“Yeah? Well, next time Divine calls me out on my downtime, I’ll roll over and play dead!”
Jasi neared the final scanning gate.
It examined the small tracking device that had been surgically implanted in her navel. The tracker was used when an agent went missing—and for identification purposes. Especially if an agent’s body was recovered in an unrecognizable state.
Benjamin Roberts greeted her from the other side of the gate. “Pass on through, oh Queen of Darkness.” He made a sweeping motion with his black-gloved hand.
Thomas slid the tray with her gun toward Ben.
Examining it, Ben said, “You know, Jasi, we do have better weapons than this old thing.”
She shrugged. “I know. But it has sentimental value.”
He handed her the gun.
“Happy Birthday, Agent McLellan,” Thomas called out.
Jasi glared at Ben, her eyes shooting daggers. “What’d you do? Take out an ad in the newspaper?”
“Naw, just a vid-wall ad on Hastings,” he said, laughing. “Ouch! Watch that elbow!”
Jasi examined her co-worker, taking in his broad shoulders and gray eyes. Benjamin Roberts was in his mid-thirties. He was a tall striking man who wore Armani suits like a second skin fitted to every contour of his muscular body.
“New ones?” she asked, indicating his gloved hands.
“I needed a better lining.”
She thought of how challenging it must be for him.
Ben was a Psychometric Empath.
If he touched someone, he often sensed flashes of thought or emotion. He wore specially designed gloves when he was out in public. Inside the black leather gloves, a protective coating blocked his empathic abilities. It was essential that he keep his mind fresh, so that he could focus on each case without unnecessary interruptions.
Ben was also an expert in various martial arts and the best profiler the CFBI had. He had been with the Canadian Federal Bureau of Investigators for over fifteen years, before it was ever known as the CFBI.
Back in the late 1990’s, the Canadian government requested a more ‘open-door’ policy with the United States—-and the sharing of information. It started with computer programs designed to be accessed from either country so that information on every criminal perpetrator, rapist, pedophile, kidnapper, or serial killer was available at the touch of a keyboard. CSIS was still dedicated to protecting Canada’s national security and focussed primarily on international terrorist activities.
Then in 2003, the CFBI was formally introduced as a Canadian counterpart to the previously established FBI organization in the US. Eventually the CFBI took over CSIS and integrated a variety of divisions. Agents were employed and deployed from either side of the border, anywhere they were needed.
Some agents were Psychic Skills Investigators—PSI’s.
Of course, the public was naively unaware that both governments were implementing the use of psychics. Even now, in 2012, it was a closely guarded secret.
“Hey, Jasi! Ben! Over here!” a woman called.
Jasi’s other partner, Natassia Prushenko, was tall and leggy—and had breasts Jasi would kill for. Her black hair was razor-cut in a short wispy style. Her sapphire eyes twinkled mysteriously. It had been almost two weeks since they had seen each other but Jasi immediately sensed that something was different about Natassia. Something other than the copper streaks in her jet-black hair.
Natassia passed her a sealed manila envelope.
Then she gave a similar envelope to Ben, saluting him cockily. “Agent Prushenko, reporting for duty, sir.”
“Aw, cut it out, Natassia,” Ben growled, rolling his gray eyes before pulling himself into the helicopter.
The woman smirked, then climbed in beside him. “Aye, aye, mon capitaine.”
Jasi curiously eyed Natassia.
Why, she wondered, was her friend grinning like a Cheshire cat?
When Ben leaned forward to talk to the pilot, Jasi nudged Natassia’s leg.
“You’d better tell me what’s going on.”
“Later.”
Jasi shrugged, then stared out the window. They were flying low under the canopy of clouds. As always, the beautiful British Columbia scenery with its lush forests and majestic snowcapped mountains entranced her.
When the flight ended, they landed safely on the heliport in the center of a gated complex. Perched high on the electric wall, numerous cameras zoomed in on their arrival. A sterile concrete field surrounded two large buildings in the center of the complex. Both held a reception area and countless offices.
Most were empty—a front.
To civilians, the complex was known as Enviro-Safe Research Facility. To Jasi and the rest of the CFBI, it was Divine Operations. Or Divine Ops, as most agents referred to it. But the real Divine Ops was not visible. It was actually a maze of underground tunnels and offices more than fifty feet below the surface.
“Well, now I know this is a big one,” Natassia mouthed, her eyes glittering darkly while she followed Jasi from the heliport.
On the tarmac ahead of them, a man paced restlessly.
“Yeah,” Jasi agreed. “A power-figure must be involved. I think this fire has someone hot under the collar.”
She nudged Natassia and they hurried toward the creator of Divine Ops.
Matthew Divine’s investigation of psychic phenomenon had initiated the construction of the first PSI training facility in Canada. The Federal government had listed the building as nothing more than a laboratory—one that researched the environment and its effect on people, animals, plant life and weather patterns.
The locals knew nothing of the CFBI’s presence. They were unaware that a web of offices existed underground, stocked with high tech computer equipment. They had no idea that the people they saw flying in and out of Enviro-Safe were highly trained government agents with specialized psychic skills.
They did know that Matthew Divine and Enviro-Safe had brought prosperity to the area. When Enviro-Safe was first built, there was one existing town nearby. Originally called Mont Blanc, the town’s name was changed in 2005.
Through a unanimous town council vote, it was renamed Divine.
Jasi straightened to her full five feet, eight inches as she reached Matthew Divine. He was a man of average height, average looks but above average intelligence. His long gray hair was tied back with a strip of leather. Intense brown eyes were framed with outdated tortoise-shell glasses. No one dared ask him why he hadn’t gone for the ever-popular SEE—sectional eye enhancement—to restore his vision.
Divine’s arms were crossed.
The grim expression on his clean-shaven face made Jasi gasp.
A serial killer was on the prowl.
2
Jasi followed Divine while he led the PSI team into the primary operations station—Ops One. An assortment of security scanners recorded each agent’s various stats before admitting them to a small corridor. The same programmers that designed H-SECS created the Divine Ops security system. Ever since the kidnapping and murder of the Prime Minister in 2008, security programmers had been rallying to design a system that was impenetrable and virtually flawless.
Jasi allowed a technician to scan her with the paranormal electroencephalograph unit, an apparatus that recorded brain waves and psychic residue. This security precaution safeguarded PSI agents against overuse of their skills.
Heaving a sigh of relief, she smiled when the PEU flashed green. She was clear.