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ATLAS
By: Alanna K Puzak
CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING OF THE END
CHAPTER TWO: CHANGE OF JOBS
CHAPTER THREE: THE FIRST NIGHT
CHAPTER FOUR: THE NEXT STEP
CHAPTER FIVE: THE START OF SOMETHING
CHAPTER SIX: LOST PATH
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE GAME CHANGER
CHAPTER EIGHT: DO THE RIGHT THING
CHAPTER NINE: CHANGE OF PLAN
CHAPTER TEN: ONE LAST TIME
CHAPTER ELEVEN: YOU WRITE YOUR OWN FUTURE
CHAPTER TWELVE: ONE MORE NIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE POINT OF NO RETURN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE END OF IT ALL
CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING OF THE END
S itting here in this cold steel cage with the hot jungle air pouring through the veins of the ceiling, this splintering rotting wood chair bolted to the ground with nails sticking out of it. A mixture of hostility and sweat was dripping down my pasty face filled with spots of black and blue. Sweat and dust filling my eyes and burning the green right out of them. My neck collecting the blood from my skull that was dripping down, crusting, and staining my white shirt that is now ripped and ruined. My jean shorts so high up my ass it is just adding more frustration to everything. Knuckles painted the rotting color of blood fresh from others misery. Eyes puffed up from the rage seeping through my bones. My shoeless feet are numb from the water dripping to the floor on the irritable dirt, causing a pool of muddy displeasure beneath me. My black hair all tangled attempting to be in a low ponytail.
The windows are high above and so small that it is almost as if the light is being suffocated out. I cannot tell what time of the day it is. The room is dark; a clay-like stone surrounds every inch of me in these beaten walls. The door lays open as a beaten-up bank vault, black, dented, and with silver scratches on every inch is creaking open and close as though a ghost is playing with the rotting creases. The rusted warded lock making me feel as though I am in a poorly funded western. We are in some kind of building, but I have no clue where. The smell of rat and death lingers in every breath I take.
I feel like I have been here for months, but it probably has only been a few days, maybe less. They have it so handcrafted that not even I can make my way out. My hands tied behind my back, the rope pulling my neck causing my long dirty black hair to tangle so roughly it feels like a hairstylist who is pissed. A shirt shoved so deep in my jaw that is making me feel like I have a jawbreaker in my mouth that I just cannot get out. My legs were trembling from being strangled by a rope connecting my ankle to my wrists from behind. How the hell I got here is the question of a lifetime.
All I remember is being in his lost jungle apartment, the smell of fresh coffee and tropical trees filling the room, the breeze from the ocean not too far away creating a very relaxing aroma caressing my leg with its whisper. Those perfect soft lips of his kissing my forehead, telling me “I can’t believe you came back Mel, I promise we will make us right this time, they can’t keep us apart any longer.”
Him scattering across the creaking floors to leave the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind him. Birds chirping in the air and the smell of jungle rain coming my way. I curled back up in the silky sheets feeling the breeze blowing softly down my back, me closing my eyes drifting off into dreamland finally believing we could be together. Such a great memory. But that is all that is now, just a memory.
At that specific point in time, we hadn’t seen each other in almost two years but something was always there. The unspoken truth was never going to leave our hearts. The reason we fell in love in the first place, then dragged apart, and forced to live unwanted lives without one another. I thought that was my nightmare. The nights were trying to love someone else. The days of lingering light reminding me of the lies that had forced us apart. Then that stiff knock on his door came.
I was taught better than to answer the door like that. Our training had taught me when alone, do nothing and trust nothing. That is the basic elementary 101 of our line of work. But at that point, love had taken over my common sense. Love had made me foolish. Love had blinded me like a toxic poison.
I thought I had done the right thing. I thought coming back and following my heart was the right thing. But now it is looking as though I was wrong, God I hope I am not wrong.
Now, all I hear are voices. They are keeping them low as if they know they are being watched. This is fucking grade A annoying. I do not understand a damn thing they are saying. They must know my division of work. They obviously have me for some damn reason, so they have obviously done their research on me. Everyone who knows what I do knows the languages we speak and whatever they are speaking is something I have never heard in my life. Shit, Klingon would be easier to understand than whatever crap they are pulling out of their ass right now. It sounds as that language on his table looked.
You go from something so innocent to being the outcome of something so disgusting, it is unimaginable. I keep cracking my neck to make sure I can still feel something from my cold numb body. They keep walking in and out like they are using me for something. Speaking that stupid language. They are using me for bait, for him. But for what? What did he do, or does he have that they want? What has he been hiding? Are these the people he has been working for? Are these the ones who want control of the drive?
I know we were damned never to see each other again by our superiors but I thought that caused us both to never see one another again and move on. But of course, I was wrong, he could never give this up. Not even for me. I know he was needed in Rio, but I cannot wrap my mind around what could be going on.
I feel funny. My mind is starting to fog. What the hell? They must have me on something. There seems to be a huge roadblock on my mind now. It is getting harder and harder to think. What are they putting in front of me? Is that some sort of central processing unit … for a computer? Is it glowing purple? I do not know if I should trust what I am seeing.
They keep beating me to make me talk, but not a word is going to come out. They have tried everything. Slapping me, punching me, pliers to the ears, screwdriver to the hands and feet, breaking ribs, you think of it they probably have tried it on me. In my head all I can think of is thank God he trained me for this, thank God we had that unit that taught us everything about torture and how to keep your cool. Even though I am here because of them I must thank those bastards for helping me survive.
They look done with me, but for some reason, they cannot kill me. But why? They knew I was at his house, and when he was gone. But who are they? Why am I here? What the fuck is going on? I know why they want him but for God sakes what do they want with me?
I was hired to tilt the stage, not fall in love with him. This is what love does kids, it kills you. It turns something so stern, clean, and pure, into something that makes you feel as though your heart is gone. It makes you feel drunk and in a fog 110% of the time. It makes your main purpose fuzzy and makes you question everything you are about. Do I regret not killing him, no. Do I regret falling in love with him, no. I know everything happens for a reason, but I can’t help but sit here and pickle what the fuck is the reason for all of this.
I start feeling a cool pressure going through my left arm. I look over and see an IV bag now attached to the side of my chair. What in the hell is this? The bright blue sludge fills my body fast. I vastly faint off into a dream. I am woken up in what seems like seconds later but the lack of light through the ceiling windows tells me it must have been hours.
I feel a few hard hits to the cheek as I assume a frosted tree would feel from a hammer. Those bitches tear out the IV and rip the shirt out of my mouth and demanded I speak. I spit a nice glob of blood onto his shoes and nod my head up. They slap me ar
ound some more. I spit more blood but at their face this time, covering them like a leaking can of spray paint. Look up and crack my neck.
I will not talk. They seem pretty pissed. The main guy they keep calling Pur gets pissed and throws the shirt that was in my mouth. He throws his gun on his back, stomps out throwing his hands up in the air saying who knows what. The door slams behind him. I get a little smirk on my face. I throw my head down, I am all alone again.
I know they won’t kill me; I am the only way they will get to him, to Atlas. They must keep me alive. They know he will come for me. But little do they know of what he will do when he arrives.
I wake up again. No IV attached to me so I must have fallen asleep on my own. I wonder how long I was asleep for this time. This is absolutely disgusting, and I have nothing but rage building. The chair was bolted to the floor so I cannot even move an inch. But I tell myself to just keep waiting I will probably die here soon and then it will all be over.
While I sit here and wait let me tell you how we got here. I will try to keep it as short and sweet as possible. I will keep only to the main points of this story. Let’s be honest who needs all that gibber gabber bullshit when you can just get right to the point. You see …
BOOOOOMMM! I hear walls crumbling. “Get over here men, NOW!”
Shit, what was that!?! Sounded like a bomb!
Shots are being continuously fired, it sounds like a bad DJ skipping the beat one too many times. Smoke is seeping under the door, I hear a man yelling “She is in there, Mel is in there!”
He is here.
CHAPTER TWO: CHANGE OF JOBS
H ow I got in this situation in the first place goes back about four years give or take. It all started with work that turns into love, just like any horrific love story does. The day I met Atlas was the day my entire life changed.
I am going to go only by the important parts here, so forgive me if I jump around a little. I do not know how much time I have so I need to make this as short, sweet, and to the point as possible. Only highlighting the important things ya know?
Anyway, I started off in the CIA for about five years and him the Air Force Pararescue for about eight years he was recruited to RED right after his second tour. Both of us adults and both transferring to become undercover agents for the Reconnaissance Emissary Division located in New York City. I was from Detroit and him from California. I was 26 and he was 32 when we first met.
The Reconnaissance Emissary Division, or RED, pulls experienced somewhat adults to do the dirty work that nobody else wants to do and to be a part of a system that is above all others. Nobody really knows about us, except those who are too messed up in the head to care. You usually start out in the CIA, CSI, Secret Service, some branch of the military, or FBI, and when they figure you are too rebellious but for all the right reasons and will just do whatever you want for the greater good without any orders, they send you to the Reconnaissance Emissary Division.
In the CIA, I was what they call a desk junkie. I was a spy but never in action. I would go out and find people and call the big guys in. My face was never seen, and my voice never heard at least by any outsider. I was a ghost in the shadows as they called it.
I always wanted to be in the field, but they always saw me as the person running the show, never staring in it. I was the person that was too messed up to care who I hurt, and I guess hurting the bad guys just gives me a sense of existence.
I was told I would only be out if they needed someone taken down with no questions asked. Thinking this would never happen, when the operation to join RED presented itself to me I took it. I guess it was because I just needed to finally do my own thing, for the good of others of course.
Atlas, however, was the fighter in the ring for RED in New York City. He was the one driving the getaway cars, making friends with the enemies just to bring them down, and the kick-ass of all things. He was the guy you see in the movies pretending to be an agent. Those guys are based off him. He knew how to keep his cover locked and his fist clenched.
We were both not your average agent story. We both have families that think we have some normal job. My family lives in Detroit still and thinks I am a flight attendant for some high ass company going to places with no service all the time. I apparently take care of all the government officials and royalty of some sort, which is why I cannot keep in contact much.
His live in a nice little horse ranch wine vineyard out in California. They thought after leaving the military, he became some hot shot charity worker that travels the world to help those in need. Again, this is why he cannot keep in contact very much. Any government job that requires you to switch identities or not to have one, comes up with a story for your life that you must live by.
We both had a great childhood, we both went to college, but we both just wanted to do the world better. We just both saw the true sides of good and were willing to risk everything to bring it to the world. That is when they classified us both to the Reconnaissance Emissary Division. This is what brought us together.
The last day that I worked for the CIA was a very interesting one. Not your typical peace out last day. No, this was more of I know you are leaving us, but I have a job for you.
I was minding my own business when my middle-aged boss Dr. James Radinson came up to offer me a mission. I was sitting at my desk playing online scrabble when the smell of fries and cigars lingered my way. The 6ft 2in man dressed in a black three-piece suit, blonde hair combed to the side, with a bright blue tie came to sit on my desk.
“Hello sir, how can I help?” I sarcastically said while continuing to play my game.
“You know Mel, that is what I love about you,” as he licks the rest of his burger off his hands, “you are not afraid to be you.”
“Excuse me?”
He starts leaning more on my desk pushing things towards me so he has room and probably so I would pay attention. “The head of the entire CIA is coming to sit on your desk and you are sitting here playing video games.”
“Does this bother you … because I could give a shit less. Plus it is my last day as a part of the CIA so why would I even care?”
A big smirk developed on that half wrinkled grinch smiling face, “Hahaha no it does not. That is why I wanted to come talk to you. I wanted to offer a no questions asked mission.”
I frantically got out of my chair, stood up, and stared him down.
“Are you serious?” Looking like a total fool I grabbed his hand to shake it, “Finally!”
He explained how RED had been partnered with the CIA for a bigger mission that no one else could handle.
“Mel, I need you to meet me and Victor in the conference blackout room in t minus five.”
“I will be right there!” I mumbled while frantically throwing my long messy dark hair into a bun, putting my glasses on, and grabbing my computer plus anything I could to take notes on what was going to happen next.
I rushed down the almost empty 10th floor bridge of a hallway filled with glass doors and sunshine to get to the room we called the blackout. This developed this name because it was where any agent blessed to get a no questions asked meeting was to go to find out all the dirty details.
I rushed in, dropped everything on the nicely polished cherry wood table and bent over to catch my breath on the warm black leather chair in front of me.
The very tall, black hair combed to one side, tight black suit, black tie, Rolex, tan, almost like he was meant to be in a snooty magazine type of man named Victor held up a remote and pushed a button causing all windows and doors to lock and steel gates to close them causing the room to go pitch black. Tiny lights came on making it look like a movie theatre when the movie has just started, only way nicer.
As Victor took a seat, James stood up. He pulled down the old school overhead curtain and turned the overhead projector on.
He started a nice little picture by picture presentation, “Now you know why I have asked you here,” I shook my head yes and grabb
ed my laptop ready to type, “I need you, Mel.”
“Ok ….,” I lingered the word while raising an eyebrow.
“There is a threat out there bigger than anything we have ever fought before.” He clicked the next slide, came to the long table, and put his head down. “This…”
Looking confusingly at the photo of a normal flash drive with some kind of twisting tribal symbol on it, shining above his swallowing head.
“Sir I am confused.”
He went on to tell me that this was not just a flash drive, it was the plans of the electronic bomb that had been stolen from the CIA and the key to igniting it physically. This electronic bomb could wipe out all the data in the world and transfer it to one place. This drive had to be connected to a certain type of central processing unit or CPU. He thinks he knows who is building it but cannot be sure. He kept saying that the drive was powerful but if put into the CPU that was supposedly created, it could do horrific things.
“Mel if this happens, we are done for. I do not mean the CIA, I mean everyone on this planet.”
My eyes opened widely.
“If we do not get this whoever has it and whoever they sell it to, that one person would have access to all the secrets, weapons, money, and people in the world. They would literally rule it all. They could wipe out all the electronic data in the world and own it all. With the snap of their fingers they could hack into the president’s office and order a real nuclear strike, and nothing could stop them. Nobody in this world is smart enough to stop this algorithm they have developed, well except the one man who knows how to read it.”
I could not help but sit there and think; why in the hell would someone create this. Seriously, what must be going through someone’s mind to be like, hey I think I am going to make an electronic wipeout weapon so one person can control everything!
He explained that one of the agents who had been watching it in the underground vault was seduced and drugged recently and it was stolen from them. The CIA needed people in RED to find out where it was and who had it before it got in the wrong hands.
Atlas Page 1