Chapter 88: Meet & Greet

“Morning,” I sent to the girls. “Did you have a good night?”

I felt a rush of positive responses. I also noted that Arnie’s response was in there too. I’d expected him to be working.

“We made up to Arnie for him missing Sunday,” sent Sarah.

“You have a good time?” I sent directing this at Arnie, but including the others also.

“It was intense,” he said. “What about you?”

“Amazing coincidence,” I told them, “I met a power user, a telepath, whose brother works for the FBI up here. He might even be who I’m meeting today. I don’t know.”

“Way to make a good impression,” sent Amanda. “You DID make a good impression I hope?”

I sent them the memory of the night. I felt a rush of arousal from all of them. Especially Amanda.

“WOW,” she said. “I don’t suppose you can persuade her to stop by Portland on her way to New Orleans, can you?”

“I’ll ask her when we have breakfast,” I told them “I’m heading down there in a few minutes.”

“Tell her we’ll make it well worth her while,” said Amanda. “She’s delicious.”

“She’s a busy woman,” I said. “But I’ll ask.”

“Let us know when you’re setting out for home,” Mary said.

“I will. See you later tonight hopefully.” I told them before allowing the connection to quiet, and throwing the rest of my stuff in my bag.

I went down to the lobby, checked out, and put my stuff into my truck. Then it was time to go for breakfast.

Hadiza was waiting for me just outside the restaurant.

“Sorry,” I said. “Did I keep you waiting?”

“Just got here,” she said. We headed into the restaurant and gave our room numbers. We were shown to a table and asked if we’d like to order breakfast or just take from the buffet.

“I’ll go for eggs benedict,” I said.

Hadiza’s eyes lit up. “OOOH!” she said. “I’ve not had that in years. Me too please.”

We sat and surveyed each other for a few moments over our coffee.

“My girls have asked me to ask you if you’d like to stop by Portland on your way to New Orleans.” I told her. “They’d really love to meet you.”

She sighed sadly.

“I wish I had time,” she said. “The party is tonight, I know ... a strange night to have a party, and then I’m on a red eye flight to New Orleans. I have to register on the course I’m taking at nine AM the day after tomorrow. I have some pre-reading to get done before then, which will take me some time.

I thought for a few moments.

“Do you still have your room?” I asked her.

She grinned at me. “Still not had enough?” she asked.

“No,” I said smiling, “but I think I can help you. I figured something out, but you’d have to trust me for you to use it. It’s how I went from a 3.4 student to a 4.0”

“Really?” she said.

“You’d need to let me through your shields though,” I said, “to show it to you.”

She thought about that for a moment.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Letting you into my bed is one thing, but into my mind...”

“I know,” I said. “But I promise you it’s worth it.” I thought for a few moments. “You know any healers?” I asked after a while.

“A few,” she said.

“Do you know Jeevan Patel?” I asked.

“Who doesn’t,” she said. “He’s practically the leader of the Healer network. We’ve spoken a couple of times.”

“Would you trust him?” I asked.

“Probably,” she said.

I picked up my phone and dialled.

“Bhaiya,” he said. “How are you.”

“Hey Jeevan,” I said. “I’m with someone who wants to say hello.”

I handed Hadiza the phone.

“Jeevan?” she said, and then spent fifteen minutes talking to him on the phone. I heard my name mentioned once toward the end of the conversation. Our breakfast arrived and I was half way through mine before she finished talking to him.

“He thinks highly of you,” she said.

“And I of him,” I said. “He’s my brother.”

She tucked into her breakfast, sighing in pleasure.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll let you show me.”

“I can show you the effect in ten minutes,” I told her. “To teach you how to do it will take longer, but I promise you’ll be impressed.”

“After breakfast,” she said.

We finished breakfast and made our way up to her room.

Considering she’d not even slept there it looked like a cyclone had hit it. There were clothes and towels strewn everywhere, along with books and papers.

She smiled at me looking a little embarrassed.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” she said.

I shrugged. “You should have seen my dorm room at college,” I told her.

“Messy?” she asked with a smile.

“Nope,” I said with a grin. “Two twenty year old guys living there and it was still tidier than this.”

She laughed and slapped my arm.

“Asshole,” she said.

She swept some stuff off of the table and indicated one of the seats.

“Okay,” she said. “Impress me.”

“Do you have a journal or book you haven’t read yet?” I asked.

She reached into a bag and pulled out a journal, still sealed in its cellophane.

I read the title. “Journal of Tropical Medicine.”

“That’ll do,” I said. “Pick an article.”

She opened the wrapper and opened the pages at random, selecting an article before handing it to me.

“Frequency of Gastrointestinal Parasites, Anemia, and Nutritional Status among Children from Different Geographical Regions of Bolivia.” I read. “Sound like a page turner.”

“It’s important research,” she said. I held my hands up in surrender. I looked at the article, it was about four pages long.

“I want you to scan the article,” I told her. “Don’t read it, just look at each page, top to bottom, and then the next.”

“Do what?” she asked. I explained again.

Taking the journal back from me she did as I’d asked. Then looked up at me.

“Now,” I said. “Here’s where the trust comes in. Let me in for a few minutes.”

It took a little while for her to make the decisions, but she’d come this far, so in the end she dropped her shields.

As I had with Sarah and Melanie, I went into her short-term memory, and sorted the memories of her scanning the article. I kept my attention on the journal and ignored everything else. Once I’d seen it filed away to Long Term Storage, I backed out of her mind. Her shields were up instantly.

“That was quick,” she said.

“Strange,” I quipped. “Lots of girls tell me that.”

“I doubt that very much,” she said with a grin.

I held my hand out for the journal.

Then I turned to the article.

“How many children were included in the study and what ages were they?” I asked her.

“What?” she said. “How would I know, I haven’t even read...”

“Think,” I said. “How many children and what age range?”

She sighed and then her eyes widened.

“Cross sectional data were collected from 790 children, 5-13 years old,” she said.

“Wait, how did I know that?”

“And what percentages were infected with protozoa and Helminth Parasites?” I shot at her.

“Over 60% and 20% of children were infected with protozoa and helminth parasites, respectively. Infections caused by pathogenic Hymenolepis nana (15.7–5.2%), Ascaris lumbricoides (41.9–28.5%), Giardia lamblia (30.1–11.2%), Entamoeba histolytica (5.7–0.7%), and nonpathogenic Entamoeba coli (48.9–16%), Blastocystis hominis (40.2–28.5%), Iodamoeba butschli (16.1–2.5%), Chilomastix mesnili (19.2–7.3%), and Entamoeba histolytica/dispar (7.4–5.5%) parasites, were more prevalent in the highlands than the lowlands.” She replied, her eyes wide in astonishment.

“So,” I said “Now you have it memorized. Have you ever read your own mind?”

I spent the next hour talking her through the process of filing her short-term memory so that she’d remember important things, and then showing how to use her telepathy on herself to give herself instant recall of anything she’d ever read, heard, inferred, or calculated.

“Fuck me,” she said. “If I’d known this when I was in med school...”

“That’s exactly what everyone says when I show them.” I told her. “It only works if you have telepathy. You can do it for someone else to help them memorize something but its not as effective. Also, once you use the memory sorting a few times, it will become second nature and your brain will just do it naturally. Like I said I went from a 3.4 GPA to 4.0 and I go to one class per week in my school. I only go there because attendance is mandatory.”

“What time is your appointment?” she asked.

“Eleven why?” I asked looking at the clock. It was five after ten.

“Damn,” she said. “I was going to fuck your brains out by way of a thank you,” she grinned. “Would you mind if I shared this with David? I’ll tell him where it came from.”

“Would David mind if you told him we’d spent the night together?” I asked.

She shook her head. “He’s been a Power user long enough. He knows what we need. He needs it too.”

“Then by all means,” I said. “It can’t harm my chances with the FBI.”

She snorted. “As a Power user,” she asked, “isn’t this just a formality?”

“I think so,” I returned. “But it never hurts to be certain.”

“Give me your phone,” she said. I did, and she put her number in, and then dialled it. Her phone rang and she hung up.

“There,” she said. “I have your number, and you have mine.” I looked at my address book and found she’d entered it under ‘Dr. Booty Call’. I laughed.

“If,” she said. “When I’m done, I have any time before I’m sent out again, I’ll see if I can get to Portland, that is if your invite still holds.”

“We’re going away over Christmas,” I said. “But if we’re at home, then definitely.”

“I’m not going to be going out before the new year in any case,” she said. “I’ll call you when I know.”

“That would be perfect,” I said. “And now, if I can find my way out of this wilderness, I need to go.”

“Asshole” she said again, swatting my ass as I stepped past her. Then she stood up and followed me to the door.

I opened the door and turned to say goodbye. She pulled me into another hot and steamy kiss.

“It was good to meet you Caleb,” she said. “I hope we can do it again sometime.”

“Likewise,” I said smiling down at her for a second.

I turned away coming face to face with the young man who’d been gearing up to say something to us the previous night at dinner. His face screwed up and he opened his mouth to speak, just in time for a squelchy squeak to escape from his rear. His eyes widened again, and he dashed off down the corridor. I heard Hadiza laughing as her door closed.

The FBI Seattle office was only ten a minute drive from the Hotel, and I arrived in plenty of time. I pulled into the parking garage.

“This is FBI only,” said a guard sitting in a booth on the entrance. I showed him my FBI ID.

“Where you from?” he asked. “I’ve not seen you before.”

“Portland,” I said.

“There’s no spaces,” he told me, “but if you leave your keys, you can park anywhere. I’ll move it if you’re blocking anyone in.”

“That’s great,” I said. “Thanks.” I parked the truck, hopefully where it wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, and dropped the keys into him as I passed. He hung them on a peg in a key cupboard and then closed and locked it.

I walked down the block and in through the main door of the office, went through security, and approached the reception desk. I’d looped my ID over my belt as had become a habit, and I was holding the invitation letter in my hand.

An older lady with the name tag ‘Barbera’ was sitting behind the desk. She looked up as I approached.

“Good morning,” she said.

I handed her the letter and she nodded.

“Ah yes,” she said. “I was told to expect you.” She glanced at my ‘Consultant’ ID. And nodded.

“If you’d take the elevator up to the sixth floor, there’s a second reception up there. Check in with Amy there and someone will be along to collect you.”

“Thank you,” I said. She smiled at me.

I followed her instructions and by ten minutes to the hour, I was seated in a reception area waiting to be collected.

There were low tables with a couple of magazines which looked to be at least three or four years out of date, a water cooler, and a couple of potted plants, presumably to make the area look less sterile. The fluorescent lighting was completely destroying that effect though, and the whole area had the vibe of a dentist waiting room, but not the smell. The place smelled like an office. Paper, air conditioning, that strange electrical hot smell that photocopiers and old computers give off, and people. Lots of people.

“Caleb Stott?” I looked up to see a middle aged man approaching me. I stood.

“Special Agent Garry Abbot,” he said holding out his hand. I shook it. “Please, follow me.”

I followed him down a hall and into an office, where a man sat waiting.

He didn’t rise as I entered.

Seated, he looked to be over six feet tall, and, if indeed it was Mbisi, I was surprised. Where her skin had been dark brown, his was black, like jet black. I wondered at that.

“Caleb Stott,” said Agent Abbot, “This is SSA Mbisi.”

He nodded in my direction, but made no effort to rise nor to hold out his hand.

“Sir,” I said in his direction.

“Please,” said Abbot, “take a seat.”

As I sat, I felt Mbisi probing at my shields. I looked at him for a moment, wondering how to respond. Since I was fairly certain he wouldn’t get through I ignored it for now.

Abbot sat and pulled a file in front of him and opened it.

“You’ve been quite busy,” he said, “since you came into your powers.”

“Just in the right place at the right time,” I said. “Mostly.”

“I can see that,” he said.

“You have four letters of commendation in your file,” he said. “And you haven’t even joined the agency yet.”

“Four?” I asked wondering what they were about.

“There’s one from a captain in the state troopers,” he said. “Something about stopping an attack on one of his men? Then there’s one about the white supremacist compound in Montana, another one from a SWAT sergeant regarding a hostage situation in a bank, and finally one from the US Marshall’s office.”

I grimaced at that final one.

“That one didn’t end ideally,” I said.

“According to this, you saved the lives of a family in WitSec, including that of a two year old girl,” he told me.

“It’s never a good outcome, when someone ends up dead,” I told him. “If I could do that again, there are so many things I would do differently.”

I felt Mbisi press on my shields hard. He was trying to remove them.

I’d had enough, so without even glancing in his direction I tore down his shields leaving him completely open to me. I did nothing more than that. His eyes widened slightly but other than that he gave no reaction.

His shields were back up instantly, but his attack on mine ceased.

“Dianna told me you were strong,” he said. “How strong are you?”

“I don’t exactly know,” I said. “I’ve not come across anyone who’s shields I can’t take down though.”

“Will you drop your shields so I can see?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Just as soon as you get a court order.”

Finally, his face cracked, and he smiled slightly. “She also said that you were not one to be bullied.”

“I made some mistakes,” I said. “No, scratch that. I made LOTS of mistakes when I first came into my powers. I learned a lot from those mistakes and am hoping not to make too many more.”

“That’s all we can ever hope for,” he said. He reached for the file, taking it from Abbot, who’d sat back in his chair leaving the interview with Mbisi. I got the feeling that his questions were merely something to occupy me while Mbisi did what he did.

He flicked through the file.

“You’re a Healer too,” he said. “Saved the life of an agent who’d been shot multiple times.”

“That wasn’t just me,” I said. “Jeevan Patel did most of that, I just helped.”

“Not what it says here,” he said. “There’s a statement from Jeevan saying that he wouldn’t have even attempted Healing without you there.”

Then he changed tack.

“Why the FBI?” he asked.

“I’ve always wanted a career in Law Enforcement,” I said. “That’s what I’ve been working toward all my school life. I did well enough to get fairly good grades in my major in college, but it was only when the Amulet came off that I realized how much better I could have done if I hadn’t been hobbled with it.

“Then all of a sudden, I had relatives I’d never even heard of. One of whom was an ADD in the FBI. She and Dianna, sorry SSA Everson, showed me how the FBI were working to stop wild power users from abusing Norms. That seemed like a really good use of my powers and talents, and far better than, say, the NSA where I’d be spending my life spying on my neighbors, or the CIA, where I’d have to work overseas.

“I have a family in the US that I really don’t want to spent time away from, so the FBI made sense. I’m not one hundred percent set on the ESP section although I’m pretty sure that no matter where I get posted, I’m going to get pulled into dealing with rogue Power users, especially stronger ones.”

“Looking at your file,” he said. “Everything you’ve done so far, has been you. The Lone Ranger riding in and saving the day. That’s not how the FBI works. We’re a team. Can you work as part of a team Caleb?”

“Definitely,” I said. “If you look at the event at the hospital where Owen Booth was taken down, that was definitely a team effort. All I did was neutralize his powers. The rest of the team went in and took him into custody.”

He flicked through the file until he found the relevant page.

“Also,” I continued, “look at the Montana compound event. Again, all I did was neutralize the nut with his finger on the detonator. Once that was done the bomb squad went in and defused the devices and the rest of the team swept up all of the others in the compound.”

More flicking through the file.

“You might also notice,” I went on, “when I’ve come across situations, whenever it was possible, I always ask for direction from SSA Everson. Unless immediate action was required, I have and will continue to do so, until such times as I have the seniority to make those decisions independently.”

“And you think there will come a time when you will have such seniority?” he asked.

“We live a long time,” I said. “If I don’t progress to such a degree after an appropriate time, then I’ll obviously be in the wrong career and have some decisions to make as to where I’d be better utilized using my skills.”

“And if not in the FBI, where do you think that might be?” he asked.

“Possibly as a Healer,” I said. “I have the utmost respect and love for Jeevan and what he does. I doubt I have his ability to work in the shadows though. All the major healings I have done, have been felt by the patient, and recognized for what they are. If I were to go that route, I’d have to do a lot of work to be much more circumspect with my healing.”

“Why hypnotherapy?” he asked. “Were we not paying you enough?”

I smiled. “You were paying me plenty,” I said. “It was never about the money. It was a way to train my Compulsion and Telepathy. I suggested it to SSA Everson after one day when she’d got me in for a telepathy training session. I thought that I could kill two birds with one stone, and also help people at the same time.

“Two birds?” he asked.

“I could train my telepathy,” I said. “The consent form clearly states that I can obtain information from their subconscious mind, and my compulsion in making sure that they achieve whatever goal they are looking for.”

“Surely you could do this in one session,” he said. “Why are you making them come back so many times?”

“Cover,” I said. “Nobody would believe that I could stop people smoking or get them to lose massive quantities of weight in a single session. It has to be believable.”

He nodded at that.

“Is that all you’ve done, Smoking cessation and weight loss?”

“I’ve treated a couple of PTSD patients successfully,” I told him, “A couple of sexual dysfunction cases, and also a cocaine addict.”

“Who was the cocaine addict?” he asked.

“I’m afraid the confidentiality agreement prevents me from disclosing anything without a court order,” I told him.

He grunted.

“You’re not a qualified counsellor, but you’re treating PTSD?” he asked.

“I consulted with SSA Everson on those,” I said. “She coached me through the process, and I had her in reserve if needed. Given my range of powers, it’s actually fairly easy to treat.”

“And yet you suffered it yourself following the shooting.” He stated.

“It’s hard to look in a mirror and see the truth,” I told him. “It took someone pointing it out to me to make me realize I had a problem. Once that was evident, I was able to successfully get help.”

“Would you be willing to let us read you,” he asked. “To make sure you’re okay?”

“I’d be willing to undertake a psych evaluation,” I said, “as all the Norm agents do. I’ve been informed that that is the standard practice.”

He nodded again.

“If you do join the bureau,” he said, “you’ll have to do the same 16 week basic training as all agents do, and you’ll have to pass the fitness evaluation exactly the same as other agents. Do you think you can do it?”

“I’m certain I can pass the fitness evaluation,” I told him. “I’ve been training in martial arts since I came into my powers and, since I found out the details of the PFT, I’ve been training for that and can consistently score a passing grade in all five tests.

“You’re training the at the Tactical Recruitment Program level?” he asked “Why?”

“Dianna told me,” I said, “that with my powers, I was pretty much a shoe in. But I know that if I am successful then I’m going to be taking a slot from someone else who really wanted it too. I wanted to be worthy of that slot not just because I had powers, but because I could qualify even without them. Yes, I’m claiming an exemption on my age due to my powers but, other than that, I want to deserve the position I’m taking.”

Mbisi’s eyebrows rose.

“You’ve been training martial arts?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Which ones?” he asked.

“Karate, Aikido, and Krav Maga” I said.

“And you’ve had weapons training?” he asked.

“My future father-in-law is a Marine Corps veteran,” I said. “He taught me everything I know about shooting, although I’ve only practiced with hand guns so far, no long guns.”

“I was wondering if there was going to be anything left for us to teach you,” he said a little cynically. I chose not to respond to that.

“There’s no mention in your file regarding foreign languages,” he said. “Do you have any proficiency in any foreign languages?”

I wondered for a fraction of a second how I should answer that. So far, I was fluent in several languages, but I wasn’t sure if I should reveal that information.

“I have a little Spanish, sir,” I told him after a second.

“Verbal or written?” he asked.

“Both,” I said. He made a note in the file.

“That might come in useful,” he said. “Do you think you’re proficient enough to pass a test in the language?”

“I should think so sir,” I said.

He nodded. “That will be added to your file, and you’ll be tested on it then. Failing the proficiency will not negatively affect your application but passing it will certainly positively affect it.” Then he barked a laugh. “Who am I kidding. You’d have to be a deaf mute with one leg and the I.Q. of a ping-pong ball not to be accepted with your powers. But it speaks well of you that you are striving to meet all the criteria for entry that you’d have to meet as an unpowered applicant. There is a BFTC starting in late July. Maggie wants you in that. That means that we have to get through the processes before that date, we have just under eight months to get everything squared away. We’re taking shortcuts, and obviously your college graduation is a key part of this process. Do you anticipate any problems there?”

“I’m currently maintaining a 4.0, sir,” I said. “I’m not anticipating any problems.”

“The biggest time soak,” he said, “is the background investigation. However, given your rather unique family and the fact that the Everson Council has been basically looking over your shoulder since you were born up until last year, I’m confident that even that can be done quickly. I’d like to get your CAO out before the end of February, which means that we’re going to have to get your phase 2 test done in January. Ideally, we’d like to complete your PFT as soon as possible. Do you think that would be possible?”

“Yes sir,” I said. “I’m ready now, I’d just need a time and a location.”

I realized that I might regret saying that when Mbisi grinned.

“It just so happens,” he said, “that we have a PT instructor in the office today. There is a recreation center across the road with a running track and gymnasium. What do you say?”

I thought for a moment. I had some sweats in my bag, although they were probably creased up since I’d worn them after my shower yesterday, and I had some trainers in there too. There was really no excuse.

“I’m not exactly dressed for it,” I said. “I have some training clothes in my bag, but they’re not in the best state.”

“It’s not a fashion show,” he said. “Can you do it or not?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I said. “I’ll need ten to get my bag from my truck.”

“Go get it,” he said, “then meet us in the foyer of the rec center once you have your gear.”

“Sir,” I said standing up. He nodded to the door, and I took that as a dismissal, heading for the elevator, and back outside. Needless to say, it was raining, hard.

The parking guard was helpful, giving me back my keys so I could retrieve my bag. He’d not had to move my truck yet and I handed the keys back to him before crossing the road to the rec center. Mbisi and another man, wearing shorts and a polo top, were waiting for me in the foyer.

“Caleb Stott?” the other man asked.

“Yes sir,” I returned.

“Can I see some ID?” he said. I handed him my FBI Consultant ID. His eyebrow went up on seeing that, but he couldn’t really refuse it, it was an official photographic ID. He made a note on a form on his clipboard, and took a photograph with his phone.

He handed me back my ID.

“Changing rooms are over there,” he said. “You can leave everything in your locker, unless you have a weapon?”

I shook my head. “No sir.”

He nodded. “Good enough. Everything else will be secure enough in there.”

I went and changed into my sweats, hanging my clothes in a locker, and stuffing my bag with my phone in it, in the bottom. I closed the door. There was no lock. After that, I rejoined Mbisi and his colleague in the gym.

“My name is Baron Wild,” he said. “I’m a PT instructor with the FBI, certified to carry out the PFT. I’m going to run through the test just so you know what’s going to happen. Okay?”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“We’re going to start with sit-ups,” he told me. “You’ll have one minute to complete as many sit-ups as you can. Before the exercise, I will demonstrate the technique and what is required for a sit-up to be counted.

“Following that you will have five minutes to rest, and then you will complete a three hundred meter sprint on the running track. Next comes the push-ups. This is an untimed exercise but you must complete push-ups as demonstrated without any pauses. It’s a continuous motion exercise and the exercise will finish the moment you pause. The number of successful pushups completed to that point will be your score.

“That will be followed by a 1.5 mile run, which again will be completed on the track. Your time for completing the run will be recorded and a score assigned. Finally, there is an untimed number of pull-ups. Again we will describe them at the time of the exercise. This is another untimed, continuous motion, exercise so any pauses will signal the end of the exercise and the number of pull-ups completed to that point will be your score.

“Any questions?”

“No sir,” I said.

“Very well. Please follow me.”

He took me over to a mat, and described the criteria for sit ups. I was very familiar with this, having read this information over and over again, and practiced many times.

“Do you understand the test as I’ve explained it to you?”

“Yes sir.” I said.

“Take your position.” I lay on the floor, arms crossed over my chest. Mbisi knelt in front of me holding my feet down.

“Ready?” I nodded.

“Begin. One, two, three, four...”

“Time,” the instructor called. I stopped. My stomach was starting to burn.

“That’s fifty-two scored,” he said. “Seven points.”

“This way,” the instructor said, and I got to my feet. My stomach muscles burned a little, but I wasn’t winded. I pushed healing into them, clearing the lactic acid, and felt as good as new.