The Burning Fire Rises - Chapter 1
A Special Case
Special agent John Mathers sat patiently outside the Director’s office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Despite his best efforts, he could not block out the irritatingly low hum of the fluorescent lights that dangled above his head. He briefly glared up at them with contempt, while anxiously bouncing his right leg in a nervous repetition. John shifted his eyes from it to the meeting room door several times.
The display caused many fellow agents and office workers to curiously glance over at him as they passed by. Mathers simply nodded with a wry smirk as he met their gaze. In a short while, the secretary would be exiting the private meeting and inviting him to step inside. The Director, Bill Morgan, was engaged with two other individuals that arrived well before he did. Of what they were talking about, he couldn’t be sure, but, he was fairly certain it was about him.
John wriggled in his seat and started to prim his clean and well kept dark grey-suit attire. All agents and office workers had this sort of, bland, muted-color scheme of an outfit; it was a professional and proper form of uniform (of sorts), a typical dress code for the Bureau. The bone white shirt and black shoes were almost in pristine condition, and seemed to complement his neat appearance.
Normally, he wouldn’t be so clean and formal. Most agents practically live in those suits for over eight or ten hours (or longer). So the odours and stains of the day would tend to embed themselves pretty good, in the course of time. However, if one is about to meet a superior (and others of higher stature), it is much better to look and smell like you’re a professional, and not some slob that just walked off the street. He felt confident he’d be ok with his choice of clothes, so long as they didn’t notice his cartoon printed Tasmanian devil socks, that is. One can dress for success, but never compromise on keeping some individuality. At least, that was his belief.
Looking at the clock on the adjacent wall, he could see that the meeting was taking longer than expected, though, a little too long for his liking. Anxiousness caused him to infrequently fiddle with his well-ironed black tie. John began shifting from side to side in the faded coloured wooden chair he sat upon. It looked comfortable enough when he first got there, but now, after squirming for nearly half an hour, the plushness had long flattened out. Mathers repositioned yet again, and tried to bring the feeling back to his other bum cheek.
“This might be a punishment, or just to keep loiterers away from the office.” He thought in mid-move. “Either way, it’s doing the trick.”
As his extremities continued to protest and started to go numb, John turned his attention to the others busily working away. The entire floor was littered with cubicles and offices, some with staff walking in and out of them, others completely empty and awaiting new occupants to take it over. Budgeting takes its toll on government employment, even to an agency such as this. Jobs tended to shift, and some positions got redundant. Mathers was hoping he wasn’t going to be one of those.
It seemed his presence sparked quite a gossip among the staff. He could hear them whispering to each other behind those cubicles, with heads bobbing out to peer at him from time to time. He began to wonder; Did they know? Had they heard about the trouble he was in? Or just waiting to see if he gets fired on the spot? If only his ears could pick up on that whispering traffic flying about the room. He rubbed his clean-shaven face and slowly let out a frustrated sigh. John would have liked to be anywhere else right now. Instead, he was here. Listening to those annoying lights and waiting for his fate outside the boardroom.
The secretary opened the door abruptly; it startled him as his head cocked suddenly. “They’re ready for you now, Mr. Mathers.”
She waited as his shock dissipated. She gave him a slight sense of nostalgia when he remembered his childhood teacher with jet-black hair pulled back in a bun. He couldn’t remember her name, it was such a long time ago, but, he still remembered the look of displeasure she had and it made him smirk at the remembrance.
“Should I beg or grovel first?” He asked playfully. “Tell me…what kind of scenario am I going into?” There was little to no expression on her face, just a hand gesture for him to enter. “Ok, I’ll take that as a ‘wait and see’ kinda of thing.”
Mathers fixed his tie and rose with a slight nod in acknowledgment. With a quick clearing of his throat, the agent stepped into the office with an air of confidence—or whatever amount of courage he could muster as he entered the lion’s den. The secretary closed the door abruptly once he strutted by. She rolled her eyes and returned to her desk outside the Director’s office.
* * *
Once inside, John eyed the spaciously well-lit room, which looked recently renovated and spotless. A group of three men waited for him at round a large wooden table. The room was stark in design; a dark blue carpet, light grey painted walls and a few pictures of former US Presidents, as well as the latest elected leader occupying the White House. Mathers held his hands behind his back and stood in place as he approached the end of the table.
The three men looked at him for a second, breaking their conversation upon him entering, and then proceeded to chat further, as if he wasn’t there. It wasn’t until one in the middle (the slim, bald-headed FBI director) looked up and gestured to the others to quell their chatter. Mathers stood there, trying not to make direct eye contact. He sensed the Director could almost feel the nervousness radiating out of him, even as he leaned back in his chair and arched his fingers together.
The Director let it linger on for a second, letting the fear set in. But then the man relaxed in his well-weathered red leather chair and folded his hands together. The other two men did the same, as if they were mimicking the behavior, and turned their attention to Mathers. Nothing could be more unnerving than having a room of individuals focusing their glare at you. John was in an uncomfortable situation and tried his best to remain undisturbed outwardly.
“Special Agent John Gregory Mathers,” The Director gruffly spoke, while unfolding his hands and flipping a file folder open on his desk. He briefly gazed down at it and turned through the pages as he continued on, “Graduated top of your class, commendations for several involvements in cases dealing with serial murders, drug busts, missing persons and….” He riffled through a few more pages. “Just the usual stuff we deal with on a daily basis. So… pretty much, nothing special there.”
Mathers seemed puzzled by that statement. It almost sounded patronizing in tone. The Director glanced up at him to see any sort of reaction and proceeded to read through it.
“Transferred through several departments over the years… sticking with special investigations, working with assigned task forces, and now the head of Special Cases Division.”
“Head is a stretch, sir. I’m pretty much the only one in it, really. Oh, and I love that name by the way, sir.” Mathers wittily interrupted with a smile. “Can’t really call it ‘We have no idea what this is’ division. So why not ’special cases’ and shove all the weird shit into it.” The Director showed no interest in his comedic comment. Mathers smile quickly diminished. “So… ah…yeah, Special Cases Division… that’s me…”
“Ghost, goblins and UAPs, huh?” The man on the left snorted. “Christ, hard to believe you guys launched a division to that hullabaloo…”
“Thirty-eight years old, single, no spouses, mother and father deceased.” The Director continued on, ignoring the other man’s comments. “Currently, no fixed address. There’s a hotel listed here as a contact. Why is that?”
“Well, uh… just in-between places right now. I’m kinda living there as a temporary status.” Mathers answered calmly and adjusted his tie slightly. “If this is about accounting not knowing where to send my pay cheque, they should know that this is a paperless society now.”
“No gambling debts?”
“No, sir.”
“Nothing to compromise your position in the FBI, is there?’
“Nothing financially, sir. Just uh…”
“Girlfriend kicked you out did she?” The man on the left mocked again.
His clean-shaven face showed a slight smirk growing as he smoothed the sides of his white hair. John instantly remembered who he was now. He had met him once, briefly, at a White House function. Richard Plantson, who looked more like a politician than the head of an important agency like the NSA. If he remembered correctly, Plantson openly admitted to him he was one who turned down his application for a position at the NSA five years ago. His reason was simply, “I think nothing of your character.” So it seems he was a dick to him then, and he was certainly being a dick to him now.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Mathers sternly replied. “That’s none of your concern. “
“We’ve seen your file, boy.” The other man on the right stated. “The Director here keeps tabs on all the agents. As do we… just in case.”
That deeply southern accent was true blooded Texan. Putting voices to faces was becoming a talent of Mathers. Grant B. Donovan, head of the Central Intelligence Agency, and all around spokesman for the ‘shoot first, ask questions never’ club. If there was ever someone you wanted to hate, it would be him. Far too many under his leadership got killed or came close to it. John wondered if the man ever had a problem sleeping at night with that kind of track record. Nope—it was just part of the job as far as he was concerned.
“Trying to lie about it or hide the fact is just, dog-gone-idiotic. So cut the crap…” He passively waved. “Straight answers, boy, respect the chain of command here.”
The Director closed the file and leaned back in the chair with folded hands again. His eyes focused on Mathers sternly. This was no simple debriefing, job review, or whatever they made it look like. This was about the report he just filed a few days ago. A report that’s centered on a certain individual that every agency in the world has been interested in themselves.
Mathers realized that was the main reason for his presence. How could it be otherwise? The report must have displeased enough top officials in the government to send all three to chew him out. The level of tension was so thick he wasn’t sure if he was going to escape intact.
“Sorry, sir…” Mathers finally responded to the Texan man. “Guess I haven’t had too many meetings like these. It’s just my personality, I don’t like being scrutinized or having my personal life under a microscope.”
It was true though. His ex-girlfriend did kick him out. Mainly because he was never home half the time or when she needed him to be with her. But that was months ago, and certainly not having to do with any of this. He never really had much luck with women. Most would find him charming and very outgoing at first. But when it came time to make commitments or explain what he does for a living, they would find it more than they could handle and tended to leave or break up over the phone.
His was a life of constant moving about and deeply guarded secrets. They would never understand his world or the oddities he would investigate. It made finding a stable relationship rather difficult, and while he yearned to have one, he’d grown accustomed to being alone.
“Personally, I don’t care about that…” The Director sighed, as he closed the file firmly. “What I do care about is the fact you handed us a report with so little details, this might well have been blank sheets of paper.” He took out another file folder from underneath the other and waved it about. He then slammed it back onto the desk and eyed him. “What are we to make of this? When you told us what you had stumbled into, we gave strict orders to give full disclosure and a detailed report. What did we see instead? Fantasy bullshit! Facts are what we gather here… god-damn intelligence! Right? Real facts and real credible evidence.”
“It’s all there in the report, sir.” John Mathers calmly replied. “Everything that happened, all the details about the events, the names and locations. Everything I witnessed and gathered is one hundred percent factual truth. Other agents can attest to this, there are facts, sir. The investigation that I conducted…”
“That’s right, you… you conducted… not them.” Richard Plantson stated.
“Yes, me…” John nodded. “But everything that happened, is directly related to this person…”
“No!” The Director interrupted as he slapped his desk, “God damn it! We wanted the intel on the mysterious Professor. Who, what, why and where the fuck he’s been in all this time! We gave you specifics on the matter once you told us who you were working with and you totally ignored it all. Instead…what did we get? Supernatural garbage!”
“Sir, my original assignment–“He quickly responded, “The one I was first assigned to is, in fact, what led me to the Professor. The case file I’m giving you is that very report of what transpired because of…”
“Unacceptable!” The Director interrupted again furiously. “The Professor became the priority over that other case. You know what we asked of you. Where is the report on him? Where does he live? What is his motive or goals?”
“Sir, there is more to Professor Darkk than I could even begin to explain, but…. I have to admit, he managed to help us solve the case on the man responsible for all those deaths in Michigan.”
“Son, I wouldn’t trust that man for all the safety of the nation.” Grant Donovan spoke. “He has been on and off so many times with us it would make your head spin full circle.”
“My colleague, as usual, is being gentle on the specifics.” Plantson interjected. “But for a good reason. Darkk has his own agendas and we are very concerned on what those might actually be.”
“Damn right.” The Director pounded his hand on the desk and walked away from his chair. “We finally get the chance to expose this individual, it’s taken us years to even get this close to him again, hell… he might be the one that started that whole event.”
He took a moment to look out the large panoramic window behind him. From his view, he could see all the grounds and beyond. The Director was definitely not in the mood for lofty explanations.
“Are you telling me that all of you have met him before?” John winced in confusion. “The NSA, CIA, FBI, you’ve all had some dealings with him? Why wasn’t I informed about all this? Why aren’t you more concerned with the other guy that caused all this nonsense? Why Darkk? What’s this all really about?”
“It’s a long story…” The Director grumbled.
“Well, I’ve booked my time for this meeting… so spill it.”
The Director was ready to jump on his attitude as he turned about to face him, until another individual spoke at the back of the room, standing behind Mathers.
“That’s enough Bill…”
Mathers jerked slightly as the man surprised him. He was a black, grey-haired man, sporting an all-white business suit and shoes. Even his tie was pure white. The only thing that wasn’t was the band of his watch, a polished silver one that seemed to scream expensive. He casually walked over to the Director at the window and briefly glanced out to the horizon. John felt like God had just enter the room, everyone was quiet to the point of reverence. He patted the shoulder of the Director and motioned for him to take a seat. The white suited man had a demeanour that was calm, relaxed and seemed fatherly in some respect. He then glanced over to Mathers and smiled.
“Tempers are flared about all this, my boy. You can understand our frustrations about all this, can’t you?”