by C R Langille
“What do we know?” Thuli asked.
“We received a radio transmission of an Alpha Protocol early this morning. It came in broken and almost unreadable, but our techs were able to clean it up. I would have called you in sooner, but we had to verify the authenticity of the message.”
After he finished talking, Sister pulled out a keyboard and mouse from under the conference table. She hit a few buttons and a recording of the radio transmission started to play.
“Break! Break! Break! This is Special Agent Johnson, ID Hockeystick-Papa-Lemming-3-15-3. We have a situation. Alpha protocol. I repeat, we have an Alpha protocol.”
Thuli’s breath caught in her throat. Could it really be Special Agent Johnson? Johnson was her personal trainer when she was recruited by the Bureau. He’d taken her under his wing, and while he was kind of crazy and didn’t follow the rules, she found his presence and kindness a comfort. He’d disappeared while on mission years ago and was presumed dead.
“Yes, Captain, we’ve run voice analysis, and the technicians assure me it is him,” Oberon said with a smile on his face.
“I thought he died while on mission.”
“MIA was the official report. The rest was rumor. It seems as if he is very much alive and in Salt Lake City.”
What on earth could cause an Alpha Protocol in Salt Lake City? As if he read her mind, which he quite possibly could do (Mr. Oberon was still somewhat of an enigma), the large screen behind him powered on.
A satellite feed of the United States appeared with a live stream of metadata scrolling across the bottom.
“If you could be so kind, please play the anomaly,” Oberon said.
Sister typed some commands on the keyboard and the map zoomed into the State of Utah. She overlaid meteorological data on the map and then hit play. Clear skies turned into a mass of red, yellow, and black centered over Southern Utah, and then the weather cell took a winding path up the state until crossing over Salt Lake City. After staying stationary over the capitol city for ten minutes, the storm grew, moving out from the area in a circle.
“What was that?” Thuli asked.
“It’s unlike any storm we’ve ever seen. Images show intense rain, wind, and electrical disturbances. Supernatural energy spikes off the chart in the regions it touched. Then there’s this.”
Sister zoomed in on a suburb situated in the foothills of the Salt Lake Valley and hit play. A small section of the neighborhood disappeared from view as it fell into a large sinkhole. The video fast-forwarded until orange lights appeared in the hole and shot out into the sky in a brilliant display.
“We have reason to believe that this was the cause of Special Agent Johnson’s Alpha call.”
“What am I looking at here?” Thuli asked.
She wasn’t sure what the orange ball of light was, but deep down, she knew it couldn’t be good.
The ball split into seven separate motes and sped off in different directions with one ball falling back to the pit. Sister paused the recording and zoomed in again. The picture wasn’t very clear, but there was a faint outline of a winged, bipedal creature in the ball of energy.
“We’re not sure,” Oberon said.
His musical voice faltered ever so slightly. Sister remained deadpan but stopped typing. They knew something. The single drop of sweat rolling down Mr. Oberon’s forehead was enough to tell her that whatever they knew, it wasn’t good.
