Two

"Hello Jessica" said Cyrus Krantz, with a nod.

"Oh. Hey Dr Krantz". I said, surprised.

"I was hoping, that you might be able to tell me about Jack Hesketh" said Dr. Krantz, staring down at me. I don't get to stare down at people, they always look down on me, on account of the fact that just about everybody is taller than me.

"Jack Hesketh?" I said innocently, cocking my head on one side.

"Jessica." said Dr Krantz, tiredly. He was wearing a dark blue checked shirt, which he had tucked into stiff sand colored cargo's. On his feet were open toed sandals. He was wearing them with socks. 100% geek chic. "He went missing two years ago, and, after a tip off to 1800 where r u, he turned up in Bridgeport, Alabama, just last week. It would make both of our lives a whole lot easier if you'd just tell everyone the truth. I know you have your gift but unless you tell the FBI formally then you can't help- "

"Truth?" I asked him sweetly.

"Jessica, please - don't play 're a bright girl. I know you still have your gift. Only myself, and a few select members of the FBI know. If you start working for us, it won't be like last time, there won't be any press following-."

"Look Dr Krantz, I have a wedding to plan. Could we do this another time? For one thing, I really have no idea what your talking about."

This was an out and out lie, of course. The last time we had met, Dr Krantz had worked it out for himself that I'd gotten it back- my gift I mean- but hadn't pushed me to come and work for the FBI like he had been trying to. He'd said if I ever felt like it, then I could, but he wouldn't make me. So why was he round at my house quizzing me on some kid I'd found? What'd changed?

"Jessica-" He began, sounding like he'd done that thing, where you count to ten to relieve your frustration. It didn't seem to have worked. "Jessica, you need to understand that you have a gift, and you could be using it to help a lot of people-"

"Hold on a minute." I said, putting my hand up as a stop signal. "What gives? You've left me alone for the past two years. You said it was my choice to come and work for you. You said you wouldn't push me. So. Like I said. What gives?"

Dr Krantz looked rather taken aback. He started to say something about how the amount of missing kids has worsened since I 'retired', but I cut him off.

"This really isn't about finding more missing kids is it Dr Krantz?" I said flatly.

He looked sheepish.

"Well....no, actually, it isn't."

"Just come on out and say whatever war mission you need me for now. Like I don't still have the scars from last time" I said bitterly.

"Actually" he said, looking surprised. "This has nothing to do with the war Jessica."

I was stunned for a moment. I'd been sure he was here to ask me to go and find more terrorists, like I did three years ago. I saw things no person should ever have to see. And then came the night terrors....

"It's not?" I asked, trying not to sound confused. "Then what is it about?"

Dr Krantz dug in his pocket and brought out an envelope. He slid his finger under the sealed flap and carefully unstuck it.

"This" he said, pulling out an A4 sheet of photo paper. "Is your...'mission' ". He turned the paper around to face me so I found myself staring at a glossy photograph of a man. He was sat in a chair, wearing an expensive looking charcoal gray suit, and a striped tie. He looked around late thirties-early forties. His hair was light brown, going gray a little at the temples. He had very blue eyes, and was wearing a stiff smile, like he wasn't used to smiling a lot. He looked a little familiar, but I couldn't quite place him.

I looked up at Dr Krantz.

"Am I supposed to know who this is or something?" I said tonelessly.

"No." he said, shaking his head. "Jessica. This man is Marcus Lawson."

"And..." I said, raising an eyebrow. Look, I know I sounded like a bitch, but it had been two years. I'd thought the Feds had finally left me alone. Now here one, one I'd TRUSTED, showing me a random picture of some guy I'd never met.

"He's a highly senior search design manager of the Federal Beaureu of Investigation. In other words, the FBI."

"And why are you showing his photo to me?" I asked, still not getting it.

"Well, three weeks ago, Mr Lawson disappeared. His car is still in the driveway, his phone and pager were found on his desk, and no money has been withdrawn from his bank account. Jessica. We were hoping, maybe, that you could-"

Suddenly, I twigged what was going on.