The Quixotic Faction: (Above Top Secret Edition)

by T. D. Kohler

  Nomi looks down at her scratches and torn shirt. “What is wrong with you? Why are you so violent?”

  “She can’t be trusted.”

  “Why do you say that?” Nomi asks, shaking her head.

  Selenia gets louder again as she enters the clearing. “Okay, fine.” She jumps trying to get a look over the dried-up stalks. She lands wrong, twisting her ankle. “Son of a—Look I need help! I don’t know . . . No, neither St. Clair or Grunt is here.”

  Listening on the phone and holding her ankle, Selenia nods. “Yes, Agent Nomi is here.”

  Selenia quickly turns towards Nomi, sending her scrambling backwards shuffling away from her. Agent Selenia’s left eye is open and completely black with no trace of white. Blood is trickling from her cut as she stares at Agent Nomi. “Help me.”

  Nomi pounces into a crouched position. The inner voice ignites every nerve in Nomi’s body. “Half-breed!”

  In a blink, Nomi launches herself at Selenia. Before she can reach her, her ankle is caught by Grunt, who appears from the cornfield and redirects her momentum.

  Just as Agent Grunt turns to Selenia, Nomi flies towards him, arms stretched out, with pure anger. Grunt feints back, his shoulders nearly touching the ground. Nomi clears him. Her momentum sends her twisting and tumbling into another section of the cornfield.

  Selenia, still holding her ankle, winces in pain. “I’m so sorry, Grunt. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Grunt’s attention catches Nomi charging. He takes a half step towards her and reaches out and an arm, and his hand catches her forehead. She collides into the hand as if hitting a concrete pillar. Grunt looks into her eyes. Nomi’s body falls limp, and her weight is being held up by Grunt’s grip.

  Watching what happened, Selenia’s jaw drops.

  * * *

  Out by the truck, St. Clair hears rustling coming from the cornfield. Taking a few steps away he watches for movement. Grunt steps out of the dried stalks with Selenia and Nomi right behind him. As soon as Nomi sees St. Clair she runs light footed into his arms.

  “Little John! You’re back!”

  “Easy there, Flea. Good to see you too.”

  Selenia holds her head down and is shielding her eye as she makes her way to the Lexus. Setting Agent Nomi down, he takes a concerned step to her when Grunt steps in front, raising his hand to stop him. St. Clair looks at him, then over to Selenia, then back to Grunt.

  He senses he should let her be alone for now. Giving an acknowledging nod, he looks back at Nomi. “We need to get out of here.”

  Nomi notices the truck. “Holy shit! Little John, what happened? It wasn’t me this time.”

  Rubbing his jaw, “I had a run in with the admiral and his two cohorts.” Taking a glance over to the Lexus, he watches Grunt walk up to Selenia.

  Nomi catches him watching. “You can’t trust her.”

  Confused, St. Clair looks down at his friend and with a hushed tone says. “What? What are you talking about?”

  Nomi gives Selenia a determined but cautious look, and keeping her voice down whispering, “You admitted that you did not know that much about her. Well she’s a half-breed.”

  Selenia’s upbeat personality returns, as if a switch was flipped. “If we are going to leave we need to go now.”

  St Clair nudges Nomi. “We can talk about this later, until then try to behave.”

  They walk over to join Grunt and Selenia. They all stop and look at the Lexus then back at St. Clair, then back at the Lexus.

  St. Clair smiles and chuckles. “You guys meet me at the Popeye’s in Oakdale.” He steps back as a green hue forms around him, and he disappears.

  Selenia looks over at Nomi. “Now that I am getting my wits about me, and now you know a little more about me, can we get a long?”

  Agent Nomi gives her a cautious look of curiosity and then forces a smile and nods.

  With a quick nod, Selenia opens the car door. “Well alright then, let’s get out of here.”

  Sine’ Irish Pub,

  Richmond, VA

  July 21, 1317 hours

  Walking down the cobble bricks of Canal Street, Director Harris looks up at an Irish pub. He reaches in his pants pocket and pulls out a coin. Looking down at it, he rubs it between his fingers, and then looks back up at the pub. The voice of Victoria Carol replays in his mind, “I warned you against putting agents with operatives!” Looking back down at the coin, he puts it back in his pocket and exhales. “What would a good agent do at a time like this?”

  Taking a moment to look at the patio entrance to the pub, he goes to walk in when his phone rings. Seeing the M.A.S.H. screenshot he brings the phone to his ear.

  “Five O’clock! How are things in Austin?”

  “Sydney, what the hell is going on down there?”

  “I am in Virginia right now, so I do not know what is going on down there.”

  “Dammit, I know you are in Virginia. I just got off the phone with the Madam. She is out for your head!”

  “Charlie, breathe in . . . breathe out. A young but brilliant agent tells me to do that. I believe it will do wonders for you.” Looking around, Director Harris watches a young couple walk into the patio entrance of the pub.

  “Listen up, Sydney! She is calling the twelve cities. Hell, she wanted to dip into the operative pool to go after this guy, who is suspected to have killed her daughter.”

  Director Harris raises a hand as if he could see him. “Whoa, she wants to do what? She is being rash and not thinking clearly. Tell me—”

  “Relax Sydney, I managed stall her for now.” There is a quick pause on the line. “It would appear that we have another issue going on there.”

  “You are referring to the bank robbery in Katy?”

  “Not just in Katy. Cindy is telling me that it happened again, in Baton Rouge, and today a mysterious, unstable energy covered Oakdale. Three loan businesses were robbed.”

  “Wait, did you say Oakdale?” Director Harris huffs. “When was this?”

  “It happened about an hour ago. Twelve people died, including two police officers. Three civilians died yesterday in Baton Rouge, and you know of the three officers in Katy. Cindy has her entire team from San Francisco putting spins on everything.”

  Director Harris leans up against the wrought iron gate of the pub. He replays his conversation with Agent St. Clair.

  “Sir, I am currently looking at the individual that committed the bank robbery…”

  “He is not our priority right now. I need you to get back to Agent Nomi, Selenia, and Grunt, and bring that guy in. Do I have myself understood?”

  “Shoot, this woman has got everyone confused and is not thinking right,” Director Harris says, taking a deep breath. Before he can say anything else, Charlie cuts him off.

  “Well, it is not going to get any easier. Expect a call from Cindy. She has pulled all available agents from Adam in Memphis. She even called me to dip into the operative pool to help her out.”

  “I am not worried about Adam; he and I share the same viewpoint about agents and that they are an invaluable resource.”

  “Nobody’s denying that, but you know operatives have the upper hand. Speaking of which, I thought St. Clair and Nomi were on this.”

  Rubbing his temple, Director Harris tells him, “I redirected them to find out who killed the Madam’s daughter.”

  “I can understand that.” Charlie pauses for a moment. “You need to get back down there and get a handle on this.”

  Pushing himself away from the gate, he says, “Alright, Five O’clock, I have a flight later tonight.”

  “I hate it when you call me that, you know that right?”

  Director Harris laughs as he disconnects the call. The laughter quickly fades as he exhales. He checks his watch again then looks back at the pub, claps his hands together, “I should keep my blood sugar up.”

  Walking into the pub, the smell of the beer fills his sinuses. An attractive, young
woman appears in front of him, holding a menu.

  “Good afternoon, is it just one, or are you expecting others?”

  “That is observant of you, a sound trait for a quality hostess. I will be dinning alone, thank you.”

  She smiles. “Yes, sir, right this way.”

  Following her, he intently watches the trays of Guinness being carried to what appears to be a table of VCU college students. The table roars at the arrival of their drinks, and the young hostess reaches his table.

  “Will this be alright, sir? And can I get you something to drink to start you off?”

  “This will be perfect, and I will have what they are having.” He sits and takes out his phone. After connecting it to the local Wi-Fi he brings up the news page. He scrolls through already endless articles, all talking about a strange atmospheric phenomenon happening throughout Louisiana. He leans back in his booth, shaking his head and checking his watch again, thinking, Cindy, you are amazing.

  The Infinity Towers,

  San Francisco, CA

  July 21, 1123 hours

  A disheveled woman paces back and forth in her high-rise apartment, overlooking the San Francisco Bay Harbor. Three pencils are stuck in her blonde ponytail as she reaches and picks up her phone. Taking a moment to gather herself, she scrolls her contact list until she sees a kangaroo icon. Pressing it she waits for the ring while staring out into the bay. The familiar voice on the other end snaps her back onto land.

  “Cindy! I was just thinking about you! How are things?”

  “Jesus H. Christ, Sydney Harris! Don’t be all jovial on me!”

  “Take a deep breath; you don’t want to flare up your hyper tension again, now do you?”

  Taking a moment to close her eyes, she removes her glasses, throwing them on her couch. “Fuck you, Sydney. There is a serious shit storm going on in Louisiana, and Charlie tells me that you are down there trying to get a handle on it. So that is what he’s telling me.”

  “Cindy—”

  “I have had to pull some of my markers with the concrete cowboy in Memphis, because I am the one trying to put a lid on it.”

  “Cindy—”

  Cindy throws her free hand in the air and points at the window as if he was standing there. “Don’t try to smooth talk your way out of this. Did you know not only do we have blatant daytime robberies under some type of S-4, Groom Lake, atmospheric conditions, but now we have a Rougarou sighting in the same area? To make my job even harder, there has been unexplained craft sightings as well and unexplained booms in the middle of the night breaking windows. If I’m not mistaken, that is supposed to be your area of concern—”

  Director Harris cuts her off. “Cindy! Breathe in . . . breathe out. Some of this I know and some I did not.”

  After a brief pause, her eyes get big. “You’re smiling, aren’t you?”

  “I was just thinking, you are awesome and, of course, not to mention beautiful.”

  Cindy puts her hand on her ample hip as she shifts her weight. “I know you’re aware of the coup de grace, the death of one of our own.”

  Silence on the phone starts to weigh it down as her burst of energy has worn her down. She presses the speakerphone option and sets it down on a nearby counter. “Sydney? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I am still here. And yes, I know about Roynika Carol. We have an idea of who is responsible. And yes, there’s a team in place, but I as I sit here I realize there is a bigger goal for them.”

  Leaning on the counter, Cindy uses her arm to hold her head up, squeezes her eyes shut, and rubs her temples. “You know this will give the Madam ammo against you.” Her cat jumps on the counter and head butts her in the forehead. “Azrael, you silly cat.”

  “Is that cat still alive?”

  Straightening up she rubs the head of her cat as it plops down to get a massage. “Yes, Sydney, he is still alive. So, what are you going to when the Madam learns you’re not going after—?”

  “Hopefully we will have resolved with this thief and his technology and she can move to the grieving stage.”

  “Sydney, you know I trust you, but I don’t know if you’ve got your head above the clouds or up your ass. This could be something that divides us.”

  “Well, let’s hope this ends well.”

  Ending the call, Cindy walks over to her window. “Here’s hoping.”

  Dixie Dandy Shopping Center,

  Oakdale, LA

  July 21, 1347 hours

  Agent St. Clair walks around the USA Nails corner of the building as the sirens of ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars can be heard coming from everywhere. He stands in disbelief at the scenery before him. Watching an ambulance scream by, the wailing of a woman catches his attention. He looks over to the IGA parking lot to see a silver Toyota Tundra burning and a woman crying, protecting her child from the burning truck.

  He takes a few more steps, when two Oberlin police cars fly down a crossing main street. A Mamou volunteer fire truck roars into the parking lot towards the Toyota with a paramedic from Ville Platte right behind it.

  In the Popeye’s parking lot, a man is struggling to get up. St. Clair rushes over to him.

  “Sir, can I give you a hand?”

  The man grabs his chest as he is laboring to breathe. “Th-Thank-” He winces in pain, and after a few more labored breaths, he says, “Thank you, my friend.” Looking up at the giant agent “Whoa!”

  St. Clair chuckles. “Take it easy, mon. You’re not hallucinating.” Helping him stand strong and leaning him against his car, he asks, “Can you tell me what happened here?”

  Still in awe with the giant man in front of him, the man says, “Who do you play for? Football? Basketball?”

  “I realize I might not look it right now; however, I am with the FBI.”

  Rubbing his fists in his upper thighs and trying to loosen his leg muscles, the man looks up at his Samaritan. “Whoa, they must be doing some serious recruiting.”

  Offering a huge grin, St. Clair says, “You have no idea.” The sound of another siren passing by catches his attention. “My friend, what happened here?”

  “One minute everything’s fine, eating lunch and all. Then WHAM! the air is filled with a greenish-blue haze and the quiet sounds of crinkling paper. I got an uneasy feeling and decided that I should probably get back home.”

  Looking down at the ground, the man holds his stomach. After a few seconds of trying to collect himself, his legs give out, and he drops to the pavement, vomiting.

  St. Clair’s stomach catches and he quickly turns away. Looking over to the paramedics he yells out, “Hey! We need help over here!”

  One of the paramedics looks up and acknowledges him, and St. Clair turns his attention back to the man.

  The man is still trying to gather his wits, as he makes it to one knee. “I guess I didn’t make it home.”

  “Help is on the way, take it easy, mon.” The man weakens again and spins into his car, regurgitating what was left in his stomach along the side of his car.

  St. Clair’s stomach catches again, and he turns to walk away, holding the back of his wrist covering his mouth. Stepping away from the car, he almost runs into the paramedics rushing over. They make a motion to help him, but he waves them off, pointing to the man leaning on his car.

  Shaking to clear his head, St. Clair walks into the Popeye’s. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he walks up to the vacant counter. “Hello? Is there anyone here?”

  An older woman makes her way from the back. Her eyes look tired and her steps are deliberate. “I am afraid, sonny, we’re not much up for fixin’ anything right now.”

  “I understand.” Looking at her nametag, he assures her, “Mary,” and gives her his best smile, “I will take whatever you have already made.”

  Returning his smile, she says, “You’re a charmer ain’t ja?” She makes her way to the register. “What can I get ja?”

  “Surprise me. I trust you.”

  Turning
away from the counter, St. Clair scrolls on his phone until he reaches the one he wants and presses the call button. He hands the woman a twenty and gives her a wink and another smile. She blushes as she collects the bill.

  “Agent St Clair!”

  Pulling the phone away from his ear, St. Clair checks the volume. “Director Harris, do you have any idea what is going on?” Out the window he sees the Lexus pull up, and behind it, an Army caravan roll into town. “Sir, the army is here, and it looks like they’re here in force.”

  “You must be in Oakdale.”

  “Sir, you know about this Armageddon?” St. Clair looks out the windows, astounded at the commotion. “It looks like WWIII went down here.”

  “I take it the energy atmosphere has lifted?”

  Standing up, St. Clair looks puzzled at the phone. “You must be referring to the greenish-blue haze. No signs of that; however, the aftermath is devastating. Everyone is listless.”

  Director Harris pauses as the phone goes silent. “It would appear that I was wrong.”

  The phone goes silent again. St. Clair checks to see if the call was disconnected. “Sir?”

  “I’m still here. I should have kept you and Agent Nomi looking for the technology. It would seem the same guy you ran into has found a way to increase the power of the equipment he is using.”

  Collecting his food, he gives the lady another honest smile and finds a table. At the door Agent Selenia walks in, behind her is Agent Grunt. Looking out the window he sees Nomi watching the aftermath and the Army caravan.

  St. Clair turns his attention back to the phone. “Sir, what about Roynika? I mean Agent Carol. I thought we were to catch and bring in her killer.”

  “Attention to details. If you remember, I asked you to see if you could find who was responsible. And you did. Now we need to stop this guy who is causing this commotion and recover whatever technology he is using.”

  Confusion overtakes St. Clair. “Sir?”

  “You said you ran into the thief earlier? Well it would seem that after he met you he went and caused the catastrophe there in Oakdale, and he needs to be stopped.”