The Search for Artemis (The Chronicles of Landon Wicker)

by Griffith, P. D.

  “With the help of this system, you will be briefed on the mission and objectives to be carried out.” Dr. Wells pressed another few buttons, and a series of dots and arrows appeared on the map and an image of a grisly-looking man materialized above it. “We will detail the op, beginning to end, and then tech will come and take you through any necessary equipment that you will need to use to complete the mission. And then you’re off to carry out the op. It’s that simple.”

  With the click of a button, the map and the image of the man disappeared from above the console, and the glass began to recede into the floor. As it did, Landon never took his eyes off the Altar; he scoured the panels and monitors trying to understand the mechanics and procedures necessary to operate it.

  “Now, if you’ll come with me, I’ll show you the other areas of the Olympic Tower.”

  Dr. Wells turned to the side and ushered Landon to walk beside him. They made their way to the back of the Temple and onto a wide platform. After both were settled, Dr. Wells unexpectedly said, “Forge,” and the platform began to rise. Landon hadn’t realized he was standing on a voice-activated lift.

  They passed through the thick steel barrier separating the floors and stopped on the second level. The Forge was quite different from the Temple. Rather than noise and manic activity, this place was quiet, and Landon saw people sporadically walking the halls. Dr. Wells stepped off the lift and motioned for Landon to do the same.

  “This is the Forge, the center for research and developent. Here, engineers work to develop efficient and practical equipment to help ensure the successful completion of a mission as well as study and experiment on some of the items we acquire during ops.”

  A man emerged from one of the nearby offices and headed straight for Dr. Wells and Landon.

  “Ah, here comes Verne. He’s head of the technology development program,” Dr. Wells informed him.

  In no time, Verne was standing before Dr. Wells and Landon. He first shook Dr. Wells’ hand and gave him a warm salutation before turning to Landon to introduce himself.

  “So you’re Landon Wicker, I presume,” Verne stated matter-of-factly as he extended his hand.

  Landon was surprised by him. He was personable, charming and pleasant, not socially awkward like he would have imagined, and he appeared to be perfectly kempt. His dirty blond hair was cut short and neatly combed. He wore a pair of thick-framed, black-rimmed glasses and a dark button-up vest over a crisp white oxford shirt, which was tucked into a pair of well-tailored tweed pants. He was also surprisingly young looking. Mid-twenties, Landon thought.

  After realizing he’d been staring at Verne for an awkward amount of time, Landon grabbed hold of Verne’s hand and shook it.

  “Yes. Sorry. I’m Landon.”

  “Great! Come with me. I’ll show you around.”

  The tour of the Forge was quick and to the point. Verne traveled at an alarming speed. His gait was long and swift. Landon almost had to jog next to him to keep up. The main part of the Forge was a series of large rooms, each with a single expansive worktable and a small desk for a computer crammed into a corner. They reminded Landon of a zoo, or an aquarium, as each had a front-facing pane of glass that allowed the passersby to see exactly on what the lone engineer was working. As they walked through, most of them never even looked up from their work. Landon wondered if they were just so engrossed in their projects that they hadn’t noticed their presence, or if they had just gotten used to being watched. Landon felt awkward as he peered in on an older man who seemed to be having difficulty getting a set of wires to cooperate. He felt voyeuristic, like he was violating some unspoken law of privacy.

  Soon they had made it around the R&D portion of the Forge and stopped before an office. On the door, a plaque with “Alexandre Verne – Ops Tech Director” printed on it let Landon know they had arrived at their escort’s office.

  Before they could protest, Verne opened the door and ushered them inside, a proud smile beaming on his face. As Landon entered, he was comforted by the familiarity of Verne’s chaotic workspace. The room was a mess of spare parts, loose wires and papers. The walls were covered with photographs and strange, blueprint-looking drawings that Landon imagined were schematics for devices Verne was in the process of developing. His desk was covered with tools, a collection of empty, coffee-stained mugs, and a plethora of clear plastic wrap and crumbs from vending machine fare. It was what the office of a director of technology development should look like.

  Verne shut the door behind him, pushed through to get to his workstation and began clearing away loose debris and food particles until an area of the tabletop was clear. Something small still remained at its center. Landon couldn’t help but move in closer to get a peek at what Verne had left for them to see. It was infinitesimally small, around the size of a pencil eraser, and wafer-thin—a black dot on the stark white surface.

  “What is it?” Landon asked.

  Verne’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I’m so glad you asked. I call it Janus. This is my greatest accomplishment since the A.R.G.O.S. system.”

  “The A.R.G.O.S. system?”

  “Automated Retrieval of Global Observational Systems. It basically allows us instant access to all public and unsecured security cameras across the globe by integrating a minuscule bit of code into their infrastructure, and it evolves intuitively to provide constant—”

  “Verne,” Dr. Wells interrupted.

  “Sorry, Dr. Wells.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem, Verne, but we’re on a very tight schedule and must continue on our way.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, of course,” Verne replied apologetically as he dropped his head. All the excitement that had boiled up within him as he explained his inventions was immediately stymied. Landon felt as disappointed as Verne looked, for now he wouldn’t be able to hear about the new gadget. He couldn’t deny that he was interested, but Dr. Wells guided him out of the office and back to the lift.

  As they stepped onto the lift, Landon noticed a door just to the right of it. “What’s in there?” he asked.

  “Nothing to be concerned about,” Dr. Wells replied. Landon opened his mouth to ask something else, but before words could pass his lips, the doctor clearly stated, “The Stable.”

  The lift ascended to the next level. As it passed through the ceiling of the Forge, Landon and Dr. Wells emerged into an expansive aircraft hangar. The faint smell of gasoline lingered in the air and parked side-by-side were two awe-inspiring machines.

  Landon couldn’t take his eyes off them as Dr. Wells escorted him onto the hangar deck. Apart from sitting in a commercial jet, he’d never been within any sort of proximity to an aircraft, let alone those for military use.

  The larger one looked like some strange hybrid of a helicopter and a military transport plane. The main body of it looked like a standard transport helicopter, but rather than a large propeller mounted on the top, two short wings extended out if it. Each had its own pivoting turboprop attached to the end. The blades seemed shorter and thicker than what Landon had always imagined a regular helicopter to have, and the entire vehicle was covered in some strange material of a slate-grey color. On the side, a matte black decal showed the same symbol he’d seen initially in the hologram at the Altar—an eagle carrying an arrow. In small type below it, “Alpha Chariot” was written in a modern, all-caps typeface.

  The aircraft next to it was some sort of jet. Of all the movies and military documentaries Landon had watched during his life, he’d never seen anything like it. It was short and narrow with a cockpit that looked to hold two, and it was made of the same strange grey material as its larger sister. Above the wing, just behind the cockpit, was the same decal and the words “Pegasus One” printed below it.

  “This one here,” Dr. Wells began as he tapped the nose of the large helicopter-hybrid, “is the A
lpha Chariot. More agile and faster than your standard tilt-rotor, this guy gives us the ability for vertical take-off and vertical landing like a helicopter, but giving us a wider range of travel.” Dr. Wells circled around the aircraft, pointing out to Landon the different features of the machine. Landon followed behind him, taking as much time as he could to understand everything Dr. Wells was showing him. “It’s large enough to carry the entire team of Pantheon operatives, but efficient enough for use in less demanding missions. We’ve also been able to make quite a few modifications to the standard military design. We’ve managed to muffle the engines substantially, while reducing heat emissions. And by covering the hull in this dark, reflective bicarbonate alloy we’ve developed, it makes it nearly undetectable to most radar.”

  “So it’s stealth?” Landon asked.

  “For lack of a better word, yes.” Dr. Wells then moved to the jet. “And this beauty is the Pegasus One. We developed it for the military as a multi-role fighter jet. It allows for the same vertical take-off and landing as the Alpha Chariot, but unlike its big sister, this one vector-thrusts using turbofans with rotating nozzles. It is highly maneuverable and able to travel at nearly supersonic speeds. It only allows for two passengers, so we use it primarily for solo missions. It’s also stealth.”

  As they walked back to the lift, Landon took a moment to look around the hangar. He had never fully grasped the immensity of the towers of the Gymnasium. The two aircraft were dwarfed within the open two-story area, especially when it wasn’t broken up by any rooms or walls. Apart from a few large drums of gasoline and mechanical tools, the Stable was dedicated to the two vehicles. The roof of the Stable was made of reinforced steel with a curved seam running down the middle, which looked like a pair of sealed lips awaiting the command to retract and allow one of the vehicles to ascend out of its open mouth.

  The immensity of what Landon had been introduced to since breakfast flooded his consciousness. He was overwhelmed, more so than when he first came to the Gymnasium and learned he was psychokinetic. What was this place, really? How had this entire operation been functioning right under his nose without him ever realizing?

  “Who funds all of this?” Landon asked himself in little more than whisper. And how does Riley not know about it? he added in this thoughts.

  “Zeus may have told you some, but the Pantheon is a covert organization that works outside the government. We handle matters of national security that are too politically threatening for the actual military, and we operate independently through a shadow company, the Pallas Corporation. We’re funded through ‘government defense contracts’ in reference to the purchase of our ‘scientific advancements,’” Dr. Wells explained as if it was normal, everyday knowledge, but Landon just stared at him, bewildered.

  “What you’re doing—it’s very exciting,” he continued. “You get to do things that no one else in the country can do, or is aware of. Unfortunately, should anything unexpected happen while on a mission, you wouldn’t be given any form of amnesty as a member of a government agency. No one below the President of the United States and the Secretary of Defense has any idea of our existence.”

  As Dr. Wells explained everything, Landon started to realize the severity of his decision. The Pantheon was truly fighting for the continued safety and freedom of millions of Americans, and now it was his job to carry out that mission.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TRAINING

  “We have one more place to see. Palaestra,” Dr. Wells called out to the lift after they both stepped onto the platform. “The Palaestra, in the subterranean level, is the private training facility for the Pantheon agents, and you’ll be spending the majority of your time in this area. It contains the agent locker rooms, a weight facility, private lounges, and . . .”

  Dr. Wells continued his monologue as the lift passed through the Temple floor and descended into a large, multi-story cubic room. The walls and floor were covered in lighted white tiles, which made the entire room glow. As they overlooked the space, Landon tried to identify those who were busy training, but the ground was so bright, Landon had difficulty making out any detail, aside from their profiles. A female figure moved with acrobatic ease through an obstacle course erected along the entire left side of the room, her body breaking the light as she swung from bar to bar. Off to the right, three guys sparred. The largest of the three was dominating the other two. There was one other figure just visible in the back who looked to be floating. Landon could have sworn he was hovering at least three feet off the ground, but he couldn’t see a shadow to know for sure. Walking between the three stations, a man methodically and authoritatively shouted instructions. Landon recognized the voice as that of Dr. Brighton.

  “Pantheon,” Dr. Wells shouted as the lift neared its destination, “gather ’round, please! I must introduce you to the newest addition to the team!”

  The lift settled onto the Palaestra floor, and Dr. Wells marshaled Landon off the platform. Now Landon could see everything much more clearly. The light wasn’t nearly as blinding from ground level, and he watched in shock as the members of the Pantheon approached. He recognized all of them.

  Landon’s heart beat faster in his chest when he saw that the three combatants were none other than Brock Holbrooke and Joshua and Jeremiah Crane. Brock slowly massaged his right forearm as he meandered toward Landon. He appeared far more muscular and menacing than usual, as the light from the floor cast deep shadows against the ridged contours of his body. The trio reached the lift first and fell into a single row facing Dr. Wells. Brock stood tall and rigid with his arms crossed over his chest and a subtle scowl on his face. The Crane twins, however, looked surprisingly excited to see Landon. Perhaps Landon hadn’t given them a fair shot due to their association with Brock.

  The girl who had been swinging through the obstacle course turned out to be Alexandra Parker. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, which, when paired with her form-fitting training attire, gave her an even slyer, slinkier appearance than usual. Outside of their awkward introduction on orientation day, Landon and Parker had never really interacted. She looked intimidating as she filed in beside Jeremiah Crane and adopted a domineering stance with her weight on one leg, forcing her hip out to the side, and both hands firmly planted at her waist. She couldn’t help but express her annoyance at the interruptin as she glared at Landon.

  The floating guy turned out to be Cortland Cartwright. Whatever he had been doing, it must have been intense. He appeared the most physically taxed of any of them. His grey shirt had become two-toned, with a pronounced ring of sweat spreading from his neck to his shoulders and another stain down the front of his shirt to his navel. Strands of dark brown hair clung to the edges of his tan face, but he wore an excited smile as he fell into formation beside Parker. Dr. Brighton brought up the rear and stood stoically on the end next to Brock, waiting for Dr. Wells to continue. Landon returned Cortland’s silent, warm welcome with a hesitant smile. The situation made him too uncomfortable to display anything more overt.

  “Landon,” Dr. Wells started. “Or should I say, Apollo—”

  “Apollo?” Landon asked, turning toward Dr. Wells.

  “Yes, Landon. Every member of the Pantheon is given a code name, a nom-de-guerre, to be used during missions, a name initiating them into the team. In the Pantheon, those call signs are pulled from the mythological figures of ancient Greece. They were powerful, and they protected and shaped the lives of mankind, just as you will. It was decided that you will take up the mantle of Apollo, god of the hunt, medicine, prophecy and music, and carrier of the sun. And this is your team.”

  Dr. Wells motioned toward the row of Landon’s peers, starting at Cortland and then moving down the line. “You know them as Cortland, Parker, Jeremiah, Joshua, Brock and Dr. Brighton, but here they are Hector, Atalanta, Pollux, Castor, Ares and Zeus.”

  �
��Welcome to the team, Apollo!” Cortland interjected.

  “Yeah,” Jeremiah said, “it’s good to—” He suddenly fell silent under Brock’s deathly stare.

  “All right,” Dr. Wells broke in, “I have to get back. Good luck with your training,” he said to Landon before commanding the lift to ascend to the Temple.

  Landon stood still while staring at his teammates, wondering if someone would tell him what was to happen next. In the back of his mind, he worried that they were waiting for him to say something. They all had their eyes trained on him, except Parker, who appeared to be following the lift until it rose out of the Palaestra.

  Cortland stepped out of formation, but then stopped suddenly and turned to Dr. Brighton. He seemed to have realized he hadn’t been given permission to break the line. Dr. Brighton gave a subtle nod, and Cortland walked over to Landon.

  “I told you I’d be seeing more of you soon,” he said jovially. Out of the corner of his eye, Landon noticed Parker turn and head back to the obstacle course without even a word. “Oh, and don’t worry about her. What she lacks in social skills, she makes up for with her psy-kin skill set.” Cortland motioned behind him to Parker, who’d already returned to swinging and flipping from the ring section of the obstacle course. “She’s our hacker.”

  “Really? Parker’s a computer hacker?” Landon stared at Parker with surprise; he never would’ve guessed.

  “No,” Cortland replied with a laugh. “Jer—and down here he’s Pollux—is actually the best with computers. Josh, or Castor, is our demolitions expert; Brock—Ares—as you can see, is by far the best at hand-to-hand combat”—Landon peered over just in time to watch Brock toss Joshua over his shoulder and slam him to the ground—“and is our second-in-command. Dr. Brighton—or Zeus—is in charge and is a strategic mastermind. But Atalanta, let’s just say she has a knack for getting into people’s heads.”