Chapter 3

I groaned out loud as I stretched my muscles. Ahh, that felt good.

The ninety-day school that Homeland Security (or "HS", as I liked to call it) provided, had been a shock, but it had been interesting, too. Most of the other students had been at least five years older than I. Most were even older than that, and many were lawyers, of all things. They were taking a lot of different courses more than I was. My days had been filled from five AM until about three thirty or four in the afternoons.

From five to six thirty was my personal self defense class, which HS insisted I take. I hated it at first. Ten minutes of stretching out muscles, and then a short run of a mile. After that, there was more stretching to get my leg and other major muscle groups loose enough to do what my trainer wanted. The first three weeks I was a constant 'walking cramp', it seemed. Then, wonder of wonders, I started to like the training. When I loosened up and at the end of the training session in the mornings, I felt energized!

I would never be a Bruce Lee or a Chuck Norris, but I could escape or break most holds now, and then I was supposed to go to plan B... run like hell, to get away from whomever. I had also learned some strikes to use in 'emergency only' situations, that I hoped I would never have to use. They were deadly, and I had no great control over them.

From six thirty to eight I was on my own, for showering and breakfast. Then it was off to classes. Some of these I had with other people, but a lot of them I had by myself. Strangest school I had ever been through in my life. Most of my classes ended at three, but some ran until four.

Still, at the end, I felt more confident in myself, and my trust in my government did go up a notch. The legal instructors cautioned us time and again that the Patriot Act was a temporary measure that would come to an end eventually. Our accountability was important in all our actions. Retribution would be swift if it were found that an agent had misused his new authority in any way.

I still harbored a grudge against my government for their highhanded drafting of me because of my abilities, but at least I wasn't as terrified as I had been before. While I had been doing the training, the government had set me up to be paid twice a month. The first thing I noticed, when my first direct deposit hit my account, was that I did not have two thousand dollars. It was only almost sixteen hundred. I had climbed to a new tax bracket!

At the end of the month I received a copy of my wage statement, and I goggled at the taxes being taken out. The government had its hand out, and they went deep into your pocket, apparently with glee! Still, I had money now, and it quickly piled up during my training time.

After I completed the required courses, I kept up with my stretching and running. I religiously practiced what I was taught everyday to make it, 'second nature', as my instructor had constantly drilled into me.

"Act, and react; don't think!" he had said, over and over.

Apparently thinking was something to do when I was escaping, if it got that far.

I moved into the St. Louis county area. It was close to home, and was very close to the federal building downtown. I would be working there a lot. There was also a facility out in the county I spent two days out of the week at. That place was less well known. I had a lot of scientific testing performed on my body and mind, there. Some of it was very annoying, to say the least.

I now had my own apartment. I was paying mom and dad back some of the money I owed them, also. I had money left over, even after my splurges! What an amazing feeling and set of circumstances to be in. I had money in the bank, an apartment of my own, health insurance, and dad was talking to me about investments of all things. Who thinks of investments at age 20?

Eric Patterson, the original agent assigned to my case, was now partnered with me. HS broke their agents down into teams. A team could be two or more, depending on the job, but was never just one. Most of the strong-arm stuff inside the US, was handled by the FBI. Foreign operations was the CIA's bailiwick.

I started in on finding terrorists for my bosses almost right away, after my training. I was told to take a few days off, to relax and unwind from the school. I was to be at work bright and early Monday morning. That had been almost three months ago, and I was feeling like one of the team, now.

I usually went to the employee's cafeteria in the federal building, for lunch. Sometimes, Eric and I went out, as our lunch hours were flexible. There were several good places in downtown St. Louis to eat at.

Conversation out of the office was generic and generalized, so as not to break security protocols. Right now, we were talking about the baseball Cardinals chances of winning the series this year. They were slipping in their front place league standing, and I was a long time fan. The St. Louis Rams football team was not doing well in the pre-season, either.

"You need to follow a team that has potential. Now, Pittsburgh," Eric started, but was quickly booed into silence.

After eating and returning to the federal building, I was given a photo to look at of a guy named Vassily Mohorovicic. Well, that's who they said it was. It had been taken from a satellite, and I was unable to make out his features. I passed the photo back.

"Impossible. I can't get a fix on this guy with that photo," I told them.

"What do you mean? It's the latest photo of him," agent smith of the CIA told me.

"I mean there is no definition to his facial features. Hell, there are no facial features! I need to be able to see the clear features of a person face to do this. You can't just hand a shitty photo to me and expect me to tell you about him, and where he is!" I almost screamed at him.

I had been over this and covered this very same ground last week with the testers at the county facility. Don't they fucking pass anything on to the others?

"You want information? Dial operator assistance in Moscow, for all I care. I need something for my brain to fix on, not generalities. Don't your bosses tell you anything? That picture could have been one of millions of people! Nothing stands out that lets me key in, anywhere," I finished sourly.

Everyone stared at me. They were not used to me going off apparently. Well, they would adjust.

"Scott, calm down. There is no reason to get frustrated or take your anger out on agent Smith. He has been the soul of courtesy, and I am sure he didn't mean to offend," Eric said glancing at Smith, who nodded in return.

"Ok, maybe I am overreacting. I need a break. I'll see you tomorrow at eight thirty. I'm going home," I said, and walked out before anyone could say anything more.