Caleb 91 - Danny

Caleb 91 - Danny

It was raining again.

I'd parked my truck in the FBI parking lot as normal and headed into the office, looping my ID over my belt as usual.

Rosie wasn't on the front desk. Instead, it was manned by a rather earnest looking young man. I saw him trying to see my ID as I went to walk past. Since I didn't have a 'badge' I guessed he had no idea if I was supposed to be there but didn't want to challenge me in case he was wrong.

I diverted and walked up to the desk, taking off my ID and handing it to him.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Caleb. I'm a consultant attached to this office."

He glanced at my ID and then looked up at me.

"Consultant?" he asked. "I've never met one of those before."

"We just help out from time to time," I said. "I'm just going up to see Dianna."

"Dianna?" he asked.

"SSA Everson," I corrected myself. He nodded.

"Okay," he said.

"Nice to meet you..." I waited for him to give me his name. He didn't.

"You too," he said and looked down.

Shrugging I moved off and to the elevators.

Dianna wasn't in her office when I arrived. I figured that Maggie might know where she was or, if not, she might know who I was supposed to be meeting. I got back in the elevator and went up to Maggie's floor.

Cuthbert smiled at me as I approached his desk.

"SSA Everson is in with ADD Forbes" he said. "She said you might drop by and asked me to tell you to catch up with Agent Drey on four. He's going to go with you."

"Thanks," I told him, heading back to the elevator yet again.

Leaving the elevator on four brought back memories. I'd last been here when I'd come to practice my Telepathy, and read Daisy's mind. That's what had given me my start in the kitchen, and the ability to wow Ness with my culinary skills. Not that it would have made any difference.

I turned left, as I had back then, and walked to where there were a group of interview rooms surrounding a waiting area. There was nobody around. Retracing my steps, I went the other way and came across an open office with several desks dotted about. Several people looked up as I entered the area, one of whom stood.

"Caleb," he shouted.

"Agent Drey," I returned. He grinned.

"Daniel is fine," he said. "After all, we're going to be colleagues.

"That's a while off yet," I said. "I haven't even finished, and passed, the recruitment process."

He snorted.

"They'd snap you up even IF you hadn't done everything you'd done. FIVE letters of commendation in your file and from disparate agencies to boot. The only time we see that level of decoration is when we recruit vets."

"They deserve it," I said. "I'm not sure I do."

"I know several people that wouldn't agree," he said. "Anyway. What's today about? Dianna said she wants me to take you up to the state pen and visit an inmate with you, a Harold Bleasedale?"

I nodded, looking around the office where several agents were working.

"They're all read in," he said. "All agents are."

"Okay," I said. "Harold attacked a friend of mine at my twentieth birthday party. I'd only just found out about powers and that I had some. I hadn't yet figured anything out, yet I stripped him of his powers, and he got arrested.

"I want to make sure that my stripping his powers stuck, because back then I had no idea what I was doing. It would be a nightmare if he got them back without anyone flagging up the danger. He'd be out of jail and in the wind in an instant, likely going back to his old ways."

"So, you're going to check and make sure he's not getting them back?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go."

We left the office, this time using the stairs rather than the elevator, and made our way to the parking.

"Want to take my car?" he asked.

"Better my truck," I said. "I don't have a parking permit. If I'm here I can show I'm allowed here but if not, I don't want the hassle of a ticket to fight."

He nodded, and we climbed into the truck. He looked around.

"Nice," he said. "I've always wanted one of these."

"It was a Christmas gift," I told him, "from my father in law."

"Wow," he said. "Does your fiancée have a sister?" he grinned at me.

"She does," I said grinning back. "And she's my fiancée too."

He laughed.

"Damn." He said. "I don't know whether to congratulate you or commiserate with you."

"Oh, congratulate definitely," I said. "I'm the luckiest man alive."

He continued to look around the cabin, going so far as to open the center console, exposing the gun safe concealed within.

"Is that a console vault?" he asked. I nodded.

"I can't take my gun into school, but I like to have it with me when I'm out."

"Why?" he asked, "Given your powers?"

"Cover," I said. "If I come across a situation where I have to compel someone to do something, its far more believable that they would obey if I'm pointing a weapon at them, rather than if I just tell them. It gives me some credibility."

"I can see that," he said.

"What's your carry?" he asked.

"Normally a Glock23, but mine is currently still with the PD following the shooting. At the moment I'm have a Wilson Combat 1911 CQB. Matt steel finish."

"May I?" he asked.

I used a trickle of TK to enter the combination and unlock the gun safe. Daniel opened it and pulled out my CQB. He checked the chamber, ensuring there wasn't a round in there, and ejected the magazine. Then he took a close look at the weapon, sighting along the barrel. Finally satisfied, he reloaded the magazine and put the weapon back in the safe closing it and rotating the numbers of the lock to secure it.

"That's a beautiful weapon," he said.

I smirked. "It was a gift for my twenty first," I told him. "From my...

"Father in law..." we both said at the same time. He laughed.

We'd been on the freeway for about fifteen minutes when I saw red and blue lights flashing in my rearview. A cruiser was approaching at speed, and I moved over to get out of its way. It tucked in behind us, clearly intending to pull us over.

"We're being stopped," I said, and flashed my blinker to let the officer know I was complying.

I eased over into the emergency lane and slowed to a stop, the cruiser pulling in behind us, but staying a little further back than I would have expected.

I applied the parking brake and rolled down my window waiting for the officer to approach.

He didn't. Instead, I heard him shout through his bullhorn.

"DRIVER, EXIT THE VEHICLE WITH YOUR HANDS VISIBLE. DO IT NOW."

I looked across at Daniel, who looked at me, equally puzzled.

Not wanting to cause any issues, I undid my door and putting my hands through the rolled down window so they were clearly visible, got out. I walked to the back of my truck, so I wouldn't get hit by a car and stopped my hands out to my sides.

"TURN AROUND AND WALK BACKWARDS TO MY CAR" he said.

I complied, still keeping my hands out, I spun around and walked backwards.

Daniel opened his door.

"PASSENGER, STAY IN THE VEHICLE."

Daniel closed his door.

I kept looking over my shoulder, judging the distance to the patrol car as I walked backwards along the emergency lane. When I was about a yard in front, I stopped.

I heard the officer open his door.

"Do not move," he said, walking up behind me and grabbing my arm.

"Put your hands behind your back." He said yanking my right hand behind me. I matched the action with my left, and in a few seconds, I was in cuffs.

"You have any weapons on you?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Any in the vehicle?" he asked.

"I have a weapon in the gun safe in the center console," I said. "My passenger is an FBI Special Agent. I presume he's armed. My ID is in my left rear pocket. Can you please check it?"

I felt him dip into my pocket and pull out my wallet.

"FBI?" he asked.

"I'm a consultant," I said.

The officer swore.

"Come take a seat," he said walking me to the back door of his car, and opening it. I sat inside, still cuffed. He closed the door.

Then he went to the passenger side of my truck. I could see Daniel flashing his creds through the window.

While he was talking to Daniel, another patrol car arrived and tucked in behind the one I was seated in. The driver, a female officer, got out, her hand on her weapon. I wondered what the hell this was all about.

After a few more minutes the officer talking to Daniel walked back and had a few words with his colleague and then they came back to his car, opening my door.

"Come on out," he said. I got out.

"Turn around please," he said. I obliged and he unlocked the handcuffs.

I turned back to face him.

"We had a report," he said, "that there was a madman waving a gun around on the freeway. They gave your license plate."

I closed my eyes, and realized what had happened. Someone had spotted Daniel looking at my CQB and panicked, calling in a crazed gunman.

"Oops," I said. "I'm really sorry. He wanted to take a look at my weapon, so I let him take a look. I guess someone saw."

"Why?" they asked.

"It's a Wilson Combat 1911 CQB," I said, "A really nice gun, he wanted to take a look."

"Not really the place for it," said the female officer.

"I get that," I said. "And I'm really sorry."

"It's all good," said the male cop. Then he looked at the female. "Mind if we take a look?"

I chuckled. "Sure," I said.

We walked back to the truck, and I got Daniel to slide out of the seat. Once again, I opened the gun safe and pulled out the weapon, removing the magazine and ensuring the chamber was clear.

I handed the weapon butt first, to the male officer.

"Nice," he said as he examined it. "Lots of people prefer the nickel-plated pieces, but I think the brushed steel finish is much nicer."

The female officer looked at him with the look of a woman watching a guy nerd out about something completely unimportant.

We chatted for a few more minutes about the weapon, during which time the female officer wandered back to her patrol car. I looked up as she chirped her siren as she pulled away.

The male officer waved.

"I'd best let you get back to it," he said a few minutes later. "Try not to panic any more motorists please."

I agreed that we would try and returned the gun to the safe.

"Take care as you pull away," he said as he walked back toward his car. Daniel and I regained our seats in the truck, and I pulled into traffic.

We managed to make the rest of the journey without incident and pulled into the prison parking lot just after ten thirty.

We walked in through the reception and announced ourselves.

Daniel had to check his weapon, leaving it in a locker where we signed in.

"Who you here to see?" asked the guard.

"Harold Bleasedale," Daniel said. "My ADD called your Warden earlier in the week and arranged it."

The tapped a few keys on his computer and grunted. "I see it," he said. "There's nothing about him having representation. Does he need his lawyer?"

"We're not here to ask him questions," said Daniel. "We just want to say 'hello'."

The guard looked at us, a question in his face, but then decided that it was probably none of his business. It wasn't his problem. As long as we didn't damage him too much it would be up to his lawyer to figure out if we'd done anything we shouldn't.

"This way," he said taking us through several locked doors, finally leading us into what looked like an interview room. There were three chairs two on one side and one on the other side of a table which appeared to be affixed to the floor. In the center of the table, a thick ring was embedded in the table. I suspected that was to attach manacles to.

"A corrections officer will bring Bleasedale to you in a few minutes," he said. "When you're done I'll come back and escort you out."

"Thank you," I said. He nodded to me.

Ten minutes later the door opened, and Harold Belasedale entered, followed by a corrections officer. He looked at the pair of us with some interest, his eyes widening slightly as he recognized me. I saw his aura change, fear spiking. I also saw a very thin sliver of control going from Bleasedale to the guard.

He sat, the guard never bothering to attach his cuffs to the ring in the middle of the table. The guard took station his back to the wall, behind Bleasedale.

Daniel started talking, introducing himself. He didn't introduce me.

I looked at Bleasedale and the block I'd put on his powers over a year ago.

Already I could see that it had deteriorated. There were cracks and Harold had figured out ways around it. He had regained a tiny amount of his power, enough to suggest things to people. I hit him with a Compulsion to use his power on the guard standing behind him. It worked.

"Monkey farts smell of peanuts," said the guard.

Daniel stopped talking for a moment and looked at me.

This was definitely not good enough. Left to his own devices, I guessed that Harold would have his full powers back in a couple of years, judging by the rate my block was deteriorating, and then what? He could take over the jail, get himself paroled, and after that... who knew.

I placed another compulsion on Harold, getting him to count backwards from twenty to zero. When he reached Zero he was to Compel the guard to repeat the phrase he'd said before. After he'd done that, he would forget everything about powers, and that he'd ever had them. A sliver of compulsion meant that the guard would ignore this rather bizarre behavior.

Then I reached into his head and, using my healing, made the change that I knew would make him invisible to powers. I was fairly certain that it would also remove any powers, but I needed to be sure.

"Five, four, three, two, one," Harold intoned. The guard remained silent.

I looked again at Harold and found that I was no longer able to connect to his mind. I could see his aura, but I could not read his mind, affect his emotions, nor compel him. I looked over his brain with my healing. The change was tiny, miniscule, almost microscopic. Unless you knew exactly where to look, and what to look for, you'd never find it. It was a speck of moss in the Amazon rainforest. It was also the key to making people immune to powers or removing powers and I was not going to share that secret with anyone, ever.

"We're done," I said to Daniel. The guard looked surprised. We'd been there less than five minutes and other than introduce himself Daniel had said nothing. I'd remained quiet the whole time.

"Thank you," said Daniel, "You can take him. Can you ask your colleague to take us out again please?"

The corrections officer spoke into his radio before telling Bleasedale to stand, and taking him out of the room and presumably back to his cell.

"Well?" asked Daniel.

"He was getting his powers back," I said. "I made him Compel the guard, to see if he could."

"Monkey farts?" he asked amused.

"It was the first thing I could think of that the guard would definitely not say of his own volition."

"You have a twisted mind, my friend," he laughed.

"You have no idea," I told him, laughing along with him.

We signed out, Daniel reclaiming his weapon and headed back to my truck. We made it back to the FBI office in Portland with no further incidents.

"I think Dianna will want to hear about it," Daniel said as I parked in the parking lot.

We entered the office, the young man still on the desk.

"What happened to Rosie," I asked looking to where the young man was staring at his computer.

"Don't know," he said. "She's didn't show for work this morning. She's probably out sick. That guy is a temp from an agency."

I wondered at that, but put it out of my mind, as we rode the elevator up to Dianna's floor.

"Caleb," Dianna said when I knocked on her door. "How was he?"

"His block was slipping," I told her. "He was already starting to regain his power. Given another couple of years, he'd have been as strong as ever."

"Is that going to be a concern with anyone else who you stripped powers from?" she asked. I shook my head.

"I learned how to lock off compulsions before I stripped anyone else," I said. "They won't be regaining their power any time soon."

"And Bleasdale isn't going to be any more problem?" she asked. I shook my head.

"Good job," she said.

Friday afternoon, I was sat in Danny's office, completing my logbook after a flight in the Baron. Arnie was currently in the air teaching. Danny, who'd been with me while I was flying the Baron and had been completing his own log suddenly looked up.

"Caleb," he said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I said.

"Your flying ability," he said. "It's something to do with your powers, isn't it?"

I smiled at him and nodded.

"How?" he asked.

"Long story short," I said. "I've taken all the flying knowledge of someone who has been flying both fixed and rotary wing aircraft for years. He flew fighter missions in the Gulf and then, after an 'incident', he transferred to rotary wing and flew helicopters instead. He now flies a G500 for a living."

Danny nodded.

"That makes sense," he said. "I've said all along you fly like a combat pilot. He must have thousands of hours. How does that work, how can you take his memories?"

"It's simple." I said. "He told me he'd let me see his memories. I took them from him, or rather copied them into my own memory. Once I was able to assimilate them, it was as if I had all the same experiences as him. All I need to do then is develop the psychomotor skills to go with the knowledge. That takes a little practice. It's how I learned all the martial arts I know; I got the knowledge then I trained my body."

"That's one hell of a life hack," he said. "You could learn almost anything overnight."

"I also could qualify as a tax accountant," I told him with a grin. "I took all that knowledge too."

"Why tax?" he asked.

"A friend of mine needed to learn it for work. I helped her and decided I'd hold on to the knowledge for myself."

"You can do that?" he said. "You could help someone without powers learn something like that?"

"If I have someone that already knows what you need to learn, then, yes," I said.

"Will you help Arnie when he needs it?" he asked. "When he starts looking at commercial flying there's so much for them to learn."

"I'll always help Arnie," I told him, "in any way I can. You know that. Arnie, and by extension you, are family."

He nodded.

"When you're ready," I said, hearing his thoughts. "Ask. If I can, I'll help."

He grimaced. "I sometimes forget you can read minds," he said. "Doesn't that get confusing?"

"Imagine sitting in a bar and hearing all the noise going on," I said. "You only pay attention to the person speaking to you, but occasionally you pick up odd phrases from conversations around you. It's a bit like that. I'd have to concentrate to find out more, and I don't do that without either permission, probable cause, or a court order."

"Probable cause?" he asked.

"Three guys broke into our house with baseball bats," I said. "I read their minds to see who sent them."

He nodded.

"Who decides?" he asked.

"I do," I told him. "But if information I got by reading someone's mind ended up in court, then it might be excluded if I didn't have one of the above."

"There are courts that know about powers?" he asked amazed.

"There are," I said. "And you'll never read about it in the news."

I closed my logbook and put it in my flight case. I'd bought one to keep all my flying documentation together. It was insane the amount of paper I was accumulating with regard to flying. I'd also bought a tablet to use while I was flying. It made life much easier. That lived in my flight case, unless I was actually flying, or it was on charge at home.

"I need to get back," I said. "Is Arnie with you or us tonight? I can't keep up."