The Light Warrior Files
Chapter 1, Part 2: The Organization is Hunting
By Chris Ward
Looking at the clock, I realized I only had about 10 minutes left until I had to be out front. I
left a note for Marita, letting her know I would be meeting a client for an emergency
meeting that could take several hours, I put on another pot of coffee and left. That done, I
headed out front for my meeting. Almost immediately, I heard that voice coming from
behind me. “Mr. Kemp?”
Turning around, I learned that I was right about one thing- he was black. He was also the
single largest human I had ever encountered. He had to be at least 7 feet tall, and from the
looks of it weighed in at nearly 250 pounds, none of it fat. He was well groomed, and wore
an expensive grey suit.
“Yeah, that’s me. Sorry, but I don’t believe I caught your name?” I extended my hand,
hoping he’d take the opportunity to introduce himself.
He took my hand, and pumped it twice. I found myself pleased that he was modulating his
strength. From the feel of that shake, he could squeeze coal with the reasonable
expectation of creating a diamond. “Call me Ishmael.”
Seeing my surprise, as well as my disbelief, he laughed. “So you’ve read it. Before you ask,
that really is my name. Now, let’s walk for a while.”
“Fine, but I usually do business in a restaurant down the street here.”
“I know. Unfortunately, so do they. And this isn’t business, it’s personal. At least, it’s mostly
personal.”
“Great. Wonderful. Who are ‘they?’ Come to think of it, who are you?”
“Later, when I’m certain we’re alone.” That, of course, is a major problem in a city the size
of New York. You’re almost never alone, no matter what the time.
Half an hour later, after more apparently random turns than I could keep track of, and a
conversation that randomly covered everything from baseball scores to foreign policy, we
arrived both in Central Park and at the point virtually simultaneously.
“Right then, you wanted to know who planted the bugs at your place?”
“How the bloody hell did you know I’d been bugged?”
“First off, they’ve wired all of us. At least, they’ve gotten to all the ones they have reason to
suspect. More importantly, you just told me.”
“And what exactly do you mean by that?”
“It means that you didn’t deny the existence of the bugs, which means you spotted them
somehow. Tell me, did you remove or disable them at all?”
“No. I spotted some of them shortly after you woke me up, but decided to wait until later
before destroying them. I assume there were microphones as well, although I couldn’t
locate them.’
“You’re right about that. Good. They don’t know that you know that they’re watching then.”
Confused much? “Before you head back, assuming you decide to work with us, we’ll hook
you up with some gear to baffle the snoops.’
“Fantastic. Mind telling who planted the damned things and why the bloody hell I’d want to
hook up with you- whoever the hell you are?”
‘They’ are a secret Organization. So secret that they do not even have a name. Although
they seem to have contacts and sources within every government in the world, and nearly
all the governmental agencies around the world as well, they exist outside of those
governments. My friends and I are not, to this point, entirely certain why, but the
Organization seems to be focusing primarily on abducting and studying individuals like us.”
I interrupted before he could move on. “What do you mean when you say ‘people like us’?”
“What do you think I mean? Special people. People who, for lack of a better way to describe
it, have been giving unique gifts by a random roll of the genetic dice. Are you familiar with
Mr. Linderman?”
A little perplexed at the sudden shift of target, I could only blink for a couple seconds.
“Linderman? Uhm… last I heard he was some sort of money guy. He runs a financial backing
firm. I’ve heard he has a controlling interest in a couple casinos down in Vegas as well. The
rumor mill has hinted at ties to organized crime, and also indicates that he own several
politicians and is buying candidates. What does this have to do with anything?”
“Everything. Linderman is the money, and the brains, behind the Organization I was talking
about. We’re not entirely certain what it is he wants, but he’s the one who ultimately gives
the orders.”
Although I wasn’t altogether certain I believed him, I did notice his careful avoidance of the
second part of my question. “So, for some unknown reason, this alleged Organization,
supposedly backed by Linderman, is interested in studying what you term special people.
Big deal. Why’s my loft more wired than a Christmas tree?”
He looked at me with surprise, almost as if he couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out on my
own. Maybe he couldn’t. “Isn’t it obvious? They know.”
“Oh, joy. What do they know and how did they learn it?”
“They know about you. They either know that you have manifested an ability, in which case
it is only a matter of time before they grab you, or they know that there is the potential for
you to manifest an ability.
“As for the how, that’s a little trickier. The truth is, we’re not entirely certain. Some of us
they’ve found through blind luck. We used our gift somewhere, and one of their people
happened to be in the same area. Some of us they located through research.
“The devices they left in your loft are not standard recording devices. They’ve been
specially designed to record a wide range of abnormal behavior.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Meaning they’re designed to look for temperature fluctuations, respiratory alterations. If
your eyes change color, one of the devices in your loft will record it. Here we are.”
By “here” he meant a car, which appeared to have started life as a taxi, in the parking area
on the far side of the park. It was only then that I realized we had walked through the entire
park in the course of our discussion. He gestured to the passenger door and said, “Hop in.”
“Do you honestly believe that I’m going to get in that car with you?”
Caught in the act of climbing in the driver’s side, he paused and looked directly at me. “I
guess that depends, doesn’t it.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not you want answers. Whether or not you wish to get rid of the devices in
your loft. Whether or not you want to remain free. Most of all, it depends on whether you
have actual cause to distrust me.”
That last comment was what got me. Although I’m wasn’t a very trusting person, and I had
found very little reason to trust him, I had far less reason not to. Added to that was a certain
level of security. If something happened, and it turned out that Ishmael was up to
something, I could be fairly certain he wouldn’t live long enough to regret it. I was even
more certain that, if the worst happened, I would be able to escape. After all, my ability
allowed me to render myself invisible, and you can’t hit what you can’t see.
“Fine, I’m coming. How long will this take?”
“The drive won’t take long at all. What happens after that could take hours.”
Chapter 1, Part 2: The Organization is Hunting
By Chris Ward
Looking at the clock, I realized I only had about 10 minutes left until I had to be out front. I
left a note for Marita, letting her know I would be meeting a client for an emergency
meeting that could take several hours, I put on another pot of coffee and left. That done, I
headed out front for my meeting. Almost immediately, I heard that voice coming from
behind me. “Mr. Kemp?”
Turning around, I learned that I was right about one thing- he was black. He was also the
single largest human I had ever encountered. He had to be at least 7 feet tall, and from the
looks of it weighed in at nearly 250 pounds, none of it fat. He was well groomed, and wore
an expensive grey suit.
“Yeah, that’s me. Sorry, but I don’t believe I caught your name?” I extended my hand,
hoping he’d take the opportunity to introduce himself.
He took my hand, and pumped it twice. I found myself pleased that he was modulating his
strength. From the feel of that shake, he could squeeze coal with the reasonable
expectation of creating a diamond. “Call me Ishmael.”
Seeing my surprise, as well as my disbelief, he laughed. “So you’ve read it. Before you ask,
that really is my name. Now, let’s walk for a while.”
“Fine, but I usually do business in a restaurant down the street here.”
“I know. Unfortunately, so do they. And this isn’t business, it’s personal. At least, it’s mostly
personal.”
“Great. Wonderful. Who are ‘they?’ Come to think of it, who are you?”
“Later, when I’m certain we’re alone.” That, of course, is a major problem in a city the size
of New York. You’re almost never alone, no matter what the time.
Half an hour later, after more apparently random turns than I could keep track of, and a
conversation that randomly covered everything from baseball scores to foreign policy, we
arrived both in Central Park and at the point virtually simultaneously.
“Right then, you wanted to know who planted the bugs at your place?”
“How the bloody hell did you know I’d been bugged?”
“First off, they’ve wired all of us. At least, they’ve gotten to all the ones they have reason to
suspect. More importantly, you just told me.”
“And what exactly do you mean by that?”
“It means that you didn’t deny the existence of the bugs, which means you spotted them
somehow. Tell me, did you remove or disable them at all?”
“No. I spotted some of them shortly after you woke me up, but decided to wait until later
before destroying them. I assume there were microphones as well, although I couldn’t
locate them.’
“You’re right about that. Good. They don’t know that you know that they’re watching then.”
Confused much? “Before you head back, assuming you decide to work with us, we’ll hook
you up with some gear to baffle the snoops.’
“Fantastic. Mind telling who planted the damned things and why the bloody hell I’d want to
hook up with you- whoever the hell you are?”
‘They’ are a secret Organization. So secret that they do not even have a name. Although
they seem to have contacts and sources within every government in the world, and nearly
all the governmental agencies around the world as well, they exist outside of those
governments. My friends and I are not, to this point, entirely certain why, but the
Organization seems to be focusing primarily on abducting and studying individuals like us.”
I interrupted before he could move on. “What do you mean when you say ‘people like us’?”
“What do you think I mean? Special people. People who, for lack of a better way to describe
it, have been giving unique gifts by a random roll of the genetic dice. Are you familiar with
Mr. Linderman?”
A little perplexed at the sudden shift of target, I could only blink for a couple seconds.
“Linderman? Uhm… last I heard he was some sort of money guy. He runs a financial backing
firm. I’ve heard he has a controlling interest in a couple casinos down in Vegas as well. The
rumor mill has hinted at ties to organized crime, and also indicates that he own several
politicians and is buying candidates. What does this have to do with anything?”
“Everything. Linderman is the money, and the brains, behind the Organization I was talking
about. We’re not entirely certain what it is he wants, but he’s the one who ultimately gives
the orders.”
Although I wasn’t altogether certain I believed him, I did notice his careful avoidance of the
second part of my question. “So, for some unknown reason, this alleged Organization,
supposedly backed by Linderman, is interested in studying what you term special people.
Big deal. Why’s my loft more wired than a Christmas tree?”
He looked at me with surprise, almost as if he couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out on my
own. Maybe he couldn’t. “Isn’t it obvious? They know.”
“Oh, joy. What do they know and how did they learn it?”
“They know about you. They either know that you have manifested an ability, in which case
it is only a matter of time before they grab you, or they know that there is the potential for
you to manifest an ability.
“As for the how, that’s a little trickier. The truth is, we’re not entirely certain. Some of us
they’ve found through blind luck. We used our gift somewhere, and one of their people
happened to be in the same area. Some of us they located through research.
“The devices they left in your loft are not standard recording devices. They’ve been
specially designed to record a wide range of abnormal behavior.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Meaning they’re designed to look for temperature fluctuations, respiratory alterations. If
your eyes change color, one of the devices in your loft will record it. Here we are.”
By “here” he meant a car, which appeared to have started life as a taxi, in the parking area
on the far side of the park. It was only then that I realized we had walked through the entire
park in the course of our discussion. He gestured to the passenger door and said, “Hop in.”
“Do you honestly believe that I’m going to get in that car with you?”
Caught in the act of climbing in the driver’s side, he paused and looked directly at me. “I
guess that depends, doesn’t it.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not you want answers. Whether or not you wish to get rid of the devices in
your loft. Whether or not you want to remain free. Most of all, it depends on whether you
have actual cause to distrust me.”
That last comment was what got me. Although I’m wasn’t a very trusting person, and I had
found very little reason to trust him, I had far less reason not to. Added to that was a certain
level of security. If something happened, and it turned out that Ishmael was up to
something, I could be fairly certain he wouldn’t live long enough to regret it. I was even
more certain that, if the worst happened, I would be able to escape. After all, my ability
allowed me to render myself invisible, and you can’t hit what you can’t see.
“Fine, I’m coming. How long will this take?”
“The drive won’t take long at all. What happens after that could take hours.”
