Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Jon sat quietly in the backseat of the Lumina. He was not handcuffed or restrained in any way, but the two men had made it perfectly clear that they were in no mood for games. The car had taken two entire trips around the Salt Lake City belt route highways. Tall guy was driving and kept checking his side and rear view mirrors every other second. Jon could tell he wanted to make sure that they had not been followed. Problem was, Jon was curious how much time Tall actually spent in watching the road.
“If this is about Mrs. Perry, I can apologize,” Jon said softly.
Shorter guy smiled a bit. “It has nothing to do with Mrs. Perry, Jon.”
Jon stared at Shorter for a while. “How do you know my name?” Jon finally asked.
“We know a lot about you, actually.” Shorter started to turn in his seat as if to talk to Jon. Tall cleared his throat and Shorter turned around again.
Feeling that he had at least one semi-friendly guy in the car, Jon felt bolstered in his confidence. “Where are you guys taking me?”
“If you’ll be patient, you’ll see,” Taller replied.
“Why am I under arrest?”
“You’re not actually under arrest,” Taller told him with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“If I’m not under arrest, then you can’t detain me and I can go whenever I please.”
“Actually, no, you can’t. This is something bigger.”
“But not in a bad way!” Shorter hastened to add.
“I know my rights around here, pal! If you know so much about me, then you know that last year I was third highest in the 7 classes of Law & the Courts! I know that you have to have Ips Post Facto!” Taller glared at Jon through the rearview mirror. “Post Hoc Ergo Proctor Hoc?” Jon ventured. “Habeas corpus?” There was silence from the front seat. Even Shorter had seemed to shut down. “I’ll just be back here if either of you need me.” Jon slouched back down in the seat.
Another few minutes passed before Taller felt it was safe enough to get off of the freeway. They were back on the West Side of town. Not too far from where Jon’s high school was. So, if that was true, was it really that important that no one had followed them? Jon wondered. Taller knew right where he was going as he dove into neighborhood with lots of winding roads, dead ends, and cul de sacs.
After another few minutes of winding through the neighborhood, and Jon was sure that they had passed the same houses 4 or 5 times, the car finally stopped in the driveway of an old, dilapidated home.
“Whatever it was that I did and you guys don’t like, just tell me what it is, and I’ll stop,” Jon whispered.
“It’s not us,” Taller told him. “We’re just the delivery boys. Now, get out.”
Jon jumped a little as his door opened. Shorter had already gotten out and was waiting for Jon to do the same. Slowly, Jon got out and let Shorter close the car door behind him. Jon surveyed the scene. He had gone in so many circles over the last hour that he was sure he couldn’t find his way out of this neighborhood. Even if he could, Taller could find him first. There was nothing left to do but follow the cops, if that’s what they were.
Faded lime green siding was flapping free in the breeze all along the house. Bushes and trees that hadn’t been trimmed or pruned in years were scraping, reaching, and embracing the house. The old wooden stairs had been painted white long ago, but what was left of the paint seemed like an afterthought to the peeling of the wood.
Jon reached the rusty and creaky screen door. He could sense that Taller and Shorter were mere inches behind him. If Jon had turned, he probably would have been staring at Taller eye to eye. Slowly, he reached for the door handle.
The screen door dropped off of its hinge at Jon’s touch. Jon jumped and then felt the cold sweat start down his forehead. He feebly tried to repair the clearly busted screen as Taller and Shorter didn’t lift a finger to help. Finally, Jon gave up and tried the actual door handle. He was surprised as Taller’s arm shot from behind him and gave 3 resonating, loud raps on the door.
A stocky man in a dark blue double-breasted suit opened the door. As Stocky leaned away from the entranceway, Jon caught the silvery glint of a gun handle tucked neatly away under the man’s armpits. Stocky just stood there like one of the Queen’s Royal Guards.
Jon smiled a weak half-smile. “Hi,” Jon croaked. “How can I help you?” was his lame attempt at humor.
Stocky stared right past him at Shorter. Shorter replied with an answer that seemed to appease Stocky. “This is the ticket. Which theater?”
Stocky reached up to his shoulder and pressed down the communicate button on the walkie-talkie that was velcroed there. “Previews ready?” A staticky reply came. “Roger.” Stocky moved aside. “This way, Mr. Mills.” Taller and Shorter stayed their ground as Jon walked into the dimly lit house past Stocky. There was one rickety folding chair placed on the hardwood floor with a mound of magazines next to it in the otherwise empty room. The top copy was a tabloid with some headline about a baby who was struggling to survive as its mother lay in a coma. Jon smirked at Stocky’s reading material choices. To each his own, Jon thought. Better than Shakespeare.
Mills was startled back into the reality of the situation as he heard steel bars lock down on the door behind him. He turned as Stocky motioned to the door just across the room. Jon weakly tried another joke. “Nice crack house,” he said but instantly regretted it. What if it really was a crack house? Jon walked to the door.
“Hands raised, please.” Jon quickly did as he was told. Stocky gave him a good frisking, giving him a quizzical look as he felt the wad of Jon’s house keys. “House keys,” was all Jon had to say to appease him. Stocky walked Jon even closer to the door and Jon noticed something quite peculiar. The door handle was abnormally large. There was no keyhole just a slit in the perfect center of the knob. Stocky leaned over and slipped in a “credit card key”. A loud click immediately followed and Stocky opened the door. “Wait in there,” he told Jon. Jon moved forward into the next room and heard the same loud click as the door shut behind him, leaving him in an identically empty room as the previous one. This time, though, there was not even a chair or magazines.
“Cozy place for a crack house,” Jon mumbled. “Nothing a little napalm and a new screen door couldn’t take care of.”
The room had no windows and only two doors. The one door he had just come through and on the adjacent wall another door identical to the first door. Jon leaned against the door that had just shut. Then, after a few moments, he walked forward to the next door. But, then, he thought, what if something comes out of that door that I don’t like? I don’t want to be that close to it. So, Jon backed into the center of the room. And stood there.
A long 30 seconds dragged by as he shuffled his weight from foot to foot. He wasn’t sure if he should speak or not to the empty room. Then, another loud click emanated from the second door. Then, nothing.
Another few moments of silence followed as Jon waited for something. For ANYTHING. But, nothing happened, so he slowly made his way to the second door. He braced himself as he touched the handle feeling like he was in his own horror movie and a vampire would come screeching out at him as his fingers touched the knob. But, that of course, didn’t happen. In fact, again, nothing happened. Jon could hear a small whir on the other side of the door and, with great trepidation, opened it.
The whir was a small fan in the ceiling of a 1 person sized elevator. Jon stepped in and waited. Again, nothing. Then, seeing that the door hadn’t closed all the way, he reached out and pulled the door tight. The elevator immediately zipped downward.
As far as elevators go, it was a normal elevator. Just very small and with a selection of floor number buttons on the side. The -3 was lit, so Jon assumed he was going wherever he needed to go, like it or not.
The elevator slowed down and stopped. There was a momentary pause before the door opened. In that split second, Jon prepared for a hail of gunfire, for a dingy basement filled with lowlife scum….
Instead, as the doors opened, Jon saw a bright white office! And not the boring, uptight office with dark impersonal cubicles and carpet everywhere to deaden the noise. No, this actually looked like a fun office, well, as much fun as an office could be, Jon thought.
The walls had been freshly painted a bright white, which was brought out even more by the hundreds of 100-watt track lighting systems installed in the room. Instead of tall, dark cubicles, these had small partitions, rising only about 3 feet from the floor. The computers were large, but there was plenty of workspace. Enough room to have several reports spread out and also hold a plant, several personal photos and a lunch. The floor was the white linoleum usually only found in supermarkets, but this stuff was clean and new! All the employees were dressed well, but not in necessarily normal office attire. There were loads of jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, leather jackets, and the like, but it didn’t look bad or scruffy at all.
After standing there and taking it all in, Jon realized he was supposed to get out there, so he took a tentative step into the office. He was almost run over by a woman wearing a jogging suit holding a large block cell phone. “Sorry!” he called as she kept going down the aisle waving her acceptance.
Jon wandered up to a cubicle and hung around until its occupant turned around and looked at him. “How can I help you?” the man asked while he covered the mouthpiece of the phone he was talking on.
“Hi. I was sent down here. Is there someone I need to talk to?”
The man put up his finger and went back to talking on the phone. “Yes. Yes. I know, Harold. No, you can’t-. Yes. Okay. Okay. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone. “Yes, sorry. Um, the boss is in the corner office.” He picked up the phone again. “Want me to call him for you?”
Jon hesitated with his answer as the man scratched his red beard. “Me? To call him? For you?” the man asked again.
“Am I in trouble?” Jon asked.
The man’s blue eyes squinted as if he had just been told a joke he didn’t quite get. “Not that I know of,” he said slowly. “Why would you be?”
“I don’t know. I mouthed off at the teacher this morning. Could that be it?”
The man’s eyes narrowed a bit more. “Doubtful,” he started dialing the phone. “Hi. I have someone out here to see you,” he paused, “I think. His name is-“ the phone dropped to the man’s Adam’s apple, “What is your name?”
“Mills. Jonathan Mills.”
“Yes, sir. That’s him.” The man said to the phone. “Right away.” He hung up the phone. “Mr. Mills, Walter Bender is waiting for you just down the hall there.” The man smiled and held up his hand. “I’m Jerry. Pleasure to meet you.”
Jon shook his hand. “Thanks.” He leaned down. “What is this place?”
Jerry grinned even larger. “Walter’s waiting.”
“Thanks.” Jon turned and headed down the hallway where he saw a door open up. Behind him, the room had gone slightly still with a buzz of whispering. Jon slowed as he neared the office, took a deep breath and entered.
The office resembled a cross between a lawyer’s office and a classroom. There was a large mahogany desk in the front with bookshelves lined with large, expensive looking books and 4 leather chairs facing it. But the rest of the furniture seemed very out of place: an old overstuffed 1970’s lime green couch, a very roughly used chalkboard and a nerf basketball hoop over the overflowing garbage can. Right by the door was a man about 50 years old, a full head of white hair, and a beer gut. He was dressed in a gray sweat suit, which read NYPD across the shirt, and down the left pantleg.
“Jon, glad to meet you again, officially.”
“Excuse me?” Jon entered the office and the man shut the door.
“We met this morning at the school.”
“Was I awake?”
“You bumped into me as I entered your principal’s office.”
“That was you?” The man nodded. “Is that why I was arrested? I didn’t know who you were, and, I, still don’t, but if I knew it was an offense, I mean, I have only been driving for, like, a few years, so I couldn’t possibly know all the laws, so, if there are walking laws that I have never heard of that apply to driving the same way-“
“It’s okay, Jon.” The man smiled and motioned for Jon to sit in one of the leather chairs and then sat himself. “It has nothing to do with that. I did talk to your principal about you and he told me that you were a fine student with a good head on your shoulders, but also, a bit of attitude. He also told me that the attitude was nowhere near as strong as your friends, though.” The man took a breath. “My name is Walter Bender.”
“I know. Jerry told me.”
“Good. Glad to see that you’re making friends already.”
“Friends? At what?”
“Your country needs you, Jon.”
“My country?” Jon hesitated. “My country? How is it MY country? I can’t vote yet.”
Walter smiled. “That is true, but it will be your country soon enough. You’re-“ he picked up a folder from the mahogany desk, “-17 years old. You’ll be able to vote for local government in two years and national next time it comes around, 4 years from now. Trust me, Jon, those years will go by fast.”
Jon sensed that he was treating him like a long lost nephew or something. “Do I know you at all?”
Again, Walter smiled. “No, but I know you. Two years ago, this office was established here in Salt Lake. Offices like this have been popping up in cities since the mid ‘80’s. Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Atlanta, San Francisco- all the big cities. About 5 years ago, we started going to the other not so big cities, and Salt Lake came online about 2 years ago. We started combing through local records to find the ones who would suit our needs. Not too smart, not too dumb, not too flashy, not too boring. We wanted to pull from the top tier, but not the very top person. The very top people are too well known. They make themselves known. We need people who can skirt in under the radar. We need people who can fit in, but don’t watch too much Jerry Springer, if you know what I mean. We need-“
Jon broke him off. “Who the hell is we?”
He smiled at Jon yet again. “I thought you would have figured it out by now. We are called the Small Agency. We are the CIA.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re the CIA. An offshoot, actually. Back in the 1970’s, after Watergate and all of that mess, President Carter decided that we needed a version of homeland security. In his budget analysis in 1977, he included one line that gave us the one hundred million dollars we needed to start up. We are included in the CIA’s budget, but no one ever even questions the money. Some of our guys are part of the budget panel for the CIA, the Congress, and the House. That’s how we get the funding.
We wouldn’t need to worry about any international incidents or the like. We would just kind of be like a local police force, undercover. We would stop some of the things that could have harmed many people. We were here to save Americans from themselves. We have stopped many terrible things that no one has ever even heard a peep about.”
“Like what?”
“You wouldn’t know about them if I told you because we stopped them. An example of the kinds of things that we stop are things like President Reagan being shot.”
“You didn’t stop that.”
“That’s why you’ve heard of it. One of our agents was covering a suspected problem. We had heard about this guy who was a loner, who had certain marks of what we call trouble centers. We were probably only about a day behind him. If he would have postponed his attack a day or two, it never would have happened.”
“Agents? At a high school? Don’t you stick out a bit?”
“You didn’t pay any attention to me this morning. I could have been a contractor, a parent, a grandparent, a teacher not ready for work yet, any number of things. Teenagers don’t care about anyone but themselves as a general rule. They’re too worried about other things in their lives to notice what’s really happening. That’s why we started the search. The more young people that we can train to blend in, the easier it will be to get the real low down on what is really happening. We have already recruited and started training kids from the age of 6 up to 19 and 20.”
“Train? From the age of 6? What can a six-year-old do? Shoot out a guy’s ankles?”
For the first time, Walter Bender seemed slightly annoyed. “No guns are given to six year olds, Jon. That would be ridiculous! You ask what a six-year-old can do? Think about it! In just six short years, this small child has, for the most part, become fluent in a language! They can be taught to listen for things and repeat them back. The older students can write relatively well informed reports about situations. The punctuation may be lacking, but it’s quite easy for them. The older kids can start to go undercover as, say, pizza delivery drivers, or other roles in which a fifty year old man looks, shall we say, not quite convincing? I have done those jobs, but it makes people remember you. Who really remembers what the sixteen year old who delivered their pizza looks like?”
“Fair point.”
“So that’s what we do. We find the talented ones who we think can fit in and blend and help us in the best ways. As I was saying, two years ago, we went through all the school records in the state to find the kids who had done well at their studies, but not too well. For those who were social, but not involved in too many activities. It took about a year to get the list down to the top two hundred. We then sent out agents to watch, survey, and take notes. You, Jonathan Mills, have been under surveillance for-“ he consulted his file again, “-the last 10 months. Looks like we started watching over you just after the New Year. And one thing has come into strong focus. You are the best in the state to take care of your age range in this area. We want to start training you to be part of what we just refer to as The Agency.”
There was a long silence as Bender looked at Jon.
Jon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Jon looked Walter in the face as he took his next breath. “You overdosed on your medication this morning, didn’t you?” Jon stood up. “Are you insane? Listen to yourself! Basically, you’re telling me that you want me to become a 17 year old agent in a super secret spy organization that is so secret the government barely knows it exists? You’re also telling me that you have tracked me and looked at all of my grades and files and you think you know me better than I know me?" Jon stopped his rampage and looked at Walter. "How do I get back to the elevator?”
The door opened and Jon recognized the motorcycle woman from this morning as she walked in with another stack of files. She was still wearing tight blue jeans, a long pair of black leather boots and a black T-shirt with an unzipped maroon leather jacket over it. The motorcycle woman’s red hair was given a flip as she turned to talk to Jon. “Just straight down the hall and to the left is the easiest way, but I suggest you sit back down for at least a few more minutes.”
Jon did as he was told.
The woman entered the room and pulled a chair around so that she was facing Jon at a slight angle from in front of the desk. “I am Kate Thompson. I have been the one following you. I was the one put on you from the beginning.”
Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His face was growing redder by the second.
Kate continued. “This is no joke, Jon. You fit every attribute we’re looking for. You’re smart. You have a 3.6659 GPA. You are in the drama and debate clubs. You have many acquaintances at school, but only two very close friends. You are loyal to a fault. You have a good home life with loving parents. You are an only child. You have your parent’s trust, which gives you no curfew. They know that you are safe and don’t worry if you come home extremely late because you often go to midnight movies and eat at 24-hour restaurants afterwards. You aren’t a jock per se, but you have a relatively well rounded knowledge of sports. You aren’t the fastest or smartest, but I think, and I’m sure Walter will back me up on this, this is only because you don’t want to kill yourself off. You know you’re smarter than most of the students in the school, hell, even some of the staff. High school is easy and you just want to coast on by and have fun while maintaining good grades.
You don’t date. For some incomprehensible reason, you tend to just spend time with your friends and you are oblivious to the fact that there are at least 2 dozen girls waiting for you to ask them out. You are what most girls want in a guy. A funny, understanding, and sensitive guy with a decent body. Aleisha is just waiting for you to make the first move.”
Jon raised his finger, pointing at Kate, but she didn’t even take a breath.
“Your two friends are a good match for you. One is more of the athletics driven guy, but who also cares more about people than status, and the other is a class clown who, for some unknown reason, also seems to care more about people than he lets on. They keep you grounded and, dating aside, you have all three helped each other in the other’s weak areas.
You have a strong work ethic. When you’re preparing for a play, you are the first to arrive and the last to leave. You donate time to the local old folks home-”
Jon found his voice. “Don’t you think that’s a little odd for a 17 year old?”
“Definitely,” Kate replied. “Do you realize that all it would take is a small push and you could be king of the school? Jock, Drama Guy, dating guy, valedictorian, the world could be yours? But that doesn’t matter to you. You have your own likes and dislikes, and certain boundaries that you won’t cross. You are perfect for us.”
The room was silent. Jon was thankful for the break of continuous information that he had been given for the last half an hour. His head was spinning.
“So?” Walter leaned forward. “Will you join us?”
Jon leaned back in his chair and bent his head back as far as his neck would allow. He closed his eyes tightly and brought his palms up to rub them vigorously. As he straightened up in his seat again, his fingers went behind his head and laced themselves into a supporting position for the back of his head. “You want an answer now?”
Kate kept a fixed stare on him. “We need one now. If you don’t want to join, I need to get tracking another guy to train.”
Jon perked up ever so slightly. ”You would train me?”
“That’s my job. I’m the trainer of the people I decide to focus on. Walter and I have talked at great length about you. We both feel you could be instrumental in our caseloads. But, since this is a free country, you can always say no, and then we’d have to kill you right on the spot.” Jon froze. He even stopped breathing. “I’m kidding about the death thing.” She gave Jon a smile that looked like it didn’t happen too often. Her face’s creases didn’t seem to look quite right. “Jesus, we’re not going to kill your parent’s only child, let alone son.”
“But you are willing to let me go on missions where I will presumably be faced with death at every turn?”
“No one lives forever, Jon. Unless you’re James Bond.” Kate gave the same not quite right smile.
“Kate is right, Jon. We will need to know soon. Not immediately of course, but within the next few days. She will need to get going on another potential candidate as soon as possible if we can’t bring you in.” Walter leaned closer.
Jon looked at his watch. “7 hours ago, I was in my principal’s office worried that I may get another week of detention, I had forgotten my math assignment and my lecture posterboards at home, I was petrified of giving a presentation in front of-“ Jon glared at Kate, “-Aleisha Madsen, and the world was basically fire bad, tree pretty. Now, as I said before, I am being asked to be part of a secret government agency? It’s going to take some time, man.”
Walter looked at Kate and she gave a large sigh as she stood up. Walter picked the phone up from its cradle and started punching in numbers. “Understand that this is very top secret,” she said. “You don’t share it with anyone. I will contact you at some point tomorrow between 5 and 9 PM. At that point, you give us your answer.” She extended her hand.
Jon stood up and shook her hand. “Sounds fine to me. I think I just need to let all of this settle in. It seems a little strange.”
Walter stood also and walked to the door. “Very understandable, Jon. I just want to let you know that no matter what you decide, we’re proud of you. We know that you will make a good citizen down the road.” Walter opened the door.
Jon gave him a sideways glance as he shook his hand. “Thanks. I think.” Jon turned to his right and bumped into Jerry, who was running down the corridor. “Excuse me, I’m sorry.” Jon apologized.
He didn’t even acknowledge Jon. “Walter!” Jerry shouted. Jon kept walking. “We’ve got a problem!”
All of a sudden Jon noticed his shoe seemed to need re-tying. As he bent down, he tilted his head towards the group of Walter, Kate, and Jerry.
“What’s going on?” Kate asked
“Shots fired downtown. One man and one woman injured. One woman possibly killed. Hostage situation unknown amount of hostages. SLCPD has been called already. Sgt. Stanley is on his way.”
“Stanley? Dammit!” Bender shut the door to his office. “Get a car and meet Kate and I at the parking lot gate. We need to be there ten minutes ago!” Jerry hurried off.
Kate started walking down the hall and noticed Jon still tying his shoe. “Not too subtle, Mills, but if you want to see what we do, you have about 2 seconds to follow me!” Kate rushed down the hall.
Jon’s face went red again. He stood up quickly and fell in place behind Walter as they headed through a door next to the elevator that led to the car garage, wondering what kind of Ludlamesque organization he had stumbled into.