Controller

by Stephen W Bennett

  Grayson smiled and lowered his Glock to point it in the face of the man with the Boston accent. “Superintendent, let me see that if you please.” He made his voice sound pleasant, but it startled Hector, who rolled to his side to see the threat above him.

  Brogan shouted, “Hector, freeze. He has the drop on us. If we don’t shoot, he won’t shoot. If he wanted us dead, we’d already be dead.” He looked up, a half smile on his shadowed face.

  He handed up his badge, which Grayson accepted with his left hand. In the semi-dark, he couldn’t see the smaller letters written above and below the larger raised dark letters that spelled BII on the gold-colored metal, with an American eagle, wings spread, at the top.

  Grayson handed back the badge, and let his Glock rotate around his finger by the trigger guard to hang upside down, and offered that to Superintendent Brogan, of the BII. “Careful, it has a chambered round, and the safety is off.”

  Brogan was apparently left-handed and slipped his weapon into his right-side shoulder holster before accepting Grayson’s gun. “The records said you had a Glock, but we didn’t know if it was with you or not. We assumed you normally carried the ankle gun. That was nicely done. Can Hector get up, and may I ask James, who’s out front come back here to join us? I know it’s possible a man as careful as you might have another weapon, but I promise you I have as many questions for you as you must have for me. Can we talk?”

  “Sure. Let me climb down in the bathroom.” He grinned at a relieved looking Hector, and said, “Go get your wallet pal. I want you to count your money. I’m sure it’s a crime to steal from a federal agent.”

  Hector collected the ankle gun first and smiled sheepishly at him through the open bathroom door as he picked up his wallet. “We couldn’t be certain you weren’t bait left by Stiles to ambush us. Compellers can leave auto-suggestions that trigger a person’s actions when the right circumstances occur.”

  A light flipped on in Grayson’s brain. “You’re what you just called a Compeller, aren’t you? You can do what Stiles does? Make people see and do what he mentally orders?”

  Hector said nothing but he looked shocked and glanced back at Brogan, who was inside with him now.

  “Relax Hector. I think Mister Grayson just answered one of my most important questions. I think he’s a natural Immune like I am. He knows what Stiles can do, and now he knows what you and James can do.”

  Puzzled, Grayson asked, “What’s an Immune?”

  “You and I can sense the thoughts they send us, but it has no more influence on us than what I might say to you aloud. You don’t think it’s your thoughts and you feel no compulsion to do what you were told to do. You are an Immune. Welcome to one of the two branches of the psych world.

  “I first had a suspicion you were an Immune when you appeared to ignore what Stiles surely wanted you to do at the mall, and then you resisted Hector and James just now. You sense when someone tries to insert thoughts into your mind, don’t you? But you don’t treat them as your thoughts, or let them dictate what you do.”

  “I sensed them, yes. But like you said, I never felt like those were my thoughts or that I should obey them. After all, they sound different to me than my thoughts, if that makes any sense. Besides, I knew exactly who sent them and where they were. Hector in back and James by the front door.”

  Now Brogan looked shocked, but before he could speak, another man arrived at the back door, his weapon drawn.

  “James, put your gun away. Mister Grayson is willing to talk with us. I know you heard most of what was said. Please holster your gun.”

  When Grayson looked puzzled at the comment, Brogan tapped his left ear, which had an earpiece inserted, with a small coiled wire leading into his shirt collar at the back. He raised his right cuff and spoke into that. “It’s like the Secret Service uses. I stay in touch with them with this. I’m an Immune, and they’re Compellers. I sense when they send thoughts intended for me, and I can receive them if they’re close enough, but I also need to talk to them. I can mildly sense when they send thoughts specifically to you, and if they used a wider mode to send to everyone, I’d sense that wider broadcast even better. Their range is about sixty or seventy feet.

  “Mr. Grayson, we need to go someplace private to talk. I want to explore what you just said about knowing exactly who sent to you and where the sender was. I can’t do that. I don’t know of any other Immune that has directionality like that. I can tell Hector and James apart, the same way I can tell their voices apart, but only because I know them well. You say you knew it was Stiles from the start?”

  “Well, I sensed his broadcast to those around him, felt when he tried to order me to do something. I also knew when he ordered other people to stop me when I started running. His words were clear to me in each of those cases. I also saw through his false image projection, even when he wasn’t sending words.”

  The exchange of looks between the three men told him he’d just revealed things they didn’t know about or couldn’t do. Brogan reinforced that when he said to his agents, “We need to protect his ass like he was the president. Grayson, you may be one of the finds we’ve been scouring the country for, and Stiles may be another, but one we’ve been dreading. We brought in a large command post RV on a C-17 Globemaster with our three SUVs and parked it on a ramp area at Louisville International Airport. I can obtain your DNA sample there, but we’ll have to wait a day for analysis.”

  “You said that earlier. What about my DNA?”

  “Me, you, James and Hector, are unusual genetic specimens, but of two different but related types. You may be more unusual, and rare, than we are, which could make you more valuable to America than I am or our other Immunes. Time enough to talk about this later. If you are what I suspect, there may only be four or five like you in the entire US population. That’s assuming our geneticists are right.”

  Just then, two black SUVs drove up, and the three men hurried to bundle Brogan and Grayson safely inside the lead vehicle. Brogan told him, “You’ll meet two more Immunes today. You’ll meet Ally, the other driver, after we get to the command center. Orville here is our driver. Immunes can’t be made to swing into oncoming traffic or drive off a bridge, so they usually drive for us.”

  With that explanation, they raced off into the dawn of a new day.

  ****

  Stiles was pissed off when a Shield, Arlo Crawford called from the mall security office before 7:00 AM on the following day. Anytime he encountered a “complication” with a woman he picked up at that shopping mall he made certain the security tapes for those hours went missing.

  It had not seemed urgent to start his research sooner, to try to trace the oddly resistant man of the evening before, so he’d waited like Arlo suggested, for the man he had bribed for years to arrive for his 6:00 AM shift. He paid him for creating gaps in recordings for his benefit and then ordered the man to forget the transactions, but today the records he wanted were already missing. In fact, the recordings for the entire day were gone, and not just for the evening hours.

  Several men with a federal warrant had appeared late last night, and there was a hasty consultation with the head of the mall’s legal department, who answered a federal judge’s call in the night. The night watch supervisor had turned over the master files, and he had not been permitted to make copies. He had a promise that they would return the records, but as it happened, he had not received a receipt for them, nor did he have a copy of the warrant he said he saw. The warrant was supposedly for evidence related to a federal investigation into the sale of counterfeit Chinese consumer goods at the various mall kiosks. The tapes inside mall stores were still available, but not those recordings of the goods for sale at the small kiosks along the main concourse, or of the people walking there or in the food court.

  Finding the irritating man wasn’t a high priority for Stiles after a night of reflection, despite how bizarre it had been for him. Although, he liked to take out his spite on anyone that irritated him. It
wasn’t the first time he lost track of some unknown person that had inadvertently thwarted one of his frauds, and he’d wanted to kill them but couldn’t find them. Shit happened, and sometimes he killed someone else as a stand-in for the one he wanted dead. He didn’t feel that strongly this morning, but perhaps he would in New York.

  His easy success in Chicago had improved his standing as an independent contractor that various national organized crime figures could call on for difficult jobs. He had accepted another rush contract in New York City before daylight, for a large sum, with a bonus for a rapid response. A very well protected and vital witness in a federal investigation needed to recant his testimony while on the stand and under oath, scheduled for afternoon Eastern Time, and then have a fatal accident before he could be convinced to change his testimony again. The customer would use a legal tactic to delay the start of testimony by an hour after lunch, but speed was vital. He took the contract because it was a federal investigation he could wreck after another federal investigation had gotten in his way. It was an ironic means of returning the favor. At least to his twisted mind’s sense of justice.

  He’d had a housekeeper hastily pack a bag for a possible few days stay and arranged for a limo driver to rush him to the airport. He was nearly at the airport now, rushing to catch an early direct flight. His aircraft, as it left the gate, taxied close to his previous source of irritation without either of them being aware of their proximity.

  ****

  After Grayson’s description of last night’s events was listened to not only without skepticism but apparently accepted as truthful, he was a bit taken aback at some questions afterward.

  Brogan said, “I’m one of a presumed thirty-two to thirty-five natural Immunes out of a US population of three hundred twenty-five million. We’re statistically one in ten million. The BII has now located twelve Immunes, and we have recruited eleven of those. We’ve been a bit luckier finding Compellers since they display an active instead of a passive ability. We found twenty-six and nineteen of them are in the ranks of the BII.

  “Immunes like me cannot pick out a Compeller like James or Hector from a group of people, or provide even their general direction. We triangulate by have several posted around an area, and check on who received the thoughts and who didn’t. When you say you sensed where Stiles was, isn’t it probable that it was because you already knew who and where Stiles was, and that knowledge influenced your belief?”

  Grayson countered that instantly. “No. I’m positive I could point to him with my eyes closed and estimate to within a few feet of where he was. I sensed him even after I rounded the main corridor corner passing the food court, where I dodged a bearded man who moved to stop me. You saw that man on the video recording. Stiles was standing back where the right angle is in the central concourse.”

  “Bull shit.” That blunt reply surprised Grayson, but it came from James Olson, the Compeller. He explained, “That puts you at least ninety feet away from where you say Stiles was. That’s out of range. You simply remembered where he was.”

  “Is that right?” Grayson asked. “Check out the fat bearded man ten or twelve feet ahead of me, walking past the Food Court with a woman. I sensed Stiles command to him to specifically tackle me, and I shifted to place a group of people between the two of us. Mister Tubby Beard was at least a hundred feet from Stiles, and he responded. Perhaps you’ve misjudged the range Stiles has, as well as misjudging how sensitive I am to your mental instructions. I knew where you and Hector were standing, and I was inside a closed hallway.”

  Orville, the SUV driver, sat at a computer displaying the mall layout, where they had played the various videos from each camera. He placed a grid graphic over the mall’s map and adjusted the scale. “He’s right Jim. The food court was a bit more than a hundred feet from Stiles when the bearded guy tried to intercept Grayson. Even if he’s wrong about his directionality, he’s right about Stiles having more range than you, Hector, or any of our other Compellers. We need to restructure our VIP protection grids.”

  Brogan, who didn’t explain what a protection grid was, decided it was time to settle the directionality issue. “Hector, there’s a hundred-foot tape measure in the toolkits of each of our SUVs. Get one, and measure off a hundred feet from the command post. I’ll ask Mister Grayson to sit in a corner where he can’t see outside. Pick a random direction and walk it off. At the end of the tape, try to Compel him, and then me, to do something unexpected. Then walk ten feet closer and try again, then another ten feet until I tell you I received your thoughts.”

  Shortly, Grayson was sitting in a chair in a small side room of the command post RV, with Brogan standing next to him. Abruptly, Grayson leaned to the side, so he had room to point with his right arm without touching the wall on his right. James looked at his indicated direction and walked to a small curtained window on that side, and peered outside.

  “Damn! He pointed right at Hector, as well as I can tell,” James told them.

  Brogan said, “I didn’t receive anything yet. How close did he get before Grayson pointed?”

  “Sir, he hasn’t moved closer yet,” Orville informed them, looking out another window. “He’s at the end of the tape.”

  Fifteen seconds later, Grayson pointed a slightly different direction. “He feels closer to me now, but he moved to my right, or his left if he’s facing me. Oh, and Superintendent, when he finally reaches your range, please don’t kiss me on the lips. I sure as Hell wasn’t about to kiss your ass when he ordered me to do that in his first instruction. To be fair, I sensed his full thought that he was certain I couldn’t receive that order from that distance.”

  At seventy feet, Brogan acknowledged he’d received Hector’s compulsion and lifted his cuff to speak to him. “Come back inside Hector. Grayson picked you up at one hundred feet and in the right direction. He even detected your side shifts later, and your commands intended only for me when you were still outside presumably your maximum range. Your true range is more than we thought, at least it is for him. He’s able to do what he said he could do.” He listened a moment to a radio reply.

  “I don’t know if he’s offended. At least he didn’t try to kiss my ass.”

  Grayson laughed. “It was certainly unexpected.”

  “That it was,” Brogan agreed. “And it reveals a problem we weren’t expecting to discover. Both you and Stiles have greater ranges than we do. We can do more rigorous tests to learn your maximum reception range, but I don’t know other Immunes would be able to do that for Stiles maximum transmission range. You picked up Hector’s commands from farther away than I can, so his transmission range is effectively greater for you. Or rather you have greater sensitivity. We have extensively tested ordinary people for how far away any of our Compellers can influence them, and weak reception at seventy-five feet is normally the maximum. We need to redo those tests now, with statistics we can build from your sensitivity.”

  “What do you do when you know what range someone like Stiles has? What was the protection grid Orville mentioned?”

  Brogan seemed uncomfortable for a moment. “This involves national security issues. I wasn’t provided specific authorization to discuss this with anyone outside the BII’s sworn agents, but I already have unprecedented authorization to do the work the BII was formed to conduct. We’re outside the other members of the Intelligence Community, because of the threat offered by people like Stiles, or from Compellers from other nations.”

  He seemed to reach a decision point. “You know of course, about the fictional James Bond, the British 007 secret agent with a license to kill.” It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t wait for an acknowledgment.

  “The BII has many 007’s, and I don’t mean from the standpoint of movie spy training, although we’re doing what we can to teach them. I’m a former CIA field agent myself, which is why I’m running the agency. All my BII agents led more conventional lives before they were recruited to work for me. They can err on the side of nationa
l security when they draw their weapons, and not fear the repercussions of a fatal mistake. It isn’t a license to kill, as much as a Get out of Jail card. We can’t afford to lose an irreplaceable agent that way. I’m always looking for psych recruits for the BII because our country’s enemies are now doing that. We are processing any DNA samples we can get hold of in our search.”

  Grayson was hardly slow-witted. “I understand what you just politely phrased. A retired police detective with Immune ability is a potential recruit. I have questions about what it is you usually do, besides look for people like Stiles and accidentally stumble onto someone like me.”

  Brogan offered a genuine smile and appeared to be relieved. “We try to protect our government leaders from outside influence, people like the President, the entire Senate and House, and the Supreme Court. But I only have a dozen Immunes for that, counting myself, and four of them are here with me. We set up a grid of Immunes to surround the President when he’s out in public, which drives the Secret Service crazy having relatively untrained and armed people within their protective perimeter. We post some near Congress and the Supreme Court when they’re each in session. We’re always watching for signs of external influences. The US isn’t the only government that is trying to protect decision makers from external control, or that sends people out to influence leaders of hostile governments. It can be a hazardous job, with long hours, frequent travel, although for once it pays very well and has good fringe benefits. I run my budget, and it’s a dandy for such a small organization, without any oversight.”

  Grayson shrugged. “Considering Stiles murdered three friends of mine, and he may be looking for me, I know I can’t protect everyone I care about; I’ll tell you what I think you already know. I’m interested. However, let me list some conditions first.”