Tai the Fourth

Tai, FBI

#4: I was a FBI Hero

I don’t know how it escaped my attention that I’m so cool. Sure, I watch TV; I’m aware that FBI agents are usually regarded as inherently glamorous and exciting. Actually, pretty much all people with guns tend to be rather exciting. That might just be on TV, though. I know lots of people with gun collections or an old gun in a box in their garage, and none of them seem much more interesting as a result of it. People on TV only have guns if they are going to use them for something later on to further the plot. Usually to kill themselves, of somebody else …or so that there will be a dangerous weapon lying around just when the owner’s 6-year-old son is looking for a new toy. That’s the way TV is. They don’t want anybody to play with guns; they want to keep that particular game all to themselves.

I have guns, too, but most people don’t think I’m more fascinating because of it. People who know I’m an FBI agent logically think my guns might get a bit more use than other peoples’ guns. Regular people, that is, as if people who happen to work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation are somehow super-people. It’s not like I’m going to wake up with the ability to fly one of these late mornings. Although, really, if I were going to be a superhero, I would probably be Batman, since he was an ordinary person who only started fighting crime after he was traumatized into a mental break-down.

But now I’m an actual hero. No, really. A publicly-heralded hero. People will hear my name now and think, “oh, that’s that agent who renewed public confidence in the FBI!” Well, maybe for a while.

That’s not really why I realized I’m so cool, but what happened last week definitely made a difference. What’s been going on is, the FBI has the entire country on alert for terrorists. My boyfriend-slash-partner-slash-whatever, Jamie Estat gets to see a lot of the threats that make it into the “maybe could be possibly for real” pile (known in the Bureau as PRT –potential real threat- pile). I knew from him that Hollywood was on the high alert list. Of course, this is a very long list we’re talking about, but I can’t help thinking that this particular target makes perfect sense. It seems odd that the movie business is such an important part of American culture, but it’s not a real stretch of imagination for me to visualize all the people who would be in a complete paralysis of shock after the, say, complete eradication of their favorite TV show, set and cast. In fact, I know a lot of people who wouldn’t be able to leave the house for days after such an event. I might not be able to leave the house for weeks.

Needless to say, the idea bothered me. So I bothered Jamie with the idea for weeks. My position is that the fewer threats aimed toward the movie industry coming in, the more likely there was a real danger. I completely understood that they couldn’t actually work off my theory, but I thought that I presented the hypothesis very reasonably.

That’s when they told me to take some time off.

Well, fine. I have a 5-page list of books I want to read as well as a 3-page one of movies I need to watch. Plus, I’d forgotten how much my best friend and roommate Sam likes to cook. Ever since she found out I’m a FBI agent, she’s stopped making food for me. Now she bakes cookies and hides them before I get home. I’m not sure why she does this, unless it’s her passive-aggressive way of getting me back for never telling her about the secret agent thing. It wouldn’t be so bad, except that she leaves the mixing bowls and things in the sink just to let me know exactly what she’s been up to. And then I can never find the cookies. Seriously, every time I come home to a sink full of cookie-mess, I check all the cupboards, then way in the back of the fridge and the freeze, and a couple of times I even snuck into Sam’s room to see if I could find them in there. I can’t believe all my spy-training simply goes to waste when it comes to Sami.

But anyway, since I was going to be home, I decided to make the best of it. The first morning of my “time off”, I made Sam believe I’d left and then popped out of my room when I heard her start the mixer.

“Oh, good grief!” she yelled at me. I was a little embarrassed that I’d made her spray the batter all over the wall and snack bar, but I just yelled back, “Ah HA!”

“Hello, you dork, what are you doing home?”

“Vacation.”

“You took a vacation just so you could catch me making oatmeal scotchies?”

“Uh, no. But I can’t believe you’re making oatmeal scotchies. You know I love those!” Actually, there’s not much of any kind of cookie at the moment. I should have waited until she’d finished putting in all of the ingredients. “Why do you make cookies and not let me have any?” I whined.

“I do let you have some. I always give them to James to take to the office. Don’t tell me you never get any cookies at the office.”

“You give them to James to take to the FBI office?” I can not believe this.

“Yesss…”

“Well, I’ve never seen any of them.” I scowled at her, whirled on my heel and went back to my room.

Hmph.

Two weeks later, I was back on duty. Apparently Sam had gotten tired of me eating half her batter every time she tried to make more cookies, so she had gone in herself to ask my boss to reduce my sentence from three weeks to two. Hey, it’s not like I was so happy about the situation. I couldn’t seem to convince myself there was still a need to work out when I wasn’t working, so I’m positive I was getting flabby. I still have no idea how she convinced my boss. James must have helped, trying to make amends for giving all the cookies to his roommates instead of his coworkers.

They put me on a surveillance route. Of warehouses. On a television lot.

And they say the FBI has no sense of humor.

---

The big deal was that I ended up being right. Or… partially right, anyway. Right enough that I can say “I told you so”. Not that I would. Very often.

The target ended up being the set of a WB show, the kind with decent actors but crappy writing. I wasn’t actually in the precise area at the time, but they called to bring me in on backup. If I would have needed to, I so would have run the whole way. Somehow protecting the future of innocent TV shows everywhere seemed like the most important mission of my life.

Things were not going so well, considering that we had been pretty unprepared. I kept hearing calls over my radio about agents down, hostages, and civilians in transit to safe houses. I put in a call to the team leaders to see if they considered the high-profile stars the main targets. They completely blew me off. Unbelievable. The guy I talked to did fill me in on the situation, however: apparently, two agents who were protecting several civilians were on the run in an unsecured area somewhere in the lot. The terrorist group was believed to be a small one, but they were not contained and were believed to be hunting the missing civilians.

Now that I knew where the perimeters were, I could take a chance and try to catch up with the civilians before the terrorists did. I knew this place pretty well by now; I could probably guess where they were. After all, if my own FBI co-agents wouldn’t listen to me… Okay, so it’s not the sanest logic. I didn’t worry about it too much at the time. Like I said, I couldn’t let the show die when I might do something about it. I kind of like that show.

I had that feeling below my stomach that I sometimes get when James is getting on my nerves. Sometimes he tells me I should be more cautious, and sometimes I tell him the same, but we both know that we don’t listen to each other. That’s what makes our relationship work, after all.

Finding the appropriate empty set was easy enough, considering all the guys with guns hanging around outside, about to burst through the big doors.

I used the unlocked side door.

“We need backup!” I could hear the panic almost before I could hear the voice. I really hoped he was at least talking into a walkie-talkie and not to the frightened starlets. “Man, come on. Tai was right! Can’t you get her down here? We could really use somebody who knows what’s going on!”

Right at that moment, I wasn’t sure if I was flattered that the agent seemed to think I was such an expert, or furious that he was totally freaking out the people huddled behind him. Oh, the people who were huddled around the dead body of the other agent.

Gosh, in a minute there were going to be two real corpses on a fake set, because some daredevil terrorist was sneaking in, alone, behind Mr. Walkie-Talkie.

“Did I hear my name?” I said loudly, and I have to give the Idiot Agent credit; he whipped around, gun out, and shot the intruder before he could blink. I’m really glad that wasn’t me coming up behind him, though.

I pushed off the wall and headed for the bodies on the floor.

“I am really glad to see you,” said the agent I now recognized as Frank Jenkins, otherwise known as Jenny, because he’s such a girl.

“We might need some extra weapons, Jen.” I knelt down by the dead terrorist and started feeling him up. “They’re right outside.”

“Here,” Jen immediately offered me his partner’s gun.

“Get them through that trap door,” I gestured at the people watching me unzip the terrorist’s trousers.

“What trap door?”

“The one that says ‘trap door’.”

“But that’s a fake.”

“It’s also the safest place in this building right now.” I pulled the knife out and showed it to my keen spectators before I stuck it in the extra slot in my own knife holster, on my forearm.

Everyone could hear the big doors come down. A couple of the actors turned and started hustling their group towards the indicated trap doors without further prompting.

“Give me a boost,” I said, reaching for the rafters. Jen grabbed me around the hips and lifted until I could grab them with gloved hands and pull myself up. Up in the rafters… insanely, a Christmas carol started up in my head. I swung my legs over a beam to pull myself up until I could support my weight by straightening my arms and locking my shoulders, and then I dropped my legs and held them straight out from my body so they wouldn’t be noticed from the floor. I had about two seconds to stop moving. I was really feeling all that cookie dough I’d been eating. Of all the times to wish I had an even more strenuous abdomen exercise routine. Funny how I never think I’m doing too few crunches when I’m lying there on the gym mat.

The terrorists were really taking their time getting out there. I started re-thinking my strategy. That’s never a good thing.

And then, suddenly, there was a big hairy terrorist right underneath me. Thank God. I was exhausted. I let go. He very nicely broke my fall, and didn’t protest when I shot two of his co-patriots in the moment before I got off him. I totally felt like I John Woo movie hero with my two pistols.

Kick for the guy trying to help me up, bullet when he grabs for my leg, and then I’ve disabled 4 men and we could make a break for it if only- I look towards the dark side of the warehouse and fortunately for me, Jenny is a girl, not stupid, because he’s taking advantage of the distraction to usher the beautiful Hollywood people out the side door.

But, well, one lone agent can’t control that many flighty actors, so I can’t blame him when two girls start running for the wide open spaces and a few more follow like sheep drawn to the pretty leaders over the brainy. Jen shoots the first terrorist that spots them and he goes down with a splat. At last, there’s the actual FBI backup team running forward to snatch up the frightened actresses.

The actual FBI backup team is followed by the actual terrorist backup team.

I can see that things are going to deteriorate quickly. I finish up with the terrorist standing on my left and Jen and I head for the back door. I have a moment of doubt about whether I have any civilians left to protect, but I eventually catch sight of a couple of guys, keeping pace as we head for safety. And then a motion light flicks on and for a moment I can see that the two guys are the stars of my poor besieged TV drama. Happily, I don’t have a chance to be star-struck because Jen flicks his gun up as if to shoot at the startling light-source and I have to smack him before he gives us away.

Right at that moment, the warehouse explodes behind us.

“This is not good,” I observed when we stood up again. “Guess we better get off the lot, just in case.”

Jen looked at me. Right. A plan was called for. “A big truck would be handy.” No comment. “Well, plan B would be a back door to the lot.” I looked at the two men who had probably expected to be pretending to run from some great danger right about now. “By the way, I’m Tai, and this is Jenkins. Call him Jen. Know a back way off the lot by any chance?”

“Yeah, actually,” said the bald one, Michael. He gestured over his shoulder with a jerk of his slightly stubbled head. “Not too far.”

I looked at Jen. “Chance it?” I looked around while he gave a perfunctory “yes” and spotted a likely car, heading for it. “We could leave a note,” I murmured while popping the lock on the driver’s door. “Okay, everybody in.”

We picked up a tail just as we barreled through the security gate, but it was only one car and I’ve had lots of experience loosing tails, so I wasn’t too worried. Sure, these guys were obviously better than average, considering that they managed to stay with me on the freeway and even though I kept up a high speed, changing lanes with abandon, and cutting across two lanes of traffic to take an exit.

“Okay,” I said on an exhale. “Only one thing left to do.”

Jen look at me sharply. “You-” he began, then thought better of it.

“Keep talking to me so I don’t get nervous,” I suggested. “That would be helpful. Everybody relax and hold on.” I hit the brakes.

It was almost a Fight Club moment. I couldn’t close my eyes. I hit the gas again a split second before the cars behind us would have piled up too close to our bumper. I sped all the way up an off-ramp at what I like to think of as the speed of light. We were in downtown LA.

“Wow,” I heard from the backseat and chanced a glance in the rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t contemplating mutiny. Tom, with an abundance of hair, and Michael, with a lack of it, were exchanging looks. They looked impressed.

“This is not the best part of town,” Jen cautioned when I pulled over. I leaned forward to check out the gas station nearby and noticed there was bars on the window and no friendly patron door.

I glanced at Jen, sitting docilely in the passenger seat with his seatbelt on, and bizarrely felt like I was a regular suburban woman, out for a jaunt with the family and lost in the scary part of town. I glanced in the rearview mirror again. I’m way too young to have kids that old. On the good side, I obviously gave them some great genes.

“Nightclub,” I pointed out the front window.

Jen looked at me. G-iiirl. Girly girl, my head reminded me. I smiled reassuringly. “I’ve heard of it. We’ll be okay.” Actually, considering that I would normally have to be dragged kicking and screaming into any club called Armageddon, we might not be okay. Then again, it could be worse. It could be a topical Bible study.

I threw a look over my shoulder; Michael and Tom were already unbuckling their seatbelts. Nice, mannerly kids I’ve got there.

We all piled out and I lead the way into the club. There was a bouncer at the door, but I guess we’re all reasonably good looking, so he waved us on in. It wasn’t like there was a big line or anything, anyway.

As we went in, I braced myself for the onslaught of disorientation gimmicks. At the last minute, I grabbed hands, trying to keep us all together.

“Bathrooms?” I kept my query short in order to keep it heard. Everyone started looking around, which meant we started noticing what the writhing couples were doing with themselves.

I desperately needed to adjust to the atmosphere, so I started focusing on the music, eventually picking up actual lyrics in the song: Didn’t mean to hurt you baby but you’re so pretty when you cry…

My observation skills were back online, so I suddenly noticed Terrorist StereoType A scanning the crowd not far from us. I whirled on the boys and started pushing them farther into the black lights. These guys were persistent. Really persistent.

Jen must have gotten the cue from me, because he wasn’t resisting.

Tom leaned over my shoulder. “They have booths,” he said into my ear, directing my attention to said booths, which looked remarkably like purple and silver porta-potties sitting in a cluster in the middle of the room. One of them was shaking.

“Good idea.” The four of as, almost as one, did an about face and headed for the sorta-porta-potties.

The porta-potties even had a bouncer. This one was less muscled and more greasy. “The four of you?” he smirked. I lunged for all the curly black hair on Tom’s head and attempted a slutty smile. He opened a purple and silver door. “Be gentle,” he offered his words of wisdom as we climbed in.

The booth had a wide, cushioned seat all the way around. The cushion was also purple. “Aren’t these supposed to be red and gold?” At least it was quieter in here.

Very quiet when the three men sat down in separate corners and said nothing.

“Listen, you guys would have mentioned it if you had a cell phone on you, right?” I said suddenly.

Michael looked up. The diffracted light in the top of the sorta-porta reflected off his head a little. “I don’t,” he assured me.

“No. Me either,” said Tom.

I think Jen was blushing.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, seeing me looking at him.

“What do you think the people who come here would want to be doing if the world were really ending?” I grinned. “We really need to get to a phone. Maybe I could slip out, and you guys can stay hidden in here.”

Jen jumped. “I could-”

“Look, I know this is embarrassing and all, but I did see one of those guys out there...”

“That guy is going to be out there, waiting to hear something,” Tom warned me.

“See, I should go. Three guys in here alone could be suspicious.”

We all looked at Jen, considering the validity of his statement.

“Okay, maybe not as suspicious as you’d think, but still…” he was almost pleading.

I sighed. “Let’s see.” I reached for the door handle and opened the door just a little, immediately catching sight of Slimey. He looked interested and I waved frantically behind me with the arm not holding the door mostly closed, hoping the guys would start doing something helpful.

“Need something?” Slimey suggested, very accommodating. He put his hand over mine on the door and tried to peer inside. I smiled sweetly and backed off a little, letting him look. He raised his eyebrows in interest, so I decided to look behind me, too. Well, yeah, Tom’s bare chest was pretty interesting. It was probably interesting enough to draw attention away from both his face and Michael’s, even if Tom’s hair hadn’t been pretty much covering both faces with the way they had their heads tilted together. Jen was still blushing, but he looked like he wanted to be doing something, so his wide eyes didn’t hurt the setup. I smiled sweetly at Slimey. “I hope you weren’t planning to watch. He’s a little shy.”

Jen took over for me, discretely blocking the doorway, and I backed into the Michael & Tom Huddle. They start unbuttoning my shirt. All I can think about is my mother. She was sure my being a FBI agent would only lead to bad things.

Slimey completely forgot that I had opened the door in the first place. “No, you four have fun.” He shut the door with finality.

I’m still thinking about my mother. Fortunately, that fact alone ensures that I will be able to share the laughs with my friends and family once I get out of this. I wonder if James really realizes how inhibited I am?

“Look.” Michael is pointing upwards, like the alien teenager always does when he’s trying to tell someone he comes from “up there”. We all look up slowly, expecting to see something awe-inspiring. Instead we see frosty glass lighting. I squint a little, because the booth is actually rather well-lit, despite what it’s normally used for.

“The ceiling is the floor of the next level in the nightclub.”

If I look past the lights, I see that he’s right. Shadows are moving back and forth across our ceiling.

“Think we can get it off?” I stand up from where I was sitting, and then put one foot on each side of the seat on both sides of the little room so I can stretch farther. I feel around the edges of the circle. “I think it’s just sitting on metal notches…” I say, looking down instead of into the light and hoping my fingertips are accurate. “But it’s also glued on.” I pull one hand down and look at it. “The glue must be flaking.” Just then someone knocks twice, quickly, on the door.

Two pairs of hands yank on me and I start to topple over in the booth. Michael catches me around the waist and Tom grabs my shoulders when my head keeps aiming for the dirty floor in the middle of the booth. Jen’s legs, feet propped on the seat across from him, blocking the door are the first thing Slimey sees. After that I suppose he noticed a bald guy’s back because he was leaning over my twisted body, and Tom’s handy hair once again obscuring his face -and my line of sight.

“Sorry,” he says, “we have to check.” He closes the door again. The club music now sounds suspiciously like Cher.

Everybody straightens. Tom pushes me farther into Michael’s lap so I can uncurl my legs. In this position, my feet are already asleep.

“God,” Tom groans, stressed.

I look at him, resigned. Wasn’t I just thinking of these guys as my kids? “Louder,” I say.

He looks up, then immediately comprehends. “God,” he repeated, and he sounded as sincere as the first time. Oh, that’s right: professional actor.

I gesture to Jen, and we both stand up on the seats to look at the ceiling. Michael puts an elbow into the wall near the door. “Ouch!” He says. Loudly.

I smile. “Realistic.”

Jen and I pull out knives. I can feel a hand steadying one leg by the calf as I start chipping at corroded glue. “Ugh,” I said as it started falling all over my face. I bet I look like I have dandruff now. Well, anything for the job. But still. “Ughhhhh,” I complain loudly. One of the guys below me bangs on the wall a little some more. I let an “AH!” come out when my knife slips and slices my thumb. See, I’m still innocent, I tell my mother in my head.

Jen pulls out his gun and starts tapping on the metal edges with the butt. The ceiling panel shakes a little. “Harder,” I tell him. As loudly as I can say something like that. He looks at me, then away quickly. “Harder,” I repeat louder. I’m going to have to wash my own mouth out with soap when I get home.

“I hope that’s not cocked,” I said suddenly, watching the way the gun is pointed at all of our body parts. I’m the center of attention again, abruptly. I gesture impatiently at the gun in Jen’s hand. He winces and puts it back, opting to use the butt of his knife instead.

“Okay, push now,” Jen finally says, and I’m rather proud of him. We both brace our hands on the sides of the ceiling and Michael and Tom brace their legs so they can brace ours. We all start yelling, so we barely notice when the ceiling pops free and Jen and I can push it up and to the side. Several faces stare down at us. I smile up, pleasantly. “Give me a hand up?” I reach out a hand, and somebody pulls. Somebody else pushes from underneath.

“Can I borrow your cell phone?” I might as well take advantage of these kids’ shock. I call in while they help the three guys out of our strange little hole in the ground. Jen comes up last. He looks so relieved to be out of there, he’s actually grinning.

Strangely enough, I get James on the phone. “I swear to God, I will suspend you for this myself,” he sounds pretty angry.

“Don’t make me bring up the cookies again,” I say.

So, that’s what happened last week. We seemed pretty safe in the ladies bathroom of the VIP lounge until about 3 different law enforcement agencies burst in the door to save us. The press immediately clamored for the story, but the studio was forced to keep everything under wraps until the FBI could finish its superficial investigation. Pretty soon, I’m going to be front-page news. Tai: Girl Superspy. Or something like that. Plus, how mad can my boss really be with me? I’m optimistic that he called me into his office today to tell me I’m a hero and did what had to be done, rather than tell me I have to go on a longer vacation.

Forty minutes later, I stand in front of a very much insane man.

“A WHAT?”

“Obviously, we can’t have you out on the street anymore. If people know who you are, you can’t get any work done. The terrorists are going to tag you. You will be very valuable in the office, Tai. And your life will be much more normal.”

Twenty-one years old and I have been retired to a desk job. This isn’t right. These are my most glamorous years! I haven’t had a chance to order a martini “shaken, not stirred” on a mission since I’ve been legal!

“I think I need to sit down.”

“Tai.” My boss looks sympathetic. Not a sociopath, then. They can’t feel emotion, right? “I’m sorry. I don’t want to call you in, honestly. Well, maybe for awhile. But not forever. Not if I had a choice in the matter.”

I suddenly notice I’m still standing up. “The newspapers haven’t come out yet,” I whimper. “Nobody knows.”
He grimaces. “The actors know.”

“If they left my name out of their interviews? What about Jenkins?” I tag on suddenly, only now thinking about the other agent.

He raises his eyebrows but says nothing. What, Jenny wants an office job? He didn’t do so bad out there. Of course, he won’t always have somebody along… Okay, enough thinking about somebody else’s job. “I can keep my name out of the papers,” I announce.

“If you can, you can stay out of the office and take a long vacation instead.”

I roll my eyes, which isn’t quite respectful, but I have to take my few moments of being a hotshot agent while I still have ‘em.

I call Michael the moment I’m out of the meeting. “Hi, it’s your friendly neighborhood FBI agent. I really need to talk to you and Tom before you go to the press.”

Michael insisted we meet in person. I didn’t realize how weird it would be to see them both sans flying bullets until I was standing there in front of the two. I explained the situation with minimal stammering. “So, do you think you could leave my name out of it? You can say there were two agents, and just emphasize Jenkins, or whatever. Because seriously, I’m just too young to have a desk job.” I tried for a smile.

Michael was sitting on the edge of his couch, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t want anyone to know you’re the big hero,” he concluded.

Tom mirrored his pose. “You deserve the recognition, you know.”

I really did smile then. “Thanks, but when it comes to recognition or keeping the job I love…”

Of course, these guys never had to make a distinction.

Michael nodded. “I won’t give them your name.”

Tom agreed, “No, me either.”

“Thanks a lot,” I started to stand. “I need to check on the official release and make sure the FBI isn’t going to leak my name now.” We’re not so good with the life-stopping details. Maybe I should hand-carry the release to the press, just to be extra-careful.

They stand with me. “Keep in touch, if you can,” Tom says with a smile, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.

I nod and smile back, then follow Michael out into the foyer and to the door. “Thanks.”

“Hey.” He makes me pause. “We went through one of those events that we’re all going to remember forever. Together.” He shrugged, looking into my eyes. “I second what Tom said, and… think you want to go out sometime?”

I smile and wait for him to smile back. “Thanks, but I watch your show, so I think it’d just ruin the experience for me.”

He smiled crookedly. “Well, then I’ll just look you up after we’re cancelled.”

I just grinned and ducked out.

Maybe I don’t have the thanks of a grateful nation, but at least two hot TV actors think I’m pretty cool.

THE END.