Bringer of Fire

by Jaz Primo

  “Or perhaps corporate espionage,” Prichard shot back.

  “Fine. But Bestand Gesellschaft, or should I say Continuance Corporation, is a foreign corporation that, I might point out, no longer operates in the open,” Wainright noted.

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t become mired in the semantics of the investigation right now,” Tevin said. “I think we would be best served by focusing on Mr. Bringer and the contribution that he has provided to the FBI thus far.”

  Click-click.

  “Indeed,” Prichard said. “Though I would hardly offer Mr. Bringer my accolades after seeing the destruction and reading the casualty report from the FBI’s botched Chicago operation,” she countered.

  “Interesting point. And how’s that latest regime-change business going over in Afghanistan for the CIA right now, Ms. Prichard?” I asked matter-of-factly.

  “Bringer,” Sanders whispered harshly.

  However, Deputy Director Wainright adopted a satisfied expression.

  “Touché, I believe,” he muttered while nodding deferentially to me. “Three successive regime changes in less than twelve years begin to look a little tiresome.”

  Okay, so maybe Wainright seemed mildly odd, and he dressed somewhat dated-looking, but I was growing to like him.

  Click-click, click-click.

  I also found Ms. Prichard’s pen-clicking quickly getting on my nerves.

  “Very well, then,” Prichard conceded. “Let’s discuss Mr. Bringer, shall we?”

  Agent Denton provided a brief recount of the Wallace Building explosion, as well as the initial stages of the FBI’s investigation.

  “However, it’s highly irregular that Mr. Bringer would be sheltered by the FBI, and in fact, almost be treated as a consultant of sorts given his role in the case,” Prichard said.

  “Mr. Bringer’s unique set of abilities has been instrumental to advances in the investigation,” Denton said. “Not to mention he’s saved the life of at least one of our agents on more than one occasion.”

  “Yes, let’s talk about Mr. Bringer’s abilities,” Tevin agreed.

  Click-click.

  I cast a frown in Prichard’s direction and saw the corners of her mouth upturn slightly in response.

  “When did your abilities begin to surface, Mr. Bringer?” Tevin asked.

  “Following my last cancer treatment before the explosion,” I said.

  My last official treatment, at least.

  Click-click.

  “And had you been expecting them to manifest by that time?” Prichard asked.

  “I expected to be cured of brain cancer, Ms. Prichard,” I replied. “I had no reason to expect anything more than the typical side effects associated with chemotherapy.”

  “So, you didn’t know that the drug you were being given was experimental?” Tevin asked.

  “Experimental? Yes,” I said. “But at no time did anyone allude to—”

  My mind suddenly drew a blank on how Maria had classified my abilities.

  “Telekinetic abilities,” Sanders supplemented.

  I gave her an appreciative smile.

  “I believe you read my mind, Agent Sanders,” I quipped.

  She smirked and a number of others chuckled.

  Click-click.

  “How amusing,” Prichard flatly remarked. “Nevertheless, you failed to report your newfound abilities to Nuclegene Corporation. Why is that, Mr. Bringer?”

  I paused to consider her question. Why indeed?

  “At first, I was unsettled by what was happening to me,” I said. “I thought I was hallucinating, in fact. Once I was convinced otherwise, I did contact someone with the company.”

  “And would that someone be Maria Edwards?” Prichard asked.

  “Yes, it was Maria.”

  “The classified reports I read indicate you can move objects,” Tevin said.

  “That’s correct,” I confirmed.

  Click-click.

  “And are we to believe that you can also stop bullets?” Prichard asked.

  “If it weren’t for Mr. Bringer---” Sanders began.

  Prichard cast her icy stare.

  Click-click, click-click.

  “I don’t believe that we asked for your input yet, Agent Sanders,” Prichard admonished.

  I’d already had more than enough of Ms. Prichard and her condescending attitude, as well as her damned annoying pen.

  I opened my right palm and her ink pen flew from her hand into mine like a magnet attracting iron.

  There were a number of surprised gasps. As a matter of fact, the surprised expression on Prichard’s face was priceless.

  “You’re a real menace with an ink pen, Ms. Prichard,” I said in an even tone. “Would you care to stand up and shoot at me now so we can test my bullet-stopping ability?”

  The room fell silent and I felt Sanders’ hand touch my left arm lightly. Deputy Director Wainright caught my eye as he folded his arms across his chest.

  His look was one of genuine amusement.

  “That’s Special Agent Prichard, Mr. Bringer,” Prichard chastised. “And I’m not in the habit of having things taken from me like a child, so I suggest you relinquish my pen.”

  “Certainly,” I replied with satisfaction and opened my palm.

  The ink pen shot upward into the ceiling tile above us.

  All eyes looked up at the ceiling while Sanders’ hand tightened around my left arm.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Tevin muttered with near-fascination.

  Sanders stifled a groan while Agent Denton barely contained his amusement.

  Prichard glowered at me from across the table.

  “You’re a very disagreeable man, Mr. Bringer,” Prichard said coldly. “That’s a dangerous quality for someone with your abilities.”

  “Actually, Special Agent Prichard, I’m quite agreeable,” I said. “That is, when I’m treated agreeably. And so far, I’ve only been dangerous to those trying to kill me, my family, or other innocent people.”

  “Very well-stated, Mr. Bringer,” Wainright said, steepling his fingers before him in an almost meditative-looking fashion. “Yet another good reason why the Bureau has found merit in your continued assistance. How do you feel about that?”

  I shrugged.

  “Just pitchin’ in where I can,” I replied.

  “You see, Prichard?” Wainright plainly asked. “The man sounds very agreeable to me. What say you, Tevin?”

  Tevin’s gaze pivoted between both Wainright and Prichard before settling upon me.

  “I have no objections, though I’m primarily here as an observer to collect information for others,” Tevin diplomatically stated.

  All eyes turned to Special Agent Prichard, who still regarded me with unbridled contempt.

  “Given that I have no authority to take Mr. Bringer into our custody at this time, I don’t see that further dialogue with him would be productive to the CIA,” Prichard said. “However, that assessment may be subject to change at some future point. And, of course, we will continue our own investigation into Continuance Corporation. It is, after all, a national security concern that extends beyond our country’s borders.”

  Prichard rose from her seat, and her assistant, Russell Gasby, practically launched out of his seat to follow her.

  “Good day, ladies and gentlemen,” Prichard offered in a practiced tone. “Come, Gasby,” she ordered, leading the way from the room.

  After the conference room door shut behind them, Wainright looked up at the ceiling and casually observed, “I do believe the lady has forgotten her ink pen.”

  As far as I was concerned, Deputy Director Wainright was okay in my book.

  * * *

  Following additional discussion regarding the status of the investigation, the meeting concluded. Despite being NSA, Bob Tevin graciously thanked me for volunteering my services to the FBI and said he hoped to visit with me at some future time.

  Following Tevin’s departure, Deputy Director
Wainright took me aside and shook my hand. “Bringer, you really have done the Bureau a service thus far. It’s a shame I don’t already have you on the payroll. But that’s just between us, mind you. The circumstances are delicate and difficult at best at the moment,” he offered.

  There was an appeal to being on someone’s payroll. I’d already been off work more than I should have been to maintain my meager lifestyle.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Nice to meet you, too, Deputy Director.”

  Wainright took Agent Denton in tow and headed down the hall toward the main office as Sanders cast me a cross look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Really mature, Bringer,” she admonished, looking up at the ceiling where the ink pen remainder lodged in the ceiling tile.

  I held out my hand and the pen sprang into my open palm. I smiled as I offered it to her.

  She rolled her eyes at me.

  “No, thanks,” she said. “You absolutely earned that little souvenir.”

  She turned and walked out of the conference room, her heels clicking loudly on the hallway’s tile floor.

  “I can always use a spare pen,” I said, pocketing it and walking after her.

  “You do realize that you just made a formidable enemy back there,” she challenged once I’d caught up to her.

  We walked into the office and over to her desk where I commandeered her guest chair.

  “Ha,” I said. “I’ve met people like Prichard before. Those CIA types are way too full of themselves in my opinion. They don’t exactly value the term team. Besides, Wainright didn’t seem to mind so much.”

  “First of all, I’m confident that not everyone in the CIA is like Prichard. And second, Wainright and Prichard already have a storied history with each other,” Sanders said as she logged onto her computer. “Rumor has it, they’re always in competition with one another. However, you just came off like some egotistical wonder boy who’s showing off his talents. Mark my words, you haven’t heard the last of Prichard.”

  Mark my words? That seemed a bit theatrical to me.

  “Don’t you mean, I’ll rue the day?” I teased.

  She gave me a dark look. “Shut up, Bringer.”

  What had gotten into her all of the sudden?

  “Look, you know as well as I do, I didn’t show Prichard half of what I can do,” I said. “And she can come knocking on my door anytime. I don’t have any interest in the CIA. Besides, their agency’s mission is based outside of the US, not inside.”

  She exhaled with exasperation as her fingers pecked across her keyboard.

  “So, what’s next on our agenda?” I asked.

  She stopped typing.

  “Our agenda?”

  I could tell by her expression I wasn’t her favorite person at the moment.

  “I’m going to file some reports based upon our latest exploits. Then I plan to research what we know in conjunction with additional clues being provided by our lab and forensic teams. And I’m still waiting on updates from the team investigating loose ends back in Chicago and the team following Justine Ziska in New York,” she explained. “None of which involves throwing objects around the room, setting fires to buildings, or causing general havoc or mayhem.”

  “I get the impression you’re annoyed with me right now,” I said.

  She glared back at me.

  “I could help out with those reports,” I offered.

  “Not likely. Unlike you, they’re official. Besides, I think we could both use a little time out, Bringer,” she said. “Take a few hours off. Maybe go home and catch up on some sleep. The investigators are finished with your house, so it’s all yours again. I’ll call you later in the afternoon.”

  “Fine with me,” I said with a shrug.

  I glanced at my watch, realizing that it was already mid-morning.

  I’d barely made it halfway across the room when Sanders called, “And, Bringer…try to stay out of trouble for just a couple of hours.”

  I winked and gave her a half-salute.

  “I’ll be a model citizen.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she retorted and returned her attention to her computer screen.

  Chapter 15

  Fortunately, the ever-appealing Agent Lana Collins offered to drop me off at my hotel to check out of my room and pick up my car. I confess, I found the attractive agent to be of more than just a passing interest. And I didn’t have to be a mind reader to tell that she seemed at least mildly curious about me.

  Still, I thanked her and let her drive away without either of us saying anything further.

  I could only imagine how pleased Sanders would be with me if I’d actually asked Collins for a date; not that Sanders would mind on her own account.

  Or would she?

  Mere seconds of wily contemplation took place before banishing those thoughts into the farthest recesses of my mind. I had more pressing matters of immediate concern.

  Upon returning to my house, I straightened up the overturned furniture and made some sense out of the chaos. The process was relatively benign enough for me to contemplate everything that had happened during the past few days.

  Eventually, my thoughts gravitated back to Nevada and my newfound ability to hold fire at bay with my shielding talent. I recalled the fire that hovered above my hands following that feat, and it made me wonder if I could duplicate the effect.

  I opened my palm and willed fire to appear.

  Nothing.

  Back to work.

  Two hours later, the house was relatively passable. Meaning, of course, my sister would only give me hell, rather than faint straight away, if she saw my home’s present state. Mom, on the other hand, might not have been so forgiving. Both had razzed me for years about my bachelor habits.

  Housecleaning aside, and more importantly in my mind, I was no closer to duplicating the “hands on fire” event that had taken place in Henderson, Nevada.

  That’s when the closest person I had to a technical consultant came to mind.

  Maria.

  * * *

  I called Maria before heading over to her house. She’d been home only a few hours, and I felt guilty for imposing upon her, but I couldn’t help feeling that I needed to master as many useful abilities as possible for what might still lie ahead.

  When I pulled into her driveway, I was happy to find a police car parked on the street with an officer in it. I showed him my FBI VIP badge, and he cleared my entry with another officer who was apparently inside the house.

  I was happy the authorities were taking Maria’s security seriously.

  The imposing female corporal who met me at the front door looked as if she could easily hold her own.

  As soon as I crossed the threshold, Maria practically leapt into my arms. Her slim body felt so frail that I held her like a china doll. The officer discreetly slipped outside, pulling the front door shut behind her.

  “Thank you again, Logan,” she breathed into my ear.

  I closed my eyes and held her close, thankful that we’d found her in time. The warm, satisfied sensation flooding through me made me feel like the second-greatest man in the world.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw Maria’s daughter, Lauren, peeking at me from the hallway. I smiled at her and she grinned back at me before retreating down the hall. More than saving Maria, I’d reunited a mother with her children.

  “I can never repay you for saving me,” Maria whispered.

  “No need. However, if it’s not too much of an imposition, I could use your help,” I softly suggested.

  She pulled out of our embrace and looked into my eyes. Her telltale smirk and arched brow spoke volumes.

  “I haven’t known you long, but I already recognize that look. Let’s go sit down on the couch, hero,” she suggested.

  She was the second person that week to call me hero. Even jokingly, I wished I’d felt more deserving of the moniker.

  Within the hour, I’d explained everything that had
happened, as well as described what I was trying to accomplish.

  She held my right hand in both of hers and caressed my palm with her fingertips.

  “Logan, I think you might be looking at this all wrong,” she said. “You need to stop trying to mentally force everything into happening. Like with your shield ability, you just need to try and let it happen as you concentrate.”

  I clenched my jaw.

  That’s what I’ve been trying to do, for Christ’s sake.

  “You don’t understand,” I tried to explain. “It doesn’t feel the same when I try making fire.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Wait,” she said.

  I fell silent and watched as she stared at my hand, as if she was studying it.

  “Did you try concentrating on the feeling that you felt in your hand?”

  “The feeling?” I asked.

  “Yes. You told me it was like a prickling feeling in your hands when you shielded the fire,” she said.

  I thought about it for a moment.

  “Like a numbing sensation,” I said.

  She nodded.

  I held my palm open before me and intently stared at it, trying to think about the fire and the feelings that I had felt.

  “Close your eyes,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t look,” she explained. “Just concentrate on the feeling.”

  I closed my eyes and focused on recreating the feeling that I remembered from the experience. I felt a strange sensation go through my arm, so I continued to focus on thoughts of fire and the subsequent numbness.

  After a few minutes, I was convinced that my hand was mimicking the desired sensations.

  Maria softly ordered, “Logan, keep concentrating, but open your eyes.”

  I slowly opened my eyes and was surprised to see flames licking upward an inch or so above my palm. The numb, tingling sensations cascaded through my hand and across the skin of my palm.

  “That’s just flaming wonderful,” I muttered as I rapidly waved my hand to extinguish the flames.

  She giggled as I duplicated the flame-generating effort a number of times. It seemed to become easier with each instance.

  “Now, Logan, find someplace private to practice some more,” she said. “Just try not to burn down your house in the process.”