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The new cadets stood quietly while the Director-of-Training looked them over. His brilliant blue eyes seemed to see everything, even the things beneath the surface. Several squirmed under his intent gaze and tugged at the hems of their track-suits, trying to make themselves look more presentable. "All of you," said James G. Wilder, his eyes seemed to glow, "are now part of the highest law enforcement agency in the United States of America. The exercises you have gone through today, are only a small taste of the kind of training you will be receiving for the next sixteen weeks." He paused. There was no inflection in his voice as he spoke, just as there was no expression on his lean, tanned face. He was near fifty-three, yet other than the silver-gray streaks in dark hair, he didn't look more than forty-five. His dark suit emphasized his well-toned frame and reinforced his aura of severity and competence. "If you scored low today, we expect a lot of improvement; if you scored high, we expect an even greater degree of improvement. The forty of you were hand-picked from thousands of other people aspiring to be federal agents. Many of them could speak German, Italian, Japanese. They were not chosen, because of the simple fact that they were just not good enough for the FBI." James Wilder looked at each of them in the eye before continuing. "That, must always in your minds. I warn you, sloth is not acceptable, and cheating is intolerable. Those of you who cannot adhere to the strict rules we have here, I suggest you leave immediately. Those who wish to push the boundaries and see how far they would go, you will just have to face the consequences." The silence grew as the Director let his words sink in. Everyone was busy contemplating his or her fate. Then, he spoke. "Well, gentlemen, ladies, welcome to the FBI." The twins faced a second inspection by their twenty-three year-old mentor, who was incidentally the Director's son - Christopher Wilder. For no apparent reason, Nykki hated him on sight. He was handsome, she would give him that, and at least six feet three inches tall, and although he was broad shouldered and athletically muscular, he had a lean grace that resembled a feline's. His thick hair was a sun-streaked gold-brown, and tied into a small ponytail. It's against regulation for guys to have long hair here, she thought testily. Oh well, he is the director's son. Masculine strength was carved into every feature of his proud profile, from the straight dark brows to the arrogant jut of his chin and jaw. Surprisingly, she saw a mild cynicism in his blue eyes - eyes the same deep blue like the sea before a storm, she thought, and was a little surprised at the poetic twist of her thoughts - that was tempered with warmth and humor; the hard-bitten experience that was stamped on his chiseled face. And there was no denying the power of his sexual magnetism, either. It emanated from every self-assured inch of his body. Christopher Wilder was looking at her in a way that got under her skin. It was his eyes. She hated that kind of appraising look, hated feeling like she was being measured against a scale she knew nothing about. It made her feel like a specimen under a microscope. Nykki straightened her spine and stared back into his eyes. Christopher watched the twins carefully. Warning bells had started to ring in his head when he had seen them. Something's wrong here, thought Christopher, perplexed, as he looked at Alexanader Mason. There wasn't anything physically wrong with him. The slender boy stood quietly before him, about seven to eight inches shorter. His tousled sable hair with lighter highlights, cut shorter than usual, crowned his face. Christopher noted the large, luminous silver eyes with long, thick lashes and pert nose. He has looks a girl would kill for, he thought amusedly. He read arrogance in those metallic eyes, self-assurance in the mocking curve of his mouth, and defiance in the tilt of his head, but he sensed, rather than saw, a loneliness in him... a kindred soul? A mystery. He's hiding something, but what? he asked himself grimly. I can't see anything wrong, but I'd better to keep an eye on him... just in case. The next day, the twins were sitting side by side in the lecture theater, listening to the small-sized professor, George Hupperman droning on and on about Constitutional law, whose glasses invariably slid down the end of his large beaky nose when he asked a question. "There is only one proper way to conduct a criminal investigation in the United States of America, and we have a document that sets out this way..." Hupperman said in his high, squeaky voice, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his large head bobbing with every word. "Mr. Westfield, can you tell me the name of this document?" He looked at the named student expectantly, eyes glinting. His bobbing head and bird-like movements reminded her of a heron, but she doubted that he would appreciate a comment like that in the middle of class. "The Constitution, sir," replied Leander Westfield. "I assume you mean the Constitution of the United States of America?" asked George Hupperman mockingly. Leander nodded, a little red-faced. "Thank you Mr. Westfield." His disgust at the incomplete answer was evident in his voice. "The FBI is the highest law enforcement agency in this nation, we do not violate the Constitution ever. Question: Within the Constitution, is there a specific amendment that protects Americans from unreasonable search or seizure? Mr. Butz." "Yes sir, the ..." Howard Butz was stopped from rattling off by the professor, much to everyone's relief. He had already demonstrated earlier that he had the ability to talk continuously. The lanky twenty-nine year old computer analyst from New York sat down clumsily. "Thank you Mr. Butz. Question: What is required by a federal agent before he can issue of a warrant for search or seizure?" Once again, hands shot up. "Ms. DeWitt." Hupperman picked the only person whose hand was down. She hesitated for a long while, unconsciously twirling a strand of her hair as she searched for the answer. "Erm... suspicion sir?" Elizabeth DeWitt answered, after a long hesitation. "What?" spluttered George Hupperman, his normally red face turning a peculiar shade of mottled purple. The heated look he shot at Elizabeth DeWitt could have killed her on the spot. "Suspicion that whatever you're looking for is on the premises sir?" "Ms. DeWitt, have you read any one of my books?" Ellie shook her head. Hupperman sighed. "Sit down DeWitt." He glanced around, then picked another. " Mr. Mason... Alexander." Nicholas had to nudge her before she remembered her alias and stood up. "Federal agents don't issue warrants. The Constitution requires that a federal officer obtain a warrant from a duly authorized federal judge, and then only after showing cause." Nykki sat down, relieved that she had actually remembered the answer. "Thank you Mr. Mason. Ms. DeWitt, every year, forty new trainees are admitted to the federal agent training program. Last year, eight graduated, thirty-two did not. Out of every five new trainees, only one becomes a federal agent. The other four become encyclopedia salespersons, insurance agents, or... beauticians." The biting sarcasm drew a wince from the poor victim. "Do I make myself clear Ms. DeWitt?" Ellie DeWitt stood up. "Yes sir." "Good. Class dismissed." The twins were eating a tasteless lunch when they were approached by the tall, lanky and bespectacled man Howard Butz. He was carrying what seemed to be a ton of books which threatened to fall on him and bury him alive. "Good afternoon." He dumped the pile of reference books on their table, causing their plates to jump. The two looked at him in surprise. He started talking without even an apology. "A few of us are getting together to form a study group - it's the M.I.T model? You must have heard of it. We'll be meeting every day after dinner to discuss the day's work and every week, each person will get to lead a session in his or her specialty. There's six of us now, we need two more. Are you interested?" His gold-rimmed glasses slipped, and were stopped from falling by the tip of his nose. The twins realized that they could not stay angry with anyone as comical as Howard. "Whoa, hang on!" Nicholas said laughingly. "I think some introductions are in order?" "Howard Butz, M.I.T, hi. Are you interested?" the nerd answered, quickly reverting back to the original topic. He absent-mindedly pushed his glasses back up to their original perch on his beaky nose. "Maybe, who are the others?" Nykki asked. "There's Bickerstaff and Parker." Howard pointed at a nearby table. "Bickerstaff's the black guy - Pierce has got a degree in criminology from Yale; Dale Parker is the one on his left, he was a psychology major from Boston University. There's Brent Shepherd, he's a Duke graduate. He comes from an FBI family - his father's an FBI agent, his grandfather was an FBI agent." Howard pointed to a heavily muscled man standing at the cafeteria entrance, talking, or rather, flirting, with two girls. "Also, the two girls standing next to him. Lisa Pontini - she's half-Italian and she's a graduate from Washington, and the blond is..." "Elizabeth DeWitt." Nykki answered for him. She remembered the girl who had made a total fool of herself during Con Law class. Howard mistook the reason why Nykki mentioned her name. "She's a hot number isn't she?" Howard leered. "She's a featherbrain at times, but she's from the Marines - her physical score is nine-point-one, and her shooting average is eight-point-seven. However, her studies leave something to be desired for." His manner of speech was like a didactic scientist lecturing about a lower form of life. "So, are you interested?" His glasses slipped again and was pushed up. Nykki smiled at her twin before answering. "Sure, count us in. When's the first meeting?" "Tonight at eight, in room three-fifteen."
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