Bringer of Fire

by Jaz Primo

  Bernard piqued my curiosity, so I shook his outstretched hand and stood aside for him to enter.

  “Certainly, come in,” I said.

  Bernard and Yalesin entered while Scott and his partner remained outside. As I scanned my living room, I realized how chaotic the condition of my house still was. I’m sure it looked like I was a real slob. Still, it wasn’t as if I’d planned to entertain visitors given all that had happened recently.

  I gestured to the kitchen.

  “Let’s sit at the table,” I suggested. “You’ll have to pardon my home’s appearance; like me, it’s been through quite a bit recently. Can I offer you something to drink? I’m afraid all I have is a variety of sports drinks, water, and maybe some cola.”

  “Nothing for us, thank you,” Bernard replied as he and Yalesin seated themselves at the table.

  Before Sanders sat down, Bernard queried, “I wonder if we might converse with you in private, Mr. Bringer?”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Bringer and I can’t comment on topics related to the investigation,” Sanders warned.

  “I can assure you, Agent Sanders, my business with Mr. Bringer has little to do with your immediate investigation.”

  I exchanged looks with Sanders, and she shrugged.

  “I have an errand to run,” Sanders said. “I’ll pick up some sandwiches for us and be back in an hour or so.”

  As she recovered her notepad from the table, I reached for my wallet.

  “I think I can afford sandwiches,” Sanders said. “Besides, I’ve seen your bank account balance.”

  My jaw clenched. It really wasn’t anybody else’s business how lean my financial condition was.

  Taking the high road from issuing my displeasure, I said, “I’ll have---”

  “I’ve seen you eat, Bringer,” she interrupted.

  “Great. Think mustard,” I said as she walked to the front door.

  “Think free,” Sanders countered with a smirk, glancing back at me before she closed the front door behind her.

  That lady could dish it out better than anyone I’d met recently. I returned to sit at the table, and noticed that Ms. Yalesin was struggling to maintain a reserved expression as she sorted through a folder of paperwork before her.

  Thankfully, Bernard was all business.

  “I’ve noticed some of your recent exploits on the news recently,” he began.

  “It’s been a busy week,” I said.

  “I’m sure it has. And I’m willing to venture that, given your busy schedule, you haven’t had an opportunity to earn a living recently.”

  I stared Bernard straight in the face, not liking his choice of topic. However, I had to admit that my protracted leave of absence was heavily impacting my financial stability. During my initial cancer treatments, I’d only barely been able to afford my utilities and house payment, much less mounting medical bills.

  Fortunately, I could continue to pay on medical bills over a seemingly unlimited period time without penalty of interest.

  That’s not to say I looked forward to the next forty years of monthly installments.

  “I have to wonder why you’ve taken such a keen interest in my income, Mr. Bernard,” I said with an edge to my voice.

  “Please forgive my directness, Mr. Bringer. I meant no offense,” he offered. “Rather, I’ve been given approval by our company’s owner, Mr. Nevis Wallace, to extend an offer of employment to you. Nuclegene Corporation could use someone like you in their ranks.”

  I remained silent as I studied his sober-looking features.

  “Please permit me to be frank, Mr. Bringer. Nuclegene has invested a great deal of time, money, and research into treating your brain cancer. The fact that we’ve been successful in curing your cancer not only brings a great deal of pride to us, but encourages us to continue our research,” Bernard continued. “Our hope is that by studying your successful experience, we can refine and improve our efforts, thereby helping so many other cancer patients just like you.”

  I noticed that any mention of my special abilities was notably absent.

  “So, you want to hire me to become a human guinea pig so you can create more people like me?” I asked.

  Bernard’s hand immediately rose in a gesture of protest.

  “Hardly, Mr. Bringer. I mean nothing of the sort,” he said. “Rather, as a manifestation from your cancer treatments, you embody recently-acquired talents and skills that our company would find very marketable. In addition to the non-invasive opportunity to study your physiology and our medication’s unusual side-effects, your services could help our company secure significant contractual opportunities with key government agencies.”

  I quietly considered what he’d said as I nursed my sports drink. While it was true that my efforts at college were intended to help me secure a position with a prominent company, my present circumstances provided me an edge that hadn’t been a part of my initial plan. If not for my body’s manifested talents, I would likely have merited little more than a passing glance from either Bernard or the company; just another job applicant vying for limited position openings.

  Wasn’t it reasonable for me to take advantage of what my newfound skills had afforded me?

  Then another thought crossed my mind; something Bernard had said, or rather, hadn’t said.

  “Precisely, what sort of marketable opportunities do I provide to Nuclegene?” I asked. “Circus act qualifications aside, of course.”

  Bernard’s teal eyes discreetly peered at Ms. Yalesin, who was closely observing her supervisor while she tapped on an iPad before her.

  “You and Agent Sanders seem to have developed an interesting rapport. How do you like working with the FBI, Mr. Bringer?” he asked.

  His question came out of left field and stopped my mental train as it coasted in its tracks, though whether it was due more to his reference of Agent Sanders or to working with the FBI, I wasn’t certain.

  “Well, it’s certainly better than being a key suspect in their investigations,” I replied.

  He appeared reflective for a moment.

  “I believe we can both agree upon that simple truth,” he said. “What would you say if I told you that you could continue working with the FBI on a continued basis while also being paid for your time?”

  Bernard had definitely earned my complete attention.

  “Your company can actually facilitate that?” I asked. “How, and more importantly, why?”

  “What I’m about to discuss with you is not a matter of, or for, public knowledge. I must therefore ask for your confidence before we proceed further,” he insisted.

  “Does your request include the FBI?” I asked.

  Based upon the surprised expression on his face, the question must’ve caught him slightly off guard.

  “Certainly, if you were to accept our offer, the FBI would know soon enough,” Bernard temporized. “For now, let’s keep the shared circle of information minimal, shall we?”

  That seemed reasonable enough. I nodded my assent.

  “It’s hardly a secret that, in this new era of government-corporate partnerships, many companies vie for lucrative government contracts,” Bernard explained. “To my knowledge, you’re the only person in America with your kind of unique talents and skills. That makes you highly in demand to government entities who may desire the use of those skills.”

  “Why wouldn’t they simply hire me themselves?” I asked.

  Bernard adopted a sly expression.

  “I think you’ll find that government entities tend to become mired in their own bureaucracies concerning their employees, policies, and procedures,” he said. “Add to that, those same agencies are always under the scrutiny of the press and other public advocacy groups, including labor unions.”

  I recalled similar challenges from my days in the army. Despite being a military organization, it had been rife with both politics and bureaucracy. That’s never a good combination when lives were in the balance on a minute-by-minu
te basis deep within enemy territory. It had been one of the key reasons I elected to end my military career so early.

  “Private contractors have the ability to operate outside such bureaucracies,” he continued. “We streamline the process and achieve maximum results over greatly-reduced time periods.”

  Something registered in my mind with complete clarity.

  “And if contractors screw up, government entities have plausible deniability,” I suggested.

  Bernard appeared pleased.

  “Precisely, Mr. Bringer,” he said. “However, I like to frame it that private companies save the taxpayers from unnecessary overhead expenditures such as benefits and entitlements, while also achieving government goals and objectives by leveraging private sector efficiencies. In the end, such efforts help to stimulate the economy with job opportunities for the general public.”

  It was the whole Land Reclamation and Investment in America Act spiel all over again. Once that message was stated and restated long enough, people began to believe it, and then buy into it.

  “That’s all very enlightening, Mr. Bernard,” I said. “But you still haven’t explained how your company is in such an ideal position to offer my services to the FBI.”

  Bernard absently tapped two fingertips against his lips as he stared back at me.

  “Let’s just say that our company has access to influential government leaders who are in a position to favor what we have to offer,” he replied.

  I couldn’t help but wonder how far up the ladder such influences extended, though I seriously doubted that Bernard was about to provide that level of information to me.

  “Aren’t you afraid of how unusual it might look if your company was offering contractual services to the FBI at a time when the agency is investigating terrorist activities surrounding your company’s operations?” I asked.

  I felt proud over having divined that consideration. After all, Mom and Dad hadn’t raised an idiot.

  “That might be true, except that Nuclegene Corporation stands as one of the victims of a terrorist plot,” Bernard said. “If anything, it’s highly patriotic that we would offer our company’s services to the nation at such a challenging time. And to what better agency than the FBI?”

  I had to hand it to Bernard; it appeared that he and his company had already scrutinized key publicity angles on the topic.

  “Why don’t you tell me a little bit more about a proposed salary and benefits,” I said. “Then I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

  As Ms. Yalesin effortlessly produced a number of documents for me to peruse, Bernard’s expression transformed to that of someone who’d just found out he’d won the lottery.

  Chapter 17

  Bernard and Yalesin had already left my house by the time Sanders returned with our sandwiches. She’d been as surprised as I’d been once I confided to her about the discussion I’d just finished with Bernard.

  “May I ask what they offered you?” Sanders asked.

  I was quite happy to share that information with her.

  Her eyes nearly bulged from her head. “Holy crap, Bringer!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know anyone in the bureau making that kind of money. Well, except perhaps Deputy Director Wainright’s boss, though I’m not even certain of that.”

  It was true the proposed salary was at least ten times more than I could’ve hoped from even a competitive entry-level executive salary. Suddenly, the reality of paying off my medical bills took on a much shorter timeframe.

  All I had to do was agree to the terms and all that went with it.

  “Bernard presented me with a host of intriguing possibilities,” I said. “However, I wonder if there were things that he may have left unsaid that might trouble me.”

  “Yeah? Like what?” she asked.

  “I don’t know precisely,” I said with a frown. “It just seems there’s frequently strings attached to a lot of really good deals.”

  “I admit, it does sound a bit too good to be true,” Sanders said. “However, if you decided to take him up on his offer, you can buy our sandwiches from now on.”

  I grinned, unwrapping the turkey breast sandwich she’d placed before me.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Hey, you even remembered the mustard.”

  She cast me a smirk that appeared particularly alluring on her.

  “I am an FBI agent, after all.”

  As we ate, I briefly recounted my run-in with the unknown men earlier that afternoon, as well as the nature of my practice session outside of the city limits.

  “I should commend you for finding some place relatively out of sight and out of harm’s way to others for you to practice, I suppose,” Sanders said.

  Then we talked about the state of the investigation.

  “Where do we go from here?” I asked.

  “Until we get more leads on our renegade shooter or receive more clues as to the identity of the mysterious woman that Maria alluded to, we’re sort of dead in the water. We could interview Justine Ziska in New York, though we’re still gathering intelligence on her.”

  “So, what about Folker?” I asked.

  “Or Volker,” Sanders said with a shrug. “Either way, we have nothing definitive to go on at this point.”

  Once we finished eating, Sanders rose from the table.

  “Going back to the office?” I asked.

  “Nah, too tired,” she said.

  She stretched her arms above her head, and I took a moment to appreciate her slender physique and the way that her fitted shirt clung to her. I found her to be a very attractive woman. Of particular interest, she had rather kissable-looking lips.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Me? Nothing,” I said evasively.

  Uh-oh, dangerous territory, Bringer.

  She briefly frowned at me as she slipped her suit jacket back on.

  “Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow,” she suggested. “There’s no need to have you sitting around the office when there’s nothing for you to do. I’ll call you if something comes up.”

  “Sure, thanks,” I said as I followed her to the front door.

  To my surprise, the sun had already set. Time had definitely flown since that afternoon.

  Sanders turned back to me as she stepped onto the front porch. Her hazel eyes glistened back at me in the glow of the porch light.

  “I have to admit that, despite the dire circumstances surrounding this case, it’s been great working with you, Bringer,” she offered. “I feel bad that the bureau’s leveraging your abilities for free. And if you do choose to take the job with Nuclegene, maybe it can be a win-win situation for us both.”

  I frowned, not really certain if there were multiple layers to her last statement. However, I had to admit the idea of spending more time around her was certainly appealing; not to mention the ability to secure an enviable level of income.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I feel much the same way, Sanders.”

  After she left, I contemplated the generous offer that Bernard had extended to me. It had to have been an indication of how badly Nuclegene wanted to secure my services, including assisting their research and development division in perfecting the formula that had given me my abilities.

  Certainly, the idea that many more people might be cured of their cancer was a hopeful thought. However, I had to wonder if the world was better off with many more people wandering around with my level of abilities.

  Worse yet, what if their treatments were able to manifest even greater abilities than my own? How might the world be shaped by the inclusion of scores of people like me, or more powerful than me?

  I wasn’t sure that I liked those prospects very much. It seemed to me that the world was already more than volatile enough as it was.

  * * *

  I woke abruptly to the sound of my doorbell ringing. I staggered from the bed, glancing at the clock as I passed the dresser.

  It was barely seven-thirty in the morning.

  “Jus
t great,” I muttered while looking through the peephole in my front door.

  The image of Agent Sanders standing there made me groan. I slowly opened the front door.

  “I thought you said I had the day off, Sanders,” I said sleepily.

  Her brow arched as she regarded me standing before her wearing only army green sweatpants. I folded my arms before my bare chest and leaned against the front doorjamb.

  Her expression was momentarily wistful, but quickly reverted back to her business-like demeanor as she cleared her throat. Having regained her composure, she squeezed past me to enter.

  “Aren’t you up yet? I thought you were in the army?” she half-chastised, half-teased.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked before issuing a wide-mouthed yawn.

  She rolled her eyes at me in disgust.

  “Do you happen to recall that I’m helping you with your daily whatever-it-is vitamin shot until I had time to show you how to do it?”

  Oh, yeah.

  I swept past her into the kitchen and retrieved a pre-measured syringe of vitamin solution from the refrigerator. She snatched it from my hand, and like an old pro, removed the cap by grasping it between her teeth as she rubbed my arm where the injection was to be made.

  “You could always show me how to do this right now, you know,” I prompted.

  “No time this morning,” she said. “Besides, if I don’t show you properly, you’ll just end up with air bubbles in your veins.”

  She popped the needle into my arm and deftly injected the solution. The entire process took only a matter of seconds.

  “Here,” she said, handing the empty syringe back to me.

  Then she turned and headed straight for the front door.

  “Same time tomorrow morning?” I asked. “Hey, maybe next time I’ll have coffee ready for you,” I teased.

  “Shut up, Bringer,” she growled.

  I watched her drive away with a grin.

  Then it was just me and my somewhat of a mess house, which made me feel both helpless and irritable. I needed action, not hurry-up-and-wait.

  But what else could I do at the moment?

  I cast a withering look around the inside of my house. Despite my recent endeavors, it was still a wreck. But who the hell cared about housecleaning when there were thugs out there somewhere plotting who-knows-what?