Whack Job by Mike Baron

AGENT IN CHARGE NORMAN BILLUPS” etched in the glass. Beneath the blue and gold FBI symbol mounted on the oak wall sat an attractive young secretary. “Go right in. The director is expecting you.”
    The director had a big corner office overlooking the park and the Platte River. Billups was a big man with a full head of curly white hair and mustache who rose from behind his gunmetal desk and came around to greet them. He wore a banker’s striped dark blue three-piece and had a grip like a lumberjack. He stooped to pet Steve.
    “Mr. White, thank you for joining us. Please have a seat.”
    Otto and Barnett sat in upholstered oak chairs facing the desk. Steve sat at Otto’s feet.
    “We’ve set up a command center for you. You’ll be working with Lon here and Gus Alvarez. Gus is a tech guy. Computers, special equipment, ask Gus. I understand you need to be brought up to speed. How much do you know?”
    “Senator Darling died from spontaneous human combustion. He’s the sixth case this year, and there is speculation that this is terrorism.”
    “That’s true. Thus far we have been able to identify thirty-three possible cases of spontaneous human combustion since 1998. There may be others we don’t know about. We know of a couple in Russia, a couple in the Middle East and one in Hong Kong. Do you have any preliminary thoughts?”
    Otto spread his hands. “Only that it takes an enormous amount of energy to consume a human body down to ash. A modern crematorium must generate 1,700 degrees for three hours. These ‘spontaneous’ combustions occur in a matter of minutes. I’ll need a physics guy to run simulations.”
    “That’s Gus,” Barnett said.
    “Gus was instrumental in the development of the Army’s long-range microwave weapon,” Billups said.
    “Dossiers on all the victims.”
    “In your computer,” Billups said. “We have video on two of the combustions. They’re disturbing. Anything you need you let us know. You’re being comped, by the way. Where are you staying?”
    “Best Western up the street.”
    “Save all your receipts.” Billups opened his top desk drawer and took out a small gray phone, which he passed to Otto. It looked like a compact. “This is called an Ocelot. Beryllium powered. You can send and receive from anywhere on earth without being traced or eavesdropped. We call them Ocelots because they use some kind of oscillating signal. This is your phone. Mine, Lon’s and Gus’ numbers have been preprogrammed. It cannot be tracked. So don’t lose it. This will all go smoother if you’re a federal agent, so if you don’t mind, please stand.”
    Otto stood. Billups produced a Bible from his drawer and came around the desk. He set the Bible on the desk as he faced Otto. “Please place your hand on the Bible.”
    Otto did so, raising the other.
    Billups held up a laminated eight by ten card. “Please recite the Oath of Office.”
    “I, Otto White, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”
    Billups held out his hand again. “Congratulations Agent White.”
    Barnett rose, shook Otto’s hand and slapped him on the back. “Welcome to the shop.”
    Billups reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a black leather badge holder bearing the bright gold shield-shaped badge with an eagle on top. Agent #32,677. Otto slipped it into his inside jacket pocket.
    “Agent Barnett will take you through credentials, get you squared up. Did you bring a weapon?”
    “I have one locked in the safe in my hotel room.”
    “I really don’t think you’ll have a need for it.”
    “That’s fine.”
    “Again, Mr. White, on behalf of the agency and