That’s all there ever was for Ezra Gonet who was sitting in his 5’ by 5’ cell. There was no warmth, only cold concrete and steel. He no longer knew if he was asleep or awake. But he remained focused on the plan at hand. He mentally reviewed the events that would soon unfold. The plan was perfect. Apollo would soon be underway.
And then, the door opened.
The crack of light coming from the door spread to envelope him whole. He was blinded by the light, but his hand did not come up to his eyes. Rather he knew what it meant and unleashed a maniacal cackling. The dark figures approached the shrieking madman before them.
Then a bag went over his head.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Xander, Seamus, Ashton and Axle retrieved their prisoner and remained silent in the transport vehicle. Xander stared straight ahead calculating his strategy and the probabilities of Ezra’s involvement in the events of the day.
Twenty silent minutes passed until they turned down a back road. As soon as the rumble erupted under their feet Xander knew they were close. They soon pulled up to a high security gate. The gate was shabby and had brush growing up and down it. There was no visible structure to it, merely a large garage door that backed into a hill. Axle shifted the transport into park, approached an eye scanner and focused his eyes into the console. A high-pitched ding followed by a green blinking light, signalling the opening of the first gate.
As the high gate opened, a ramp surfaced to lead them to a subterranean level. The transport rolled forward and entered the depths of the tunnels. The tunnel system belonged to a decommissioned top-secret airplane factory. They passed bay doors on either side, leading to different hangars that once had prototypes behind them. Few knew of this place and fewer were granted access to it. Project Sparta was currently the only tenant of the complex.
After a few turns, they came to a garage door with one word stamped on it as if it were a cargo crate. SPARTA. The stamp had faded over the ten years that had passed since they had trained there. Axle stopped the transport and approached a second panel on the wall that revealed another eye scanner that Axle stared into until it opened the door. The eye scanner only accepted a Spartan’s retinal print. There were no guards – secrecy was its greatest security.
The bay doors creaked open revealing a forgotten facility for the last ten years. A stale, dreary atmosphere hung under the dome. It was the blackest site in America. The one they trained in – the Compound.
Damien Cusick descended from the far stairwell and waddled up to them to meet the unsuspected prisoner. He was a Spartan instructor who now ran general support for agents in the field from the Mainframe – the only structure in the Compound that was still in active use. The Simu-climate no longer worked and the Thicket, a forestry section for wildlife, was overgrown and dead, casting an eerie aura through the Compound.
Xander, Seamus, Axle and Ashton led him into the facility he once called home. At the centre of the Compound stood a large glass cube, which served as a holding cell. Cusick had set it up after their training was complete. But this was the first time it was in service. Xander led Ezra into his new cell and unlatched his restraints.
Xander exited the cell and locked it from its side door. He walked to the front of the cell and took his stance before the glass. The two stared into each other’s hard eyes – Xander’s eyes bulged as Ezra’s remained calm and steadied, adjusting to the light.
For the first time, Xander was able to really survey his opponent. The captive’s skin was sallow and pale from the lack of food and sunlight. His brown hair was matted in natural grease. His narrow nose contrasted his otherwise blunted features and his chin bunched up around a small dimple, barely visible beneath the scraggly beard lining his jaw.
Moments passed as the standoff continued, Xander carefully plotted his approach – his temple pulsated. He now knew his gut had been right. Ezra had intentionally discarded his human shield, wanting to be captured and that Ezra was still scheming a bigger plot.
“What do you know about Apollo?” Xander finally broke the silence. Then to Xander’s dismay, a faint smile crossed Ezra’s face, confirming all his suspicions.
“And so, it begins…”
“So, what begins?” Xander stood square before the glass cell, staring at the smirk on Ezra’s face. “Don’t you see, Xander? All of this… the Fourth of July… the box… everything… all has led to this moment, and the next and the next…” His smirk became a raving smile. Xander shook off the games and remained focused on the facts.
“Mohammed Azir… broke into the NIH and stole a biological contagion. He said ‘Apollo is upon us… I’m going to ask you again, Ezra. What is Apollo?” Ezra closed his eyes and fell deep within himself for a moment. After taking a few deep breaths, his eyes reopened. His words came calculated, cryptic and stern.
“The assembly seated, rising o’er the rest, Achilles thus the king of men addressed…”
“What the bloody hell is that? Tell us what Apollo is or I’ll get in there and beat it out of ya!” Seamus’s raged as he stepped forward. An arm stopped him. It was Xander’s. His head down, his mind racing as if running a query through the hard drive of his brain. Seamus paused and backed up, careful to give Xander his space. Ashton looked on with awe as Xander’s mind raced to find the following words. After mentally scanning his library, Xander found the passage buried in the recesses of his memory. The page from Homer’s the Iliad materialized in his photographic memory. He recited the passage aloud as if reading a book in front of him.
“Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore, and measure back the seas we crossed before? The plague destroying whom the sword would spare, ‘Tis time to save the few remains of war. But let some prophet, or some sacred sage, explore the cause of great Apollo’s rage…”
Xander’s voice trailed.
“Apollo is a second attack… they are going to unleash a plague.”
Chapter 9
George Washington University Hospital
Washington, DC.
12AM
Catherine Mueller shifted awake as the medications began to wear off. Fluorescent light filled her blurry vision as the room slowly came into focus. She slowly pulled herself up to find her surroundings. She first met a surveillance camera staring at her. A pulsing heart monitor beeped, causing her to mentally inventory all the hospital instruments connected to her.
Her eyes found the window, outside a busy city street bustled away. She made out a black vertical sign with white letters. After squinting them into focus, she read it: Foggy Bottom-GWU.
“I’m in DC?” she asked aloud.
Her eyes found the liquid dripping from the bag and followed the IV all the way to her arm. She snatched the IV and slid it out of her vein, leaving a swelling bruise behind. She was dressed in a hospital robe, naked underneath. Her teeth bit the tape connecting the heart monitor to her finger, tearing it free from its adhesion. Rotating on her rear, her feet fell to the floor next to her hospital bed. Wobbly at first, they found their stance back on her heels. Her legs immediately cramped as she stepped, causing her to collapse into the chair next to her bed. Her body clenched and winced in pain as her muscles tightened from knee to hip.
“Hello?!” she yelled toward the door. No answer. She then looked to the camera for help.
“Hello?! Can anyone hear me?” Just then two men in black suits came in a hurry. They had a coiled earpiece tucked into the back of their jackets.
“Oh, thank God! Gentlemen, there has been a huge mistake… I’m not supposed to be here, nothing is wrong with me, you see there has been a terrible mis—” One of the men pressed her chest, pinning her to the chair.
“Ms. Mueller, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” one of the men said.
“There is a serious issue at hand. Someone has a deadly disease that, if released, could infect thousands of—” Again cutting her off, they each grabbed an arm and forced her back onto the bed. Her limited mobility could only weakly fight their firm grip.
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“Get off me! What the hell are you doing?!” She tried to shake free but to no avail. Terror struck as one of the men produced a sedative from their jacket, while the other restrained her. Her eyes bulged as every muscle in her body convulsed in retreat.
The syringe lowered.
The needle entered her arm.
The plunger pressed.
A moment passed.
Then her vision faded to darkness.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A disconcerting silence swept the shadow covered Compound. The Spartan’s minds raced, trying to find sense in what he had just said. Xander assessed the man in the cell. His posture was straight, his hands held each other behind his back. His eyes were direct with purpose. There was no sign of confusion or question, merely deliberate premeditation.
Ezra has the upper hand. He knows exactly what is being played out because he has planned it all. The NIH break-in, the contagion, he is only getting started.
“It appears that you may have a situation on your hands. If my suspicions are correct a bacterium has been stolen by colleagues of mine and you need my help to figure out where they are and what they are planning on doing with the disease,” Ezra taunted, verbally confirming his involvement in the happenings of the day.
“Yes, we do,” Xander admitted, taking a submissive approach to his game.
“I can help you find the cure to the disease. But first let us ask what is the disease?” Ezra ascended from the bench and paced back in forth in the cell half like a tiger in a cage and half like a professor lecturing to a class. He was the perfect balance of subtly intensity and mad genius. “The disease is lies, Xander – lies. We live a life of lies. Our government hides our identities and our service – our very existence is a lie. We don’t even exist… As you know, Apollo is the God of light and knowledge, Xander. And this disease will show you the light that is why I have named it as such.” The room listened intently as Ezra’s words carried a disturbing parlance.
“Then what is the cure?” Xander followed, causing a grin to come over the prisoner.
“Now you are asking the right questions. The cure, Xander… is truth. And I will show you the truth, if you do it my way, I designed this attack specifically for you… so that you could find the truth… your truth, Xander,” he offered with a serpentine hiss.
“You designed it for me? What are you saying… this is some kind of…”
“…game.” Ezra finished his sentence. “I want to play a game, Xander” Xander remembered Ezra’s obsession with puzzles and codes. His cryptic diction came as no surprise.
“Why don’t you just tell us this truth that you are talking about?”
“Ah! But if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. I’m an imprisoned terrorist remember? A traitor? Rather, I will lead you to discover it for yourself.” Xander knew he was right. There was no way, he would believe anything he said from that cell.
“Or… we can just kill you right now and go home? What do you guys say?” Seamus interrupted, shrugging to the others.
“You could do that… but the game is already afoot, killing me will only seal the fate of my targets,” Ezra explained with candor.
“Targets?” Xander punched the question.
“There are four targets in the DC Metro Area and a cure that is also located somewhere in the city. I will provide one clue every four hours. This clue will be to the location of the next target. It is currently 12:04AM. The first clue will be given at 4AM,” Ezra noted the digital clock mounted on the Compound wall within view.
“The final clue will be to the location of the cure. Your objective is to contain the targets, stop the spreading of the disease and find the cure, before it infects the city and kills many thousands of people,” Ezra explained plainly.
Five clues, one every four hours. That’s 4AM, 8AM, Noon, 4PM and 8PM…
“Sounds like a daunting task? You can have as much help as you want. You are sure going to need it,” Ezra admonished.
“What’s the first clue?” Ezra’s index finger raised and waved side to side.
“No, no, no… I haven’t gotten to the rule yet.” Everyone listened closely. His tone carried an ominous indication.
“Rule? Just one rule?” Xander asked.
“Yes, every game has rules, but this game only has one. As we are exposing lies and uncovering the truth in this exercise, let me first start by exposing yours, Xander. I will only speak to your lie. The one you lied to everyone in this room about. The lie you hold closest to you…” Ezra’s composed tone dropped to pure evil – his head lowered down at them. And then he spoke something that resonated through the Compound, shocking every soul before him.
“From here on out, I will only speak with your wife – Fiona Whitt.”
Chapter 10
Hyman Seafood Freezer Truck
Dupont Circle
12:15AM
Mohammad Azir examined one of his cultures in the make-shift lab of the back of the freezer truck. The contagion appeared to be reacting as intended. Having excelled in his studies, he was now ready to dedicate them to Allah. A groan sounded behind him, as Stacey Chapman shivered awake– restrained, barely conscious. She was propped back in a medical chair at the center of the cargo hold. Azir walked past two large kennels towards her. Inside the first was a trapped Middle Eastern man clawing at the grate, while inside the second an unconscious African American in a military uniform sat limp, huddled over himself.
Azir approached his subject in the chair. Glaring over his respirator at her, a syringe with a blue substance lowered to her arm, but his arm shook fighting the effects of the bacteria in his own system.
Its progressing…
Azir flailed his arm loosely, trying to shake the blood through it. After a couple of attempts he was able to calm his arm and the syringe met her arm. The thick needle punctured her skin and pressed the blue bacteria into her. She fell limp as the bacteria began its course through her body.
He placed the syringe back on the table and glowered down at the caged man. He could tell the pathogen was taking over his body.
“Help me! Help me!!!” He cried for clemency, through the rivers of blood that flowed from his nose. And then, the twitching accelerated. His eyes met the corner of the room. He then grabbed the cage and began violently shaking within the crate. The man convulsed into full seizure, his fingers and toes clenched to their breaking point. After a minute of seizing, the body fell limp – dead.
Azir first observed unemotionally, but then after looking down at the man, he couldn’t help but to be momentarily fazed. His eyes distant and still had the vision of his own impending fate burned into them. He twitched out of his fear and approached the table, returning to the job at hand. There he found a checklist.
Symptom
Hemoptysis -
Fasciculation-
Nasal Hemorrhage-
Convulsions- ____
Azir started to jot the last check mark down, but a muscle twitch jerked the pen around on the paper. He dropped the pen as his hand seized beyond his control. After taking a breath and supplanting the torture that waged in him. He made a fist and banged twice on the driver cabin. Khan kicked the truck into drive and drove away.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thirty minutes later, the Compound bay doors screeched open. Fiona Whitt walked in as the Spartans witnessed a living ghost before their eyes. A myriad of expressions laced the room. Cusick’s face gaped in shock, while Axle’s remained blank and unaffected. Seamus shook his head in welcomed disbelief, while Ashton squinted trying to confirm the authenticity of her sights. Fiona’s silhouette slowly materialized into a full fleshed image of an old friend.
“I am a Spartan. I am a Spartan who does not exist. I am a Spartan who safeguards our country from enemies both foreign and domestic. I am a Spartan who preserves the virtuous state through true Justice. I am a Spartan for life; death is the only discharge. I am a Spartan who fights for the Common Good of all. I am a Spa
rtan, and nothing is as it seems,” she recited the Project Credo, reminding to all in the Compound her sudden disappearance from the program is par for the course. She stopped before the Spartans and smiled at them all individually.
“I guess this makes me the first civilian to enter this God forsaken place…” Fiona quipped, even bringing a slight grin to Axle’s coarse face.
“Um… so you aren’t a Russian spy?” Seamus broke the ice. Fiona nodded her head and he turned to Xander. “And you faked her escape from Project Sparta?” Xander nodded his head, affirmatively. “Let me guess, you loved her and didn’t want this life for her. So, you had to get her out for good.”
“Something like that.” Xander shrugged.
“Hardy and I had already planted the suspicion for his training exercise, so we just rolled with that story,” Axle offered.
“You were a part of this too!” Seamus exclaimed.
“For what it’s worth, we are sorry. Trying to have a normal life, you know?” Fiona, in one quick gesture, raised her ring finger for everyone to see.
“Aww congratulations!” Ashton, just for a moment, turned to a girlfriend, admiring the ring’s sparkle. She blushed, like a new bride, although they had already been married for eight years. Fiona smiled as she surveyed her old friends – all appeared to be water under the bridge. The one thing the group had learned through their training at Project Sparta and their life in clandestine operations was to expect the unexpected. Fiona Whitt walking through the door of the Compound qualified as just that.
The reunion ended quickly, as the Spartans turned back to the matter at hand. Fiona’s smile fell as she turned from the group and approached the glass cell before them.
Project Apollo Page 5
