by Darrell Pitt
Mr Jones is waiting at the foot of the ramp.
“Welcome to The Agency,” he says.
Chapter Twenty-One
I glance at my watch. Chad could be right about the Charleston suggestion. We’ve been travelling about half a day in total. The little I can see of the facility looks like a military installation. It feels like some sort of huge nuclear bunker in case of war. I mention it to Jones as we walk away from the truck.
“You’re not too far wrong,” he says. “The Agency has a number of similar bunkers spread across the planet. They’re used for a variety of purposes. Mostly experimentation. Research. And watching. Always watching.”
“So how does the government fit into all this?” I decide to ask him straight out. “How involved are they?”
“The Agency is independent of all government bodies,” he says. “They’re ignorant – mostly – of our existence.”
“Mostly?”
“The Agency has been around for centuries,” he says. “It’s hard to keep a secret for that long.”
I begin to wonder about all those people talking about alien abductions over the years. And experimentation. Maybe they’re not so crazy after all.
We leave the tunnel where the truck is parked and enter an enormous cave that’s larger than a football stadium. There are high tech devices all over the place. Odd looking aircraft. Computer systems. There are pieces of machinery that look like weapons, but I have no idea what they would do.
There are also people everywhere. It’s like Grand Central Station. They’re going in all different directions. Most of them appear to be scientists; they’re dressed in white lab coats. Others look like administrative workers. There are no soldiers to be seen. This is obviously not a military installation.
“This area is known as The Cavern,” Jones explains. “Among other things, the ceiling opens up so that VTOL aircraft can take off.”
“And the American government just lets you work down here,” Chad says, shooting me a look.
Mr Jones sighs. “I’ll just say that we have people in the government who make certain that this piece of real estate remains undeveloped.”
Chad asks Mr Jones about a strange platform erected vertically on top of one of the trucks.
“That’s an interesting one to ask about,” Jones says. “It’s a teleportation device that transports you out of this dimension.”
“Transports you?” Ebony asks. “Transports you where?”
Jones shakes his head. “They’re not really sure. That’s why it’s still experimental.”
We enter a long tunnel where a jeep is awaiting us. We climb in and it takes us up the passage until it stops outside a concrete structure built into the rock. It reminds me of those ancient Indian ruins like Montezuma's Castle. We pile out and follow Jones into an office. An administrative guy is seated at the reception desk.
“Hey Wally,” Jones says. “We’re here to see -.”
Wally the receptionist has another name. His name badge says he is Mr Evans. He looks none too happy about being referred to as Wally, but he ignores the remark and looks past him at us. “So our little birds have returned to the coop.”
Jones smiles without the slightest trace of humor. “Just tell Twelve we’re here.”
The receptionist doesn’t even look at him. Wally simply picks up a phone and speaks quietly into it. A moment later he puts it down and turns back to us.
“You can go in now,” Wally says. “Twelve has been waiting for you.”
The way he says this last sentence makes it sound like we’ve kept Twelve waiting. This could be interesting.
We follow Mr Jones into the office. The Agency Chief has the courtesy to stand as we file in and take seats. I notice Ebony looks a little scared. Brodie looks concerned. Dan is in awe of the whole experience. Chad looks like -.
Well, he’s Chad. He always looks like he’s searching for a fight.
“Good afternoon,” the man says. “I’m Twelve.”
He doesn’t look like an alien. Actually there are victims of Hollywood plastic surgeons who look more like aliens than this guy. Twelve appears to be about sixty years old. He’s clean shaven with a crew cut. Graying hair. Doesn’t smile. You wouldn’t look twice at him if you passed him on the street.
We all sort of grunt something in reply.
“We have actually met before,” he continues. “But I understand your memories have been wiped as part of the genetic engineering of your cells. First of all I want to thank you for agreeing to help us. The last few days must have been very confusing for you.”
“Confusing is an understatement,” Dan says.
The alien gives something approaching a smile. “I’m sorry about the difficulties you’ve endured. The Agency is a big organization with many branches. It was sadly inevitable that a rogue organization would infiltrate us sooner or later.” He pauses. “I believe Mr Jones has already told you about Typhoid.”
“A little,” Brodie says.
He nods. “Typhoid is a mercenary organization willing to sell its skills to the highest bidder. They have been implicated in a number of operations over the years including the assassination of the Swedish Prime Minister, a wave of bombings in Iraq and the destruction of a passenger jet over the Atlantic last year, killing three hundred and nine passengers and crew.
“It goes without saying they are both a ruthless and dangerous organization. We need your assistance to stop them in their latest mission.”
We all look at each other. Chad finally asks, “And what is that mission, Mr, uh, Twelve?”
“Just Twelve will suffice,” he says without smiling. “As you are probably aware, the distribution of plutonium is rigidly controlled by world governments because of its possible use in nuclear weapons.
“Despite their best efforts, we believe that Typhoid recently acquired a quantity of weapons grade plutonium from a disgruntled employee within the former USSR.”
“That alone would be a cause of immense concern,” Twelve says. “But to make matters even worse, about a year ago an experimental missile was stolen from a high security facility in Atlanta. The missile is known as Pegasus.”
“As in the winged horse?” Brodie asks.
Twelve nods. “Pegasus is the first missile ever to be installed with a full range of stealth capabilities. It can avoid radar detection as well as dramatically reduce audio, visual, radio and infrared visibility.
“We believe Typhoid have processed the plutonium, constructed a nuclear warhead and are preparing to install it into Pegasus. In short, the missile will become the perfect weapon. With a reach of half the globe as well as being able to reach speeds of up to mach three, it will be able to strike at ease.”
“Which means..?” Chad’s voice trailed off.
“I’m talking a fully equipped nuclear weapon,” Twelve confirms. “It has come to our attention that a terrorist organization recently paid some one billion dollars to Typhoid to target Pegasus at an American city.
“We need your assistance to stop that happening.”
Brodie frowns. “I’m sure we’re more than happy to help out, but -.” She quickly looks to the rest of us – only Chad looks like he wants to disagree. “- surely with your advanced alien technology you could -.”
Twelve interrupts. “We are watchers. Observers. Our role is to track the progress of humanity without interfering. Having said that, we have no desire to see millions of people die. Humans have to look after their own problems. You have, after all, created most of them.”
He pauses. “This is one reason why we developed the Alpha Project. To give humanity an edge against destructive devices such as this.”
“So where’s this missile?” Chad asks.
“It is being held on a small island called Cayo Placetas.”
“So why not just tell the American military?” Chad asks. “Or NATO or someone.”
“That’s not the role of The Agency,” Twelve says. “We don’t work with g
overnment agencies. Besides, Cayo Placetas is part of Cuba. The United States will not attack a foreign country without provocation – especially Cuba – and officially we have no evidence that Typhoid is operating from the island.
“But, you see, we have something Typhoid doesn’t have.”
“And what’s that?” I ask.
“We have – you. Typhoid agents are highly trained operatives, but they don’t have extraordinary powers. They don’t have ‘super’ powers. This is why Typhoid attacked The Agency. Through a leak in our security they found out about you and decided to remove you from the equation. We want to land you on Cayo Placetas because we believe you can destroy the guidance system before Pegasus is ready to fire.
“And what if we get caught?” Brodie asks. “What’s to stop us from blabbing about The Agency and aliens and -.”
“You have a shut off switch,” Mr Jones says.
“A what?” I ask.
“Sorry,” Jones apologizes. “Let me rephrase that. You have a poisonous capsule inserted under your skin that can be activated by remote control. It will kill you instantly.”
Well, that’s a downer, I think. And things were going so well up till now.
“Your bodies will degrade at a rate far more quickly than normal,” Jones continues. “It will be impossible for experiments to be carried out on your dead tissue by Typhoid or any foreign government, for that matter.”
“You really know how to sell a car,” Chad says.
“I won’t gloss over how serious this is,” Twelve continues. “This is a highly dangerous mission. You may even die.” He pauses. “But you will save millions of lives.”
“So how would we destroy Pegasus?” Brodie asks. “Providing we agree to this deadly mission.”
Mr Jones takes over. “Fortunately Pegasus has one glaring weakness. Its guidance system is operated solely from a computer on the island. It will be impossible to fire the weapon if the computer system is destroyed.”
“So we only need to destroy the computer,” Dan says. “Providing we go.”
Twelve leans back in his chair. “I am prepared to offer you a deal I would certainly not offer anyone else.”
“And that’s that?” Brodie asks.
“Technically, you belong to The Agency -.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” Chad cuts in angrily. “I certainly -.”
Twelve holds up his hand. “I might remind you that no-one even knows of your existence. As far as the outside world is concerned, you have ceased to exist. If you were to refuse to carry out this assignment we could kill you immediately.”
“And if we should carry out this mission?” I ask.
“You will be free to resume your lives,” he says. “The poisonous capsules in your bodies will be deactivated. You can start afresh. Your lives will be your own to live without having to worry about The Agency or Typhoid ever again.”
Chad sits forward. “That sounds like a carrot and stick proposal. A carrot to move us forward while a stick threatens us from behind.”
“You may see it that way if you wish.” Twelve lets the words hang in the air. “We’ve watched the human race for centuries as you’ve fought your wars and committed genocide against each other. Our role is to observe. If you don’t agree to this assignment, then millions of people will die. We would prefer not to observe that particular atrocity.”
No-one says anything for a while.
Finally I say, “Providing we decide to carry out this assignment, how long do you have to get ready?”
“About three weeks,” Jones says. “Certainly no longer.”
Three weeks. It doesn’t seem like a long time. Still, we do have super powers and we were able to help Chad and Ebony escape with no training at all.
Twelve picks up his phone. “Has Doctor Sokolov arrived yet?” He nods. “Good. Show her in.”
An attractive woman, slim bodied with black hair and round rimmed glasses enters the room carrying a clipboard and files. I notice she has dark rings around her eyes. Either she parties too much or gets too little sleep.
“Twelve,” she nods.
“Project Alpha,” Twelve says. “Doctor Anna Sokolov will be in charge of your progress here at The Agency.”
“It’s good to see you again,” the doctor says.
“We’ve met before?” Brodie asks skeptically.
“I initiated you into The Agency when you first arrived,” she says. “Now you must begin the next step of your training.”
Judging by her name, I assume she is Russian, but her accent is very faint. I look closely at her face. She is a beautiful woman. Possibly about twenty-five years old. She’s so attractive I find it hard to believe I could forget someone like that. I glance over at Chad. I stifle a grin. If he were a wolf, he would be salivating.
“I will take you to your quarters,” she says. “I advise you to get a good night’s sleep. Your training starts tomorrow.”
“It won’t be anything we can’t handle,” Chad laughs.
“We shall see,” the doctor replies. “We shall see.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
When the alarm goes off, it’s like a bomb exploding in my head. To make matters worse, it’s accompanied by the flickering of fluorescent lights in the ceiling. One second I’m sound asleep in complete darkness. The next I feel like an insect being studied under a magnifying glass.
I blearily examine the alarm clock.
5.30am
Oh, God.
The previous night I found myself housed in a dorm room with Chad and Dan while Brodie and Ebony were given a room across the hall. Compared to our previous penthouse accommodation, this place is more like Guantanamo Bay. Everything is concrete. There are no windows because we are still a hundred feet underground. The beds are reinforced steel bunks. There are no pictures on the walls. Even the television looks like it was built during the cold war.
I had half expected to find pajamas made to look like orange jumpsuits, but they turn out to be military green tops and shorts.
As I sit up in the bed I find myself wondering one thing.
What have I gotten myself into?
I suddenly hear the shower running. I look blearily over at Dan and Chad who look even worse than me.
A computerized voice emanates from a loud speaker built into the ceiling.
“The shower provides hot water for three minutes,” it informs us. “After that it converts to cold water only.”
You’ve got to be kidding.
The three of us charge madly for the shower, but Chad gets there first. I don’t think he’s ever showered with two guys watching him.
“What’re you looking at?” he asks, rubbing soap all over him.
“Two minutes,” the computer intones.
“Out!” I yell. “Get out!”
We virtually drag him out by the hair. I jump in next, promising I’ll give Dan his full minute. Before I’m even half washed, though, the computer announces the shower has one minute of hot water remaining.
Dan glowers at me.
“Aw, hell,” I say, climbing out.
I dry myself and drag on clothes. As soon as Dan finishes his shower, cold and shivering, the computer tells us breakfast will be served in five minutes in Kitchen Twelve. I remember the location from Anna’s tour the previous evening. It’s about two hundred feet down the hallway.
The computer continues.
“Breakfast will begin at five forty-five am and will conclude at five fifty-five am.”
I have to think really hard about what the computer has said because my head is still in bed while the rest of me is only pretending to be awake.
“That’s ten minutes,” I say aloud. “Ten minutes for breakfast.”
We charge out of there and bump into the girls in the hallway. They look like they’ve just escaped a flooded building. Neither of them has combed their hair. Ebony’s is still dripping wet.
“We had three minutes for both of us to shower!” Bro
die yells.
“Three minutes?” I yell. There’s some sort of inequality here. “Between the two of you? That means you had an entire minute and a half per person. We only had a minute!”
“Bad luck!” Brodie snaps.
No-one speaks during breakfast. There are three attendants bringing food out to us like clockwork. And there’s plenty of it. Sausages, eggs, bacon, toast, oat meal. The list goes on. We find we’re stuffing it in as fast as we can. Who knows where our next meal is coming from?
This is insane. I remember the nice abandoned warehouse I shared with Brodie that first night. The cold, damp building with rats eyeing us hungrily from the corners. It was like heaven as compared to this. I catch her eye and I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing.
“Remember the good old days?” I ask her.
She shakes her head and a lock of hair bounces in front of her eyes.
“Just eat,” she replies.
Our drill instructor turns out to be a large black man by the name of Mr Henderson. It seems that no-one here has first names. I don’t think his mother ever taught him how to smile. If she did, his knowledge of it is hidden beneath a permanent scowl. He takes us outside via an elevator housed in a concrete bunker that opens up to reveal a large field. Rolling hills surround it on all sides. It’s all very picturesque.
“Where are we?” I ask.
He ignores me completely. “I will be your physical exercise instructor. I have three weeks to beat you recruits into shape. That’s not much time. That means you’ll have to follow my every command if you want to be ready in time.”
“What if I don’t plan to be ready?” Chad asks, smiling.
What is it with this guy?
“You don’t want to find out,” Henderson says.
I believe him.
We start with a three mile run following a track through the woods. It was a beautiful morning in a beautiful part of the country. How horrible to ruin it with exercise. By the time I’m half way around I’m regretting eating so much at breakfast. As we get back to the bunker I’m pretty sure I’m about to see breakfast again at close hand.
