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When they arrived at the building in Washington, D.C., where Director Roosevelt kept his office, they circled the building and parked in a nearby parking deck. It was long past quitting time for the day shift, and there was ample parking available in the upper levels. Crush parked the vehicle, and he set the emergency brake.
“I doubt the director is in this late,” said Pound as he placed his hands across his eyes and wiped the growing exhaustion out of his eyes. “It’s after 10:00 pm on a weeknight.”
“Oh, you would be surprised,” Crush replied. “Besides, I sent a text from the phone indicating a meeting here and now. Whoever was trying to call the victim will certainly be curious about the text I wrote. They’ll also wonder why the phone wasn’t answered when they called.” They exited the car and locked the doors, and then they walked out into the cold night. When they ascended the front steps of the federal building, they met the security guard at the front desk. They each signed in and showed their identification to her, and she buzzed the director’s office and waited for a return call. The desk phone rang, and she picked it up and listened to the instructions. Within a few minutes, she had escorted them to the elevator and unlocked it with a security key and code. They were on the way up to the fifth floor and studying the security camera nervously in the top corner of the low ceiling. Inside the compartment, they listened to a botched version of a classic seventies rock and roll tune featuring lead saxophone where distorted guitar should have been. Pound saluted the lens, and Crush shook his head.
“Frickin’ bureaucrats,” the cat-man mumbled to himself, and when the bell rang for the fifth floor, Crush was out of the elevator before the doors could slide between the grooves of the car. The extravagant hallway had a rich, warm feel with the dark oak wainscoting on the walls and ornate Asian rugs along the walnut flooring. Pound ran to catch up with him, and he grabbed his arm to ask him a question. Crush stopped in the hallway and patiently waited for his friend to speak, and a wave of cold air swept down through the space where they stood.
“I have met the director before when the Doc was on vacation, and he was very brusque with me in the meeting room,” Pound explained, and Crush remembered. He had sent Pound and Seth to the director’s group meeting in Dr. Tatum’s absence. “Before we go into his office, do you have any advice or tips for me?” Crush pondered it for a moment, and though he believed that Pound should be himself no matter how Director Roosevelt felt about him, he was able to come up one good suggestion.
“Yes,” Crush said, and his eyebrows furled down to almost bury his eyes in the most serious fashion. “Do not touch the lamp.” He let that sink into his partner’s conscience, and then patted him with one hand on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
They paced down to door 517, and the name plate on the door read, “H. R. Roosevelt, Director of the DAM”. The air at this end of the hall was several degrees cooler, and Pound understood where the cold chill he had felt before must have come from. Crush lifted his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could touch the wood, the door itself cracked open and squeaked inward, as if it knew who they were and expected their entry. Crush pushed it the rest of the way open, however, to reveal a shadowy room inside which was dimly lit by a single desk lamp. That was of no consequence to Crush since he could see in the dark, but Pound hesitated to step inside unless he was beckoned. The casters of a desk chair juddered across the floor inside, and the body of a person from the neck down came within the confines of the inadequate lighting. The hands crossed confidently, and the chin stayed above the shine of the unusual lamp as the man held his head high above the line that separated darkness from light. Director Roosevelt’s eyes remained in the dark, and his lips stayed silent. Crush cleared his throat and started the conversation.
“Good evening, Director,” Crush started. “I apologize for this sudden and very unplanned meeting.”
“It is rather late, cat-man,” Director Roosevelt grunted.
“Yes, it is, and again, I apologize,” Crush repeated.
“The evening grows longer with every word, you know,” Roosevelt pointed out. “Spit it out, if you can.” Crush’s boldness seemed to grow with that ill-mannered comment, but he maintained his composure despite.
“First of all, I suppose that you were briefed on our latest mission by Dr. Tatum. Well, at least you were told about the start of the latest mission. The rest is in this report,” Crush began, and he placed the manila envelope down on the desktop for the director to open. “After a very long adventure in a land that we found to be quite hostile, we have returned, and we have tried to make contact with the department. To our dismay, no one was available to help us at the home office.” At this, Roosevelt leaned forward and spoke without even acknowledging the report that Crush had placed on the desk.
“You can imagine that with such a long time passing without communication from you or Pound, we assumed that you were not coming back,” Roosevelt replied, and Crush could hear Pound gasp under his breath. “In your stead, I sent Dr. Tatum along with Seth Hogan on another mission, one even graver than your own, given the circumstances.”
“One even graver? Are you kidding? Seth, sure, he can handle a tough assignment with his experience,” Crush replied and continued without waiting for an answer. “But Dr. Tatum? She isn’t even a field agent. Why would you do that?”
“You ask an awful lot of questions at once, Crush,” Roosevelt commented firmly.
“That’s because I need an awful lot of answers at once,” Crush countered, and it was obvious that his patience was wearing thin. Director Roosevelt sat as still as a dead man.
“I see. Dr. Tatum passed the same boot camp that all agents are required to take part in, and since I demoted her from manager, I have had to fill in as the acting leader of the group,” Roosevelt explained, and both Crush and Pound gave away expressions of surprise at this unfortunate news. “She followed my orders, and as the director, I don’t have to explain my orders to you. Your job is to follow my directives wherever they may lead.” He emphasized ‘your’ by pointing down at the desktop with his index finger and ‘my’ by placing his hand on his chest. Crush waited a moment to let this news sink into his bones, and when he had digested the sudden change in leadership sufficiently, he suppressed the anger that had been building behind a calm, steady face. The strong emotions he carried seemed to dissipate miraculously, like a thin, white cloud on a hot summer’s day.
“Thank you, Director Roosevelt. You have cleared my worries,” Crush said as he uncrossed his arms and placed them confidently behind his back. Pound remained a silent partner in the discussion, and simply let the cat-man handle the situation. “Would you like for us to catch up with Dr. Tatum?” Director Roosevelt seemed to have relaxed his posture as well, and he leaned back from the desk into the comfort of his padded chair.
“No, I do not believe that will be necessary. She is a big girl, after all,” Roosevelt remarked. “And Seth is even bigger.” Pound snickered at the comment, and Crush returned a look of ill favor at the tiny outburst from his quiet partner. “No, I should think that you are needed for some filing, maybe even some work on the web back at the home office.”
“What did he mean, work on the web?” Crush thought to himself, and then he spoke up. “Sir, we would like to help in any way possible. However, we lost our badges and company credit cards along the way, and as a consequence, we have no means of travel.”
“Really. Well, I just happen to have your replacements right here,” Roosevelt said, and he pulled out his top desk drawer and withdrew two badges and two company credit cards. They accepted the appropriate items along with two new leather wallets that the director separated the items into accordingly. Crush slid the wallet into his pocket, but Pound held onto his since his kilt had no pocket. “As a first purchase, Pound, I would suggest pants. I don’t do many things happily, but I will gladly approve that rece
ipt when you submit it.”
“Sure thing. Everyone hates the kilt,” Pound replied with a sudden hint of self-consciousness.
“Now, before you leave, I have your first assignment. After the purchase of pants tonight,” Roosevelt emphasized, “you will do as I instructed at the Baltimore office. I believe that you may been there already, am I right?”
“Yep, you must have received my text,” Crush nodded, pulled out the cell phone, and held it up for the director to see. “I believe you might be looking for this, correct.”
“If you had answered it when it rang, Crush, you would have saved us all this untimely visit,” Roosevelt replied. Crush placed his hands on the desk and leaned across it.
“It came off a dead guy!” the cat-man roared as he seemed to loosen the ropes around his well-contained temper.
“Well, we can’t all be alive and well, now can we,” Roosevelt replied, and pierced by the unfeeling comment, Crush stepped back from the desk, incidentally brushing the lamp with the back of his hand. Pound noticed that the lamp was carved in the shape of an upside-down octopus or squid, and miraculously, one of the tentacles had latched onto Crush’s furry arm. The tentacle jerked hard and Crush fell forward with his hands back on the desktop, and the director leaned in with his face below the light. They looked eye to eye, and Crush saw his own face form within the reflection of Roosevelt’s pupil. There was a presence behind those eyes that was very deep, philosophically profound, and decidedly dangerous. “Your poor attitude is starting to disturb me, agent. When someone’s on my mind, things can become difficult for them.”
“All right. I just want to know where Dr. Tatum is, Director Roosevelt,” Crush said as the mental ropes tightened around his temper again. “She’s not just my manager. She’s my friend.” Director Roosevelt held his gaze at little longer, and Crush’s reflection seemed to fade from the pupil with the dissolution of tension.
“Very well. I sent the doctor and Seth to California to check up on an old acquaintance,” Roosevelt disseminated. “Huit Brighter. You may remember him yourself if you have studied the secret journals of the Great War that were stored at the DAM.” Crush remembered coming across the Great War journals several months back when he had been searching through the archives for Corporal Dan Chowder. Huit Brighter’s records were blotted out mostly, as if there were secrets there that should never be revealed, but they were of no consequence to him then. He was not sure he cared now.
“What does someone from World War I have to with us today?” Pound stepped forward and asked. “Shouldn’t he be dead?”
“Ah, you do have a tongue today, boy,” Roosevelt critiqued. “Huit Brighter is far from dead and highly valued, Agent Pound. It is as if this unknown soldier is as vital to the health of the nation as a president with my namesake. Even in my job description, Huit is mentioned, I suppose so that when I leave, the next director will know his importance and stay vigilant. It is believed that he may have a lifespan comparable to those people mentioned in the Bible in early Genesis before the great flood, for that matter. We have known of his longevity for many years now, but it was a well-kept secret in the nursing facility where he has been housed, you know. People come and go quite frequently in those places, a high turnover rate as a career choice, but along the way, someone must have taken notice of his persistence in youth. Once annually, I have assigned an agent to fly out to check his vital signs and read his charts, maybe even destroy any notes relating to his age for good measure. On the last visit just over a month ago, the attending physician had dug deep on the history of the patient and noted how peculiar it was that a man nearly a century old should appear to be so young.”
“The ball was dropped on records, then,” Pound observed. The director cut his glowing eyes at him through the shadows.
“Not on my watch, dear boy,” Roosevelt appraised. “I sent Dr. Tatum out there to bring the man back in under more delicate care until his identity can be buried. The most damaging development to occur is that STUN may have detected Huit as well, I fear.”
“You fear?” Crush said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“Stand down, Agent Crush,” Roosevelt barked. “There will be no more need for that attitude tonight. When I hear back from my contacts on the west coast, I will let you know, and you two can go in and save the day. For now, there is archiving to be done.” The director leaned forward in his chair with a squeak so that he and Crush could see each other clearly. “This you know,” he added and retrieved what appeared to be a piece of costume jewelry from his pocket, and he handed it over to Crush. The cat-man held it under the light, but not too close to the lamp, and the object looked like an orb with an eyeball inside.
“What is this?” Crush asked as he twirled it around in his fingers. The eye always seemed to stay horizontal with the floor no matter the orientation of the surrounding gold frame. Crush brought the trinket up away from the light of the lamp to look into it eye to eye. “It kind of reminds me of a water level, but with the function of a plumb bob. I dub thee, ‘Bob’,” Crush told the orb of singularity, which floated around inside the glass globe and stopped rotation when it met his gaze. For an instant, he thought he saw the pupil dilate to let a greater amount of light into the lens of the eye, but that would have been impossible since there was no neurological connection to a brain to give the command. “What is Bob’s purpose?” he asked the director.
“Wear it around your neck, under your shirt where it will not be seen preferably. If there is ever a time when you need to go from one place to another quickly, teleport if you will, hold the amulet in your bare hand and imagine yourself in the place where you want to be,” Roosevelt instructed. “But beware of the possibility that things may have changed where you are going. Buildings may have moved, the ground may have shifted, and you may find yourself sharing the same X, Y, and Z location as another object. That said, avoid teleporting onto highways, parking lots, and busy sidewalks, hmm?”
“So, pants first, and then go back to the office in Baltimore. That’s our assignment,” Crush assessed as he placed the amulet around his neck and beneath his shirt as instructed, and the director nodded. Crush and Pound both nodded their assent in return and took that as their dismissal. They headed out of the office, and the director said one last thing before they left.
“Crush, can you please close the door behind you? And remember, I’ve got my eye on you,” he said with a devilish grin as Crush pulled the door closed behind. When they were out in the hall, Crush felt the amulet on his chest beneath his shirt, and from Pound’s perspective, the cat-man seemed more than a little creeped out by the whole event. Crush took off at a fast pace down the hall to the elevator that waited for them, and he motioned for Pound to follow. When they entered the elevator and punched the first floor, the sliding panels of the door closed, and the camera in the upper corner next to the low ceiling zeroed in on them as the trumpet played the guitar solo of a popular heavy metal tune from the eighties. At the stop on the first floor, the access opened, and the security guard was waiting for them just outside of the elevator. She escorted them past the security desk to the front entrance of the building where she let out them into the cold night. When they reached the bottom of the steps, they headed back in the direction of the parking deck, making sure to watch out for anyone who might be waiting for them in the shadows. After all, it was D.C., and it was way past dark. After they passed out of sight of the building, Pound spoke up.
“I know there’s a plan rattling around in there. Are we going back to Baltimore now?” Pound asked.
“We’re going to do some of what the director said,” Crush answered. “We’re going to back to Baltimore, not necessarily to the office though. He isn’t right about everything, though he is right about one thing.”
“What’s that?” Pound invited.
“We’re getting you some pants.”