Framed! by James Ponti

Author:James Ponti
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

16.

Quantico

AGENT RIVERS PICKED ME UP at precisely seven fifteen in the morning, just like he said he would. This time there was no black, armored-plated SUV with bulletproof windows. Instead he drove a maroon hybrid with a parking permit for the Harvard Club of Washington, DC. So, while we didn’t have any extra protection from random gunfire, we were well prepared should an emergency philosophy discussion break out. His usual uniform of dark suit and matching tie had been replaced by sweatpants and a T-shirt, both neatly ironed and bearing the shield of the FBI.

“Ready for your big day?” he asked as we merged into the traffic heading south on the interstate.

“As ready as I can be considering I don’t really know what I’m doing,” I replied. Beyond the pickup time and the instruction to bring gym clothes, the text was pretty vague on details.

“It’s just some introductory training,” he replied. “If you’re going to be a consultant with the Bureau, you’ll need to do this every now and then. It’s what we call a necessary evil.”

“And we’re training together?”

“No. I have to take a couple recertification courses,” he said. “I’d already scheduled them about a month ago and figured we might as well take care of yours at the same time. And this way your parents don’t have to drive you down to Quantico and wait in the lobby all day.”

Quantico is a Marine Corps base in rural Virginia that’s home to the FBI training center. It took us about an hour and a half to get there, and during that time I learned the following things about Agent Rivers:

1. Although his car was almost as clean as his office, a pair of empty cups in the cup holders indicated he’s a fan of gourmet coffee.

2. Unlike the agent who drove us in the SUV, he never goes so much as one mile over the speed limit.

3. Judging by his reactions to sports talk radio, he’s an avid fan of the Washington Nationals baseball team.

4. When I asked him about a trumpet case in the backseat, he told me he plays in a band called Funk Brothers Incorporated that performs at Bureau parties and weddings and is made up entirely of fellow agents.

We got off the interstate at a town named Garrisonville, and I started to get a little . . . I don’t know if “anxious” is the right word, but I was definitely curious about the day ahead.

“Can you tell me what kind of training it is?” I asked. “Or is it top secret?”

“It’s not a secret from you,” he said. “Your schedule is sticking out of the briefcase behind my seat.”

I reached back and grabbed the paper.

As I read it, my mood turned to instant excitement. “Are you serious?” I exclaimed. “This is going to be epic. We’re talking the best day of my life.”

“See, I told you,” he answered.

“Tactical and evasive driving. Weapons training. Explosives!” I shook my head in amazement. “Explosives?!”

“Oops,” he said. “That sounds like my schedule.

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