Move
outta the way asshole!" shouts someone from another car.
Slamming on the brakes as a car cuts in front of them, his mother can only sigh. Looking around traffic has nearly come to a halt with almost everyone trying to fight for a better position in line. "If only people would take their time and work together, things would probably go smoother," thinks Spencer.
For only eight, he has a lot of insight and ideas. Where he got it from his mother could only wonder. Of course what she didn't know or anyone for that matter was he saw things that no one else did. Things not like the movies, ghosts or spirits with horrible injuries that only a few can see. No these were truly horrible. The movies were a
walk in the park
in comparison. Spencer couldn't tell you how long he had what people would call a gift, but it was long enough to help push him toward a little growing up.
"Mommy, we need to get off this bridge and away from here," he says looking at his mother with tears welling up in his eyes.
"My God honey, what's wrong? Why are crying?"
Thinking she would think his imagination was running wild again, he says, "I'm scared the bridge won't be here much longer."
With that natural compassion mothers seem to have she says, "Oh sweetie, nothing like that is going to happen, these things are like sold rocks."
With that, all hell literally breaks loose. The ground, if a bridge could be called that, starts shaking, glass breaks, people scream. But the roars, the roars only Spencer could hear, the sight of them, only he could see. The fear wells up inside of him. The pain is extreme.
He wakes up in a cold sweet, heart racing, another nightmare. The same nightmare. The only nightmare Spencer ever has.
That was the day that changed his life forever. Out of the two hundred and thirty-four people on the bridge that day, he was the one and only survivor to be alive. Sure he had a few bumps and bruises but that was all. How he survived, God only knew.
Now being much older, he is no longer is bothered by what he saw that day. Hell, he sees it all more too often then he likes. What bothers him, is watching his mother die over and over every time he has the dream.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he says, "Another glorious day," with all the sarcasm he can muster.
Special Agent Spencer Reeds, a recent promotion from
Agent
, works for an agency that combats terrorism. The agency is as secret as UFOs and aliens really being in existence. Everyone knows him as FBI Special Agent, but that's only a scratch on the surface.
He looks at the clock, bright red glowing 3:47 A.M. "Well, at least I got to sleep late," he mutters.
He starts for the bathroom when the phone rings. In his line of work the phone ringing is as normal as someone getting sleep.
"Reeds," he answers with slight irritation in his voice.
"Spence, we need you at HQ," Sam says in a hurried voice.
"Yeah, give me fifteen," he replies with a little more enthusiasm.
"See you then."
Maybe my day won't be bad after all.
He enjoys his job, more then he let anyone know. He loves life as well. He could do without the dreams.
FBI Building, CATU Division
What's
the situation Sam?" Spencer asks as he takes a seat at his desk.
"Well, good morning to you too. Always straight down to business," Samantha says jokingly.
A shadow crosses Spencer's face and right then she knew he had the dream again. Sam was the only person he had confided in about the dream. Sure when the incident happened it was all over the news. Spencer was of course cast in the light of the media, but as with time eventually he was forgotten about.
"You had it again," she said stating it more than asking.
Avoiding where this was going to go he says, "So what's the urgency?"
"A call to the FBI came in about 3:20 this morning," she pauses, "the callers claimed to have kidnapped Sara."
Instantly he knew who Sara was. Sam had grown up with her and in their youth spent every waking moment together. Sara happened to be the President's daughter.
He took her hand, ready to give her some comfort to answer he already knew. "Has this been confirmed?" Spencer asks, already knowing the answer.
"Yes, she was missing from her home in what appeared to have been a few hours."
Lowering his head, Spencer's thoughts swirl through his head; he could only imagine what she was feeling at the moment. After losing his mother, and with his father already dead several years before that he had no one. Sam was the first person to really connect to him and really be a friend. He could only compare what the feeling would be like if something like this happened to her.
"What's Roger say about this?" he asks.
"At the moment, it's an FBI and Homeland Security matter," she says softly.
"Since no threat of it being a terrorist action," Spencer finishes her thought.
Sam was doing a decent job at keeping together, one quality that Spencer liked in her. When the times got rough, she still put her job and the protection of the American people first. He joined the FBI at nineteen and with his exceptional abilities and skills; he transferred to CATU (Covert Anti Terrorist Unit) within two years. Sam was already part of the unit. She was very talented, joining herself at seventeen; she was instantly transferred to the unit.
"So why did I get called in early, if we are to just sit on our hands?" he asks.
"From what we have been dealing with these last few weeks, the analysts believe this is connected." With more hope in her eyes, she says, "And with Sara being the President's daughter, we were asked to participate in case the theory rings true."
"Well then," he asks with a warm smile, "what are we standing around for?"
——
Shut
up bitch!" the man says with venom in his voice as he brings his hand across the young woman's face.
"If you know what's good for you," another voice with a thick German accent says, "then you'll participate and shut the fuck up!"
Blindfolded, tired and scarred, Sara fears for her life. After being abducted from her home in the middle of the night she had no idea what anyone would want with her. Other than the obvious: her being the President's daughter.
"Ple-Please..." she tries her hardest to stay calm.
The man raises his hand again and ----
WHAP
!
— His hand flies across her face again.
Slapping her seemed to be fun for the German. "I told you to shut your fucking mouth." Patience obviously was not a strong point with him. "Fucking American bitches, can't keep their mouths shut."
"I told you Rudolph. I told you we should have taken someone else." He instantly feels stupid for saying that.
"Who?" asks Rudolph. "Tell me that. You know as well as I do the President would need some motivation."
Silence falls on him, he knew Rudolph was right.
"Hell Hanson decided on this long ago, it just took planning and patience, which was why he's the boss," he the man says.
Crying as silently as she can she thinks
Please God help me out of this, please, please, please.
She never thought being the President's daughter would ever lead to something like this happening. Her only hope is that this would turn out alright.
——
Alright
everyone," Roger says with a stern voice, "let's get seated and briefed."
Now that all the agents were in at the regular time, things could continue. The room as large as it was, seemed very crowded this morning.
We'll all be out of sleep before this ends.
After he had every person's attention, Roger looks around to get an idea of their thoughts. Almost everybody knew of the situation, so all were somewhat prepared. The room being the largest in the annex, was meant for situations like this, but hardly used for this purpose. He could count on one hand how many times the collective of agents for the unit had gathered like this.
"All of you probably have an idea what has transpired in the last twenty-four hours, but I'll go into full detail anyway."
This got a few murmurs from the agents; most hoping it was just a rumor. Terrorist activities that CATU face are hidden and kept away from the public. The few terror activities in the media are small compared to what they deal with. If it wasn't for the tactics this division deployed, America would no longer be what it is. So when
big
arises, a few start to get a little nervous.
"At approximately midnight last night, the President's daughter, Sara McKinsey, was kidnapped," he pauses to let that small bit soak in. "How the kidnappers got past the Secret Service agents is beyond anyone guess."
A voice rises above the murmurs. "Sir, you said kidnappers not terrorists," the young man says more as a statement than a question.
"That's right Adams, as of right now, this does not fall into our jurisdiction."
Murmurs start up again. No one here had a problem with doing their job, let alone help an innocent victim, but that's what the National Security was for.
"Quiet please," Roger says in a smooth tone. "I know you're thinking what does this got to do with us. Well, not much at the moment, but evidence shows this may be terrorists so eventually it will become our job, other than that, this is the President's daughter after all."
In the back of the room Spencer and Samantha are sitting together. Sam feeling down and a little sullen says, "Spence, you think this will turn out alright in the end?"
"Have I ever let you down?"
"Not yet," she says with a slight hesitation.
I hope saying that is not going to be a mistake
.
He says, "Then I don't see why I should start now."
This seem to cheer her up a little, though with a little doubt hanging below the surface, Spencer just hopes to God this would turn out good. He always hated to make a promise he couldn't keep. That's why he rarely promised anything.
"We don't have much to go on people," Roger says. "We only have the initial phone call, they didn't demand anything, just simply said we have the President's daughter."
"Were we able to get a trace from the call?" someone asks.
"No," states Roger.
"What about background noise?" another asks.
"Again, no," he says with a shake of his head. Going over this with the agents seems even more hopeless than before.
Murmurs start up again. Those are the two most important things when limited on facts in any given situation.
"So what do we have to go on?" questions Spencer.
"Glad you asked," beams Roger. "We have an accent; the caller seems to be of German decent, now whether this was a ruse or his actual voice, it's hard to tell. But if anything it's a lead and it's all we have."
"So where do we start?" Adams asks.
Adams always inquisitive and with remarkable talents is almost ready to be bumped up to Special Agent. This is just the case he needs to get that special status.
"Where you always start," looking around, Roger makes eye contact with each individual agent, "we review all past activity, some of you specifically with the German terrorist groups. Of course further analyzing of the call and whether something turns up or not, we wait for another phone call."
With the mood lifting in the room, Roger dismisses them all. The questioning and eagerness of Adams never really brings much thought to Spencer, but today there was something odd in Adams demeanor. He couldn't quite place it. It had a familiarity to it. Turning to Samantha he says, "Go ahead and get started, I'll meet you in the office."
"No problem, trouble?"
"Nothing I can't handle, I'll explain it in a bit," he replies.
Turning away Samantha left towards their office, Spencer in the direction of Adams.
