Class Fives: Origins (20 page)

Dan waited for some kind of clarification, but none came.

“Look, fellas,” he said at last, hoping he sounded reasonable, “Unless you have reason to believe that Mr. Malloy is engaging in some questionable activity, then I don’t see any probable cause for you to even be here. So, do you have any probable cause?”

White turned to regard him again.

“We suspect that the subject possesses physical capabilities well beyond what is normal for his demographic group, based on sex, size, weight, age and other factors.”

He turned back to fix on the house. Dan stared at him.

“Meaning what?” he said.

“Meaning,” White responded, “He represents an unclassified unknown.”

Dan nodded, patiently.

“Okay,” he said reasonably, “Suppose he does. Does that matter? He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?”

White turned to regard him once more.

“Immaterial,” he said. “The potential exists.”

Dan regarded him evenly, beginning to realize that he was dealing with something here that was rooted in an agenda and unknown set of guidelines that were beyond his understanding.

“So,” he said, “You’re just going to sit here all day and… what? Wait until he does something spooky? You might want to send out for a pizza and a couple empty bottles to pee in, because it’ll probably be a long stake-out.”

“We are prepared for any eventuality,” White responded flatly.

“Right,” Dan said, slowly. “Look, I think you should know, he knows you’re out here. He called me. He thinks I put you guys up to this. So now I’ve got to go talk to him, explain that I have nothing to do with you guys bugging him. And you should also know that he’s really kind of pissed off at the moment, and that is not a good thing. So you might want to come along with me and apologize to him, maybe just talk to the guy, tell him what you want. It might save a whole lot of unnecessary mess. I mean, you really don’t want this guy pissed off. Trust me on that.”

White regarded him for a long moment, then turned to look at Jones who continued to stare out the window toward the house.

“He knows you’re out here,” Dan repeated, “So he’s not going to put on a show for you. And if you try to push him or something, you might just set him off. And you really don’t want that.”

White turned back to regard him once more.

“Have you witnessed his capabilities?”

Dan smiled, almost smugly.

“Well, I witnessed something. But I get the feeling he’s capable of quite a bit more than what I saw.”

White stared at him probingly, then once again swung his gaze to where Jones sat. After a moment Jones nodded. White turned back to Dan.

“Agreed,” he said.

“Okay, wait here. I need to go talk to him first, make sure he’s calmed down. And I’d recommend that you deal fairly with him. I wouldn’t lie about anything because if he finds out…”

He let the statement hang unfinished, then turned to give Jim a nod and a motion of his hand to remain in the cruiser. Jim returned the nod and swung his gaze to where the two men remained in the other vehicle.

Dan turned and moved off toward the house.

In a minute he was stepping up onto the porch just as the door swung open. Roger stood, stony-faced, almost glaring at him.

“Hi,” Dan said, quietly. “I have to apologize. I think I fucked up.”

Roger stared at him for a long moment, then stepped aside, allowing Dan to enter the house.

“Those two guys are named White and Jones. They’re from Homeland Security. And I don’t know why, but they’ve taken an interest in you.”

“You told them,” Roger said sharply, bitterness in his tone.

“No,” Dan said firmly. “I wouldn’t do that. But I did copy down your license number and asked someone to run it for me. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have done that, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to get in touch with me again, and…”

His voice trailed off as his thought dissolved unfinished, leaving only the embarrassing implication in its wake.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I think they hacked into our system somehow, saw that I’d run your plate right after the accident, put two and two together.”

“Why are they watching me?” Roger interrupted, his voice tight.

Dan shook his head.

“I’m not sure. They’re not the friendliest guys I ever met. In fact, they seem like a couple of tight-ass Federal pricks. But I’ve recommended that they just come in and talk to you, if that’s okay. Otherwise I get the feeling they’re just going to keep sitting out there.”

“Talk about what?” Roger responded, but his tone had settled away from anger toward sullenness.

Dan shrugged.

“Only one way to find out,” he said.

“Can’t you make them go away?” Roger asked, a glint of hopefulness in his eyes.

Dan sighed and shook his head.

“Sorry. They’re Feds. They don’t listen to local authorities.”

Roger regarded him, his features tense, then slowly sagging into a kind of weary sadness.

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” he muttered.

“I can understand that. And I’m really sorry. This was my fault. But it was bound to happen eventually, don’t you think? You couldn’t keep hiding it forever. Somebody would have noticed, sooner or later.”

Roger turned away from the open door and shuffled into the small living room, turning and sinking carefully onto the couch.

“You tell them,” he said ominously, “That I am not going to be anybody’s guinea pig. The moment I think they plan to take me anywhere, I’m going to get very, very uncooperative.”

“I know,” Dan responded, soothingly. “But just hear them out. Maybe it’s nothing.”

Roger looked up at him, his eyes deeply sad.

“I just want to be left alone,” he said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. They should just leave me alone.”

“I agree,” Dan responded. “So let’s hear what they have to say and take it from there.”

Roger remained still, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room.

“I don’t think they’re going to go away until they’ve at least talked to you,” he added quietly.

Roger sighed deeply and nodded.

Dan moved out the front door, stepping into the yard and looking over at where the black car was parked. He raised a beckoning arm. A moment later the car doors opened and the two men stepped out. Behind them, Jim got out of the cruiser and moved to follow them toward Roger’s small house.

Dan stood aside to let them enter the foyer, and closed the door behind them.

“Why don’t you guys have a seat,” he said, stepping into the living room.

White and Jones stood regarding Roger as if analyzing him.

“Please,” Dan added, a hint of quiet insistence in his voice, “Sit down.”

White and Jones moved and settled into the two chairs that faced the couch at an angle, barely perching on the edges, their backs straight, bodies tense. Jim stayed back, leaning against the wide, open archway from the foyer.

“Now,” Dan said, “Why don’t you guys explain what it is you’re doing here? Mr. Malloy does have a right to know.”

White turned toward Jones, who stared at where Roger sat slumped on the couch.

“Homeland Security,” he began, his voice flat, “Has opened up a new operational area to look for unusual potential threats previously not considered, related to recent advances in sciences and technology. It has been determined that such threats could be developed covertly with very little data leak, minimizing our information inflow and limiting our ability to obtain a successful prevention. Initially the focus was on nuclear, chemical and biological threats. Since it is now possible for a very small terror cell to obtain hazardous materials with very few security leaks, it has become necessary to take a more aggressive investigative posture. Unlike regular law enforcement, we cannot afford to react post-incident and focus on apprehension. An incident might involve a catastrophic nuclear or biological detonation. Our purpose is to prevent that.”

Roger sighed, not bothering to look up at the stiffly seated man.

“Why pick on me, then? I don’t have a bomb.”

“That is understood,” Jones responded. “However, we have had to expand our purview to include lower probability threats. What you might call the cutting edge sciences.”

“Such as what?” Jim interrupted.

Jones turned to regard him blankly.

“Anything that hasn’t been considered as a serious possibility until now.”

“Can you give an example?” Dan encouraged.

Jones turned to regard White who seemed to consider a moment, then spoke.

“A cellular biologist in a hostile territory recently completed successful generation of an airborne super-virus with a mortality rate of 100 percent. He did the work himself in a private lab and only reported to a single superior of his government. We intercepted a single text message related to it, and were able to neutralize the threat less than a week prior to the intended release of that virus within the continental United States.”

“You’re shitting me,” Jim whispered, stunned.

White looked up at him.

“We never reference security threats for humorous purposes,” he responded tonelessly.

“But you stopped them, right?” Jim encouraged.

“The threat was eliminated, yes,” White replied.

“What’s all this got to do with me?” Roger said wearily, “I’m not a biologist.”

“We have to assess your threat potential,” Jones said.

Roger’s eyes shot up and fixed on him, his expression tightening suddenly.

“My what?” he choked, his anger rising.

“Roger Dean Malloy,” White began reciting, “Age thirty-five, date of birth, October 8
^th
, Grand Rapids, Michigan. Attended the University of North Carolina, degree in Computer Science. Partial scholarship. No significant outstanding debts, no indication of aberrant behavior. Single, lives alone. No membership in political organizations, not registered to vote. No known criminal associates. Net worth within parameters for operation of independent computer consulting services.”

White fell silent.

“You appear statistically average in every known demographic,” Jones said. “The perfect cover identity for a hostile operative. We are here to assess your threat potential,” he concluded simply.

Roger leaned quickly forward, planting his forearms on his knees, his hands balling into trembling fists. He glared at Jones with eyes rapidly clouding with a growing fury.

“You think,” he managed to croak, his voice trembling, “I’m a threat? You dig up my whole miserable life, and you think I made it up? You think I’m hiding something?”

“Aren’t you?” Jones said evenly.

The silence was electric with terrible things not yet arrived. Then Roger spoke in a low sound, almost a growl.

“Dan, give me your gun,” he said.

“Dan stiffened, suddenly feeling the situation slipping to a place where he would not be able to control it.

“What? No, Roger…”

Roger turned to glare at him.

“I need to show whether I’m a threat or not,” he said, his inflection reasonable on top of trembling anger.

Jones regarded Roger for a long moment, then turned to exchange a glance with White, who paused, then returned a very slight nod. Jones reached inside his suit jacket and extracted a large, dark pistol.

Dan was instantly alert, his hand instinctively dropping to his own weapon and flipping the safety strap, unsure what was about to happen. Behind him, Jim straightened and his own hand dropped to his holster.

Jones half-rose, extended the gun and placed it on the coffee table before where Roger sat, trembling, then eased himself back onto his chair.

“What have you been hiding, Mr. Malloy?” Jones said. “What are you capable of?”

Roger stared down at the pistol, his fists twitching.

The room fell deathly silent.

Just as Dan was about to say something, attempt to ease the blistering tension, Roger’s arm shot out and he plucked up the gun from the table. He flicked off the safety, raised it, jammed the barrel into his mouth, closed his lips tightly around it and pulled the trigger. The report, though muffled, was still startling, causing Dan and Jim to take a short step back even as they both yanked their weapons clear of their holsters.

Roger pulled the trigger again, causing another muted bang. He yanked the barrel of the gun from his mouth, jammed it into his cupped hand and fired again. The hammer-blow noise echoed sharply off the walls.

Roger’s hand shot up, the pistol dropped into his palm and his fingers closed on it, instantly crumpling it like a piece of paper origami into an ugly, twisted lump of dark metal. He leaned forward and dropped the ruined weapon on the coffee table. His other hand swung forward and he dropped the bullet beside it, then spit the remaining lumps of metal on top of them.

His gaze shot up and fixed on Jones, hotly.

“If I am a threat,” he growled menacingly, “What the fuck are
you
gonna do about it?”

Dan was stunned, his own sidearm hanging in his hand, utterly useless.

Roger’s rage seemed to bleed quickly away and he lowered his head, his breath deepening.

“All my life,” he choked, “I’ve been trying to just be normal. Just… ordinary. I just want people to leave me alone. But this… thing… every single day… I can’t stop it. I can’t even control it. I have to watch every fucking thing I do, all day long. Sooner or later I forget, just for a second, and I wind up breaking… everything.”

He gave a sharp, bitter laugh, wet with the tears that were now coursing down his face.

“I go through a dozen keyboards a week with my work. I forget for one instant and I wind up driving my finger right through the desktop. Do you know what it’s like, living like that? I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to just… stop it. Just escape it. For one day. But I can’t. It won’t let me. I don’t even know what the Hell it is. And I don’t want to know, I just want it to stop. That’s all. I just want it to go away.”

The awkward silence hung in the room as Roger lowered his head into his hands. At last Jones turned to White.

“Assessment?” he said.

White considered for a long moment before speaking.