Controller

by Stephen W Bennett

  Stiles suddenly felt a concern he’d never experienced. For the first time in his life, he was with three people that had some level of psych ability that was related to his, and it worried him. One, or all three of those people had detected his command to the man that surrendered his ticket to Stiles after they entered the Men’s room. That meant at least one of them was close enough to sense the thought Stiles had sent that man. They were obviously present to guard the minds of the members of the House and Senate.

  Stiles had apparently just walked into the lion’s den of America’s psych defenders. He’d have to tread carefully, but he didn’t feel the need to leave Washington. If his ability was short range then so was theirs, so he wasn’t going to be at risk when he was over a hundred feet away. He studied their faces carefully to remember them, and made his way down to the main floor, to keep an eye on the staircase they had used.

  He’d decided to follow one of them. The woman proved to be the first one available in a matter of minutes because after she forced the stubborn man to produce an ID, she left it up to the two men and the uniformed Capitol Police to finish their ID checks. Stiles followed her at a discrete distance.

  He knew she was like him, able to make people do things, and he’d sensed what she’d sent as a group broadcast. The two men instantly reacted with their smiles, noticing what she’d done immediately, but they apparently couldn’t command people themselves or else they wouldn’t have needed her. Because they had sensed her command but didn’t obey, they were like the man he’d encountered at the Louisville mall. They sensed a Controller’s thought commands but didn’t obey them. They were essentially detectors, which made sense for them to be posted near House and Senate members if they were here to protect leaders from mind control by someone like Stiles.

  I wonder which of us is the strongest? He asked himself, following the small woman.

  Her mental commands didn’t seem very forceful to him. He was burning to know the answer, but he’d left his two guns in the rental car he’d obtained after he sent the limo driver home, knowing he couldn’t carry guns into government buildings. His car was in a parking garage, and he assumed this woman was armed. If he tested her ability to sense his commands, and she could resist and came after him, he needed to be armed and somewhere isolated, with the drop on her.

  She used a security card to pass through a door to a corridor that Stiles couldn’t pass through. He watched the door for a time, and saw a uniformed officer exit, carrying a cup of coffee, a vending machine sandwich, and something for dessert. There was at least an employee break room back there, and it was almost two PM, so that could be the man’s lunch. Stiles followed the officer to see if he could follow him to an isolated location that was more than a hundred feet from the Capitol Building.

  He was in luck. The man walked to a tree covered area along a paved path where he found a bench to share with an older woman, and he sat down to open his sandwich. It was far enough away from any building that Stiles felt he could conduct a test, then move away to observe if there was any activity after the fact. He moved behind the man by about eighty feet, behind another tree, and directed a specific command to him to fold up his sandwich in its wrapper, and set it down with his coffee and dessert snack on the bench, and take a short nap.

  The officer did as commanded, his head slumped with his chin on his chest, and Stiles moved another hundred feet away. He watched for anyone official looking to hurry out of the Capitol building, looking for who had sent mental commands. After five minutes, he walked closer, and woke the man with a thought, and told him to resume eating. The woman had departed when the man fell asleep, so Stiles approached the bench and sat down in her spot.

  Hi, friend. I guess you have to eat breakroom food today? He mentally asked. It’s late, why did you skip lunch?

  As if he’d heard spoken questions the man said, “I missed my regular lunch break. Two of the BII spooks sent half of us on a wild goose chase.”

  I’ve heard about them. Is one a pretty, dark-complexioned woman? What is their job?

  “That must be Dalia Nadeer. She’s normally on call, not one of those that constantly wander around the edges of the chambers. They’re all BII agents, but I don't know what any of them do. She isn’t what some of us heard a couple of BII watchers call an Immune. We think the agents stationed inside the House and Senate chambers are what they call Immunes. None of us knows what that means.”

  It was becoming clear to Stiles, however. The small woman could mentally control Susceptibles, and the Immunes couldn’t be controlled but knew when someone tried to control them or others. The two men that raced up the stairs, leading the uniformed officers, were immune to Control. Those agents attempted to keep their abilities secret, but imperfectly from the police officer, since the ones that worked around them knew they were spooky.

  What does it mean to be a BII agent? Is like the FBI?

  “They’re in a new organization, called the Bureau of International Intelligence. They weren't military trained, or government employees before joining the BII. In fact, they don’t have real police training. We joke about being more frightened than a suspect when they draw their guns.”

  Do you know where Dalia lives, or when she leaves work today?

  “No idea where any of them live. The BII agents aren’t permitted to socialize with us mere mortals. They park in the employee parking garages just like we do.”

  “Where does she park?”

  He pointed, and told him the name of the garage, and said she would probably finish her twelve-hour shift at six PM. He explained that the BII people put in long hours, and there weren’t very many of them.

  Stiles obtained a few more trivial details, and then checked his watch. The man had been out here a half hour. He didn’t want anyone to come looking for him, so he directed him to forget the conversation, finish his coffee and to go back to work. Stiles needed to scout the indicated parking area and to plan his next moves.

  ****

  Nadeer was tired, and except for the probable false alarm of a weakly detected Compel issued to someone to steal their gallery ticket, the twelve-hour shift represented another boring day. It was her turn to work a long shift after getting an interesting field trip to Louisville, and tracing a rogue mind control killer. Stiles was a murderous Compeller, and he was still wandering free.

  No! He’s a Controller. She reminded herself. The first active double gene of that variation confirmed, and self-described that way. Then the team also verified the first double Immune found, in the person of Dan Grayson. Because of the absence of six agents from the Washington shift rotation, the other BII agents, particularly Immunes, had worked double shifts at times, so a twelve-hour shift wasn’t a bad day for her, by comparison, and the overtime money was good.

  The uncertain mind control alert was most likely the result of boredom and tiredness by Jerome. Someone using Compel ability to steal a gallery ticket, which was free if arranged in advance with your congressional representative, was an unlikely thing for anyone to demand. The fragmentary thoughts were at Jerome’s seventy-foot range limit, and because he believed it involved ordering someone to surrender a gallery ticket, the two Immunes had raced up to the gallery level, calling for a contingent of uniformed police to go with them.

  She had a six AM shift in the morning, for another thrilling twelve-hour day of on-call boredom. She’d have gladly given up the duty for the South Korean trip that Mike was assigned. He had no roots and was free to travel, but her work schedule had ended her most recent relationship with yet another boyfriend, who wanted more of her time than she could give. The new guy, Grayson, was the obvious best Immune choice because he was the only double Immune, and could sense direction and distance. She knew what their mission was, and was envious.

  As she drove out of the employee garage, she had no reason to notice the ordinary looking silver car that pulled away from a curb and fell in behind her. She had removed her jacket and placed her gun and
holster in the dash compartment and locked that. She intended to pick up Chinese food and go home and shower. Then she would eat while watching television news, hoping to learn more about the South Korean story.

  She wondered if Grayson and Gorka had pulled off their long-shot mission to capture the psych ability amplifier if that’s what it proved to be. She was unaware they were already on their way back to Washington.

  When she passed a small strip mall on her way home, she pulled in and parked, to visit the Happy Panda, her favorite place for Chinese take-out. It was a small family-owned business and had become one of the several frequent stops on her trips home, with too little time to spend shopping for ingredients and little inclination to cook for herself anyway.

  She locked her car and walked towards the shop. A silver car pulling into another spot several rows away didn’t draw her attention. She knew the menu well and placed her order with the woman behind the counter, who smiled and recognized the repeat customer, although a language barrier prevented more than a perfunctory interaction, and the agent paid with a credit card. Nadeer, sat on a chair at one of four small tables to await her order, while another man sat at a second table, also waiting.

  The woman behind the counter soon lifted a white bag of food onto the countertop and said something to the man, who stood to accept his order. He walked out the door, and suddenly turned around, walked back inside and picked up a couple of prepackaged condiment packages. Suddenly, he fished in his pocket for some change and dropped it in a tip jar. He smiled at the attractive small woman at the other table, said something to her, and left the little shop.

  ****

  Stiles, waiting outside the Happy Panda was looking through the shop’s front window, standing to the side. He had his semiautomatic out and held it to the left, just inside his open lightweight jacket in his right hand. It was about fifteen minutes after sunset, not fully dark yet, and not cool enough to require the casual sports coat he wore, but he needed concealment for the gun.

  He knew the BII agent was unarmed, because she’d left her black jacket in her car, and her white blouse and slender black business pants had no room for concealing a gun, or the shoulder holster, which he knew she was wearing earlier. BII agents dressed much like the Secret Service protective details he’d seen, and she had been wearing an earpiece earlier but wasn’t now.

  Unarmed, and in a small well-lit area, it was a safe time to test to see if she could sense his commands if he sent one to another Susceptible. She hadn’t responded along with the two BII agents who came on the run when they detected Stiles commands outside the House gallery, so apparently, she hadn’t detected him then, but the two men had, and they couldn’t send mental commands. Nevertheless, Stiles had sensed her commands to the stubborn citizen to produce his identification. If she reacted now, the store window wouldn’t protect her, and he knew she was unarmed.

  He let the male customer walk out the door, and before the door swung shut, he sent, Go back inside. You need teriyaki sauce.

  Stiles kept his eyes locked on the agent, and his grip on his gun tightened when she glanced back at the man catching the slowly closing door, as he returned to the counter. But she displayed no other reaction. There was one more command sent to his test Tool. Leave a small tip in the tip jar, and say hello to the other customer.

  Stiles saw the man leave the change, turn, then spoke a single word as he left again, and the agent nodded and may have said something in return that wasn’t audible from outside. Other than that, she gave no sign she sensed the command Stiles directed specifically to the other customer. That was how he’d Controlled the ticket holder earlier. His next test would be to try to direct her.

  In several minutes, the woman at the counter placed another white bag on the countertop and smiled at the BII agent, who stood to collect her order. She turned to leave and just as she reached the door, Stiles sent, Return, and tip her a dollar.

  When she pulled out her wallet and went back to the tip jar, he knew he had her, and that he could Control her. He was positive he had the greater ability, but he took a precaution.

  You should never force your thoughts on other people. It’s rude and unattractive. That made him chuckle.

  When she walked out of the shop, he turned her in the wrong direction, towards his car, and he followed his obedient Tool, a gun always ready. He had a lot of questions, and he had nylon ties in his pocket to help secure her until he was positive he had everything he could pull out of her.

  ****

  The landing awakened the two dreamers with a loud bump and reversed thrusters when the B-1 Lancer landed at Joint Base Andrews. The two crewmen had been directed specifically by their superiors to avoid any conversation with their passengers and to make no transmissions while within South Korea’s airspace, other than for Air Traffic Control.

  The passengers were considerably less taciturn than the pilots if snoring was considered conversation, and there were occasions of crying out in his sleep for Mike Gorka. He’d moved his head side to side and clenched his fists as if fighting some assailant, but he never appeared to awaken.

  Seeing they were awake after landing the pilot said, “Welcome back to Washington, gentlemen. We’re taxing to a hanger, and we’ll stay buttoned up again until they close the doors. Just like at Osan. Can we do anything for you?”

  “Already home?” Grayson felt disoriented. It hadn’t felt like enough time had passed, although the dry sour taste in his mouth, and a full bladder, convinced him otherwise. The last question finally registered in his mind.

  He wanted to be polite, but answering nature’s call took precedence. “Just don’t block my way after we park. Captain, Lieutenant, my thanks for the great ride, and I hate to run and piss, but if I don't, I’ll piss then run.”

  “Me too,” Gorka added. “We didn’t have time to purge before we were airborne, and I don't think we can take turns waiting to use your fancy little porta-potty.” Laughing, the pilot promised they’d get out of their way quickly.

  Both Grayson and Gorka did a four-year old’s pee-pee dance as they waited for the cooler that held the head, helmet, and transmitter, to be handed down. They couldn’t leave that behind, but as soon as they held it between them, they raced towards the nearest bathroom.

  Grayson, the only one that couldn’t be Controlled, kept the cooler with him as he entered his stall and nearly ripped off his jumpsuit. He vowed to fly commercial if he ever returned to South Korea, paying for the upgrade to first class himself if he did. He had finished when there was a rapping on his stall door, and he received a strange compliment for an adult sitting on a toilet.

  “Good job Dan.”

  The Boston accent was unmistakable.

  Grayson felt all the stress he’d been under released in an instant, as he exploded with laughter. It was a full half-minute before he could say anything.

  “Golly, boss, that’s great to hear.” And another peal of laughter followed.

  The next question that came from Brogan sounded concerned and confused. “Are you OK Dan?”

  Getting his emotions under control, Grayson said, “Sorry. I surely am fine. But the last time I heard those words while sitting on a toilet was when my Mom potty trained me. The tension of the last twenty-four hours made your comment sound funny as Hell.”

  Brogan sounded flustered. “I meant the mission, of course. Not…, uh, I mean…,” Then he laughed too, and apologized. “That must have sounded ridiculous.

  “I should have waited for you to come out, but I wanted to congratulate you and Mike on achieving what I thought was an impossible mission. The President issued the order to me personally, to send a team to Seoul to get that transmitter or he’d consider disbanding the BII. After all, the previous administration organized us in secret, and the man is obsessed with erasing anything done by them. He originally thought we were reading his mind on behalf of his opposition. That’s how the female North Korean agent got close enough to influence one of his decisi
ons when he rejected our protection. He’s more appreciative of us now.”

  “Well, give me a second Sir, and I’ll offer the President a proper salute.”

  There was a rustle of clothing, the sound of a flush, and an announcement. “There! Mission accomplished, and I salute the man that made that happen.”

  He opened the stall door and walked to a sink to wash his hands.

  Brogan hastily admonished him. “Holly crap, man. Don’t joke like that in public. We’re only an executive order away from being abolished as it is. It was only his fear of being compelled again that keeps us in existence. He still refuses to believe it was a Russian agent that influenced him previously during the campaign. Now he’s convinced it was that dead North Korean woman all along, even though she wasn’t in the US at the time.”

  “Really? I hadn't heard any of the backstories of how you formed the BII, and what you’ve done to protect our government before you recruited me. I heard you mention there had been an external influence on some of our government leaders, but not who or when that happened.”

  “You won’t hear it either, from me. I was ordered not to discuss what happened, or how many times it happened with anyone, even though I was the Immune personally involved with the detection during the campaign.

  “The BII is too important to our nation’s future to let some egotistical personal whim remove the only line of defense we have. Now we know the foreign threats have just increased exponentially. That knowledge is only thanks to what you and Mike learned. I hate that it was the North Koreans, but at least that plays into the president’s bias and strengthens our importance to him personally. He can’t tolerate the idea that some fat little dictator might turn his beloved generals against their Commander in Chief. Some of our handful of Compellers are in the capitols of hostile nations on counterintelligence missions.”