I was proud to have volunteered for the army.
However, few people knew what I’d done just to survive, or how many people I’d killed in the line of duty. Even worse were the occasional collateral damage mistakes on fire control missions in the heat of battle.
Then there was the subsequent guilt for having survived when so many others, some who seemed much more deserving than me, didn’t.
It’s hard to overcome powerful thoughts and feelings like those when you return stateside. You can hardly metabolize the scope of it all, much less turn it off like a light switch. It was one of the few things they never trained us to confront or deal with in the army.
I dunno. It just seemed strange to be thanked by someone for all that.
Of course, I was a realist, too. I was much happier being a survivor than one of the deceased. Hell, the people downrange from me had been trying to kill me just as much as I’d been trying to kill them.
Again, too bad some of the troops I’d served with overseas hadn’t been so fortunate.
Too many absent friends.
For that reason alone, I’d grown sick of memorial services by the time I’d returned stateside.
I waited as Agent Sanders shook hands with everyone. I discreetly opened my mind and tried to listen in on the minds around me as everyone took seats around the conference table.
…looks perfectly ordinary to me
, one thought surfaced.
…can’t believe the report from Chicago
, came another.
…if the video footage was real or not?
…wonder if he can read minds?
I focused on the source of that last thought and turned to look directly into Special Agent Prichard’s brown eyes.
Say something about the weather if you can hear me.
Prichard regarded me intently as I casually continued to scan the other faces around the table. No need to show my hand at this stage in the game, I figured.
Yeah, some game this was turning out to be.
“There’s coffee across the room, if anyone wants it,” Denton said.
“Let’s get down to it, Denton,” Wainright insisted. “Mr. Bringer, I’d be remiss if I didn’t begin by saying that you’ve moved from a person of interest to a person of appreciation to the FBI. And on behalf of the Bureau, I’d like to thank you for the generous assistance that you’ve graciously volunteered to us in pursuit of terrorists related to the Wallace Building bombing.”
Click-click.
My eyes immediately went to the ballpoint ink pen that Prichard was twirling around her fingers.
“Alleged terrorists,” Prichard corrected.
That seemed to raise Wainright’s ire.
“I don’t know what you folks in the CIA think, Special Agent Prichard, but blowing up a building full of civilians is viewed as a terrorist act by the FBI,” he said.
“Or perhaps corporate espionage,” Prichard shot back.
“Fine. But Bestand Gesellschaft, or should I say Continuance Corporation, is a foreign corporation that, I might point out, no longer operates in the open,” Wainright noted.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t become mired in the semantics of the investigation right now,” Tevin said. “I think we would be best served by focusing on Mr. Bringer and the contribution that he has provided to the FBI thus far.”
Click-click.
“Indeed,” Prichard said. “Though I would hardly offer Mr. Bringer my accolades after seeing the destruction and reading the casualty report from the FBI’s botched Chicago operation,” she countered.
“Interesting point. And how’s that latest
regime-change business
going over in Afghanistan for the CIA right now, Ms. Prichard?” I asked matter-of-factly.
“
Bringer
,” Sanders whispered harshly.
However, Deputy Director Wainright adopted a satisfied expression.
“Touché, I believe,” he muttered while nodding deferentially to me. “Three successive regime changes in less than twelve years begin to look a little tiresome.”
Okay, so maybe Wainright seemed mildly odd, and he dressed somewhat dated-looking, but I was growing to like him.
Click-click, click-click.
I also found Ms. Prichard’s pen-clicking quickly getting on my nerves.
“Very well, then,” Prichard conceded. “Let’s discuss Mr. Bringer, shall we?”
Agent Denton provided a brief recount of the Wallace Building explosion, as well as the initial stages of the FBI’s investigation.
“However, it’s highly irregular that Mr. Bringer would be sheltered by the FBI, and in fact, almost be treated as a consultant of sorts given his role in the case,” Prichard said.
“Mr. Bringer’s unique set of abilities has been instrumental to advances in the investigation,” Denton said. “Not to mention he’s saved the life of at least one of our agents on more than one occasion.”
“Yes, let’s talk about Mr. Bringer’s abilities,” Tevin agreed.
Click-click.
I cast a frown in Prichard’s direction and saw the corners of her mouth upturn slightly in response.
“When did your abilities begin to surface, Mr. Bringer?” Tevin asked.
“Following my last cancer treatment before the explosion,” I said.
My last
official
treatment, at least.
Click-click.
“And had you been expecting them to manifest by that time?” Prichard asked.
“I
expected
to be cured of brain cancer, Ms. Prichard,” I replied. “I had no reason to expect anything more than the typical side effects associated with chemotherapy.”
“So, you didn’t know that the drug you were being given was experimental?” Tevin asked.
“Experimental? Yes,” I said. “But at no time did anyone allude to—”
My mind suddenly drew a blank on how Maria had classified my abilities.
“Telekinetic abilities,” Sanders supplemented.
I gave her an appreciative smile.
“I believe you read my mind, Agent Sanders,” I quipped.
She smirked and a number of others chuckled.
Click-click.
“How amusing,” Prichard flatly remarked. “Nevertheless, you failed to report your newfound abilities to Nuclegene Corporation. Why is that, Mr. Bringer?”
I paused to consider her question. Why indeed?
“At first, I was unsettled by what was happening to me,” I said. “I thought I was hallucinating, in fact. Once I was convinced otherwise, I did contact someone with the company.”
“And would that someone be Maria Edwards?” Prichard asked.
“Yes, it was Maria.”
“The classified reports I read indicate you can move objects,” Tevin said.
“That’s correct,” I confirmed.
Click-click.
“And are we to believe that you can also stop bullets?” Prichard asked.
“If it weren’t for Mr. Bringer---” Sanders began.
Prichard cast her icy stare.
Click-click, click-click.
“I don’t believe that we asked for your input yet, Agent Sanders,” Prichard admonished.
I’d already had more than enough of Ms. Prichard and her condescending attitude, as well as her damned annoying pen.
I opened my right palm and her ink pen flew from her hand into mine like a magnet attracting iron.
There were a number of surprised gasps. As a matter of fact, the surprised expression on Prichard’s face was priceless.
“You’re a real menace with an ink pen, Ms. Prichard,” I said in an even tone. “Would you care to stand up and shoot at me now so we can test my bullet-stopping ability?”
The room fell silent and I felt Sanders’ hand touch my left arm lightly. Deputy Director Wainright caught my eye as he folded his arms across his chest.
His look was one of genuine amusement.
“That’s
Special Agent
Prichard, Mr. Bringer,” Prichard chastised. “And I’m not in the habit of having things taken from me like a child, so I suggest you relinquish my pen.”
“Certainly,” I replied with satisfaction and opened my palm.
The ink pen shot upward into the ceiling tile above us.
All eyes looked up at the ceiling while Sanders’ hand tightened around my left arm.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tevin muttered with near-fascination.
Sanders stifled a groan while Agent Denton barely contained his amusement.
Prichard glowered at me from across the table.
“You’re a very disagreeable man, Mr. Bringer,” Prichard said coldly. “That’s a dangerous quality for someone with your abilities.”
“Actually,
Special Agent
Prichard, I’m quite agreeable,” I said. “That is, when I’m treated agreeably. And so far, I’ve only been dangerous to those trying to kill me, my family, or other innocent people.”
“Very well-stated, Mr. Bringer,” Wainright said, steepling his fingers before him in an almost meditative-looking fashion. “Yet another good reason why the Bureau has found merit in your continued assistance. How do you feel about that?”
I shrugged.
“Just pitchin’ in where I can,” I replied.
“You see, Prichard?” Wainright plainly asked. “The man sounds very agreeable to me. What say you, Tevin?”
Tevin’s gaze pivoted between both Wainright and Prichard before settling upon me.
“I have no objections, though I’m primarily here as an observer to collect information for others,” Tevin diplomatically stated.
All eyes turned to Special Agent Prichard, who still regarded me with unbridled contempt.
“Given that I have no authority to take Mr. Bringer into our custody at this time, I don’t see that further dialogue with him would be productive to the CIA,” Prichard said. “However, that assessment may be subject to change at some future point. And, of course, we will continue our own investigation into Continuance Corporation. It is, after all, a national security concern that extends beyond our country’s borders.”
Prichard rose from her seat, and her assistant, Russell Gasby, practically launched out of his seat to follow her.
“Good day, ladies and gentlemen,” Prichard offered in a practiced tone. “Come, Gasby,” she ordered, leading the way from the room.
After the conference room door shut behind them, Wainright looked up at the ceiling and casually observed, “I do believe the lady has forgotten her ink pen.”
As far as I was concerned, Deputy Director Wainright was okay in my book.
* * *
Following additional discussion regarding the status of the investigation, the meeting concluded. Despite being NSA, Bob Tevin graciously thanked me for volunteering my services to the FBI and said he hoped to visit with me at some future time.
Following Tevin’s departure, Deputy Director Wainright took me aside and shook my hand. “Bringer, you really have done the Bureau a service thus far. It’s a shame I don’t already have you on the payroll. But that’s just between us, mind you. The circumstances are delicate and difficult at best at the moment,” he offered.
There was an appeal to being on someone’s payroll. I’d already been off work more than I should have been to maintain my meager lifestyle.
“Thanks,” I said. “Nice to meet you, too, Deputy Director.”
Wainright took Agent Denton in tow and headed down the hall toward the main office as Sanders cast me a cross look.
“What?” I asked.
“Really mature, Bringer,” she admonished, looking up at the ceiling where the ink pen remainder lodged in the ceiling tile.
I held out my hand and the pen sprang into my open palm. I smiled as I offered it to her.
She rolled her eyes at me.
“No, thanks,” she said. “You absolutely
earned
that little souvenir.”
She turned and walked out of the conference room, her heels clicking loudly on the hallway’s tile floor.
“I can always use a spare pen,” I said, pocketing it and walking after her.
“You do realize that you just made a formidable enemy back there,” she challenged once I’d caught up to her.
We walked into the office and over to her desk where I commandeered her guest chair.
“Ha,” I said. “I’ve met people like Prichard before. Those CIA types are way too full of themselves in my opinion. They don’t exactly value the term
team
. Besides, Wainright didn’t seem to mind so much.”
“First of all, I’m confident that not everyone in the CIA is like Prichard. And second, Wainright and Prichard already have a storied history with each other,” Sanders said as she logged onto her computer. “Rumor has it, they’re always in competition with one another. However, you just came off like some egotistical wonder boy who’s showing off his talents. Mark my words, you haven’t heard the last of Prichard.”
Mark my words?
That seemed a bit theatrical to me.
“Don’t you mean, I’ll rue the day?” I teased.