Project Apollo

by B. B. Gallagher

  “They found the tomb. It was too late. He died of a seizure…” Ezra maintained the same blank expression, still distant in his scheming. Fiona pressed further, intrepid and direct. “Why did you want me? Why me?” She squared him up.

  “Xander must face his lies before he can know his truth…” His blank expression shrugged the answer.

  “And what is that?”

  “All in time…” The answer carried a great weight along with it.

  “How are they supposed to stop your disease if they don’t have a cure and have no idea what they are dealing with?” Her questions grew more aggressive.

  “Why do you think I just gave them a sample?” His eyes glared back into Fiona’s, piercing the glaciers behind them. Gazing up into the cell, she trembled to the bone, knowing full well that behind his eyes was an ominous plan in store for her and her husband.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Seamus pulled the gear shift down into park and exhaled into his respirator. Tobias came up to the back of the van dressed in a full hazmat suit and swung open its doors. He pulled the dead body out of the back of the van and heaved it into the isolation unit and onto an autopsy table. After the body was sealed inside, Xander, Seamus, Catherine and Ashton got out of the van and collectively pulled down their respirators.

  A gasp of fresh unfiltered air inflated their lungs, but Catherine’s breaths did not slow. She wheezed her breaths in hyperventilation as the events caught up to her. A pinch of pity hit him.

  “Hey, Catherine, it’ll be okay…” Xander offered a consoling hand.

  “Deep breaths,” Ashton instructed in a less empathetic tone.

  “That… guard…died of a seizure, what happened to him?…” she huffed out the words on the verge of a panic attack.

  “That’s right… he had a seizure. The bacteria most likely induced it. It has to be neurological, Catherine,” Xander explained.

  “I’m… not… a…bloody… spy… I don’t think I can do this!” She caught up to her thought.

  “No, you are not. But you are a brilliant scientist and we need your help. What happened to the man on the table in there… could happen to thousands in this city if we don’t stop it.” He gripped her with his tone.

  “He had a seizure.” Her eyes followed a distant memory. “…my sister died of a seizure. I watched as she swallowed her own tongue. She was only nine years old…” Her voice trailed and trembled.

  “Catherine, listen to me…” He turned her face up to his. “I lost my parents when I was eight years old. I know what loss is too… and all I can tell you is that thousands of people will suffer the same loss that we’ve had if we don’t do something about this. We are under attack, Catherine. We need your help.” Silence followed, and her breath smoothed, as if meeting the gravity of the situation and accepting the call to action.

  Catherine Mueller nodded distantly and turned to approach a wall with three hanging protective yellow suits. She grabbed one and stripped to her undershirt and tights. She stepped into the suit and positioned the plastic encasing over her head.

  “Will you zip me, darling?” She turned her back to Xander and he did so. She grabbed a pair of gloves and slid them over her hands.

  “Okay, let’s take a look at it...”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The sun peered in through the wide windows of the BNA’s press office. Porter Nash’s head was down on his arm in a puddle of streaming drool. Despite only having till the end of the day to deliver his story, he realized a power nap was needed for there to be any chance for him to make a break through. And so, he allowed the bags under his eyes to pull them all the way shut an hour ago. The subtle bustling throughout the office was the only wild-life background track he needed to sleep well. But a beep sounded, stirring him awake.

  Porter turned his neck past its stiffness and stood out of his chair, stretching his body awake. He surveyed his workstation and the crumbled balls of notes scattered about. There were missing scientists and he had no leads. The story was the biggest opportunity he had been given to date and he was squandering it. He didn’t know where to turn, or what stone to turn over. He hoped for a fresh start as he sat back in his chair and spun to face his computer screen. He stopped immediately upon seeing an unsuspected window on his desktop. He squinted, helping his eyes adjust to the screen, and made out a dialog box with a message for him.

  Porter, I have what you seek. You seek the truth, while others do not. They live complacent and trusting in the lies fed to them. But no more. You shall learn the truth and expose it.

  Porter sparked up upon deciphering the text. Another line added to the dialog.

  If you want to pick up the breadcrumb trail, meet me on Theodore Roosevelt Island at 11AM. Come alone. The Truth Shall Set You Free…

  Porter pounced on his keyboard, attempting to type back a message, but the window did not accept his commands. Rather, once he hit the first key the dialog box disappeared, leaving Porter to question what he had seen. He wondered for a moment if he was dreaming, but he knew he had seen it. He was sure of it. It could be a whistleblower or some type of informant, regardless Porter leaned back in his chair and smiled at one simple realization. He finally had his lead.

  PART 2: INCUBATION

  Chapter 19

  The White House

  7AM

  President Hooper sipped on his coffee as the morning sun peered through his bedroom window. His first lady, Jeanne, wrapped her arms around him from behind. The dawn illuminated her fair complexion, blonde hair and long, lean face over his shoulder, but he could only smell her perfume – the same Lancome she had worn long before they won the White House. The aroma brought back memories of a simpler life, keeping him grounded in his new office in a way that only a First Lady could.

  “Good morning, honey.” She was wearing a bathrobe, while he was already dressed for the day in his presidential suit and tie.

  “Good morning, dear.”

  “Have you heard from Kalli recently?” Their daughter attended Brown University. “When is fall break?”

  “She won’t be coming home for it. She is going to Vale to ski with some friends.” He shook his head.

  “I don’t remember approving that.”

  “George, she’s twenty years old!”

  “I don’t remember approving that either…” his wife chuckled at him as his gaze remained steadied on the south lawn out of the window.

  “Remember that house on Hickory Lane? Kalli and I used to throw the baseball in that yard every night after work.” A wave of nostalgia swept over the fossilized memory.

  “She is still your little girl,” Jeanne reassured him, he nodded in agreement and started for the door, until his wife protested.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” She asked, putting her foot down. He stopped but did not turn to her. He waited for her to cross the peach carpet around to him.

  “Not like that you’re not.” She straightened his tie to her exact specifications and gave his cheek a love tap. He smiled at his wife and then exited their bedroom. As soon as the President exited his bedroom, his lead Secret Service agent, Jackson Callahan, updated his comm channel.

  “Rover in motion,” the President stopped and turned to his lead agent. Callahan had black combed over hair that faded to gray down to his sideburns. His face had grown tighter with age, stretched into an Irish, sallow intensity.

  “Good Morning, Jackson,” he nodded.

  “Good Morning, Mr. President,” the President pivoted away from the agent and walked the halls, greeting each member of his staff, knowing every name by heart.

  “Martha, how’s Billy doing in baseball this season?” the President asked a cleaning lady, dusting the hallway clock. His staff admired him for his attention to personal interaction.

  “He’s doing well, Mr. President, he leads the conference in strikeouts. His curve ball has gotten a lot better this season,” the smiling lady answered as he passed. The President spun to engage a moment fu
rther.

  “Wow! Throwing curveballs? He could have a career in politics…” He winked at her as he turned to trot down the stairs.

  He navigated the ornate hallways, passing over hardwood floor to marble tile to red carpet, until he reached the front foyer, where a metal detector was set up for visitors.

  “How’s your wife’s treatments going, Jerry?” the President asked, offering a consoling pat on the security guard’s back. The staff filtered in for the work day, smiling over at the President.

  “She’s responding well to the chemo, but it has definitely been a tough road. I wish it would work faster,” Jerry responded.

  “My favorite philosopher, Aristotle, once said ‘Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.’” The President’s eyes found Jerry’s. “She’ll be in my prayers,” the security guard nodded his gratitude as the President continued on through the halls toward his Oval Office.

  “Good Morning, Barbara,” his long time administrative assistant greeted him.

  “Good Morning, your 7:30 meeting is waiting in the study, let me know when you want me to call them in,” she reminded him.

  “Thank you. Send some flowers from me to Jerry’s wife. Put a card in there too,” he instructed as he she jotted down the notes on an old personal Day-Timer.

  The President entered the Oval Office and paced across the eagle seal and past the red and white striped couches. He, for a moment, stopped and reflected on the previous night’s discussion with his Chief of Staff. He tugged on his shirt cuff as he pondered how he would make a second term without his right-hand man. Had he done something wrong? Or were the pressures of the office too much to endure over the long term?

  Taking his seat at the oak desk and shaking off thoughts of an unknown future, he focused on the current crisis of the day detailed in his daily briefing report. After reviewing the few known facts about the missing bacteria and the terrorist’s involvement, he knew that the Intel would have to come from a different source – one that left as much as possible off the books, like the one he had in his hands. He pressed a button on his desk phone.

  “Barbara…” His voice was weak, for he had a foreboding deep in his gut.

  “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “Call them in, please.”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” a moment later the opposite office door opened, and Colonel Jackson Hardy walked in to the Oval Office – his military formals remained pressed although his face had withered from the stress of his illustrious career. Jackson Hardy was the designer and lead instructor of Project Sparta. Given Xander’s orphan status during training, Hardy was entrusted with custody rights over him and quickly became a father figure to him. Behind Hardy came National Security Advisor, Janet Powers, the NIH Director, Michelle Fernandez and Marty Jacobs, Chief of Staff. The President directed the ladies to their seats and sat in the one armchair before them.

  “Go ahead Jack,” the President directed, Hardy to kick off the briefing.

  “There has been a development in the situation,” Hardy paused for a moment and eyed the civilian in the room, Ms. Fernandez. Hooper noticed and waved it off.

  “We need to figure this out together Jackson, I’m granting her code clearance for whatever you have to say,” Hardy nodded obediently and continued.

  “Ezra Gonet has admitted that he has knowledge of the situation. He is currently in custody at our black site and is giving us clues to four planned targets.” The room went silent, only an uncomfortable shuffle of papers could be heard in the Oval Office.

  “Clues?” Jacobs asked perplexed and off guard.

  “Yes, clues.”

  “You have to be kidding me? Are we going to have to put the Hardy Boys on it?” Jacobs asked condescendingly. Hardy did not flinch at the comment, rather fixated a stern expression on him. After staring into his eyes, Jacobs shrunk from his gaze. Hardy continued.

  “Mr. President, Ezra called it a game. He is giving a clue to the next target every four hours. Why’s he doing this? I do not know. He was trained in Project Sparta as a codebreaker. He was a natural. These cryptic riddles are his language and we have to speak it with him to stop this attack. These is good news though.”

  “Good news?” Jacobs piped up.

  “Yeah, riddles have answers. This will all have a point. We are still unclear about his motives, but we have no choice but to comply with him, as he is our only source of Intel.” Hardy reported. The President shifted in his chair as he carefully weighed the scenario.

  “Has his Intel been proven to be accurate?”

  “Yes Mr. President, Ezra’s first riddle came at 4AM. It was a four-line rhyme that eventually pointed to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. After solving the clue and arriving, our men were too late. Lieutenant Daniel Walker, a sentinel of the Honored Guard, was bleeding severely from the nose upon seeing them and had a seizure which ultimately led to his death,” the air was punched out of the room.

  “You mean the disease is in Washington, DC now?” the President asked.

  “Yes, Mr. President, it apparently has been transported—”

  “How could that happen?” Jacobs interjected.

  “We are dealing with highly trained terrorists – some of them were even trained by us… They know how to operate in the shadows. This is obviously a calculated and well-schemed plan,” Powers added her analysis. “If the disease is within the city limits should we not put the public on alert?” Before anyone could register what she had asked, Jacobs pounced on the question.

  “It is imperative to keep this quiet, if people know there is a deadly pathogen loose in DC, chaos will break out,” Jacobs argued. “I know we don’t know how this bacteria spreads yet, but I can assure you it will spread from panic!” Jacobs grew abrasive. Hooper raised a hand for the room to come to order.

  “I will call together the CIA, FBI and NSA directors. We need their resources on this. We will create an emergency joint task force to aid us from our command here. We need their support. … I want this set up in the Situation Room, I want eyes and ears on your men, Hardy. We are running command on this mission,” Hooper’s eyes scanned the solemn expressions of the room to which there were no dissenting opinions. The President continued.

  “I won’t risk American lives in the name of plausible deniability. With that being said, a public announcement will only cause a panic, so we need to keep this crisis contained for now,” Jacobs nodded an agreement. “In the meantime, we need to put the National Guard on notice and review any containment protocol.”

  The President reflected for a moment on what they were up against and dropped his formidable eyes to the dossier in his lap with a headshot of Ezra Gonet.

  “Look at what Project Sparta has created, sir!” Marty Jacobs spoke up, as if attempting to incite a revolution. “These men are animals. I have been opposing this black ops branch of our clandestine services for this very reason. They have and always have had too much leash and look at where it has gotten us!” Jacobs finished his tirade, locked on Hardy.

  Hardy, undaunted, addressed his concerns calmly. “Project Sparta has done more for this country than you will ever know, sir. Ezra was a bad apple, I’ll take responsibility for my part in his training, but I suggest it was because he was prematurely taken from the program and thrown into active field duty, prior to him being ready for it. A decision that came from… politicians,” Hardy fired back the rejoinder.

  “None of that matters now!” the President raised his voice, muting the Oval Office. After the President exhaled his anger he continued in a more composed tone. “I know Project Sparta is a force of good in this country, Jack. Let’s focus on the crisis at hand and quit the pissing match.” He turned back to business. “Has the infection spread?”

  “At the moment, no sir. It appears that only Lieutenant Walker was infected. We have closed Arlington Cemetery and quarantined the sentinels in the facility below the tomb in case they were exposed. James Axle is maintaining the quarantine and monitoring the
other sentinels for symptoms. They will be allowed shifts to ensure they continue to guard the tomb. We have the cadaver of Walker, sir, and are beginning to autopsy the body in a secure environment. They will run a series of tests to better understand the effects the contagion has on the human body,” Hardy briefed.

  “Tell me more about Ezra’s game,” the President instructed.

  “Every four hours we will receive a new clue… so that means the next one will be given at 8AM…then another at noon and the last target will be given at 4PM. At 8PM he has said he will give us a fifth and final clue – that leads to the cure.”

  “The cure? They have the cure?”

  “They claim to have the cure, yes Mr. President.”

  “Well, what do they want?” Jacobs asked.

  “What do you mean by that?” Powers turned to her colleague.

  “If they have the cure they are obviously holding it for ransom. They must want something, or they wouldn’t have the cure as a bargaining chip,” the Chief of Staff explained plainly.

  “Good point, Marty,” the President arched his eyebrows. “We need to find that out, as quickly as possible. For now, we get organized and assemble our resources. I want Jackson and Janet to lead this effort. The next clue comes at 8AM?” Hardy accepted the order and confirmed the question with one nod. The President turned to the NIH director.

  “Ms. Fernandez, what do you have on the origins of the disease?” The rest of the room turned to her as well.

  “This disease was discovered in the Congo by Catherine Mueller, the scientist who was profiling the disease in the NIH at the time of the raid. While on a trip with Doctors without Borders, she collected it from a village at the request of the World Health Organization. Since then the regional office of the WHO in the Congo has found no other instances of infection in the region,” Fernandez updated.