Cia

So I had a few people write and ask me to continue my story. I have a few days free so I wrote some more. If you like it you should do 2 things one is tell me you like it so that I use my limited spare time to do more of it

the other is tell nifty and send them a few bucks, lets say $17 dollars for the last chapter.

here goes: (only read it if you give them something and promise to send me a note saying my writing sucks or is ok or good or great)

Tom changed the discussion "But first we have another job for you; one I think you're a little more suited to do. There's a high school in Missouri that's had a disproportionate number of black kids disappeared of..., well..., let's say, suspicious causes. Or in some cases - they just died. The only common threads are that they went to the same high school and all tried out for, or joined, a sport; ...mostly football. Some ran away and some met their demise in an accident. The FBI has investigated these deaths, and disappearances, in great depth. They've wire tapped and bugged the high school and some of the coaches homes and cars. They've conducted aerial and street level infrared searches, investigated and followed suspects for extended periods and have even planted agents; but they've yet to develop a single lead. The school year just started and there was just another disappearance. You guessed it... he was a black kid... He signed up for and was trying out for the varsity football team. The FBI was keeping a close eye on him, yet poof... he disappeared... right under their noses.

We agreed to help them out, ...by lending them... -you-, "he said with a slight lilt in his voice, and a turn of the head with a deep gaze into my eyes looking for a reaction "to help them to solve their case. Again, you're too young to be in high school, but we'll go with the Doc's angle that you're a brainyack kid, that skipped grades, etcetera. We'll plant you, and see if you can get inside and find out who the leader is, ...and where the fuck these kids have gone. We've assumed that they're already dead, but finding out who killed them, and putting a stop to it, would be better than leaving them as missing and letting this situation continue... right?" Tom asked without expecting an answer to a question that sounded sort of defensive based on the tone of his voice.

Once you're well ensconced, ...and assuming you haven't broken the case wide open all on your own, and have all the culprits in handcuffs...," the sarcasm was dripping from every word, "then the FBI will plant their own version of you that the good doc..." "TOM!..." The Doc yelled sharply. "What?" responded Tom; feigning ignorance. The Doc was instantly furious, not angry, but furious "Aaron!, wait in the fucking hall!" the Doc demanded through clenched teeth. I've never seen the doc get so angry before and I had no idea what set him off like that. I started to walk to the door wondering what Tom had done to cause such an instantaneous ravenous anger in the Doc when Tom feigned a defense "I didn't know that 'your STAaaR... - boy-' didn't know about the oth..." Tom's condescending defense was cut short by the individual syllables "Tom..., shut... the... fuck... up...!" which pushed their way out of the doc's clenched teeth. I figured that I should get out - right then - so I opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Almost instantly the door slammed shut behind me so hard that I thought it should've broken off of the hinges, shattered the door jam or something. Then I heard the static come back on - but now it was noticeably emanating from the door itself. I put my ear to the door and it finally dawned on me that the static sound was coming from -inside- the door itself. Ding, ding, ding my brain finally put it together - the static noise was used to muffle or disguise the sound coming through the door so that people, like me, couldn't listen in on a classified conversation through a closed door. Every once in a while I could hear the sound of a human voice screaming but there was no way to make out even a single word of the verbal combat that was going on inside.

After about 10 minutes passed the man-in-the-suit returned driving down the corridor in a golf cart like vehicle that screeched to a stop right in front of me. I remembered that Tom had destroyed the phone in the conference room and so I knew that it was impossible for either of the two arguing ...or maybe worse... men to have called him so I figured that: I'd been seen alone in the halls, had been reported, and the man-in-the-suit was here to help capture me or something. I was preparing an explanation as to why I was alone in the corridor as the man-in-the-suit jumped out of the cart and ran towards me. I braced to be grabbed by him - but instead - he said in a perfunctory way "Hi Sean. Just stay there, we'll be out to get you in a moment, ...sorry about the delay here" All that I could figure was that 'people' must have been listening into the conference room all along; but why the static then? The man-in-the-suit banged on the door, the static stopped, the door opened and the man-in-the-suit went inside closing the door behind him; which was immediately followed once again by the static sound emanating from the door.

I was left out in the corridor for another 15 minutes. While I was sitting there I was dissecting how the-man-in-the-suit knew that the two men were fighting. The theory that people were listening in didn't make any sense since they went

to all the trouble to make static doors. Then I remembered the pendant the Doc used when the president was here. The Doc must have used it to call the man-in-the-suit. I thought for a second that maybe Tom could have called the-man-in-the-suit but as I remembered Tom didn't have a pendant, he only had a cell phone, which I know doesn't work in this place; unless the doc let's it work by turing off some electronic cell phone killing field. Besides Tom always seemed to be the guy not in favor around here. So, my conclusion was that the Doc must have called for help. All of the sudden the static went off jolting me back to the situation at hand. The door opened and the-man-in-the-suit said "come on back in Sean. Sorry for the rather extended delay. We had to work out some ...administrative details. I went back in closed the door and flipped the switch that turned on the static; like I knew what I was doing. I then spied a little white electrical cord near a hinge that went from the door into the wall right beside it. AH HA! That's how its done! "So Sean"... ..."SEAN!... are you here Sean? 123... earth to Sean..." I realized I was still focused on the static thingy and the man-in-the-suit was trying to talk to me while I was day dreaming.

I responded, coming back to the moment, "yes... yea I'm listening..." The-man-in-the-suit began - as he was clearly annoyed and was now taking charge - "you may have heard some things... where you didn't really have a need to know. Can you tell me what you do know and what you may have surmised based on what you have heard?" "Well" I began, feeling like this was a hunt to prove that Tom was guilty of some infraction so I thought about it for a second and responded "I don't really know anything" "Good on you for not snitching Sean, but what you say is not going to get anyone into any trouble, we just want to figure out how we can move forward. So, just be honest; and we'll pick things up from there." The-man-in-the-suit finished. I looked at the Doc and he said "Go ahead sean tell him everything... it's ok" I began again "I don't even know what to call you Sir." I pointed out to the-man-in-the-suit. He responded "'Sir' is fine Sean, please tell me what you know." "ok... SIR" I responded with every word covered in a fair helping of disdain in my voice. I hated the arrogant attitude that he had, implying that what I want to know is unimportant, yet what he wants to know is. I was beginning to feel like people had forgotten that I am actually a 58 years old man, but instead they were treating me like I really actually was 11. I began my carefully worded response "On my first assignment I'm going into a High School... in Missouri... as a freshman student. I'm trying to find out who is murdering a bunch of black kids there. That's all I know." I finished abruptly. The-man-in-the-suit said "Please Sean, I know you know more, just help us to get on with this." I looked at Tom and he said "It's ok kid you can tell him the whole thing I'm not in trouble" I took a deep breath and continued "well I guess there is already an agent or two planted in the school from the FBI. This agent, ...or agents I guess, haven't been able to find out who the killers are so far; and another kid was just killed. Someone, probably you SIR, has decided the FBI needs help in the form of a kid agent so YOU picked me. I don't think the Doc, or Mr. Tom there, likes the idea very much. I also don't think the FBI likes the idea either" I finished. The man in the suit asked "how do you know the FBI doesn't like that idea?" I answered by asking a question"...that the FBI needs help from the CIA, to do their job, and they need that help after they had failed in such a colossal way?" "Very perceptive young man" the-man-in-the-suit said to me as his eyes looked away from me up to the Doc and Tom standing behind me. "Please go on Sean" Well first, I'm not a 'young man' and I'm just guessing, but I think there is another kid, what you guys like to call 'an asset' just like me, that the Doc has created for the FBI. The FBI wants to use him, rather than me. But instead... I think YOU... want to try me out... on this case first... before I start the case that everyone thinks is so dangerous. So... YOU are giving the case to the CIA. Assuming I am successful, then the FBI will feel stupid when the case is solved by the CIA, while the FBI couldn't find its own ass with both hands. That's why the FBI doesn't like the idea"

"Not bad deductions Sean, not bad at all, ... and you're close. But..., the CIA can't operate inside the United States so this IS an FBI operation; and will... no... MUST stay as an FBI operation. But where you're wrong is the FBI asked us to lend you to them for this operation. It wasn't Tom, as you already guessed, but it was actually the FBI that asked for you. They called in a favor." The-man-in-the-suit finished his rebuttal of my take on what had happened. I asked "What favor? or am I 'allllllowed' to know?" The-man-in-the-suit answered "technically you don't need to know... to do either job... so I shouldn't tell you. You understand that right? But I'll tell you this one time... It was in exchange for the FBI altering the reports on the child smuggling case; the one you'll be working next. You know, where the FBI altered what they told the press, to include you." I interrupted "Is that why this case is taking precedence over that case because they figure I'll never make it out alive on the other case?" Tom interjected "he asks a lot of questions doesn't he?" The-man-in-the-suit ignored tom's acerbic comment and responded to me shaking his head slowly "No. ...They don't have a-need-to-know anything about you or your future assignments. They simply did what we asked them to do, as a favor in that case, and now they've called in that favor... on this case." I figured that this was the right time to ask about the elephant in the room "But hasn't the Doc created someone like me for the FBI to use? Why not just use him?" Tom interjected once again "see what I mean." The-man-in-the-suit said "Tom can you please wait in the hall?" Tom looked instantly angry and wrinkled his forehead and asked like a petulant child "What?-Why?" The-man-in-the-suit responded "Please Tom!" Tom responded "I'll be quiet" The-man-in-the-suit looked away from me and peered into Tom's eyes and said "No, Tom... please do as I ask!" Tom stomped out of the room again reminding me of a punished child. Ha, ha, it was his turn to cool HIS heels in the hall. The door was closed and the Doc turned on the static and the-man-in-the-suit exhaled hard and picked up right where he left off "No, not exactly. There ARE other child agents - true, but they're not like you, at all, in any way. You're very unique, you're the only agent like you." After a bit of a pregnant pause, where I didn't speak, leaving the-man-in-the-suit to figure out what to do next. He decided I was expecting more of an explanation and continued. "Its true, we have trained other agents as children; some from a very young age; but none of them are your caliber.

Tom doesn't have a-need-to-know for any of this. That's why I sent him out into the corridor, not because of his snarky comments, although that's what I want him to think, but so that he won't think we were discussing information he doesn't have a-need-to-know. He is NEVER to know ANYTHING of what you have gone through: age regression, speed learning, strength training, the artificial carbon nerve network inside you - NOTHING. You are NEVER to reveal any of that to anyone or discuss it with anyone other than me or the Doc - ok? The other child agents are good, no question, but you are the only man that has been successfully regressed in age. We started others out as children, and trained them while they were children, but they don't have: your strength, and speed, or your intelligence and they certainly don't have your life skills. We were able to teach you literally 1000 times as much as we've been able to teach them. The FBI doesn't know that, and Tom doesn't know that either. ...So, yes there is a black agent. He's actually 24, but has undergone some conventional surgeries and some other growth stunting techniques along the way, and as a result looks like he's 17. They may use him on this mission, once you're well ensconced, so that you can keep an eye on him. The reason the FBI doesn't want to use him alone is that he is such a huge investment for them. Also because they figure the chance of survival for a black male on this mission, let alone a greenhorn, is much less than it would be for a white male; which is why they asked us to lend you to them. Tom on the other hand thinks the FBI's agent is ready and fully capable; but what he doesn't know, and what the three of us do know, is that the FBI is getting to borrow an extraordinary asset - you. So in summary, we owe the FBI a favor for helping us to set up our international child abduction backstory. So, in return we agreed to help the FBI by loaning you to them. Tom has to accept that, at face value, period.

The reason the Doc was upset was that you learned that he has developed more subjects than just you. ...or patients... or assets... or agents... or whatever. By the way - you are an asset and an agent. The others are not assets, they are agents, but not assets; for what that's worth. Anyway, we don't usually let deep cover agents know about each other; just in case one is caught or goes rouge. In your case the cat's out of the bag. The FBI's agent, on the other hand, doesn't know about you. He doesn't NEED to know about you to do his job, and you're not to reveal yourself to him; for your own future safety ok?" "sure- ok" I responded. "And you CAN'T tell Tom about your background ok? "sure, I understand, but whats the difference between an asset and an agent?" The-man-in-the-suit responded "An asset is something almost impossible to replace. An agent can be replaced by another agent. We can't replace you. We may never be able to make another agent like you and you took 100's of thousands of hours to create. You are like a piece of art that can never be replaced." The-man-in-the suit could see I had no idea what to say to that so he looked at the Doc and nodded "let him in" The Doc opened the door and let Tom in, closed the door, and turned on the static. "Ok Tom I think everything is sorted out. No more breaches, ok? Use Sean, ok?. If he doesn't dig anything up in a month, then let the FBI put in their NOC, and then Sean keep an eye on him for you, ok? There was a lot of silence for a while. Clearly Tom wasn't 'ok'. The Doc spoke up filling the uncomfortable silence "his name is Aaron" "What" said the-man-in-the-suit. "His name is Aaron not Sean" the Doc said. "Right" said the-man-in-the-suit... "First mission... sorry ...Aaron". Well can I leave it to the three of you now? Everyone answered yes or in Tom's case was silent and the suited man flipped off the switch and and opened the door and left.

"So then... your first day of school is Monday" Tom begrudgingly picked back up. School's been in session for 2 weeks already. The boy that disappeared nearly two weeks ago still hasn't turned up. Your background story is that you moved into town from France where your father was an executive with a company named World Wide Technologies. The FBI will provide you with two cover agents. One will pose as your mother, and the other of course, as your father. All they will know is that you're a CIA agent here to help the FBI. You're already enrolled in all the AP classes in school, but we think your focus should be on the PE teachers and primarily the varsity football coaches." I interjected " but you don't KNOW that it's the football coaches for sure right?" Tom agreed "True, we don't know that it's them; in fact it could be anyone... so I guess... watch for anyone that has an interest in... the football team... or black kids... or whatever. It could be another teacher or an adult that graduated years ago, we don't know, you're right Aaron.

The head varsity football coach Mr. Schneider only teaches PE to seniors so your PE coach will have to be Mr. Bates. Mr Bates is also the offensive coach for the varsity football team. Of the eight boy's PE coaches seven are confirmed gay, and the other is a little bent as well and all of them are pretty much pedophiles. Six of the" The Doc chimed in "ephebophiles NOT pedophiles!" What's an E-phe-bo-phile I asked? The Doc responded "an ephebophile is an adult attracted to POST pubescent boys." "Right, I knew that" I said realizing that somewhere inside that I really did already know that - somehow. Tom then added one of his classic crap generalizations. "People become cops to have power over people. Guys become high school gym teachers because they ARE pedophiles." "Ephebophiles" the Doc corrected Tom. "If it quacks like a duck" responded Tom. "Hardly" commented the Doc "they are quite different. "Whatever" replied Tom. "Anyway" Tom interjected getting us back on topic. "Six of the seven 'PEDOPHILE'... coaches are also heavily into sadomasochism and the other seems inclined to it as well. Coach Schneider Coach Bates, and Coach James, also called the "bigun", have criminal records which include pedophilia in some way or another. Coach Schneider's name was Jackson and he came from Chico CA where he coached. He was accused of using tactics in training his Quarterback which were abusive. Bates was caught taking pics of high school locker rooms and James was caught in a hazing episode which involved sex and sadomasochistic torture. All three were released and charges were dropped for various reasons. Coach Schneider changed his name and moved here as part of the deal with the boys parents to prevent them from continuing the prosecution.

"None the less, none of the coaches are going to want you on the football team; you're way to small. So we'll have to woo them into putting you on the team. We can do that in potentially two ways. First we'll have your 'Dad' bribe them. He'll ostensively be offering them some philanthropic gifts: one to cover the cost of a new addition to the library and a second to pay for a new turf for the football field and some others to disguise the first two. The library gift should get the principle to put pressure on the coach to put you on the team; because he's been lobbying for a new library extension for years. It should also thrill the football coach because his grass field is almost unusable it's in such bad shape. The other wooing we can do is to let you entice the coaches with your let's call it 'gay boy charm'.

The first step of that effort will be to have the head coach and principle and a couple of others over for dinner with your 'parents' who will try to convince the coach how much you want to play football, on the varsity squad, not the JV squad. You can then imply that you would do 'anything' if you could play on the varsity squad. We don't want you to be on the JV team, or to be a manger or trainer, or some other bullshit towel boy job. The reason is we don't think that you'll gain the level of intimacy that you will need to get into their confidence. We want them to know and TRUST you. That intimacy can only be gained through one on one interfaces, which will only happen when you have daily contact. It's better still if you become pivotal for them.

This Podunk high school has a pretty abysmal football record: 0:14 last year. It was worse the year before that. In fact it's never much better in their history. If you get on the team and can change that record you would become an indispensable player for them. So we would like you to help them to begin to have a winning team for once. But be careful. Don't set any records. We don't need a lot of press asking how you ran a 100 yard dash in 9 seconds or anything like that. Just be a touch better than everyone else that is trying out for the various positions.

We've set up a hell of a basement training room in your home. You can take the coach down into your 'boy cave', and show him your 'dedication' ...to football. We will have your 'parents' intimate that: 'what happens in football training stays in football training', 'no pain - no gain', coaches and teachers need a free hand if they want to give a child the best 'motivation', 'spare the rod and spoil the child', and you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, etc. At the same time you will be agreeing with what is being said and saying for yourself how: 'you would want to put yourself in their hands', that 'you know it wont be easy' and that you know that the harder they are on you the better you will become. We will have your 'parents' ask you in front of the coaches something like 'So you know this is high school football and you're two years, and really three years, to young' and 'when the going gets tough you'll have to man up and suck it in' and don't come crying to us if the coaches aren't nice to you' or 'what happens if something bad happens like you break a finger' to which you will of course promise that you wont be a quitter no matter how bad it gets. That way the coaches will feel like they have a free hand, without fear of anything 'leaking out' back to the parents." Tom said making air quotes. We will also set up a daily punishment session for him to observe so that they know you are used to punishment.

We have already bought the house and the renovations are complete. It's ready for you to move in. You will meet your 'parents' tomorrow. Tom went over to a filing cabinet with a dial, like you see on a safe, and he twirled the dial one way then the other and back and forth on and on. Finally he pulled the drawer open and pulled out a couple of sealed manilla envelopes. He handed one to me and said "Here is your history - memorize it." He then started telling me about a bunch of other alphabet soup things and finally said you have now received your OPSEC training and read the Security Classification Guide for this program. Do you have any questions or harbor any reservations for complying with the security guidelines laid our in these documents?" I answered "no" and he said this is a test, you must pass this test with 95% or we will have to do the briefing again. I filled clicked the buttons. The questions were very hard and I wished I had actually listened to is briefing now. there were 200 questions ant it took me almost an hour to finish the test. I push the submit button and it came back "Congratulations you scored 100% - please enter your name and you may print copy of your course completion. Press the send button to electronically send the information to HR for records retention." Tom remarked "holy fuck 100% on your first time through? It took me 3 times to score a 95. Shit you must be a smart kid alright. Don't tell anyone anything that they don't NEED to KNOW. Well it's just about time and we have completed the read-in and provided you your personal effects in tons of time for you to catch your flight. The V-22 is fueled and ready in the hanger so we might as well get a jump on things. Here is your package of personal items." Tom finished as he was handing me the second envelope. I responded to the rush out the door with "I thought we had lots of time, don't I have to pack?" "No everything you need is set up in your home." Tom said. "We do have lots of time to spare but everything is fueled and ready so why waste the time, we will have extra time to make the flight". We went up to the hanger and walked up the aft ramp of the V-22 and got into the aircraft. "Sorry but they need to blindfold you and me before we go" Tom said. "but why" I asked " I have to read these, there isn't a window in here anyway." "Its protocol" Tom said. One of the two technicians that escorted us up into the V-22 put my envelopes into a thick plastic bag and pulled a strip off and closed the plastic bag bag sealing the envelopes inside. He then put the plastic bag labeled "TOP SECRET" "Eyes Only AARON KLINE" into another foil covered bag sealing it again. He then put it into a cloth bag labeled "diplomatic pouch" along with a small envelope and said "The destruction instructions and materials are in this envelope." He took two zip ties with numbers on them and threaded them thru the zipper pull and a ring at one end of the zipper pulling the zip ties tight closing the cloth bag completely. He then took a pair of hand cuffs and cuffed my arm to the ring on the cloth bag. He the put a zip tie around my wrist quite snuggly and another zip tie between the zip ties holding the cloth bag closed and the zip tie on my wrist. The second technician came over and wrote the numbers of the zip ties on a sheet of paper on a clip board and clicked the handcuff one notch tighter which was annoyingly tight. I remarked that the handcuff was too tight and the technician responded "sorry that's the rule snug plus one click".

They then put foam earplugs in my ears, a blindfold on each of us and then a heavy thick leather and rubber bag over the blindfold with a breathing tube sticking out of it. They then pulled straps tight around the outside of the bag so that it cinched the bag tight around my face. They then pulled a strap tight around my neck and put a pad lock on it locking the bag on my head and making it hard to breath. They pulled the five seat-belts super tight and I heard the rotors start. I felt my breathing tube get connected to a another hose. I figured it was oxygen. I heard the ramp start to close. As it was closing I heard one ask the other as the ramp was closing and the engines were starting up "did you see how young that kid was. The other technician replied "No, no I didn't just click a handcuff to a bag full of 'eyes only' SCI onto a ten year. No I didn't! I'm sure as hell I didn't do or see that. No way that ..." The sound deadening hood and earplugs, closing doors and engine nose drown the conversation. But I realized I could hear right through that bag over my head.

Then I started to feel woozy. As I was coming back to consciousness I realized that I wasn't in the V-22 any more but laying on the floor. I was expecting to take off but instead some lady was removing the hoods and blindfolds. As I regained my vision I realized I was in a van and lifted my hand and the information bag was still locked to my wrist. The fuckers gassed me. I had been a sleep for who knows how long. That's why they tied the crap to my wrist so that they could gas me and I wouldn't loose the secret documents. As I looked around I could hear that white noise hiss in the van. Tom wasn't with me but there were two other people in the van. The woman who took off my blindfold and another man. The woman spoke first "I'm special agent Pamela Kline and this is special agent James Kline of the FBI's counter terrorism division. You must be special agent Aaron Kline. Sorry about all of this. It must be scary to wake up like that on your first mission."

"She continued since I didn't speak "We will stay in the background for the most part. Do you need a drink?" she asked as I was shaking the sand out of my head. "Of water? Yes please" I answered. I was parched. "Since you are new at this I should remind you that once we leave the van no further classified discussions can take place until we arrive at the house and go into the SCIF." said James. "Sure of course" I shouted over the white noise. We pulled off the road and James opened the doors in the back of the van. We were in a gas station under a roof. All of the words were in french on all of the equipment and advertisements. We were in fucking France. They kept me asleep as we flew over the fucking god damned ocean and we are now in France for fuck's flying sake. As I was working myself into reality in drove a Lincoln Town Car which pulled up to the the pump beside us. "Here is our ride" said James who opened the door and ushered me into the back seat. The man driving the car had the privacy window closed. Pam and Jim got in and closed the door as the gas station attendant arrived and asked the driver in french how much gas he wanted. The driver said fill it up. So both the Town Car as well as the van sitting beside us were getting fueled up. After a while the van driver paid the attendant and drove off. Then another van that had been sitting at pump further away, which looked a lot like the van we just got out of, paid the attendant and drove off. Then the attendant took our payment and we drove off. On the way James took out some hand cuff keys and removed the handcuff from my wrist and the cut the zip ties writing the numbers of the zip ties on a piece of paper. Pam compared the numbers and initialed the sheet of paper. James then unzipped the pouch and tore open the envelopes and handed me my pouches. "You will need your personal effects so open this envelope first and memorize everything in it and put it all away. One you have that you can open this last envelope. It will fill you in on who you are. You only have about an hour. In the envelope was a well worn wallet with dog eared money and pictures etc. There was a passport and some scraps of paper like old receipts and the like. James said to put them in my pockets. My wrist still hurt from the handcuffs and zip tie. I then opened the other envelope and read my background. Birthdate and SS numbers etc were all in there. James put all the papers and the plastic bags in a coffee can sized thing and screwed the lid on. He opened the littler white envelope and dropped it inside the can then stuck a wad of stuff in a hole in the can and pressed a button. I heard a pop and he said don't open this for a while or we will have smoke all over the inside of the car.

We arrived at Charles De Gaulle Airport. The driver got out and opened the trunk and put 6 suitcases on a trolly. Jim paid the Town Car driver opened the coffee can looked inside showing Pam and tossed it in the garbage. Jim gave the attendant our tickets as the Town Car pulled away leaving the pouch inside the car. We got on the plane without a hitch. My passport worked great. The flight was long and uneventful. Customs was a breeze. We changed planes in Dulles and landed in St Louis a few hours later. We took a cab to the house. It was a very nice two story fancy white house with a wrap around front porch and pillars holding up the roof over the porch. The cab driver unloaded the trunk got paid and sped away. The house was full of boxes. We spent the next three days unpacking. Sure enough the basement was remodeled and turned into a huge gymnasium. Some of the boxes had stuff for the gymnasium and there were a few new boxes of new gym equipment. We set everything up and hardly ever spoke. There was a special room they called the SCIF that was underground and outside the walls of the house. You could only get into it by pulling the furnace forward exposing a short hallway with doors in it. As you walked down the hallway put your hand in the holes in the wall and looked into the eyeball scanner the door would whoosh open and close behind you. There were three set of those doors on the way to the SCIF. I estimated that we were pretty far from the house, in the middle of the backyard, well underground. At the end of the hall was a complex of rooms. There was a as small set of rooms for people to live in, bathrooms, kitchens and bedrooms. There was a communications room and a fully equipped hospital. There was also a similar hallway which lead to another house that sat on the road parallel to our street. Nothing was lavish in the subterranean complex; other than the hospital. My bedroom was in the basement of the house all set up with a football themed training area. A few neighbors came by over the next couple of days and introduced themselves. Some had kids some just brought welcome gifts.