Remote Viewing

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 a 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 a 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 fingerprints?” 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 of 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’ve 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 a 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 for ‘remote viewing’. I looked in on Mom and Dad. Mom was cooking lunch and Dad was working at his terminal. He paused to stretch, so I took the opportunity to type a brief message onto the page he was working on. He froze and stared for a couple of 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 until 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 videotape 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 like that.

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

Finally, despite the delay, 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 the 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 trial 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 hand 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.

Chapter 2

It wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be. They still did not want to let me go, but now I was being tested for my ‘supposed’ talent. I spent the night in their lock-up, and the next day they moved me to another facility. This time they didn’t cuff me, and I had my own clothes; but I had the impression I could not leave. I was still not free to go.

I sighed.

The new destination was about a two-hour drive away. We went to a facility that could deal directly with supposed ‘scientific oddities’. There, they could test the veracity of my claim. Now that, I could understand. They must have nutcases popping out of the woodwork, claiming all kinds of things. I was very resentful, though, and bitter over my treatment of the day before.

When we got there, breakfast was waiting. We had started out at Oh-Dark-Thirty, so I was hungry. The meal was actually pretty good. Scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausage, and coffee. I was given an opportunity to clean up.

While I was not placed in a cell of any sort, there was no way I was leaving this place, without being released. Talk about secure!

Yesterday, I had briefly talked with my attorney. She said that a new situation had arisen, with the announcement of my talent. I should give the government a chance to prove my claims.

She had lobbied for my immediate release, but the agents had said no. They claimed they needed to verify my statement of ability. Which, which, they said, was what I was doing here.

They could only hold me so long without charging me, though, so today was make or break for them, as far as I was concerned. I mentioned to my attorney my dad’s theory about holding me as a material witness. My attorney said that I had come in and started this voluntarily. Material witness orders were only granted by judges. They were for compelling a reluctant witness, usually; and that was just to testify at a trial. If they went that route, she was sure she could quash it quickly.

During the ride, I had checked in on Mom and Dad. They were both in bed, but the computer Mom used for her work was gone. Looks like the government had taken it away from them. Looking for possible ‘terrorist information’, I guessed.

I could not check the rest of the house, as both my parents were in bed, sleeping. My talent locked onto people, not places. I could look around in the room that person was in, but that was all I could see.

I said as much as they started questioning me. I didn’t mention my telekinesis ability. I was already having problems with the people in the government dealing with a possible psychic person in the first place. One problem at a time! Anyway, my other talent might come in handy in the future.

---

“OK, Scott. I am Dr. Donaugh, and my colleague is Dr. Santiago. We have set up several test situations for you, assuming you can do as you claim.”

I sighed and nodded.

What followed was several hours of me doing ‘remote viewing’, while I described what was going on at a given place after I connected with someone. I related how many people were around the person in question and what his/her surroundings were. They wanted details, and I gave them.

I started getting tired after three hours of constant work and said I had to stop. I think they were also interested in seeing how long I could continue, as they asked me to keep going just a little longer. I said no, that I couldn’t. They marked something in their notes and said they would get with my investigators concerning the test results.

I just nodded and leaned back with my eyes closed.

“Tired?” my primary investigator asked me.

“Mentally exhausted. It takes a lot of energy to do that. I could use a snack about now,” I admitted.

“Well, come with me, and we will get you something to eat. Your status is a little up in the air right now. This is a first for us, to tell you the truth,” Eric told me.

I nodded and groaned to my feet. I did not have to fake the stiffness I felt, as my knees creaked when I rose. I studied agent Eric Patterson while we moved through a labyrinth of halls.

“How do you mean?” I asked curiously.

“Well, normally it is ‘procedure’. We get you, we treat you in a specific way. This usually includes handcuffs when moving and restricted freedom by confinement to a cell when you’re not being questioned. Standard procedure, really.

“New orders came down, though. You really shook the powers with your demonstration yesterday, and they want you treated as a ... uh, ‘guest’ ... involuntarily though you might feel. That’s why your clothes were returned and no cuffs. The final decision on your status is up to them. It could change back,” Eric warned me.

I nodded. I was taken to a lunchroom of sorts. We got a meal, which Eric paid for. I dug in. I was eating another full meal. Eric watched me, amused.

“You’re as skinny as a rail. Where the hell do you put it all?” he asked chuckling.

“I expend a hell of a lot of energy...”

He interrupted me, saying, “First rule, don’t talk about what you do with anyone not cleared. This is not the place,” he said seriously.

I nodded, understanding.

After finishing my second breakfast, we returned to the office area. I found myself waiting in a conference-type room, locked, of course. I was bored, really. I leaned back in my chair and actually fell asleep for a while.

While I had used a lot of energy doing the testing for those two doctors, I could have kept going. I didn’t think there was any harm in holding a little back, though. The nap did wonders for me.

I woke up to the door opening. Three people entered the room. The clock on the wall insisted I had napped for a little over an hour.

“Ah, Mr. Garner. I am Assistant Regional Director Lashman. You know Mr. Patterson. The other gentleman is Mr. Weissman. I have been reading the results of your tests with incredulity!

“You test out one hundred percent valid, Sir. Not even a stumble, and no one except two people knew what the testing comprised. Simply a fascinating ability you have,” he paused.

He opened a large, thick manila envelope he had and pulled out about an inch’s worth of stapled bunches of papers.

“This is what we have discovered about you, young man. Interesting reading, if a little boring. No offense to you, but you have led a very unremarkable life. Average grades through school, with only a few above-average scores. You have not gone to college at all, nor attempted to take courses at a community college.

“I see you have a part-time job at a hardware store. Just what do you see yourself doing? Are you satisfied with your life?” he asked me.

I stared at him.

“Well, I thought to help my government with the terrorist problem. I have a peculiar ability, which allows me to see a person that I study and have at least a photo of. As for my work record, my parents have been on me about getting a real job,” I admitted, “But so far, nothing has really appealed to me,” I finished.

“I see. You do know that your record would make it difficult for you to get a good job? You don’t seem to show initiative; you are not particularly outgoing. You seem to be an introvert, happy to stay in the background to the point of obscurity.

“We have checked you out fairly well. You have no passport, so you could not have left the country to develop ties with any exterior terrorist group. Your time and whereabouts seem to be accounted for, from your high school graduation to today.

“It usually takes several days to several weeks to do a detailed report on someone; but we put a lot of agents and resources into looking you over. In all honesty, the only thing that makes you appealing to us is your ability. We would never consider hiring you, even for custodial work,” he said as he looked at me.

“I wasn’t applying for a job. I was just passing on information. I have a job, whether you approve of it or not. And my living conditions are my business, not yours,” I replied a bit cheekily.

Lashman laughed a huge laugh.

“Ah, Mr. Garner! I admire your stance, if not the sentiments behind it. The US government cannot afford to let you fall into a foreign intelligence agency’s hands. There are countries out there that would give their eyeteeth, firstborn, and right arms for control of you. I’m afraid that now that the so-called ‘cat’ is out of the bag, you’re stuck with us. Likewise, we are stuck with you. Welcome to Homeland Security! I will leave Mr. Weissman to explain how this will work. Welcome aboard,” he said.

He got up and left the room, while leaving the envelope behind.

My mouth gaped open in stunned surprise. I looked at the two people sitting across from me.

“Come now, Garner. It won’t be so bad. You will have to go through a period of training, though. Nothing too strenuous, and you will be paid at a consulting fee of five thousand dollars per consultation. We expect a big bang for those dollars, by the way,” Weissman told me, looking at me over his glasses.

I started doing my fish imitation again.

“During the training phase, you will receive one thousand dollars a week, till completion of the course requirements. The minimum requirements for this training are about ninety days.

“Since you are not really being trained as a field operative, there are certain aspects of training you can forgo. However, you should really think about learning a second language, to help you with your career. You’re being paid the base fee as a consultant. If you were better qualified, you can up that a bit,” Weissman told me.

“But, I didn’t say I was taking the job,” I said plaintively.

“Garner, get real. There is no way the US government is going to let you run around, with your ability, unmonitored. That’s number one. Number two; we plan on using you, and using you hard, in the near future. You will be controlled and directed, or you will remain a guest of the government, indefinitely. Your choice,” Weissman paused, staring at me.

“Can I talk this over with my parents at least?” I queried.

“You’re over eighteen and able to sign a legally binding contract. Your parents do not enter the equation. However, you can retain a contract lawyer if you feel safer with one,” Weissman said.

Damn it! I felt like I was being railroaded! True, it was more money than I had ever made in my life, or would be likely to make; but being forced to work for someone, or else? It smacked of slavery.

“Somehow, being told I will either work with you or become a prisoner, does not sit very well. I thought slavery was illegal in this country?” I asked bitterly.

Eric sighed. “Scott, think. It isn’t slavery, really. Yes, it seems you are being coerced a bit now, but it can be a good deal. Even as a consultant, you can get health coverage from us. We would probably insist on it anyway, most likely.

“These are extraordinary times, and certain measures are allowed. Yes, sometimes a particular individual’s rights are curtailed. It is for the good of all, if you think about it. While this emergency exists, there are people who can help out, and actually make a difference. Well, don’t you want to make a difference?” Eric asked me.

It was appealing to say the least. They were waving more money under my nose than I could realistically make without putting in twenty years somewhere else. I DID want to make a difference, which is why I had sent them the information on that terrorist.

While Eric had been talking, Weissman had been pulling out forms and another smaller envelope that was still sealed. My personal effects envelope.

“We have filled in all pertinent information on the application form, security clearance request, and the insurance form. You will be billed for the insurance, at about sixty-four dollars a month, as your portion of the co-pay. The background check has already been done. That requirement is met. You may have your attorney look these over. You will see that they are standard contracts, with only minor differences,” Weissman said.

I took all the forms, signed for my effects after checking them. We all stood up.

“Your attorney is waiting for you in the lobby of this building. You will be escorted to her, and released into her custody. Have those forms signed and present them to your local field office no later than Tuesday. Today is Sunday. Wednesday we will revoke your deal, if you have not complied.

“By the way, present the forms in person, no exceptions. Ignore the mail-in address. Welcome to Homeland Security. Agent Patterson will escort you, with your release papers, to your attorney.”

With that, he shook my hand briskly, and walked out the door.

Agent Patterson, Eric, started us off. He led me through a myriad of corridors and halls. I was lost all the time. At several stops, he worked a combination on security doors. Nope, I would never have gotten out of this place without an escort.

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 a.m. 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 every day 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 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 were 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 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 employees’ 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’s 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.

OK, I had been getting tense at work this past month or so, but all this poking and prodding I went through every damned week was getting to me. The damned science Johnnies were always at me. They would nitpick at one thing, then take a different idea apart, until my head felt like it would explode.

I was scheduled for another bout of working while doing an MRI, which is loud and annoying to say the least. But they were trying to map out what part of my brain was doing what. The only way to do that was actually see my talent working actively, apparently.

Another thing that was getting to me was my pay. While they had said five thousand dollars a month, this was not a salary but a consultation fee. I was told to list “consultant” when I filled out my taxes as my job. Also, I could say I was a consultant for the government but not that I was working for Homeland Security.

OK, if I were consulting, then I should be getting my fee for each successful location of my target. But they were paying me this five thousand as a monthly salary, or so it seemed to me.

So when I left work, I headed to my attorney’s office. Maybe she could get it straightened out for me. After all, the government was offering millions for a lot of these same terrorists that I was identifying for a seemingly paltry fee.