Chapter 1



I was twenty years old when I told my mom and dad I wanted to help the US government with its fight against terrorism. I was getting tired of seeing innocent people hurt for a particular ideology. To tell the truth, I was young. Politics was just a confusing mess to me. Killing little kids with bombs, or murdering people who were not involved in any government activities, seemed an odd way to win change.

Ok. I was not a super smart person, nor a karate expert. But I did have an ability or two that were unique. I figured I could offer them for use by the US government. Both my parents cautioned me about revealing my abilities to the government. They tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen. After all, this was The US Government. The Bastion of Freedom. The Beacon of Liberty. The Upholder of Human Rights.

Boy! Did I have it wrong!

I was finding out that the government was very serious about people with my abilities. If you didn't work for the government actively, with the government in control, then at best you were suspect, automatically. Go figure.

I knew world history pretty well, or at least, recent history. I had been a child when the Berlin Wall fell, but it had impressed me greatly. It had gotten me interested in the whole cold war era. Scary stuff, reading about that. The things that could have happened!

Dad was a systems analyst for a large company, and could work from home. He was a meticulous sort, who found glitches in computer programs for them. Mom was a freelance writer. She traveled sometimes; but mostly, she too worked from the house. It was only normal that I got pretty good with web search engines, myself. After all... with three computers in the house, and with each having access to the internet, how could I avoid it?

Both my parents knew of my abilities. Well, they knew of one, anyway. I had discovered it early in my childhood, and it was pretty well developed. The other was a new one, which I had only been able to do for about a year now.

The first was called 'remote viewing'. Yes! It had a name! It had been studied extensively, since the nineteen fifties.

The other was a bit more complicated. It involved telekinesis, but was done at a distance. What I mean is, I could affect objects at a great distance in conjunction with my remote viewing. Close up? No luck so far.

For example, I could not move or lift anything that was in the same room with me. Yet, if I were viewing a room a hundred miles away, I could do minor things. Things like turning pages in a book, rolling objects... and if they were light, I mean really light, I could actually lift things. It exhausted me to do that, though.

"Son, you're young and idealistic. I understand your wanting to help out. But I'm telling you that if you get involved with the government, and prove your abilities, they won't ever let you go," my dad was saying.

"Oh, come on, Dad! This is not the old Soviet Union, or Mussolini. This is the U.S. we're talking about," I replied, stunned at what he had said.

"Well, we have talked this out over the last few weeks. I can see you're committed to this. How will you approach them?" Dad asked curiously.

"I already have. I rented a mailbox that rents by the month. All you need to get one, is proof you're eighteen. Then you give them cash or money order for the rental fee. I paid for three months in advance. I really am security conscious, Dad. I made sure not to write my own home address on the envelope. Right now, I am contacting the government through the office of Homeland Security. Don't sweat it, you guys won't get involved at all," I said smugly.

"Mm, and you didn't lick any envelopes to leave samples of your DNA? You handled all papers with gloves so that you left no finger prints?" Dad asked curiously.

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Uh, no. I licked the envelopes... and no, I didn't wear gloves," I replied sullenly.

"That's one of your problems, Scott. You get all enthusiastic about something, but never think it through to the obvious conclusion. Well, the government now has your DNA and fingerprints. Since you aren't wanted by the law, your prints are not on file, anywhere. But once they find you, they will match your prints and DNA very quickly. If they have not already done it, they will have your P.O. Box under surveillance, by now. You already sent in materials to them, yes?" he asked in a droning voice.

'Worse and worse!' I thought. "Yeah. I sent in a copy of the views I wrote down on my computer, that I got from that terrorist, Mohamid Kashim. I sent it in a couple weeks ago. The guy was planning something bad, so I moved to try to defuse the upcoming situation," I replied.

"Well, don't be surprised if they treat you like a terrorist suspect at the outset. Your mom and I will stand behind you, but if you go through with this, be prepared to be subjected to the worst treatment of your life... at least, until you prove your ability.

"Once you prove yourself, they will switch from treating you like a suspect, to a government 'material witness'. I don't really see them letting someone with your ability walk away free. They will impose some sort of control on you, and on your talent. I guarantee it," my dad finished a bit grimly.

"Well, I don't believe that, Dad. I understand you have my best interest at heart, but you have to respect my decisions, too. You and Mom have been on me for a while now to get a job, not this part time crap I been doing. Well, if I can work with my government concerning terrorists, then I should be all right," I answered him.


It had been several days since I had last checked my P.O. Box. I got into my car (my parents old one, which they had sold to me), and made the twenty-minute trip to my box. I parked my car, went in. Almost as soon as I opened my box, that's when it happened.

"Homeland Security! Get down on the floor, face down, and don't move," a voice screamed at me.

I looked around. I was tackled, almost as soon as I moved. I was roughly turned over, handcuffed, and my pockets were emptied. I was patted down thoroughly, all over my body, especially between my legs.

I was hustled out of the building and into a van, with my hands handcuffed behind my back. The guy looking through my wallet, pulled out my driver's license, and handed it to another guy. He talked quietly into a radio.

"Scott Garner, you are under arrest for suspected terrorism. You have..." I zoned out as I realized that what my dad told me had been true! I was being treated like a criminal! I am not sure how much time went by, but soon the van stopped, I was hustled out of the van, and I was in a garage of some sort. I was escorted through a door, and through several corridors.

I was taken to a small room. Yeah, it was just like on television, with the observation mirrors and everything. There was table and chair, which were both firmly bolted to the floor. I was unceremoniously dumped into the chair.

My cuffs were removed, and I sat alone in this small interview room for some time. There was no water or toilet in the room.

I used my time 'remote viewing'. I looked in on Mom and Dad. Mom was cooking lunch and Dad was working his terminal. He paused to stretch, so I took the opportunity to type a brief message onto the page he was working. He froze, and stared for a couple seconds. Then he got up, and almost ran out of the room.

Well, at least Mom and Dad knew what was going on, now. It had been a short message I had typed: Was arrested at PO BOX. need attorney. Homeland Security has me. Scott.

It was short and to the point. I watched as Dad sent Mom off somewhere. One of the things about my ability, was that I could not hear any sounds. Dad knew this, so he typed out a message to me.

Son? Are you still watching? Sent your mom for an attorney. Most likely Homeland Security will be showing up with a warrant, soon. I will stay behind to make sure they don't wreck the house too badly. I sent for Oscar. Don't sign your rights away. don't make statements 'till the attorney gets there.

I typed back: OK. Got to go. interview starting.

I pulled my attention back to the room and watched as three people entered. Two of them took up positions in the chairs opposite me. The other walked behind me, and was out of my sight.

"Scott Garner, you are being held for questioning concerning your possible involvement with the person known as Mohamid Kashim, a known terrorist. Have you been read your rights?" somebody asked.

"Yes. Who might you be?" I responded.

"I am investigator Eric Patterson, next to me is," and so the introductions were made.

After that they asked if I would sign a paper indicating I had been read my rights. It also said I would waive my right to an attorney. There was no box to check yes or no. If I signed this thing, I would effectively be giving them permission to question me without my lawyer.

"I will not give up my right to an attorney. I want my lawyer present for questioning. I have no statements to make. I would like to use the bathroom and to get some water please," I said nervously.

"We have a lot to accomplish before you will have time to use the restroom facilities, Scott. We will give you time to use the facilities, but first we have some questions for you. Since you refuse to sign this paper, we are going to video tape your interview," and it started.

It was about an hour later that someone knocked on the mirrored window, and the guy behind me went out of the room. To each question I responded that I wanted an attorney... or to mix it up, I requested to use the bathroom or to get a drink of water. I had seen spy movies. They were trying to use psychology on me, and also make me uncomfortable. All in all it was a very annoying experience. I was actually sorry I had decided to help my government by the end of the hour. That's when my lawyer showed up.

Funny, as soon as she arrived they stopped the interview, and started processing me. For some reason, the taking of my fingerprints, a mug shot, a strip search, and logging in my personal effects took six hours. Funny how it worked liked that.

All the while one of the investigators remained making "general comments" to the surrounding people, at what was in store for me.

Finally, delay as they might, I was taken to a room. A lady of about thirty was there. She had a briefcase with her. She held out her hand and we shook.

"Scott, I am Elisabeth Constantine. My firm has been retained to represent you. First, let me tell you that while we are supposed to be private in here, with no monitoring of attorney client conversation; be advised it has already been found that the government monitors these rooms, routinely.

"Second, have you signed anything or made any statements of any sort?" She asked.

I shook my head no.

"OK, what has been happening since you were brought here?" she asked.

I told her everything that happened since being taken by Homeland Security to now. She chuckled at my answering questions with the response of wanting to use the bathroom or get some water.

"Good, you have established that they were unconcerned with your comfort. That will factor into the damages we get for your false arrest. I am operating under the assumption that you are not guilty, but now is not the time to discuss this. We are already working to get you bail," she said.

"What about the hour long questioning they did, without you being present?" I asked.

"I am going to ask for a copy of the tape, or for the tape itself. But most likely, I will have to make a motion for them to produce it. It was done without benefit of your legal representative being present, despite your repeatedly asking for me. In this case, I should at least get a copy. I won't have to wait for a trail or court, since you requested that I be here," she said with a smile.

"I have missed lunch and still have not been allowed to use the restroom. Nor have I had anything to drink. Can you get them to let me use the bathroom, at least? I am about to piss myself," I asked her.

She got up, went to the door, and knocked on it. In a moment's time, I was being escorted to the facilities. After I got back to the room, much relieved, another person had joined my attorney.

"Mr. Garner, I am Agent Smith, CIA. How did you come by your information, if you don't mind my asking?" the new guy asked me curiously.

I looked at my attorney, and she nodded her head. I turned back to "Smith" and answered him.

"I have an ability called 'remote viewing'. That's the ability to see objects, places, people or events at a distance; with the unaided mind," I told him.

"You expect us to believe that? The government debunked that type of ability years ago," he said waving his had dismissively.

"For example, I can tell you that standing behind the one-way window, are three men and two women. They are all watching and listening to this interview. They are now all looking at each other. One of them just pulled out a cell phone and hit speed dial 2," I said smugly.

Both my attorney and the agent stared at me. A woman came in and walked over in front of me. She was looking at me strangely.

"Ah, you were standing at the window, and now you're here. Welcome to the fun zone," I said snidely.

"I'm still hungry. Can we get something for me to eat? When are you going to let me go? I have proved that my ability is true, I am not a terrorist. There is no reason to keep me detained or arrested, is there?" I asked curiously.

"One lucky guess does not prove anything, Sir. A meal is being made up for you, and will be here shortly. This would go a lot faster if you would cooperate, and answer questions while you're eating, and perhaps submit voluntarily to us testing you?"

I sighed. Well, it was progress, but it had taken a long time to get to this point. It looked as if I was going to be here for some time, though.

My meal arrived, then. It was mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, and meatloaf. They also brought a bottle of water with it.

It was edible.

Edited by TeNderLoin

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Story tagged with:
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