Soul Reader Series: Book1: Touch Enabled

by Dante Lupinetti

  “This has been a great lunch,” said Julie. “I needed a treat today. Thanks, Zeke. We’ll have to come here again.”

  “Thank you,” replied Zeke. “This conversation has clarified some things for me. You’ve given me some things to think about.”

  The waiter returned with the check and box for Julie’s chicken. After exiting the restaurant, they returned to Zeke’s car. As Zeke opened the door for Julie, she slipped her hand between his left arm and torso, pulled him close, stood on her toes, and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I’m gonna miss that in New York,” said Zeke.

  Julie made a pouty face at Zeke but said nothing. On the drive back to the station, Julie blurted out, “You know, I think I’m going to break it off with Harvey.”

  Zeke looked at her shocked. “Whoa, where did that come from?”

  “Come on,” she said. “Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

  “I’ve haven’t been here that long,” said Zeke. “I’m not up on all the office affairs and politics.”

  “Well, it’s true. I’ve been seeing him, but he’s married and twice my age,” said Julie.

  Zeke was careful not to violate Harvey’s trust, but he could not help but show a slight smile. “Don’t do this on my account,” he said.

  “You don’t fool me. I see that smile,” said Julie. “Don’t flatter yourself. We hardly know each other, but he’s a dead-end street. That relationship is going nowhere.”

  “Well, I’d agree with that,” said Zeke.

  When they arrived back at the station, Julie returned to the reception desk and Zeke returned upstairs to find Harvey by his cubicle.

  “Long lunch, kid?” asked Harvey. “Look, while you’re still working here, there’s a story I want you to work on. You can do it all with phone calls and some googling. Maybe some archive research. So, you won’t need any special access or clearance.”

  “What is it?” asked Zeke.

  “There are some rumors going around that there’s an assassination plot brewing against the president and vice president.”

  “Wow, that’s huge,” said Zeke.

  “Yeah,” said Harvey, “but it’s totally unsubstantiated. Could be a total hoax. I need you to dig around and find some basis for it. Any facts or even suspicions that have some basis in reality. If we can’t do a news story on it, maybe we can turn it into an op-ed. I need you to dig hard, kid. That’s what I hired you for.”

  Zeke thought it over for a few hours while scouring the Web to see if there was any talk of an assassination plot. He found nothing. He figured that if there was such a plot, the Secret Service, the FBI, and CIA would be in the know, but they probably wouldn’t give him squat. So, he decided to call one of the only two contacts he had at the FBI, Abby Sorensen.

  “Miss Sorensen, this is Zeke Jackson.”

  “Hi, Zeke,” said Abby. “Are you calling about your clearance?”

  “No, I’m calling to tell you that your kick didn’t break any bones.”

  “Well, my mistake,” said Abby. “I must not have landed it correctly. I’ll have to work on that.”

  “Ha, ha,” replied Zeke. “Actually, this is a business call. I’m working on a story about a possible assassination plot on the president and vice president. The Web is totally quiet on this, but here at the station, we’ve heard some rumors.”

  “I can’t talk about that,” said Abby.

  “Oh, so you acknowledge there is some such plot?” asked Zeke.

  “I acknowledge no such thing,” said Abby.

  “Can I meet you for lunch tomorrow?” asked Zeke.

  “What?” Abby asked surprised.

  “Can I meet you for lunch tomorrow? You know, that thing you do in the middle of the day when you get hungry?” asked Zeke.

  “I don’t know…,” replied Abby. “I guess.”

  “OK,” said Zeke. “I’ll meet you at Harriet’s Family Restaurant at noon. It’s only a block from the FBI headquarters.

  “Yeah, I know where it is,” said Abby. “See you tomorrow.”

  Zeke pondered whether he should let Harvey know. He decided not to, feeling Harvey had been more interested in getting rid of him than anything else. Instead, Zeke went home for the day.

  The next day, as Zeke arrived at the station and walked up the long set of white stone steps, for the first time he encountered the ducks from the pond about fifty yards away. They were pooping all over the pristine white stone, staining and tarnishing its stately and respectable image. As he approached the arched entrance, he heard the sounds of truck engines coming from the back of the station as they round the driveway to the front of the building.

  “Zeke, jump in here,” yelled Sly. Zeke ran over to Sly’s truck.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “They’re staging a mock trial of the president,” Sly replied.

  “Who?” asked Zeke.

  “The demonstrators. They’re outside the barred gates of the White House staging a mock trial,” said Sly. “Harvey wants us over there right away. He heard some rumors yesterday about an assassination plot on the president and vice president.”

  “Yeah, he asked me to look into it.”

  “Me too,” said Sly.

  “Figures,” replied Zeke.

  “Hey, you ought to know Harvey by now,” said Sly. “Whatever works is his motto.”

  The camera trucks moved through traffic like a fire truck on its way to a three-story blaze. On the way they picked up a police escort which gave them right-of-way after they noticed the call letters, WJOP news. After the camera truck arrived at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, cameramen jumped from the truck, unpacked their equipment, and setup for live broadcast.

  “For high crimes and misdemeanors,” shouted the lead demonstrator. “We indict and try this president and his coconspirator, the vice president of the United States. They have torn babies away from their mothers on our southern border and around the United States. They have committed war crimes waterboarding freedom fighters at Guantanamo. They have used their ICE Agency to commit inhumane crimes against undocumented aliens just looking for a better place to live their lives. They have polluted our air and endangered our citizenry with these irresponsible deregulation policies. They have taken from the poor and given to the rich with these unfair tax policies. They are racists and bigots who side with the KKK and the white supremacists who strive to hold down minorities and retain power.”

  Then, the demonstrators took two fake doll caricatures of the president and vice president and set them on fire. At this point the Capitol Police and the metropolitan police moved in to break up the demonstration while the demonstrators spit in their faces and chanted derogatory remarks prompting some arrests.

  Zeke went up to one of the demonstrators with the WJOP camera crew. “Sir, I heard your rhetoric. Do you really think the president and vice president are guilty of all this?” asked Zeke.

  “Where have you been, man? Can’t you see it?”

  “Why don’t you just organize and vote them out?” asked Zeke.

  “We’re trying, and we intend to,” said the demonstrator. “We’ll get rid of them one way or another.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Zeke.

  “You figure it out, man. Their days are numbered. I’d like to turn them over to the freedom fighters they call terrorists and let them administer real justice.”

  “And that’s the scene here in front of the White House this chilly, sunny morning in September. Now, back to, Jamie Ryan, our newscaster back at the station.”

  “Thanks, Zeke. The demonstrators are not happy campers,” said Jamie. “WJOP is following this story and will keep you updated.”

  “Sly,” called Zeke. “I’ve got to talk to an agent from the FBI, so I won’t be riding back with you.”

  “Clearance problems, again?” asked Sly.

  “No, but what would you know about it?” replied Zeke.”

  “Oh, nothing. Overheard others talkin
g. Good luck.”

  Zeke hailed a cab to Harriet’s Family Restaurant.

  “Hey, man, were you just at the demonstration?” asked the cabbie.

  “Yeah,” said Zeke. “I work for WJOP.”

  “I’ve been driving a cab in this city for the last forty years,” said the cabbie. “Back then they were rioting against Nixon. It never changes. Just a different decade.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Zeke. “I’m only twenty-five and just came here in August.”

  “Hey, I know you,” blurted the cabbie. “You’re that truth guy. I saw you take down Fernando Dollar. Then, I saw that interview with Jack Cong. Wait till I tell my wife. She won’t believe it. Well, here’s the restaurant.” Zeke handed the cabbie a twenty-dollar bill.”

  “Good luck, truth man,” said the cabbie. “I’ll look for you on TV again.”

  Zeke walked into the seemingly unimpressive restaurant.

  “How many?” asked the greeter.

  “Two,” said Zeke. The greeter led Zeke to a table in the center of the room where Abby could easily spot him when she entered the restaurant. He ordered a cup of coffee and pondered the questions he was going to ask her. He figured he’d lead with the demonstration that just happened. He’d tell her what the demonstrator said. To Zeke, it sounded like the kind of talk that would at least prompt some investigation, at least by the Secret Service. After all, their main objective is security of the president and vice president. Abby finally walked in and the greeter ushered her over to Zeke’s table.

  “Hi, Abby. Thanks for coming.”

  “Can we switch tables?” asked Abby. “Someplace a little more inconspicuous. A lot of people I work with come here for lunch, and I don’t want a lot of questions when I get back to the office.”

  “Sure,” said the greeter. “Follow me.” The greeter led them to a table in another room. “How’s this?” she asked.

  “This is fine,” said Abby.

  “How did you come to work for the FBI?” asked Zeke.

  “Well, I majored in criminology at University of Maryland in College Park with a minor in computer science. But I applied for the CIA directly out of college. They sent recruiters over to the university. They liked me, and I applied. It was a long, drawn-out application process. Eventually, I was rejected.”

  “Why was that? “asked Zeke.

  “I passed all their security stuff, but then they gave me a psychological test to see if I was a good fit. They decided I was not. I didn’t have enough analytical or technical background to use me as an analyst, and I wasn’t suited to their kind of field agent work. So, I went to work for the FBI. By the way, that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “What? Going to work for the FBI?” asked Zeke facetiously.

  “Yeah, right,” said Abby sarcastically.

  The waiter arrived and asked for their drink order.

  “I’ll have unsweetened ice tea,” said Abby.

  “Same for me,” said Zeke.

  “We’re ready to order our entrées,” said Abby. “I’ll have the salmon Caesar salad.”

  “Sounds good,” said Zeke. “I’ll have that, too.”

  “Well, Zeke, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “I just got back from covering a demonstration that was happening in front of the White House,” replied Zeke.

  “I know,” said Abby. “We were watching it live at the office. I was wondering if you were going to make it here on time.”

  “Actually, I’m supposed to be writing a story on a possible presidential and vice-presidential assassination plot. Then, this morning I got called to hop on a camera truck to this demonstration. I wonder if this demonstration was the smoke before the fire.”

  “Well, Zeke, I can’t really say. I can’t be a source for you, but I can tell you that you’re onto something. Keep pursuing it. Not to change the subject, but do you still want your clearance back?”

  “Are you kidding?” asked Zeke. “You know I do.”

  “Well, this is a roundabout way of getting it, but I have an idea. Your clearance currently remains suspended. The FBI can indefinitely suspend it, in which case, who knows if you’ll ever get it back. You need a fresh start. My partner, Harry, has gone to bat for you, but the agency is just not sure about you. They know you were underage and that your record was expunged, but they are reluctant to take a chance on someone who committed such an egregious act even if it was a prank by a fourteen-year-old.”

  “So, what do you have in mind?” asked Zeke.

  “I suggest that you see a security clearance attorney. Here’s the number for Jackmann’s Law Firm. They specialize in clearances. Maybe they can file something to allow you to re-apply, but this time through a different agency, one more friendly to your situation. I have some contacts in the CIA from the exhausting interviewing process I went through. I think they would be very interested in your special gift.”

  “Do you think they would overlook my bomb scare incident?” asked Zeke.

  “Yes, I do, if you are totally forthcoming about it. You’d need to gain their confidence. Let me make some calls and establish their interest level. Then, if they’re definitely interested, I’ll find out the process they want you to follow.”

  “Would they restore my press pass and let me in the White House for press briefings?” asked Zeke.

  “I can’t think of why they wouldn’t,” replied Abby.

  “Say the CIA decided to bring me on in some capacity. Could I still work as a reporter at WJOP and cover White House stuff?”

  “I told my partner, Harry, that you were no country bumpkin, but you still got a little bit of it left. Zeke, if you get through the CIA process, you won’t need a press pass anymore. You’ll be the CIA’s man to the Secret Service. But, if you want to join the press in the East Room, I’m sure they won’t mind,” said Abby.

  “Wow, thanks,” said Zeke. “But why are you doing all this for me?”

  “Well, I interview a lot of people for clearances. I think you deserve a second chance. So, keep this on the down low at work. Plus, I believe the CIA, the Secret Service, and yes, the FBI could all make good use of your special gift. Not to mention, I think you’re a good guy.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” said Zeke. “It’s not like anybody has been stroking my ego lately. So, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Zeke and Abby finished their lunch and left the restaurant. Zeke took a cab back to the station. On the way, he called Jackmann’s Law Firm and made an appointment to see one of the clearance attorneys.

  When Zeke entered the reception area, Julie stopped him.

  “Where have you been?” Julie asked.

  “Well, as I was coming into the station, literally climbing the steps, Sly snagged me to go with him to a demonstration in front of the White House. Then I had an interview with an FBI investigator,” replied Zeke.

  “Which one?” asked Julie.

  “Abby Sorensen,” replied Zeke.

  “I thought so,” said Julie. “I think she’s got a thing for you.”

  “No, she just wants to help me,” said Zeke.

  “What do you mean, she just wants to help you?”

  “It’s nothing,” said Zeke with a look of irritation.”

  Zeke felt his cell phone vibrating. “Hey, Boss,” answered Zeke.

  “Zeke, can you stop by my office?”

  “Sure thing, Boss.”

  Zeke walked up stairs to the second floor and stopped by the break room for a cup coffee. He met Ellie from the social media news desk.

  “Hey, Zeke,” said Ellie. “That interview you did this morning is trending on social media. Did you know that headquarters is tracking every time you’re on the air? They’re tracking all the social media activity from your broadcasts or appearances. They’re monitoring the buzz you create. I get calls from the BlackRock CBS news department every day wanting stats on you. I think you’re their new golden child. I’m surprised Harvey
hasn’t told you about it. He’s been aware of it for some time now.”

  “Speaking of Harvey, I think he wants to see me. Thanks for the info, Ellie. Please let me know if you see or hear of anything interesting concerning me.”

  “Sure thing,” replied Ellie. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  Zeke reported to Harvey’s office. He found Julie there.

  “Come in, Zeke. I was just asking Julie to set up a luncheon for the office. I think it’s time we celebrate. Our ratings last month were off the charts. Julie, we can talk about this later. I’ve got some things that I need to discuss with Zeke.”

  Julie brushed her hand against Zeke’s arm as she left the room.

  “Do you have anything yet on that assassination plot? The demonstration this morning could be an indicator of something more sinister in the works.”

  “I did some searching on social media but didn’t pull up anything,” replied Zeke.

  “Listen, kid, I don’t pay you to find stuff on social media and then write a story about it. I pay you to dig up stuff, and write a story that social media then picks up and runs with. What am I running here, a daycare for news reporters? Now, what do ya got?”

  “I got nothin’. Nothin’ at all,” said Zeke. “Without these clearances, I have access to no one.”

  “Well, kid. You better start thinking real serious about BlackRock. They’re calling here every day asking about your availability. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you’re not cut out to be a newsman. Maybe, a talk show host like Jack Cong, is your thing.”

  For a minute Zeke said nothing. Then, he took a deep breath, looked Harvey in the eye and said, “Don’t worry Boss. I’ll figure out something.”

  He refrained from saying anything more and turned and walked away. The ability to not be goaded into an argument was something he learned from his father. His mind wandered back to Nebraska and the people there. Life was so much kinder, even when he messed up. It was hunting season there. He thought about going home for a couple of days. Then, he remembered the appointment had with a clearance attorney that evening.

  At 6:00 pm, Zeke drove to downtown DC to Jackmann’s Law Firm.

  “Hello, Zeke. I’m Attorney Daniel Bogsley. I understand you’re having a problem with your current clearance.”