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.