Project Apollo

by B. B. Gallagher

  He seized the final moment of the dream to open the car door and dive out of it. He rolled to a violent stop, trained his eyes down the road, where he could see the crash unfold before his eyes. The car spun on impact. His mother thrown from the car and crushed by its screeching wheels. The eighteen-wheeler burst through the station wagon and barreled toward Xander on the street.

  Then, he was consumed in light.

  Xander was back in Tobias’s laboratory on the floor, held by Ashton.

  “Xander? Xander? It’s okay. What is going on?” Ashton asked, trying to comfort him from his blackout. Seamus was stranding over him.

  “You blacked out,” Seamus informed him. Xander shook his head, helping himself to his feet while resisting any offer of help.

  “I don’t know… it must have been a rush of blood to the head or something…” he explained, rubbing his eyes back to reality. Xander froze a moment and reflected briefly on the vision, turning his head to consider a thought.

  Why couldn’t I change anything in the memory? My imagination should be able to alter the script at least…

  Xander snapped from the thought as Catherine and Tobias emerged from the isolation unit. Xander approached immediately, leaving Seamus and Ashton to their consternation.

  After taking off the headpiece, Catherine brushed her hair behind her thick black glasses and gathered herself. Tobias inhaled deeply as if finally coming up for air. They had been in the isolation unit for many hours straight.

  “What do you got?” Xander attempted to leave the instance of his blackout behind and move on with their investigation.

  “That corpse is a mess,” Catherine started.

  “We j…j…just finished a f…f…ull autopsy of the bo-d…d...dy,” he said, his stutter returning. “This ba…ba…cteria absolutely wrecks the host…t…t.” He looked to Catherine, as if asking her to give the briefing. After a curious smile, she stepped forward and reported the findings.

  “First the lungs, filled with blood. The esophagus was as raw as sandpaper from all of the coughing fits, the blood vessels running through the mucosal region were burst open. There was blood in his mouth, in his nose, even in his tear ducts and behind his ear drums. It was like a grenade went off in his head.”

  “But does that explain the seizure?” Ashton asked from behind Xander.

  “I originally thought the physical trauma the body endured could have led to the seizing of the brain… not anymore,” Catherine answered, peaking the interest of the Spartans. She motioned them to a lab table behind the isolation unit. There laid a glass contamination box with two gloved entries for manual operation. They crowded around the back lab table and focused on the contents of the box.

  Inside was a scorched object that resembled a shriveled football. The organ was blackish, grey and crusted at its edges.

  “What the hell is that?” Xander peered forward.

  “That is … his brain,” Catherine explained.

  “Are you kidding me?” Seamus added. “Maybe a grenade did go off in his head…”

  “Do you remember how I told you this bacterium was a releasing agent?” The Spartans looked on with no objection. “I don’t think it’s meant to release blood vessels… I think that was a side-effect for this. So, you breathe in this bacterium. It goes down into your lungs and stays there. It infects your lung cells, causing you to cough it up violently. The bacteria then comes up from your lungs to your throat and then into your nose. Once it is there, everything is connected, so it eventually travels into your brain via oxygenated pathways. Being present in the brain, this releasing agent doesn’t release blood like it did into the lungs and the nose. Rather, it releases electricity. Neurons go crazy and drive you insane. Your brain can’t take it, unless it is used to such high neural activity. Once it is pushed too far, it causes seizure, leading to death.” Catherine struggled to find the final words.

  The Spartans looked on, perplexed and overwhelmed. Xander finally understood what they were up against. He nodded, keeping his eyes on the fried brain in the isolation unit. He knew what Catherine was saying, but felt the need to put it in layman’s terms for the others.

  “The bacteria short-circuits the brain.”

  Chapter 29

  The PEOC

  11:45AM

  A frenzy of activity ensued as the task force pursued every lead and loose end. The heads of each intelligence community called in their resources to analyze the events of the morning. The NSA focused on the data, trying to construct a discernible dossier on Azir, Khan and Ezra but to no avail. The CIA attempted to form links to international entities especially the Russians, but had failed to do so. The FBI led the active manhunt through the city. Thanks to Mac and Cusick they now had a Hyman Seafood Truck to look for, but for the moment the suspects were very much still at large. The President handled the bedlam of the PEOC in an ordered fashion, careful to focus on each issue as they arose, like a head chef in a kitchen, juggling each ticket of dinner service.

  “Food shipments to and from the city have been stopped,” Janet Powers called out from down the table.

  “The National Guard is prepped and now on standby,” Colonel Hardy updated.

  “Keep them discrete, I do not want to start a panic by sending a tank down North Capitol Street!”

  “Should we close off the beltway?” Director Fangold asked. The President consulted his Chief of Staff as he often did with a simple look. Reading his friend’s expression, the President accepted the suggestion.

  “Not yet. We do not want to cause a panic. We are confident that the two targets have been confined. I doubt that Ezra attacks outside of the constraints of his own game. We play by the rules and we may just make it out of this foxhole.” He tried to offer the slightest inflection of hope in his voice.

  “We have prepared a series of directives to the public who may be experiencing symptoms. We are ready to send them to local and national news in the event that we post it for the public,” Michelle Fernandez briefed, familiar with damage control, although not to this magnitude.

  “What are the symptoms?” the President asked the obvious question.

  “Catherine Mueller has just confirmed that the symptoms are violent coughing and bleeding, nosebleeds, bleeding from the tear ducts, regurgitating blood, but the endgame of the bacteria is neurological. Since this is the case we add mental breaks, panic and especially seizures to the list of symptoms,” Fernandez reported. Marty Jacobs’s ears perked up at the sound of Mueller’s name.

  “I thought she was in the hospital,” the President questioned, looking to Jacobs for explanation.

  “I had her released to the care of the Spartans. I figured that Xander could use her expertise.” Jacobs explained. Hardy lifted his head up at the sound of the words and arched an eyebrow at him. He remained silent though, as if logging the suspicion away for another time. The President noticed and did so as well but for the moment accepted the answer from his Chief of Staff and proceeded to the next matter.

  “Okay then, have her send all of her findings to the Vice President and our contacts at the AMRIID.” Fernandez nodded the affirmative and immediately picked up the phone.

  “Where are we with Ezra?” the President asked down the table toward Hunterson and Hardy.

  “The next clue comes in ten minutes. It is our suspicion that the next target will be public. He wants the panic. The more agitated the city is the faster people run, the faster it spreads, the more leverage he gains.” Hooper considered the theory for a moment and then pushed a transmission button on the table.

  “Xander, what do you have for us?”

  Xander’s voice echoed through the bunker over the speakers.

  “We are heading toward Capitol Hill, Mr. President. We believe Ezra will strike at the heart of the city again!” he yelled into his phone over the racket of the speeding van.

  “Good. We have the SWAT team and mobile contamination units on standby,” Jacobs spoke as the President rubbed h
is throat.

  “Anything else Mr. President?”

  “No—” His first attempt went hoarse. He then cleared his throat. “No, that’s all!”

  “Over and out.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Fiona approached the glass for another round of questioning.

  “Go ahead and ask it?” he began, preemptively catching the redheaded beauty off guard.

  “What are you trying to tell me? Xander is out in the field now, playing your little game, but you didn’t ask for Xander, you asked for me. So, I want to know what you are trying to tell me?” she asked.

  Ezra’s head cocked to his shoulder and strategized his approach to the answer. His neck popped, as if he was just warming up.

  “Xander has clues to his truth out in the city. I have sent him on a quest that will change his life forever. But you also have a truth, Fiona… And your clues are already here, within the confines of this Compound. You have all the files and data, regarding Project Sparta right here. You must learn the truth about Sparta. You must learn just how greatly the government violated our human rights,” he explained.

  “So, you want me to just… take a look around? See what I can find?” she inquired with frankness.

  Ezra smiled as she caught on, confirming it with a few simple words.

  “You my dear, are going to need to retrace your past to properly understand your present.”

  Chapter 30

  Broadcast News Association

  Washington, DC

  11:35PM

  Porter Nash rolled his bike through the BNA bullpen and squeezed the brake at his desk. A subtle build in activity brewed as reports came that the White House was in lock down. He jumped off the bike and with one arm’s sweep, cleared off his desk, sending crumbled balls of notes to tumble to the floor.

  He brandished the flash drive from his pocket, as if it were the jewel of the Nile and inserted it into the USB port of his desktop computer. Ambitious for the story, he navigated his Desktop to see the contents of the folder, but to his shock the folder was empty.

  What the hell? There’s nothing on it?

  Then as he continued to navigate through the folder, reopening and closing it to ensure it was in fact empty, his PC froze. The cursor stopped and ignored all commands from the mouse.

  Damnit!

  Porter smacked his computer upside the monitor and fell back in his chair in defeat. It was a common feeling in investigative journalism, but no story of his career had so many dead ends.

  As he reflected on the mystery of the flash drive, he leaned forward and restarted his computer. The computer began to ran through its loading process as it rebooted. As the computer beeped its logon, Porter pounded his fist on his desk and racked his brain for any open possibilities in the case.

  It doesn’t make any sense!

  Then the computer connected to BNA’s network. Porter turned his focus to the ceiling tiles and failed to notice the quick upload to the network that occurred in the corner of his screen.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  In the dark quarters of a subterranean tunnel a row of computer monitors stood. Distant activity sounded down the echoing archways of the deserted space, but it did not faze the operator of the computer, as he stared through his dark rimmed glasses at a blinking light on the opened window displayed on his monitor. He jumped alive at the sign and brought his phone to his ear, immediately.

  After two short rings Harak Khan’s voice answered on the other end.

  “Yes…”

  “Our worm has accessed BNA’s network and is awaiting our command to activate,” the computer operator mentioned.

  “Good…” Khan’s voice rolled in sadistic tones. “Go ahead and activate… let’s throw this city into a panic.”

  “Understood… activating the worm now.” The phone clicked, the computer operator began typing the command. The command window showed his user name.

  Rogue7

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Porter spun in his chair, one part perplexed, and two parts frustrated with the seemingly pointless meet with the shadowy figure.

  I put my life at stake for this story and what do I get? Nothing… not a damn thing!

  At that moment, the TV monitors flashed and a message appeared on the screen. There was an immediate commotion in the production room of the news set next door. BNA employees quickly gathered before the screen, reading the message.

  We interrupt this program to bring you Breaking News.

  The message remained on the screen for a full minute, allowing the staff and the American public to gather around their television sets. The anchors on set maintained frozen smiles, confused as to why their broadcast had been interrupted. The producers on duty had no answer for them and began shouting in the control room at the staff.

  “What the hell? My computer froze!” Porter heard a random voice announce.

  “Mine did too!” Over the increased commotion shouted one strong voice.

  Porter lifted his eyes to Lukas Zucker’s office, overlooking the bullpen. His silhouette looked down on the office, obviously alerted to the program interruption.

  “What the hell is going on?!” Rachel Norton walked through the bullpen toward the control room. Porter’s eyes followed Rachel as she approached the window and saw a frenzy of clamorous activity behind the glass. The producer on duty shrugged his shoulders and ran a stressed hand through his hair, while the staff behind him inspected every switch and button at the control panel.

  Porter continued to spin in his chair and saw that at every angle the studio had plunged into hysteria.

  What is going on around here?

  And then his eyes fell to something stuck in his CPU. Jutting out of the USB port was the flash drive, given to him by an unknown man. Porter’s mouth dropped as he began to understand what was happening.

  We’ve just been hacked…It’s a hostile take-over.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The PEOC continued its pandemonium as more possible leads surfaced, no matter how desperate they were. Fernandez reviewed the latest reports from regional medical centers.

  “There doesn’t appear to be any cases yet at any local hospitals…” she reported over the crowd.

  “Good!” the President called back. “Check on those reports every half an hour.”

  Nervous eyes darted across the room, as the individuals in the PEOC wondered if the bacteria had gotten in and if so who was its host. They eyed each other with an uneasy suspicion.

  “Marty!” the President called.

  “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “Get my wife on the phone please,” the President directed.

  “Yes sir!” The President watched as calls were placed from end to end of the Conference Table. His eyes continued to roam the bunker, reminding himself of the many marching orders given.

  NSA is text mining all recent phone calls in the city for any mention of sickness or terrorism, FBI is preparing their emergency Hazmat teams, Military is on stand-by and Sparta is running point in the field…

  His thoughts were interrupted by the extended hand of Jacobs, holding a phone for him. As soon as he brought it to his ear, his wife started talking.

  “Another stupid lockdown… Don’t they know people work around here?” The President smiled at the sound of his wife’s voice. She always played coy, cutting the never-ending tension that came with his office.

  “We are government employees – no one thinks we do…” His wife offered a warm laughter that brought rejuvenation to his spirit. “How are you holding up, Jeanne?”

  “I’m doing fine. How are you? Is this a big deal?” she asked, knowing full well that her husband was in the bunker and that the lockdown was coded black.

  “No, everyone is fine.”

  “Yeah, I know what that means,” the First Lady responded with an accusatory cadence in her voice. The President did not play back with his wife. Rather, he pivoted, as well as any good politician could.

  “What are you do
ing? Your Sudoku puzzles?” he asked.

  “No! I left my book in the residence and they won’t let me go get it. So, I was catching up with your Vice President. He’s been moved to the Chief of Staff’s office, so now it’s just me and the staffers watching television. If it was my choice, we’d be watching Days of our Lives, but they insist on watching BNA news… why do we always have to watch the news here?”

  “We make the news, my dear…” he reminded his wife.

  “I thought we didn’t care what people said about us… I’m instituting a new policy in my house and it is that the only thing we can have on during the day is The Price Is Right and Judge Judy,” she quipped, playing also to the audience around her, listening to her speak to her husband.

  “We’re not that old!” The President chuckled back, but was then nudged by Jacobs, pointing him to the BNA newsfeed on the high monitor.

  “Honey, I have to get going, we have a lot of work to do.” He hurried the conversation to its end.

  “Okay…I love you.” She heard the tempo of his talk and quickened her goodbye.

  “Love you too. Bye!”

  The President hung up the phone and squinted towards the monitor.

  “Turn that up!” the President shouted over the room, silencing the frenzy. Hardy complied and increased the volume on monitor #4. There was no sound, giving an eerie quiet to the scene. Only simple text marked the screen, ‘We interrupt this program to bring you Breaking News’.

  Then it changed.

  My fellow Americans… Democracy cannot succeed unless those who express their choice are prepared to choose wisely. The real safeguard of democracy, therefore, is education. - Franklin D. Roosevelt

  After the opening quote, a distorted voice read the text aloud from the screen. The voice was a low, deep manipulation, carrying with it an ominous tone.