This time the meeting place was much more personable and intimate. It was familiar, too. Agent York had met Jackson at the Club several times in the past. Jackson was a member, though the staff called him by a different name. He was waiting for York in a small, cozy, library. There was a fire in the fireplace, dispelling the cool evening air, a pair of overstuffed armchairs, and a small table littered with files. A large television monitor seemed out of place, sitting on a wheeled cart next to the hearth. Obviously it wasn't a usual item in the room.

Thomas, come in, welcome. Jackson stood to shake his hand, and nodded away the attendant who had guided York to this room. He shut the door, and locked it with an ominous click.

Have a sit. Care for a drink? Brandy? Scotch?

Scotch sounds good.

Jackson poured a pair of drinks from a cut-glass decanter in the liquor cabinet, handed one to his guest, and sat himself in the other chair. So how was your trip?

Pleasant enough. A little too much flight time for so little a time in Los Angeles.

The price of competence. What did your mission reveal?

Very little. The subject's version of events was consistent with those of the other witnesses. He seems to have played the role of an innocent, albeit mischeivous, bystander. He didn't have any information about Scrowcroft, or clues to the location of his computer.

Hmm, can't say I expected much different. But what about the other thing I asked you to watch?

Agent Toscanini? York sighed, took a sip from his drink, and placed it on the table. That was more interesting.

Ah ha! Tell all, but first, give me your impression of her, after you'd just met her and flown across the country.

Agent York looked contemplative for a moment. I was impressed. I'd read her dossier, of course, so I expected a top-notch agent. But beyond that she showed the sort of keen insight most agents don't develop for a decade or so, if they ever do. She's highly intelligent, and came across as an extremely dedicated professional. All-in-all, even as a brand-new agent I'd have rated her as someone I'd be proud to work with.

You say that in the past tense.

The interview went off without a hitch. Agent Toscanini interviewed the subject. Unknown to her I observed from a distance. He drew out an envelope and handed a sheaf of photographs to Jackson. I took these during the interview. You can tell he looks stressed and worried, but not out of the ordinary for someone being grilled by an FBI agent out of the blue. He never asked about a lawyer; either he didn't think of it or he's just not guilty.

Or perhaps concerned with other matters. He held up a photo in which Alex's attention seemed riveted on Annabelle's ample chest.

After Agent Toscanini left, the subject did something with his PDA, then left the building in a hurry. By the time I followed outside he was gone.

Jackson was looking at another photo. Perhaps an upsetting e-mail? He looks quite concerned.

The angle was wrong to get the screen; it very well could be.

There's more of course, Thomas.

Yes. That evening, by chance, I observed Agent Toscanini leaving the hotel where we were staying. It seemed unusual, as she hadn't mentioned any plans to go out, so I followed. She went into a restaurant just around the corner, and met with Alex.

Follow up questions? Did he come forth with more information?

No. I found a table to watch unobserved and they seemed quite… friendly. Even affectionate. Laughing, talking, like they'd known each other for a long time.

You don't say? Jackson sat up in his chair, leaning forward slightly.

After dinner, I followed them to the hotel bar. They kept talking intimately until 2-am when the bar closed. They said goodnight, Annabelle… Agent Toscanini gave him a brief kiss, and he left. I followed Agent Toscanini back to her room, then went back downstairs but was unable to re-acquire the subject.

Jackson sat back in his chair, smiling broadly. Are you certain he left? He didn't join Agent Toscanini in her room?

Positive. That was my suspicion at the time. You told me to watch her, my hypothesis was that they were secret lovers. If so they didn't, uh, get together.

And the next morning?

Business as usual. Agent Toscanini was perhaps a bit more cheerful, but that could also be prejudicial inference on my part. No further sign of the subject. Then we returned to Washington.

And your conclusions, Thomas?

Hrmm. That… sort of behavior was entirely contrary to my assessment of Agent Toscanini. Either she knew the subject before the interview and neglected to mention that fact, or after interviewing him then decided to, er, date him. Both are extremely unprofessional behaviors that I would never have imagined of her.

Quite so. There is a third possibility, which is the true focus of this investigation. I'm going to bring you into this Thomas, it's important and mysterious and could very well have the potential to disrupt the nature of human government. Of course, you don't have to get involved, but I think your talents and contacts could be useful. Let me give you some background, and you can decide.

“We've been investigating the disappearance of Daniel Scrowcroft's computer since shortly after his death. We're fairly certain that it vanished less than a day afterwords. Here are copies of the autopsies, of Scrowcroft and his girlfriend. He sorted a pair of files from the scattered array on the table, and handed them over.

I'll get into why we were interested later. But we'd already identified this Alex as a person of interest — the investigating officials all remember his being there, they identified him in the photographs, but no one could remember his name, nor was there any record of him. Until last week, when we received a package containing three items, one of which was a copy of this article from an alternative weekly paper in Denver. He sorted the article out of the stack so it was in front of Thomas on the table.

The author was also the photographer who took the pictures you received as your briefing for your mission. The focus of the article was a minor sex cult centered around Mr. Scrowcroft. Apparently all four of these ladies, Jackson indicated the attractive cluster in a corner of the photo, identified themselves as the late Mr. Scrowcroft's girlfriends, as was, apparently, his co-decedent.

York briefly flipped open the second of the two autopsy reports. There was a photograph of the corpse. He glanced at it, looked at it again, more intensely, then looked at Jackson, eyes wide with disbelief. Yes. Jackson smiled. That's part of it, but only a part, we'll get to that later, as well.

“The second item in the package we received was a DVD. Home made, with about an hour's worth of multi-perspective footage. He stood, retrieved the disk from the pile on the table and stepped over to insert it in the player beneath the TV. Then he turned it on. Er, this might be uncomfortable to watch, but there are certain details that will be relevant to the case.

On the monitor, a young, blonde girl, probably a college coed from the furnishings of the small room, angrily demanded to know what an off-camera person was doing there. Then he stepped on camera. It was Alex, the subject of his recent investigation. There followed an exchange of insults and threats, and then Alex ordered the blonde to remove her shirt. Angrily protesting that she'd do no such thing, she did anyway, seemingly surprised at her own actions.

The remainder of the details were interesting, if somewhat predictable. Agent York found himself uncomfortably aroused as the blonde, still angrily refusing, proceeded to give Alex a blow job, then sat herself onto his erection, then he lifted her onto the bed and proceeded to fuck her silly. He distracted himself by glancing through the autopsy results. Daniel Scrowcroft had an unusually low body fat, probably a dedicated body-builder. The girl had drowned of — semen inhalation? He hadn't thought that possible. He flipped to the other report. Scrowcroft had died of the same cause? Something wasn't right. Either the coroner was incompetent, or a comedian, or foul play was involved.

The erotic movie came to an abrupt end, focused on the blonde's — Lisa's — face over Alex's shoulder as he humped her unprotesting form.

York looked at Jackson. Okay, what am I missing? Our boy likes to make home porn?

You're missing the third item that was in the package. He handed the FBI agent a single piece of paper. On it were Alex's name and the college he attended and a single sentence: Evidence of Mind Control?

York looked at Jackson again, not certain what he was supposed to take seriously. What, Scrowcroft developed some mind control device and used it to start his sex cult, then Alex somehow got hold of it and used it to fuck that sorority girl?

She did do everything he ordered, despite not wanting to.

She was acting!

Jackson frowned and shrugged. Perhaps. But perhaps he also used some sort of mind control device on Special Agent Toscanini.

York felt a chill. It did make sense. Of course, Annabelle hadn't exhibited the hostility and obedience the sorority girl had, but that just meant the hypothetical mind control device was versatile. Suddenly he realized what Jackson had meant when he mentioned a threat to the nature of human government.

Okay, I admit it's consistent. But it's still a tremendous stretch. I mean, how could such a thing be possible? How could…

There are more similarities. Jackson picked up the remote and scanned back towards the beginning of the video. He froze the frame on an image of Alex, sitting on the chair, holding his erection out to Lisa's descending vagina. Notice anything unusual about our friend here?

Er, I guess he's ‘well-endowed’ if that's what you mean.

And the late Mr. Scrowcroft? The coroner made a special note.

York flipped through the report. That's not possible.

There's a photograph.

Twenty inches? How could… what would…?

Very good questions. Then there's the matter of his partner.

Implants. In poor taste. Who in their right mind would want breasts the size of basketballs?

Not implants. The coroner checked that as well. But suppose Mr. Scrowcroft liked large breasts? And suppose he had the power to affect his friend's body, and perhaps his own?

How? What sort of device could do that?

That's unknown.

And besides, that girl on the video — Thomas glanced at the screen They're nice I guess, but nothing unusual.

Perhaps Alex has more restrained tastes than the late Mr. Scrowcroft. He certainly restricted himself to Jackson glanced at the image, still frozen on the monitor eight or nine inches. Perhaps that demonstrates a certain maturity, despite his younger years.

I… it's plausible, I grant. No, it's consistent, but still not plausible. You know something else, there's more to it, isn't there? Why were you investigating Scrowcroft in the first place?

Jackson smiled again. Correct in one. He looked contemplative for a moment, then met York's eyes again. It started back in July. Several people who've worked for me, in various agencies — much like you've worked for me Thomas — began behaving strangely. Beyond strangely, treasonously, though such behavior was strange for them; I'd always thought of them as reliable patriots.

“They were providing information to the Russians. More than that, they were actively searching out classified information and giving it over directly. The effects were widespread and disastrous. More than a hundred highly classified national security operations were compromised and disrupted beyond recovery, including a dozen of my own. Complete classified research projects were turned over to Russian Intelligence agencies.

“I, and others working with me — yes Thomas, there are others who operate as I do, I am not alone. I even have superiors I report to though I am as clueless about who they answer to as you are about them. Working together we managed to trace the threat to a single individual working in the Russian embassy in D.C. Ilyich Saharov was an unimportant functionary in their information technologies section. Up until this past Summer he was a low-level employee in the Moscow office of the GRU. In early June he was suddenly transferred to the Washington embassy.

“And then our problems began. Once we identified him as the center of the disruptions, a compatriot dispatched an agent to meet with Saharov, identify whatever lever he was using to subvert our people and kill him if possible. Instead, after meeting with Saharov the agent returned and attacked my compatriot. Hidden recorders showed that at first he attempted to coerce him into revealing his true name, using some rather crude but usually effective methods of persuasion. When those failed, he killed him. Fortunately we managed to destroy him in turn, though too late to save my compatriot.

“He was also my friend.

I'm sorry Jackson.

We all know it's a dangerous game Thomas. At the rarefied levels I work with the danger seldom reaches as far as me. It's not supposed to, that's why we operate in secrecy through intermediaries. We know too much to allow ourselves to fall to enemies of our Republic. Somehow Saharov managed to subvert a trusted agent. In less than two hours he sent him back to attack the one who'd dispatched him.

Mind control. York said softly.

It would be a catastrophe if one of us were somehow turned. So we backed off, tried to say as far away from Saharov as possible. Instead we focussed on the people around him. We tried to identify any patterns.

And?

He had a set of bodyguards. Six men, four of whom were known to be former KGB agents. As far as we could tell they worked independently of the embassy and its staff, reporting only to Saharov.

“He had regular contact with two expensive escort services in the D.C. area, and we identified four women who made regular visits to his apartment. Here Jackson rummaged out another folder, and displayed a series of photographs. Six muscular, severe-looking men, with the look of professional security — secret service or high-paid Hollywood bodyguards. Four women, all tall and beautiful, two blondes, a brunette, and a redhead. All with highly developed bosoms.

I guess he shares Scrowcroft's appreciation of big tits.

Funny you should mention that. We managed to find a photo of one of the girls from back in May, before Saharov arrived. He produced another photo of one of the blondes. Still attractive, but not nearly as stacked. Perhaps a ‘B’ cup.

York put the photo back on the table. So he bought them all implants?

No. We managed to bring this one in for an examination — arrested actually, and as part of her processing had a doctor make a full examination. Completely natural, her breasts simply grew, to a ‘DD’ size cup, over the course of a month or two.

That's not possible.

No, it's not. And yet all the best evidence indicates that it's exactly what happened.

“That was the situation leading into August. Suddenly, without any warning at all, Saharov rushed to Reagan airport and boarded a commercial flight for Denver. His six security men traveled with him. As soon as we were aware our own team was aboard a private jet. They actually made it to Denver before Saharov; his flight had a stopover in Chicago.

“Our team was actually two teams: the first was a set of assassins, armed with sniper rifles, small arms, automatic weapons, and explosives. Their primary objective was to terminate Saharov if at all possible. The second team were observers, tasked with remaining as far from the action as possible with the goal of accurately reporting everything that happened. Naturally, they all had minimal knowledge of why they were doing this and who they were working for; we had to assume any or all of them might fall under Saharov's control.

“Once Saharov arrived in Denver he and his entourage proceeded directly to Scrowcroft's apartment, stopping only at a pawnshop, where they purchased all the firearms in stock: 3 9mm pistols, a .357 magnum, a .45, and three hunting rifles. Completely illegal; they were all foreign nationals without permits, there was no background check, and obviously no waiting period for the pistols.

More mind control?

Given the existence of such, that is a possible explanation. Once at Mr. Scrowcroft's apartment, Saharov and his bodyguards entered the building and crossed the police lines to enter the apartment. They left, about ten minutes later, and our observers report that they were empty-handed, carrying out nothing they hadn't gone in with. At this point one of our snipers, getting a clear line of sight, shot Saharov through the heart.

Once more Jackson rifled through the folders, and handed one to York. That's his — the sniper's — report. But I'll summarize. He shot Saharov through the heart. Saharov fell to the ground, and his bodyguard spread out. Another of our assassins got a head shot on one of the body guards. And then Saharov got up.

What?

That's what our man saw, watching through the scope of his rifle.

A bulletproof vest?

Insufficient to protect against a bullet of that caliber, of that velocity, at that range. Besides, our man was certain he saw the characteristic spray of blood and bone and flesh that a mushrooming projectile makes as it exits through the target's back. He has some experience.

Then how…

I only know what was reported. At this moment, a third party attacked Scrowcroft.

Who?

We still don't know. Our observers report that a coordinated team of eight to ten individuals began attacking Saharov's entourage. Saharov and his team began to shoot back, and a firefight broke out. Eventually Saharov and his remaining bodyguards made it back to their vehicle and left the scene, and the others followed. At this point our team decided to retreat; all the assassins and two observers left town, by pre-arranged methods, to return to base.

“The remaining observers, in combination with reports from local citizens and police, tell the story of a high speed chase through the city, with exchange of gunfire and at least one fatal accident. That's all we know, except that Saharov and three of his bodyguards returned to Washington two days later. They probably drove, as the Denver rental agency reported their vehicle stolen, and it was recovered, abandoned, in Maryland a day after Saharov showed up at the embassy again.

Wow. And no clue who the others were?

No. But recall how Saharov seemed to instantly recover from a bullet through his chest. One of our observers reported a similar event; one of the third party attackers was shot by Saharov's guard and went down. The observer thought that her leg had been blown off at the knee. Another of her party approached, and did something with a laptop computer. In just a few seconds the injured attacker stood up, apparently whole, and together they retreated to a safer location. The next day, police reported finding a severed human calf and foot, along with a great deal of blood. Military specialists believe the wounds indicate the leg had been severed by the impact of a high-velocity bullet at close range.

“There's more. Recall that one of our assassins killed one of Saharov's bodyguards. Another was killed by the attackers. Both bodies were recovered. Even better, one of Saharov's bodyguards was critically injured but captured alive. We confiscated them all for analysis in our labs, and interrogated the survivor.

What did you learn?

Tantalizingly little. He didn't know any useful details, but what he did tell us… but I'll get to that.

“All three of Saharov's guards were unusually well muscled — not unusual in professional bodyguards. But they also had another rare trait in common, with each other, and the late Daniel Scrowcroft, and our friend Alex. Jackson glanced at the screen again, still displaying Alex, erect, about to be engulfed by Lisa's descending pussy.

Big cocks?

Precisely. All three of them would have been eight inches long when erect.

Well, that's unusual, but not unheard of. I mean, that's probably the minimum for a porn actor…

Penis size follows a random, normal distribution throughout the human population with very minor racial differences in the means. For caucasians of European descent, as these three men were, only one in a hundred has an erect penis length of eight inches or more. Unless Saharov was recruiting bodyguards based on their penis size — possible, but unlikely given his heterosexual inclinations — the odds of finding three men eight inches long are literally one in a million.

Well, you interrogated one of them. Was Saharov deliberately hiring big dicks?

This is where the story gets interesting. The guard says that when Saharov hired him, part of his compensation would be improving his body, including enhancement of his… genitals. He said Saharov showed him a computer image of his body, naked, and made changes to the image to show what he would eventually be like. After he agreed to work for Saharov, and approved his new body design, Sarharov told him to wait a few days. When he returned, Sarharov gave him an injection that would alter his body to the specified state. He asked how it worked and — this is reconstruction and conjecture, as the bodyguard didn't have the background or vocabulary to describe things exactly — but apparently Saharov told him that the injection contained programmed nanomachines that would selectively re-write his DNA and encourage reconstruction of his body to make it better, faster, and stronger. And presumably grow his penis as well.

Nanotechnology! York was excited, and slightly relieved. Here was an explanation at last. A fantastic one, but at least one grounded in the universe he knew. One that might, with sufficient evidence, be believable.

So he said. But I'm not sure I believe it.

But what else could it be? It makes sense, even the mind control. Nanobots could infest the brain, override thoughts…

There's more. After questioning Saharov's bodyguard — he died eventually, of his wounds. Nothing we could do, but probably for the best. Anyway, after questioning his bodyguard we decided to approach his girlfriends. We had an operative carefully insinuate herself into friendship with… this one here. Jackson indicated photograph of the brunette.

Over the course of months, she gained her confidence, and carefully insinuated questions about her major customer, and about her breast size. She claims her breasts ‘just started to grow’ after her first night with Saharov. She denies that she ever received any injections from him, of any sort.

If nanomachines really can do mind control, they could also erase memories.

True. She also claims, and insists that it's not exaggeration, that Saharov's member is at least ten inches long, and that sex with him is fantastic beyond anything else in her experience, that he makes her orgasm continuously for hours at a time.

But… he said, gathering his thoughts. Alex never had the chance to inject Agent Toscanini, not if that's how he…

Jackson nodded. Quite. There's one more detail I'd like to call to your attention. Another item that doesn't fit the nanotechnology explanation. The cause of death for Mr. Scrowcroft and his partner?

Drowned in semen? There must be a mistake. For her, maybe, a blowjob gone wrong. But for him — maybe a copy and paste error as the coroner wrote up two autopsies.

Read the details. It's not a matter of a blow-job gone wrong. Both of them died when they inhaled lungfulls of human semen.

What?

As best we can tell, the room they were in, the bedroom of Daniel Scrowcroft's apartment, was filled to the ceiling with human semen. By the time we arrived most of the volume had been cleaned up, vacuumed and funneled into the incinerator. But our forensic teams found traces coating all the walls and the ceiling and the floors of the rest of the apartment and the hallway outside and leaking into the apartment below. Human semen, and the DNA matches the late Mr. Scrowcroft.

How… is that possible?

That is one of the reasons I am unsatisfied with the nanotechnology explanation.

Jackson picked up his drink again, tipped it back and swallowed it all in two or three gulps. He'd barely touched it until now, and all the ice had melted.

Agent Toscanini, he said, after carefully replacing his glass on the table, was included in your mission as bait.

Bait?

If this Alex person really had power similar to Saharov — whether he stole it from Scrowcroft or had it from somewhere else — and if he was using his power to satisfy his lusts, as on the video, and had worried someone enough to try and warn the FBI about his possible mind control powers, in that case he couldn't resist bedding a woman as beautiful and sexy as Agent Toscanini.

Agent York felt suddenly angry. He stood. You used her! he said loudly. You knew that when you sent her out she might have her mind altered. She could have been made into some kind of sex toy…

I did use her, Thomas. Jackson's voice sounded sad. Perhaps disappointed. And, truth be told, I did hope that she would end up in bed with our young friend Alex. Because that would have meant he is one of them. Whatever they are.

“He's seems to be like Saharov. But unlike Saharov he hasn't been working to disrupt and subvert our government. That means he might be an ally. We might persuade him to join our side! At the very least, we might use him, lead him on, direct him against our enemies.

“Best of all we might be able to learn how he does it! What if we could do all the things he and Saharov have done. Make our enemies into allies, fortify our forces, heal our wounded…

York sat back down. He'd forgotten momentarily the high, distant view of the world that Jackson perceived. He'd been focused on the Annabelle Toscanini he grown to know on their flight to Los Angeles. On the bright, shining, inquisitive intellect he'd felt would grow into a superlative FBI agent. Jackson had been hoping that because that beautiful mind was wrapped in a body to match, she would have been changed and subverted, made into a pleasure toy for a spoiled, selfish, college student.

But Jackson was right. In the face of what the Russian Saharov had done, that same spoiled brat might be the tool they needed to save their nation and preserve the freedoms of all who lived in it. And perhaps Annabelle hadn't been affected. After all, she hadn't gone to bed with Alex. Perhaps her mind was powerful enough to resist whatever technique he'd used on the sorority girl. Perhaps she'd resisted entirely, and had been playing Alex, flirting with him to try and extract more information about Scrowcroft's computer.

No, he couldn't believe she'd be so unprofessional to not tell her partner what she intended to do, and what the results were afterwards. Either he'd been wrong in his initial assessment of her — always possible — or somehow Alex had affected her judgement. Her mind. Her self.

Jackson had the larger picture in view, and sacrificing Annabelle's independence against that of all the country was a minor price. Still, and the realization burned in the back of his mind, she'd never been asked if she was willing to make the sacrifice. Her judgement, her choices, her very self had been warped and violated altered at the whim of…

What will you do now, about Alex?

We'll watch for the moment. I have operatives moving into position, to track his movements and actions without attracting his attention. If there is some key, some focus, some tool he uses to exert this power over others, we will identify it and, if possible, move to take it. If not, we will evaluate his personality. If positive, we'll try to recruit him, and have him on our side.

Him? A good guy? After what he did to Annabelle?

Jackson looked stern. Those with power must be judged in the context of that power, Thomas. That is the philosophical basis that I and my compatriots have operated upon since the founding of our Republic. We operate in secret. We keep secrets from the public at large, because that knowledge makes us powerful. It's how we use that power, friend Thomas, that justifies it. I… you may eventually be asked to join us. By working for me, as you have, these past years you are in a sense one of use already, but I have nominated you for advancement to the next level. To my level. We — I — often do things that are wrong, by the judgement of any sane society. Yet our actions are needed to preserve that society. This is how we justify our existence Thomas.

“We must extend the same consideration to our evaluation of other powers. We must judge Alex's actions in comparison with what he could have done. Naturally this is complicated because we don't understand the nature and reach of his powers. But Daniel Scrowcroft made his sexual conquests into dependent cult members. Alex used his power, whatever it is, to have an enjoyable date with Agent Toscanini. She is otherwise going about her regular duties, and excelling at them as usual. By that measure, Alex is better than Mr. Scrowcroft.

I'll need to think about this.

Do so. I encourage you to continue to interact with Agent Toscanini. Your opinions and assessment of her personality, after being ‘touched’ by Alex will be extremely helpful for us, and help school you in the moral relativism that governs our existence.

Agent York closed his eyes, thinking things over, reviewing what he'd learned that evening. He opened them. What did happen to Scrowcroft's computer?

We're not sure. Did you notice, in the report, a certain Stephen who claimed to be the boyfriend of one of Scrowcroft's harem?

Oh. Yes. Was he questioned? What about the surviving four girls?

All of them disappeared, along with the computer. They did a good job of it, our last known location has them in Butte, Montana, where one of the girls' credit cards was used to purchase fuel for a mobile home. After that, they seem to vanish.

Are they being traced?

Not at the moment. We've given them up as a dead end.

York felt a spark of challenge. Maybe I could find something.

After all these months?

They went to Alaska.

Alaska? Why? How do you know?

Uhhh. Not sure exactly. But it feels right. It's north. It's big. It's easy to hide there, especially if they're living in a mobile home. I'm an investigator; it's what I do.

Jackson smiled. Okay then. I think I can arrange with your superiors…

I'll do that, thanks. I'm not a senior Agent for nothing. He stood, turned towards the door, then back to Jackson, who had also stood to see him out.

Somehow I think I won't ever thank you for this evening.

No one ever likes having their world disrupted. I know I didn't.

I guess it's better, in the long run, to know the truth rather than be ignorant. So I'll thank you now, since I might regret it later.

You're welcome.

They shook hands, and Agent York unlocked the door, opened it, and went out into a world that was different, deeper, and more dangerous than it had been before.