Chapter 2

Cal fixed the tie that Gillian insisted he wear for this meeting ('we need to make a good impression here!') and fidgeted in his seat in the musty waiting room outside the office. He reminded himself that this was nothing more than a simple, casual, meeting about nothing of significance.

The Vice President had been briefed on several ongoing cases that the FBI were monitoring and had asked why The Lightman Group hadn't been consulted on any of them. When it was explained to him that they had cut ties by mutual consent, he had become curious as to what they were doing instead. The Vice President had taken an interest in the work they did, more of a personal curiosity than anything else, and had sought a briefing with Dr Lightman to discuss the nature of his science and what type of cases they were pursuing if not the big government contracts they had built their reputation on.

Cal was still convinced he was here for a tongue lashing and would either be blacklisted or there would be an attempt to recruit their efforts by some kind of executive order or manipulation by token funding. Gillian insisted that he was being ridiculous, that the man couldn't force a private company to take on contracts they didn't want to take and then she joked that a little extra funding wouldn't be so bad. He had picked a fight with her over it, but knowing she was likely right he had allowed her the upper hand. At least that's what he told himself. She had, however, insisted that he dress appropriately for the occasion.

The door was opened from inside the office, and Cal immediately stood and turned to face it. He was waved inside, and as he approached the large antique wooden desk he extended his hand politely as the occupant stood to greet him.

"Mr. Vice President," Cal greeted as they shook hands.

"Sit, Dr. Lightman, sit down. Thank you for coming," returned the older man with a relaxed smile.

"Thanks for inviting me," Cal replied as cautiously casual as he could.

Half an hour later, and Cal was googling YouTube videos of famous politicians and statesmen on the Vice President's computer while two secret service agents hovered nervously in the background.

"Now, see that there? That is shame," Cal pointed at the monitor, outlining the corners of the mouth of the person on the screen.

"What? Really? What's he ashamed of?" answered the Vice President as he leaned closer to the screen with an amused smile, his eyes filled with curious delight.

Before Cal could retort with his intended gibe, his cell phone blasted from his pocket. The tune was different from that of earlier, but Cal's attention was drawn more so because of it. With an apologetic look to the nation's second in command, replied to with an open gesture of consent from the man, Cal reached into his pocket to retrieve the interruption.

"Sorry about this," Cal offered, looking at the screen with a confused frown and narrowed brows. He stepped away from the desk to answer the call.

"Hi," he said abruptly, pausing to listen to the caller at the other end. "Yeah, no I know, sorry about that she's on a case where she can't have the phone on her… is he alright?... she won't be able to get away for a while I'm afraid, but maybe I could…", he listened for a while to the caller again before turning with an apologetic glance at the man listening curiously from his desk. "Listen, I'll be there as soon as I can, yeah? I know I'm not the expert on this one, but I might be able to help out a bit, eh?"

Cal finished his conversation and disconnected the call, returning his attention to the meeting at hand.

"Work emergency?" asked the older man.

"Not exactly. It's… complicated."

Foster, Torres, and Turner sat closely together at one end of the room, surrounding a desk with a small video monitor, while Loker maintained his station at the other monitoring the audio output from their newly acquired video.

The screen in front of the trio showed video footage of Commander Jacobs during a training mission, captured a year previously. Jacobs was newly promoted and engaging in training exercises designed to improve the command skills of officers on covert and sensitive missions.

On the screen, Jacobs was serious and seemingly confident, issuing orders to his mock crew without hesitation.

The training scenario was comparable to the current situation they faced. The crew's XO was tasked with taking command of a vessel due to the Captain becoming incapacitated, followed by the vessel experiencing an emergency incident. Jacobs followed every protocol to the letter. In the mock scenario, the incident was focused on the vessel encountering enemy fire. In their current reality, Jacobs was reporting an event that had a different protocol attached.

On the screen, Commander Jacobs instructed his men to their battle stations, to issue a mayday to the nearest vessel, and to evade the oncoming torpedo strikes of the enemy vessel before returning fire. He was confident, but with an edge of tension that showed he was taking his role as seriously as if it were real. He was training for his future.

"Do you think he was using this in preparation of a future plan?" asked Lt Commander Andrews, full of concern and anger.

"I doubt it," answered Foster. "Look at his body language here," she continued, pointing at the screen and outlining the shape of the man, then pointing at his face, "and look here, he's so focused on trying to see if he's making the right decision, seeking approval from his peers. See how he keeps glancing around to check everyone else's expressions? His eyes wide, brow slightly raised, nostrils slightly flared. He's checking to see if people approve of him. If he were planning for some future event like what we're seeing now, he would be checking to see if people find him convincing, not to see if he's making the right choices. He wouldn't want their approval. He would also likely show hesitation in his actions at specific points. He's following the protocol exactly as he was trained and exactly as he believes in. If he were testing a scenario like today, he would deviate from the plan to test the reactions".

Torres stepped in then to continue the lesson. "We see it in radicalized terrorists when they're preparing for an upcoming plot. When we review footage before the event, we see them test the boundaries of the environment. In surveillance footage of terrorist training camps, that's when we see them look for approval," Torres explained. "They want to be accepted by their peers and superiors. Just like Jacobs does here. He wants to be here, preparing for this scenario. If he were planning to betray these men? If he were using this as an opportunity to act against them? We would see slightly similar reactions, but at different times. Jacobs wants acceptance from his peers and confirmation of approval. He's sure about what he should do, and he wants that reinforced. He's not afraid, he's just seeking reassurance that he's doing the right thing."

Gillian Foster reached over to the keyboard and brought up a new video, recent footage from a pre-mission briefing. As the video played, she once again pointed to the screen.

"This video was taken a few weeks ago, just before they set out. Jacobs is confident, almost excited, and show's no apprehension or fear. Most people in his situation would exhibit some level of the latter two, but given that Jacobs isn't leaving family behind, it's not entirely uncommon that he wouldn't. This doesn't look like a man planning a mutiny or defection."

"So, what's going on out there?"

The trio turned to Loker, who in turn brought up an isolated audio clip from the recent recording.

"If we single out as much background noise as we can, and given where they are that's not too challenging, we can hear," he paused dramatically for a beat as he pressed a button on the keyboard and declared, "this!", before leaning back in his seat for the others to listen.

The sound of someone talking could be faintly heard on the recording. Loker played it again, having boosted the volume slightly.

"That's… not English," said Andrews.

"Exactly," said Loker.

Cal pulled up to the sidewalk at the front of a small sub-urban house. As he parked the car and released his seatbelt, he took a deep breath and looked for a moment to the front, scanning it with his eyes. There was no sign of activity from the outside.

Releasing the air from his lungs with a determined tensing and release of his shoulders, he stepped from the car and made his way towards the front door.

He knocked and took a step back. When the door opened, the man on the other side met his eyes with guilt, then cast his view behind Cal with a glimmer of hope.

"She's still stuck without her phone."

The man opened the door wider and stepped back.

"Where is he?" Cal asked.

"He's upstairs, in the spare room."

"Wardrobe?" Cal asked with a grimace.

"Only room with the space inside for him to fit. He won't come out. He's barely made a sound, and if anyone tries to open the door he panics and flails about. We didn't want him to hurt himself."

"So you called Gillian?"

"This happened a few of times in the first few days when he would get scared. Gillian is the only one he lets near him when he gets like this. Only one who can calm him down. Even if it's at the other end of a phone."

"What scared him this time? She said he was getting better. Coming out of his shell a bit more."

Shame and guilt flooded the man's features. Cal felt a swell of anger within him at the thought that this man, who had been tasked with caring for the little boy, may have caused him some harm. He pushed it down, knowing that if Josh felt this way he was unlikely to have caused any damage purposefully.

Josh and Theresa (Terry) Doucet were experienced foster parents. Max Kabuso had been placed with them for a reason, although it was never going to be a permanent arrangement. Their task was to give him a caring place to live and become accustomed to the world before he was ready to either move to more permanent foster care or find an adoptive family. They had done this for over a decade with dozens of troubled foster children, although they were more used to having older children in their home.

"What happened, Josh?" Cal asked again.

"I… I don't know. I guess I'm more tired than normal, I just... I got frustrated, and I yelled at him. He left his pictures laying about. You know the one's he uses to communicate? I almost slipped on them. I would never…", the man was distraught.

"It's alright, it happens. So then what? He ran off?"

"I think maybe he thought I was yelling at Terry," he clarified, referring to his wife Theresa.

"Yeah, I suppose that's a trigger. Let me see if I can work some Gillian magic on him, eh?"

"I doubt it, no offence, but it's worth a shot."

Cal moved on soft feet up the stairs and quietly into the room. If Cal didn't know better, he would have sworn the room was vacant. There wasn't a whisper to be heard; Not even the toddlers breathing, which he expected to be loud and fast in sustained panic.

"Max?" Cal whispered, to no avail. "Max, mate? It's Cal," he continued.

When it became clear that the child wasn't going to answer, Cal moved towards the closet door. As he approached he could hear the tiniest of shuffling feet, scuffing along the surface within the claustrophobic space. Then he heard the uneven breaths. Cal paused in his movements, understanding that the little boy he had grown so fond of was petrified and not thinking clearly.

"Ok mate, we'll do this at your pace then," Cal said in a soft voice barely above a whisper as he grumbled a sigh that only came with being over forty and having to sit on the floor. He settled himself at the foot of the unmade bed, trying his best not to stare at the door that hid the stubborn but adorable little boy.

"We need to talk to Commander Jacobs," Gillian insisted.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Lt Commander Andrews stubbornly refused.

"We have no way of telling what's really going on out there until we speak to him and ask him the right questions."

"We have what we need from you, Dr Foster. Thank you for your time, but your analysis shows clearly that that vessel has been commandeered by enemy forces."

"So, what? You're going to just blow them out of the water? Without knowing what's really going on?"

"We don't have a choice on this. That recording is pretty clear. Thank you, all, again for your service, but we need to act on this."

"Something's still not sitting right with me about this. I think there's more to it than what it seems. If you just give us a little more time…"

"Ma'am, we don't have time."

Gillian released a sigh of frustration, tensing and releasing her muscles as she did so. "Lt. Commander Andrews, you could be making a huge mistake here. Please. Give us a little more time. Give us a chance to speak with Commander Jacobs or someone on his crew. If you're wrong about this, and I'm right? Taking the action that you are planning could make things considerably worse. We're not just talking about the lives of your crew here. You can't even tell us where they are. I'm guessing that whatever you're planning has to be based on indisputable facts to avoid causing an international incident. That's worth taking a few extra precautions over."

"I'll report your views to the Admiral. You have until I get back."

Wyatt Andrews stormed from the room and Gillian feared he was planning to disregard their advice to wait before they have more information. She turned back to her colleagues, simultaneously grateful and disappointed that Cal wasn't with them. He could have been a more influential voice in the room, but he also had a knack for riling up men like Andrews.

"So what do we do now?" asked Turner.

"Listen to the recordings again. Somethings not right. I know how it sounds, but I'm sure there's something we're missing."

"Seems pretty clear cut to me, Foster," Loker said, dismissive of her concerns. "They need to do what they need to do. You heard what I heard."

"I'm not sure, Loker. I heard it, but there's something about it that doesn't sit right."

She sat down, ignoring Loker's look, and gestured to him to play the recordings again.

Cal had been sitting on the floor for a while now; his leg was getting pins and needles, his butt was going numb, and he could feel a cramp coming on. Cal was a fidgeter. He found it very difficult to sit still. But he knew that what Max needed, was peace and time to understand that there was no danger here. Max needed to know that it was safe, and that no matter what, Cal was there for him. He also needed to understand that Josh was safe too. That he didn't pose a threat. He needed to get Josh into the room, just for a minute to show Max that this was nothing like his old home. It was nothing like the hospital he had been housed in, and frankly terrified of. And maybe he needed to know that someone other than Gillian could bring him back into the world when he got scared like this.

"Max?" Cal spoke in his softest tone. The one he reserved for only a few people and deployed in only the most tender of moments.

Predictably, he received no response.

"Max, sweetheart, I think Josh probably wants to say sorry for scaring you."

The shuffled retreat he could hear suggested that Max had no interest in Josh's apology.

"And we could really use your pictures here too, couldn't we? If we want t have a chat, find out what's on your mind."

He heard Max move again at the mention of his pictures. Gillian had gotten them for him in the first couple of weeks after his rescue, when he was still in the hospital receiving treatment for malnutrition and having all sorts of tests run on him. They were a common tool used with non-verbal children, and had proved an excellent way to get the little boy to begin to communicate. When he had arrived at the Doucet's home he brought his pictures with him. The Doucet's had a set too, having housed non-verbal children previously. But Max would only use the set that Gillian had given him. As he became more expressive, and the limitations of what his pictures could provide began to slow his progress, Gillian had begun learning American Sign Language to engage with him. The child's skills were coming along quickly, more so than Gillian's were, but Cal hadn't bothered to begin to learn. He always had Gillian there when he saw the boy. He was sure that Max would continue to be a fixture in their lives for as long as Gillian could make it happen, but he was still hesitant. He was afraid that once he was placed with an adoptive family, they would lose ties with him. Cal was more focused on bracing for the fallout of that than he was on preparing for a long-term arrangement. He feared that Gillian was burying her head in the sand on that one, so bonded was she with the boy and his baby brother, who would likely remain at the hospital for another several months, that she couldn't process the likely reality that it wouldn't last. Early on she had been determined not to get attached, but that ship had long since sailed with the increasing needs that Max showed for her.

"Max, I bet if I asked Josh to bring your pictures, he'd bring them in for us and then he'd leave us be once he knows your safe. Terry's worried about you too. She called me to come and help you."

When Max hesitated in his shuffling, Cal decided to just bite the bullet. By now, typically, Gillian would have him sitting in her lap, clinging to her but happy enough once he knew she was there. Gill had been his first introduction to the outside world. She had been the first person, aside from Max's mother, to take care of him and his little brother. She had taken him to visit the baby, she had calmed him in the hospital when everything became too overwhelming for him. He trusted Gillian implicitly. He was still learning that trust with Cal. But Cal was Gillian's friend. Gillian fully trusted Cal. And therefore, Max had faith in Cal. Max no longer hid behind the nearest item (or Gillian) when Cal entered a room. He was still doing that with Terry and Josh until he had a good look at them. He had only lived here for a few weeks. Cal was afraid that he was about to betray that trust that he had built up, but he thought maybe he had no choice. Gillian would know what to do. But maybe this was a chance for Max to learn that Gillian wasn't always going to be there when he got scared. Maybe this was the test, for Max to learn that sometimes scary things happened, and everything would still be ok.

Cal stood up and shook out his leg, limping towards the door while the circulation returned to his limbs. He reached the open doorway and poked his head out.

"Josh, would you mind grabbing Max's pictures?"

A moment later and a hesitant Josh Doucet hovered in the open doorway, his wife tentatively looking over his shoulder into the room. Cal had returned to the floor and waved him in when he appeared.

"Thanks, mate. Just pop them here," he gestured to the space on the floor in front of him.

Josh hesitated, unsure if this was the right thing to do. Usually Gillian would arrive downstairs with Max in her arms and encourage him to make the first move back into the family space. Here, Cal was inviting the perceived threat into Max's sanctuary. Cal met his cautious look and nodded. "Just here, Josh. Thanks."

Josh slowly entered the room and placed the cards gently on the floor before retreating. He could hear the gasp of fear that Max tried to keep in and his heart ached for the child. Josh began to retreat, but Cal's voice gave him pause. "Josh, do you want to say something to Max?"

Josh froze for a second before straightening himself up. He took a breath and turned to the closed closet door. "Max. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I promise, I didn't mean anything by it. It was wrong for me to do it, and I'm sorry I scared you."

Cal winked at him and nodded his head to the door of the room, indicating that Josh should give them space now.

When they had the room to themselves again, Cal turned back to the closet. "Do you think you might be ready to come out and talk to me then?"

"Loker, can you get me some comparative samples for vocal analysis? Just generic linguistic samples."

"Sure. No problem."

"What are you thinking?", asked Mark Turner.

"I don't know yet. The backround voices… they don't sound right."

At that moment, Wyatt Andrews entered the room with Admiral Jiminez hot on his heals.

"Andrews tells me that you've given him all the information he needs, but you're insisting that he hold on to it instead of making his recommendation to act?" came the Admiral's weary opener.

Foster turned to face him and stood from her seat.

"We have information as to what seems to be going on, but we haven't established why. There's something about the recording that seems off to me."

"And your team agrees?" he asked looking to each of the three other occupants of the room.

Spotting Loker about to open his mouth, Torres decided to cut him off and step in. "Dr Foster is the expert here. We trust her judgment on this."

Jiminez eyed her up and down for a moment. "You're one of those 'naturals', right?"

"That's right," she replied defensively.

"And you don't hear it?"

"I'm not a natural with voices. Just faces. I'm still learning that side of things."

Jiminez turned then to Loker. "And you?"

"I'm not a natural at all. I worked really hard to get here. But I don't hear anything."

"There," Mark Turners voice drew the attention of the room. In the background the recording was playing, and Turner was listening intently to the sound of both it and the recordings of generic samples that Foster had asked Loker to bring up. Gillian moved quickly to where Mark sat, and he offered her the headset he had been using.

She listened for a moment, then replayed the isolated sounds from the tape. She heard it too, and she smiled at Mark with deep pride in her student's ability.

"They aren't native speakers."