

In front of the building lay a concrete plaza with a large fountain and trees, simple yet rational, populist, and functional, reflective of the new era envisioned by the New World.

The plaza gradually filled with eager attendees. A platform for speeches stood at the front entrance of the building. Stars and Stripes flags, the emblem of the pioneering nation, fluttered proudly in the breeze.

Uniformed police officers pushed back the growing throng of citizens, while journalists, arguing with officers, vied for prime positions to capture the unfolding events.

A peculiar energy enveloped the square. As excitement and tension mounted, the plaza transformed from a mundane public space into a stage for something extraordinary.

A flashy convertible roared into the scene and screeched to a halt. People stirred, staring curiously, while the police watched with caution.

When Detective Benjamin stepped out of the car, the officers were visibly relieved. The detective strutted proudly while clutching his teddy bear.

“Perfect! If you happen to spot any suspicious individuals, I need you to apprehend them,” he ordered. “Seems like there’s someone after Mr. Goldsworthy’s life. Can you describe Nico for us?” He turned to Kazuya for details.

“He’s a tall, Italian man, with a beard, wearing a lime-green coat and red shoes.”

“You want us to find someone that matches that description?”

The officers exchanged amused glances at the daunting task.

Victorique emerged from the car, surveying the bustling plaza. In just a short span, the crowd had swelled considerably, making it impossible to distinguish individual faces. People surging around the car prevented them from leaving the plaza.

Kazuya and Detective Benjamin exchanged glances.

“I didn’t expect such a turnout,” the detective said.

“I’m pretty sure the government, the police, and the media share the same sentiment. Mr. Goldsworthy is a lot more popular than expected.”

Detective Benjamin scratched the tip of his nose. “Hmm. This is going to be tough!”

“Yeah. If Nico is the culprit, we’re in trouble. If it was me, I’m already here.”

“Right. If you’re the assassin, we’re good. I can just shoot you.”

“I mean, I guess.”

Detective Benjamin prayed to the heavens. “I hope Kujou’s the one hypnotized! I hope Kujou’s the one hypnotized! I hope Kujou’s the one hypnotized!”

Victorique shot the man a glare, then exchanged looks with Kazuya.

The roar of the crowd grew louder. Victorique’s silver hair danced in the wind.

“This doesn’t bode well,” she murmured, straining to hear over the din. “It’s starting soon. We must hurry.”

Murmurs of anticipation spread through the crowd ahead. Stretching on tiptoes, Victorique tried to get a good view, but she was too short.

Kazuya slipped his arms under her armpits and hoisted her gently onto the hood of the convertible, surrounded by a sea of people. Nearby children tried to climb as well, but their parents stopped them. The colorful car bobbed like a tiny vessel amidst the surging crowd, swaying with each wave of cheers.

Kazuya’s jet-black hair stirred in the breeze as he jumped nimbly to join Victorique’s side. Detective Benjamin kept a wary eye on him.

Kazuya scanned the vast crowd, searching for Nico intently. His lime-green coat should be noticeable even from afar, and his height meant he should tower over the others.

Anyway, I wonder how Mr. Goldsworthy got so popular to draw such a huge crowd. This turnout is unbelievable.

Mr. Goldsworthy—father of the nation, exemplary husband, ideal leader—embodied the aspirations of the new United States.

Perched beside Kazuya’s feet, Victorique looked around, swaying amidst the crowd like she was riding a boat being tossed by a storm.

“Mr. Goldsworthy is making his entrance,” she said.

The crowd erupted into cheers. The ground itself seemed to rumble and rise. The morning sun shone brightly, as if blessing the future of the country.

A middle-aged man of imposing stature emerged. Wearing a plain yet fine suit, his presence reassured those who laid their eyes upon him. He radiated simplicity, intelligence, sharpness, and compassion.

“Mr. Goldsworthy! Mr. Goldsworthy!” The chant swept through the crowd like wildfire, punctuated by sporadic cries of “Mr. President!”

Mr. Goldsworthy raised both hands in acknowledgement, and the plaza fell completely silent.

“Hello, New York!”

He spoke into the microphone, his warm voice resonating through the air, prompting a thunderous applause from the crowd.

“Quite the striking man,” Victorique remarked.

“You think so?” Kazuya replied. “I don’t see Nico anywhere.”

“Maybe you’re the assassin after all,” Detective Benjamin interjected hesitantly. “Just to be sure, you’re not carrying any weapons, are you? Hey, are you even listening?”

“We’re truly in the age of media, Kujou,” Victorique said somberly. “Mr. Goldsworthy embodies the ideal leader for this era of newspapers, radio, and newsreels.”

“Yeah… Just seeing him like this fills you with hope for the future. If his noble image and resonant voice spread across the nation through the media…”

Victorique narrowed her eyes. “The speech is starting, Kujou. Today might just make history. Quite the spectacle,” she remarked, puffing on her golden pipe. “Depending on how this New York speech unfolds, it could alter not just his fate but the destiny of this nation. I understand now. The enigmatic figure known as the Director is using the murder machine that is Dr. G.I. Boleid to prevent that. A once-in-a-lifetime speech is about to begin.”

“The great United States in our hands!”

Mr. Goldsworthy’s voice carried well, eliciting enthusiastic responses from the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he began. “Our ancestors, every single one of them, were fellow travelers who braved the seas. Some arrived from distant lands with modest fortunes, while others came with nothing but the clothes on their backs. And among us, there may even be those who can trace their ancestry back hundreds of years. Some immigrants may have just arrived yesterday or today. Yet, we must understand that we are not adversaries because of our diverse backgrounds. Indeed, we are comrades, sharing the same struggles and aspirations! So, who are we? I implore you all to listen carefully. We are the ones who tame uncharted territories, build fortunes with our bare hands, provide for our families, and defend the honor of our friends.”

Victorique breathed in. “We are proud pioneers and noble settlers!”

Kazuya, scanning the crowd for Nico, was taken aback. “How did you know what he was going to say? Did you write his speech?”

“I merely predicted it. No need to even use my Wellspring of Wisdom,” Victorique replied with a snort. “Mr. Goldsworthy is fundamentally a good person. His thought process is straightforward. The machinations of malevolent hands, on the other hand, are unpredictable.”

“Humanity strives and believes in goodness, while individuals harbor evil within.” She puffed on her pipe. “Human beings are societal creatures, each carrying their own wickedness while sharing the same goodness. Dr. Boleid’s psychoanalysis aimed to bring that evil to the surface.”

“Oh, Nico!” Kazuya exclaimed, worriedly.

“Fortunately, the great United States weathered the two storms and emerged victorious. We’re now poised to become the youthful leaders driving the global economy. So, where do we go from here? How do we advance? I’m eager to hear your thoughts. We’re committed to upholding the ideals of governance envisioned by our founding fathers—government of the people, by the people, for the people. To achieve that…”

“Ah!” Kazuya gasped.

“Hmm?”

“More economic growth. Political unity. Each and every one of us are the descendants of brave pioneers. It’s up to us to forge a new future unlike any other country.”

“It’s Nico!” Kazuya pointed.

The crowd swayed like a rough sea. In the distance, media personnel clustered around the podium, snapping photos and jotting down notes frantically. A lime green coat briefly caught Kazuya’s eye. He leapt off the car’s hood, and Detective Benjamin quickly followed.

Kazuya glanced back. “Victorique, I spotted a lime-green coat! It’s Nico, behind the reporters!”

“Slow down!”

They pushed through the crowd, but their progress was slow.

Kazuya offered polite apologies as he hurried through the crowd, while Detective Benjamin, following closely behind, was less subtle, bellowing, “Police! Move out of the way! Clear a path!” His voice gradually faded into the bustling throng.

The crowd consisted of individuals of varied age, occupation, ethnicity, from suited white-collar workers to laborers who had snuck away from their jobs. It seemed less like a gathering of specific supporters and more like an assembly of New York citizens from all walks of life.

Detective Benjamin’s elbow accidentally bumped into someone, eliciting an irritated response. Their companions quickly joined and blocked his path.

Swallowed by the crowd, Detective Benjamin yelled, “Hey!”

Kazuya looked over his shoulder and met Detective Benjamin’s troubled gaze.

“At this point, I think it’s safe to say you’re not the assassin,” the detective said, staring hard at Kazuya. “You look the same even after seeing the presidential candidate. We’re running out of time!”

With a grunt, he swiftly drew a gun from his holster and handed it to Kazuya.

“Wh-Whoa!” Kazuya took it with astonishment.

Seeing the grave look on Detective Benjamin’s face, Kazuya nodded and resumed his dash through the crowd.

“Don’t screw this up for me!”