His former Bureau mentor and ex-partner Steve Sims complained, "Damn it jackass, would you please put some clothes on!" He was changing out of his own workout gear. "You're making the rest of us look fat."
Aiden laughed heartily, pulling his black polo shirt over his head. Permanently cynical, Sims had been the one to show Stone the ropes when he joined the Bureau. The FBI veteran had been a special agent for ten years and like Stone had retired from the military.
"I told you, give me one month as your personal trainer and you'll need a bat to keep the women off you." Aiden boasted.
"I need another woman like I need a hole in my head. I got a daughter in college draining my bank account, and I have a wife who can't stay the hell out of the mall. Yet for some strange reason I'm happy. Go figure! Fat and happy! Ha! You'll find out one day though."
"I don't think so, Sims. You know how I am." Aiden strapped on his holster and Bureau issued Glock 23 pistol. "I do my thing and I'm in the wind. It wouldn't be fair to the ladies to not share all of this!" He ran his hand down his body like he was showing off a new car at an auto show.
"Just wait kid. Someday some woman is gonna get your knickers so twisted you won't know which way to turn!" Sims zipped up his blue slacks and tucked in his white button down shirt.
Aiden shot him a look saying he didn't believe a word he said. "Sure, Sims. I'll see you around. Alright old man?"
"Yeah OK lady-killer! Keep that nose of yours clean, kid."
Aiden walked the halls of the J. Edgar Hoover Building where the FBI Headquarters was located. He had been summoned for a meeting between his boss, Supervisory Special Agent Peterson and her boss Special Agent in Charge Lucius Johnson.
Located in the heart of Washington DC on Pennsylvania Avenue, the building had been open since the mid 70's, and it showed. The decade's old building was always bleeding chunks of concrete, and everywhere you turned repair crews were fixing some structural problem. There had been rumors for years that the Bureau would leave the obsolete Hoover Building and move into a more modern home, but with all the red tape and bureaucracy, it would be a wonder if the move was made before Aiden retired.
Having been a Special Agent for the past few years, he had a kind of intuition about the ebb and flow of things at the Bureau. He had a feeling that his superiors were going to put him on another case. Supervisory Special Agent Peterson's secretary directed him to the conference room where they were supposed to meet. He wondered how some of the office personnel worked in such gloomy conditions. Barely any sun filtered through the windows, giving the office space a Draconian vibe. Walking through the dungeon, the FBI called an office space; Aiden opened the door to the conference room. Even though he was more than twenty minutes early, Peterson and Special Agent in Charge Lucius Johnson were waiting for him.
Wearing a navy power suit with outdated shoulder pads, Isabel Peterson stood up and shook his hand. Being a female Supervisory Special Agent, Peterson had to prove that she was as tough as her male counterparts and then some. Her chestnut brown hair was cut into a severe bob, and the makeup on her face was minimal. She was known to flay an unsatisfactory agent alive with her sharp tongue, but Stone had never fallen within her crosshairs. Agent Stone had garnered her attention because of the high profile cases he had helped to solve, and he had a lot of respect for her and her for him. She could be a ball breaker, but she was fair.
Special Agent in Charge Lucius Johnson was another matter entirely. Even though he wasn't much older than Aiden, he'd successfully worked his way up the ranks in the bureau. With his gunmetal gray eyes and his short cropped dark brown hair with a hint of silver just coming in at the temples, the office joke was that the veteran agent was straight out of Transylvania. His alabaster skin was vampire pale, his facial features expressionless. There had been rumors for years that he had been in charge of some clandestine projects within the Bureau, but there was no proof to back up those claims. The man was an enigma. Even though he had been with the Bureau for years, no one knew a whole lot about his personal life or where he came from. Maybe he had engineered things that way.
Peterson motioned for Stone to have a seat. "Of course you've got to be wondering why we brought you here."
"Yes ma'am." Stone responded, shaking his head at the secretary's question about whether he wanted coffee.
Sliding a manila folder in front of him, Johnson continued where she left off. "We have a rather delicate problem. Senator Cavender's daughter was found murdered eight days ago. Her bones were in a shallow grave in Dallas, Texas. Forensics confirmed it was her through dental records and a DNA match. The good Senator is fraternity brothers with the Deputy Director of the FBI, and he was the girl's godfather. He has passed this down for us to take care of."
Stone could understand the Senator's point. If something happened to one of his sisters, he would definitely be on the warpath, and God help the man who would incur his wrath. He thumbed through the thin file, noting that the girl was a teenage runaway who had had a drug problem. The last time she had been seen, she was selling her body on the street. It was noted that the parents hadn't seen her for two years. Obviously attempts by law enforcement and private investigators to find the girl had turned up nothing.
"You specialize in these types of cases, Stone." Peterson remarked. "That's why we're sending you. I know you have a caseload you're working on, but the Deputy Director is adamant that we need this issue resolved. The field office in Dallas, along with the local PD, is clueless. According to them there's not a lot of evidence to start with."
In other words, the Deputy Director and the Senator were throwing their weight around using the Bureau as their own investigation unit trying to get the daughter's murder solved. Most times the feds didn't get involved in these types of cases. They left it to local law enforcement unless the victim was kidnapped or it happened over state lines. It didn't matter to Stone since he was used to taking orders. The only difference was that he was taking them from the Bureau now instead of the Marines.
"I'll head down there and take care of it." Aiden said.
"I have one other thing to ask of you." Peterson began. "We're going to assign you a partner."
"A partner?" He repeated as if it were a foul word. He hadn't worked with a partner in over a year. Not that he hated the idea. He wasn't trying to go rogue. He'd just found that he worked more efficiently solo.
"Yes, Special Agent Ramirez just made it out of training and this will be his first field assignment. I'm teaming him with you because he needs to get his feet wet."
There was no way he could argue with his superiors, so he nodded an affirmative.
After giving him the final details of his assignment, Johnson requested to be left alone with Stone. After Peterson left, Johnson's icy gaze fell on Aiden and he felt the temperature in the room drop by a few degrees.
"I want you to know that I handpicked you for this assignment." The man began,his voice just above a whisper. "I know about your…abilities. Let me rephrase that: I know that after your tour of duty in Afghanistan you brought home a rather unique talent. By holding an object that belongs to a deceased person you are able to see images, which helps you to solve your cases, right?"
Shock was written all over the Aiden's face. Not wanting to be labeled yet another war vet suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder, Aiden had not told a single living soul about his newfound talent. On multiple occasions he had used the ability to solve cases; however, he laid it down to luck and his detective skills.
"H-How did you know?" Stone finally uttered.
Lucius smiled. "Don't look so surprised. You can't possibly be the only one with that brand of, let's say, special talent, and trust me, I haven't told anyone about your skills. Most people don't have an open mind when it comes to these types of things."
"OK, and why are you telling me all this?" Anger and suspicion worked their way into Stone's voice.
"A few years ago the Bureau tried an experiment with people
who had abilities similar to yours. They have since been disbanded, but we do keep in contact with a few of them. Some of them still work for us on a consultant basis. Your talent is raw. I'm not undermining your abilities by any means. You've done an excellent job using your power without proper training. However, you may need some help on this case." He slid another manila folder across the table to Stone. "Her name is Danielle Labouleaux. She's no longer with the Bureau, but she is a prodigy among people like us. If you run into some difficulties while working this case, this young lady may be able to assist you."
Handling the folder like it was an explosive device; Aiden took the file from the senior agent.
"Good luck, Agent Stone." Johnson said before vacating the room. "I'm sure you have a plane to catch."
Stunned speechless Aiden remained in his seat wondering exactly what he had just fallen into.
Chapter 6
The three Humvees spit up chunks of gravel and sand as they navigated the winding streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. The city was a combination of a modern metropolis mixed with post-apocalyptic ruins straight out of a futuristic movie. The heat could only be described as pure unadulterated hell. It permeated the metal innards of the three military vehicles that made up the convoy. The elite US Marine unit had just provided assistance to the US Army in pushing back guerillas terrorizing civilians in the nearby area. The mission had been a success, resulting in multiple casualties for the insurgents. Nearly unscathed, the squad of Marines was headed back to base.
Sergeant Aiden Stone sat alongside the driver in the lead Humvee with sweat pouring down his face in streams. He ought to be used to the merciless rays of the sun by now. He'd grown up on the big island of Hawaii. An alpha male to the core, during his senior year of college he decided to be one of the few, proud, Marines. Excelling at everything he put his mind and body to, Aiden quickly made sergeant in his company. Trying to keep the peace in Afghanistan, he was now in his third tour of duty.
As usual, his squad mates were talking major trash, and he was stuck playing referee. He had been with this particular squad for the past six months, and they were definitely his band of brothers. Good or bad he could count on them, and they knew they could depend on him.
"I'm telling you, that chick was all up on me." Private Owens said. He was also known as Huck. The squad had nicknamed the Kentucky native Huckleberry Finn or Huck because of his country bumpkin ways. He had spent the entire ride obsessing about a particularly curvy female Army mechanic back at base.
"You think every chick is after you." Private 1st class Mason Jones, or Jonesy, drawled sarcastically.
"What does she want with you anyway?" Sergeant James Carpenter the driver asked, adding his two cents to the conversation. "I heard she's hot for her old man back home."
"That's right: At home. She's probably got months before she gets to leave. Ain't nothingwrong with a little lovin' till then."
"Somebody is gonna kick your 90-pound ass, I swear," Jonesy who was married and had a thing against cheaters said. His wife back home was his heart and soul and the very thought of cheating deeply offended his sensibilities.
"Hey, Do I have to come back there and separate you two?" Aiden finally said, keeping his ocean blue eyes on the road and the unfriendly faces in the landscape around them. Even though the US military was there for the greater good, there were still some Afghans that didn't appreciate their presence.
"Sorry Sergeant Spam." Huck apologized.
"I asked you not to call me that!" Stone looked at Huck with one raised eyebrow.
Aiden's subordinates had found out about his love for Spam, which was a favorite dish in Hawaii. He'd grown up loving the meat in the can, which his mother had used in a lot of her soul food dishes. Since they wouldn't leave him alone about it.
"Yeah sure Boss Spam!" Huck was elbowing Jonesy in the ribs while chuckling loudly.
"Shut it guys! Hold up! I don't like the looks of these civvies!" Aiden noticed that several civilians who had been milling about had quickly vacated the streets and gone into their homes. You could sometimes tell the mercurial moods of the Afghanistan atmosphere by the way the locals behaved. "I need you two to stay frosty. I've got a bad feeling and there's no telling when I might need one of you to man the .50-cal."
The .50-cal was the mean looking roof mounted machine gun positioned on top of the Humvee.
"Sir, yes sir." The two repeated in unison. Now they too were alert to everything that was going on around them.
"Carpenter, what is that?" Aiden squinted out the driver's side window, the glare from the windshield obscuring his vision.
Carpenter saw the hooded figure also, his eyes widening in horror. "What the f--"
His words were cut off as the Humvee was rocked by an explosion from a rocket propelled grenade. The explosive missile hit the vehicle dead center, sending deadly projectiles of shrapnel flying. Floating through the air like miniature diamonds, shards of glass pelted the marines as the Humvee was knocked off its wheels. The Humvee was flipped on its right side, as it's highly vulnerable underside was peppered with heavy weapons fire. Ready to ignite a spark, highly combustible fuel dripped from the tank and flames danced along the side like demons.
Even though he was wearing his helmet, Aiden felt like he had been struck in the head with a boulder. His entire body was jolted by the impact. A vice grip of pain held Sergeant Stone's ribs as he coughed up blood. Momentarily deaf and disoriented, he didn't hear the other vehicles in the convoy open fire on the ambushing insurgents. Though his other senses were deadened, his nose worked just fine and he could smell diesel fuel. The cabin started to fill with tendrils of gray smoke. Things just went from bad to horribly worse. Clumsy, bloody fingers fumbled for his safety belt as he called to his squad mates.
"Carpenter, Jones, Owens, sound off!" He coughed; his tongue feeling like it weighed fifty pounds. He had to help them get out and fast! Otherwise this fuel leaking truck would become their coffin.
Finally freeing himself from the harness, he scrambled around the interior of the vehicle, desperate to save his fellow Marines. "Carpenter!" He shook the driver hoping to shake him into consciousness. The Sergeant's neck was moving loosely on his shoulders. The private's mangled face came into his view, and he could tell that the man was already dead. He cursed aloud. The outer skin incinerated, the entire left side of Carpenter's face was a bloody, gory, mangled mess!
"Get out." Carpenter's corpse uttered,his remaining eye open and focusing on Stone. "You gotta get out. It's not your time."
Even though his ears were ringing and he could hear nothing else, the clarity of Carpenter's words was crystal clear. Stone wondered what kind of hell he'd stumbled into. Shaking off the terrifying hallucination, Stone checked the other passengers. One look and he could tell they were also deceased. A ragged sliver of metal had buried itself in Huck's neck. Thick black blood oozed through the wound like oil. Jonesy's eyes were wide open and unseeing, a single bullet wound on the side of his head.
"Ya gotta get out, Boss." Huck gargled, ichor bubbling from his mouth. "Go, go. Get out.
"Please tell my wife I love her. Please." Jonesy uttered, his dead eyes focused on Aiden.
Deeply disturbed, he climbed over Carpenter's body, urgently pushing the driver's side door open. After several tries, the door opened on its own filling the interior with harsh sunlight. Strong, friendly arms lifted him out of the death trap and to safety. Hurriedly they hustled him onto a nearby sidewalk. As a field medic checked his vitals and tended to his wounds, his saviors started to go back for the others. The exploding Humvee knocked them all off their feet. The marines had killed the ambushers, but the price had been the lives of three marines.
Several days later, Sergeant Stone was in a US military hospital in Germany nursing a concussion, a collapsed lung, broken ribs, numerous lacerations and a broken arm. His vision of his deceased comrades kept replaying in his mind, the events rewinding and fast forwarding. He had heard of combat ve
ts having post-traumatic stress disorder, but what he had witnessed seemed nothing like it. Shortly thereafter Stone realized that the head trauma he had suffered had given him a unique special ability. After touching or holding personal objects he was able to communicate with the deceased. His injuries preceded his retirement from military life. He just couldn't and didn't want to continue with the horrors of war.
Aiden Stone decided to join the FBI after his recovery. For fear that they would see him as yet another post traumatic stressed out vet, Aiden kept his newfound abilities to himself. He figured no one would believe him anyway. He had yet to even broach the subject to his family, especially to his father.
The older man ran the family business, Anna's, named after Aiden's deceased mother. He operated the resort restaurant with the help of Aiden's younger sister and her fiancé. Joe Stone had been trying for years to get his son to come back to Hawaii and join the business, but Aiden had repeatedly turned his father down. He still needed some action and figured the FBI would provide the outlet he needed. Even though he was just a novice with his psychic abilities, Stone discovered that his abilities gave him an edge in the bureau's criminal investigation division. His intuition had brought the close of multiple high profile federal cases and had kept him alive during dangerous situations.
The voice of the small plane's captain came loud and clear through the speakers. Special Agent Stone halted his ruminations into the past. Grunting he eased his chair upright and stretched. One of the most important lessons he was taught back in basic training was to take advantage of sleep whenever you could. Before starting their investigation he was well rested, alert and ready to spring into action once he touched terra firma. His partner, on the other hand, was still looking nervously out the window.
While Aiden opted for a polo shirt, khakis or jeans for his attire while working in the field, Agent Alejandro Ramirez looked like he had seen a picture of an FBI agent on television and decided to dress the part. He was garbed in a generic navy blue suit and an atrocious bland blue tie. Since his jacket was a size too large and not properly tailored, the baby-faced Alejandro Ramirez looked like a kid who was trying on his dad's clothes. While Aiden was over six feet tall, muscular and physically imposing, Ramirez was short, slightly pudgy and looked like he would have trouble running around the block. The fact that the man looked like he was afraid of his own shadow didn't help matters in the least. Having worked in the Cyber Crimes Division for the past few years, the young agent had just been promoted to field work in the criminal investigations sector. This would be Alejandro's first investigation, and it was a wonder he even passed the physical training in Quantico.
The Body Hunters Page 5
