Project Apollo

by B. B. Gallagher

  “How many people have died out there?” Rachel quivered as she asked, her gaze returning to the newsfeed shots of the streets of DC.

  “Only two at this point…”

  “What?! Only two people, one being a terrorist?” Rachel asked, who had severely overestimated the damage of the attack. “But look at all of this!” she referenced to the screen. Agent Graves had reached the end of his rope with the producer.

  “I’m going to let you in on a secret Ms. Rachel… that voice on the newsfeed… is right – the American public is fragile and they live in a constant state of fear because of organizations like yours that shove it down their throat every day. As far as I’m concerned, you people disgust me, because you know you don’t give a shit about educating the public or having unbiased, objective analysis.” Graves beamed down on her with eyes filled with grit. She was back on her heels, feeling the heat rise up her blouse. She knew he was right, but she had never seen such correlated evidence as she did now on the newsfeed. It wasn’t until his phone vibrated that he turned from her. After reading the text message, he raised his head to the tech and dealt out his directives.

  “Make sure this does not play as scheduled. Send me a copy of the video, send it to the White House as well… Process everything, see if you can’t trace the virus to an IP address.” The tech confirmed the order and spun back to the computer.

  Without another word, he shot one more direct look at Rachel, who had now shriveled in shame.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Harak Khan pulled his ballcap lower of his brow as he walked up to a large brick building marked by four white columns on its façade. With the black case in hand, he opened a large set of white doors and entered the lobby. He continued through the central corridor past lecture hall after lecture hall until he found a utility closet. Khan ducked into the large closet where he rolled a mop bucket out of its corner position.

  He knelt down to an air conditioner duct against the wall. He unscrewed its fasteners and opened the vent. Khan unlatched the case and brandished the device. The device had red, white and blue wires looped out of the central unit, all consolidating behind a blank countdown monitor. A motorized fan was attached to the device and connected to the central compartment. The compartment now held a vial filled with blue liquid.

  With a flip of a switch, the countdown clock illuminated.

  He checked his watch and saw 5:30 in the evening. He typed in the time.

  30:00

  Khan flipped one more switch and the clock read 29:59.

  And the countdown began.

  Chapter 43

  Capitol Hill Books

  5:30PM

  The small store window of Capitol Hill Books was filled with books of different bindings, trim sizes and colors stacked from frame to frame. A white awning, tinged with an aged, auburn hue, hung over the first-floor window. Two small narrow windows lined the second-floor façade of the brick building and were also filled with stacked books. The sign above the front door was faded, so much so that someone could pass by it without even noticing it.

  As Xander limped his approach, careful to take note of his surroundings, a taxi pulled up from which Seamus emerged from the driver seat.

  “Don’t even ask!” Seamus ordered, obviously returning from an unspeakable adventure. They had left their assault rifles behind and entered through the door as window shoppers. As they entered, they were immediately met by the dusty aroma of used books. To no surprise, the rest of the store was just like the display windows. There were books from ceiling to floor on shelves and stacked atop each other, forming narrow passages through the shop’s floor plan.

  “That Dewey Decimal guy is rolling over in his grave,” Seamus quipped.

  “It has its charm, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess you could call it that, but it doesn’t make finding a ‘Professor’s text’ any easier.” Seamus added, referencing the line from the riddle.

  “Can I help you find something?” An elderly man from behind the counter, popped out of a back closet. He was dressed in an old cardigan and wrinkled khaki pants. His skin sagged and his hair combed over in a white flurry. Thick glasses framed his face and magnified his bulging bug eyes to the onlooker.

  “Yes, we are looking for a book,” Seamus responded.

  “Well we have plenty of those…” he laughed, looking around his repository.

  “Do you have any sections? We are looking for a book on neurology,” Xander added.

  “Why, yes, we have sections, but not that specific, you are going to have to look in the Science section.” The old man raised a finger in the air and led them through the crowded recesses of the store.

  They climbed a jointed flight of stairs and came to a wall that was lined with books on a wide shelf.

  “What’s the name of the book you are looking for?” the shopkeep asked.

  “We don’t know,” Xander admitted.

  “Well, I don’t either. If you’re browsing take all the time you need, I’ll be downstairs…” The shopkeep flashed a warm smile and slowly pottered away back downstairs.

  “The Professor’s Text Unlocks The Charged Mind… Tucked Between Six And Seven Where You’ll Find… The Target Spelt In The Pages Defaced… You Must Remember A Past Once Erased,” Xander recited.

  Seamus’s pupils dilated as he tried to bring all of the hundreds of books on the wall into focus.

  “The Charged Mind has to reference the brain. Brain is science, here we are. Look for book titles, indicating the brain or neurology or knowledge or anything about the psyche,” Xander ordered.

  “It’s like trying to find ten needles in a haystack and then deciding which is the right needle,” Seamus scoffed in an exhale. Xander stepped back and viewed the entirety of the large shelf, each title visible to the eye. He stared at the shelf for a long minute, committing it to memeory. Seamus backed away, leaving Xander to his own processing.

  “Oh… this is where you do that thing of yours, huh?” Seamus joked, but Xander did not respond, he had already fallen into a deep analytical meditation.

  He absorbed the sight and winced in pain as a headache settled. Shaking it off, he resettled on the bookshelf. His temples began to perspire as his brain churned to dissect each title on the shelf. Once the snapshot was etched in his memory, Xander retreated to a stack of books on the floor and sat atop it. He closed his eyes and mentally scanned over his memory of the books.

  Seamus started aimlessly reading the titles, searching for anything relevant. After a full three minutes of steadied contemplation, Xander’s eyes opened.

  “I found it…” he muttered.

  “What?” Seamus asked, perplexed.

  Xander ascended to his feet and approached the bookshelf, directly aimed at the upper right quadrant of the shelves. His finger gently grazed over the row of titles, each one registering in his memory. Then it stopped on one title.

  The title read: “The Charged Mind” by Dr. John Cohen.

  “The Professor’s text unlocks the Charged Mind…” he recited again. Seamus dropped his jaw in his usual amazement of Xander’s intelligence. He threw his arms up in the air.

  “Of course!” Seamus sarcastically exclaimed as if it were obvious.

  A cloud of dust exhaled as he pulled the hardcover from the shelf. The image on the fabric-lined cover was a brain with graphic lightning bolts coming from it. The book was an inch thick and the pages were of a stitched parchment-like material.

  Xander cracked the book to see the first blank page. A name written in the upper right corner.

  Ezra – 2010

  “This book holds the clue to the next location. The Target Spelt In The Pages Defaced… You Must Remember a Past Once Erased”

  “But why would he lead us to a book,” Seamus asked.

  “The same reason he’s playing this entire game… he wants to teach us something,” Xander responded.

  He flipped through the pages and found passages underlined and highlighted:<
br />
  If we are only using 10% of our brain, what is hindering us from the other 90%? Capacity of Thought.

  He found another passage:

  The brain is like a two-lane highway, but more traffic can travel on a four-lane highway, so how do we widen the road? It has been found that treatment of electrical shock therapy can fill the brain with excited neurons so much so that after long exposure to such treatment the electrical currents avenues could in fact stretch.

  One last passage was found:

  The brain is formable. Through treatment one can expand its limit just as through frequent psychosis one can fool the brain to think whatever they want.

  Xander’s eye caught something in the bottom corner of the page. It was a letter – a singular, upper-case ‘L’. He flipped back and found a different letter, and then another. A blank came and then another letter.

  Xander pointed out the letter to Seamus. He brought his head up from the page.

  “The target spelt in the pages defaced…” Xander’s mouth spread into a smile and then his thumb fanned through the pages, revealing a flip book of letters.

  “There it is…” Seamus agreed, over his shoulder.

  They flipped each page slowly and Seamus wrote each letter down on a piece of scrap paper, ripped from a nearby book. They included the spaces and quickly discovered a new message forming before their eyes. Once they had flipped through the whole book, they read the scrap page.

  These Essays Contain A Lesson To Lend

  What You Seek Resides Where This Text Was Penned

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Across town, students funneled through the corridors of Hurst Hall of American University. The slow-moving crowd passed by a utility closet door. Hidden within the closet, behind an air conditioning vent, was a device – a device that continued its count down. The monitor was now illuminated with red numbers.

  17:32.

  Chapter 44

  Heading West

  5:45 PM

  The two Spartans piled into the Taxi, parked on the street out front. After a heavy foot slammed on the accelerator, the rev of the car’s engine roared to life and the tires screeched up Seventh Avenue. Then with a jerk of the wrist the yellow car drifted onto Massachusetts Avenue. Xander attempted to focus on the opened pages of the book, pressed up against the dashboard.

  “Wait… where are we going?!” Seamus asked from behind the wheel.

  “What you seek resides where this text was penned…” Xander scanned the text for a clue. Xander’s eyes darted to the clock.

  We’re running out of time.

  Seamus brought out his burner phone,3 powered it on and dialed a number.

  “H…hello?” Tobias’s voice came through the speaker phone.

  “Tobias! It’s Seamus! We need to know everything you can find out about Dr. John Cohen. We need it now!” Tobias did not respond but Seamus could hear the shuffling of lab equipment, followed by the rapid typing of computer keys in the background. Only a brief moment passed before Tobias started briefing him.

  “Dr. John Cohen, born in 1927, died in 1999, successful career as a biologist, specifically studied Fringe Sciences. Many members of the medical community found him too far-fetched, others found him to be a daring pioneer. He spent most of his career as the head of the Biology department at American University.”

  “What’s the copyright on that book?” Seamus asked. Xander flipped to the front page.

  “1966,” Xander replied.

  “Was he working at American University in 1966?” Seamus rushed the question.

  “It appears so…his office was in Hurst Hall Room 107,” Tobias responded.

  “We need to find out where he wrote his book, ‘The Charged Mind’. That is the next target. Find out everything you can and call me back on this number if you find anything. We’re heading to American University.”

  “D…d…did you say, ‘The Cha…Cha…Charged Mind…d…d’?” Tobias asked, developing his stutter again.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “N…n…nothing… that was just one of the b…b…books on our bookshelves in the C…C…Compound,” Tobias responded. Xander heard him through the phone. Xander snatched the phone from Seamus and put the phone on speaker.

  “Have you read it?” Xander asked, putting the book down.

  “N…n…o…” he responded. Then his voice broke away from the phone. “Have you?” He passed off the conversation to Catherine. After a shuffle, Catherine’s voice came over the phone.

  “The Charged Mind by Jack Cohen is one of my favorite books. Why are you asking about it?” Catherine asked. Xander and Seamus sighed as if they caught a break.

  “Tell me everything you know about it,” Xander said.

  “The book has one simple thesis. It is that you can become smarter by managing the electrical currents in your brain. You know how everyone says we only us 10% of our brains?” Catherine explained.

  “Yeah…” Xander responded.

  “Well that’s total bollocks. You use 100% of your brain. It’s just that approximately 10% is dedicated to your consciousness. The other 90% is dedicated to the subconscious, which performs more actions than you know, hence the word subconscious. Anyway, Cohen’s thesis was that if you heighten the charge of the brain, it is the subconscious that would in a sense become more conscious. You would be more aware of your surroundings, your memory would be better, your focus would increase, among a number of other cognitive ‘upgrades’. His only fear was that if brains grew larger, they would consume more, they could end up consuming the host that transported them, effectively killing the subject. Cohen also worried that if this host did in fact survive its continually consuming mind would turn against everything outside of itself. He thought this subject would become destructive, aggressive and spiteful. Very dangerous emotional traits to have paired with incredible intelligence,” Catherine briefed.

  “How does this relate to the infected?” Xander asked, sensing a connection.

  “Well, when he opened the lieutenant’s head we found that his brain was fried. As we have said the contagion is a releasing agent, and electrical current is one of the things that appears to have been released, along with blood and mucus,” Tobias added.

  “The only difference is that Cohen’s therapy would improve the brain, whereas Ezra’s bacteria kills the brain,” Xander concluded.

  “Yes… Cohen’s theory purports that repeated exposure to high electrical current activity could have a lasting effect. By charging the mind enough, the brain’s capacity will slowly expand. This strand, evidenced by the symptoms, is far too potent of a dose for Cohen’s theory to be realized through it,” Catherine concluded. Seamus yanked the wheel sharply and then slammed on the brakes.

  “Thanks for the Biology lesson Catherine, but we’ve got to go!” Seamus yelled and hung up the phone. The Taxi skidded to a stop before a large white building supported by four columns on its façade. Xander and Seamus started sprinting down the pathway leading up to Hurst Hall. They fastened respirators over their mouths, as they ascended a small staircase and passed under the portico.

  They opened the doors to a large ornate lobby and brandished their firearms. Xander and Seamus sprinted through a crowd of students that stirred in panic at the sight of the operatives. Seamus waved apart the crowd as the operatives made their way down the central hallway, lined with doors to different classrooms.

  104…. 105… 106…

  Xander stopped at room 107. He turned the knob and swung it open, revealing an unexpected sight – a small janitorial closet.

  “This used to be an office?” Seamus asked, scanning the dreary, musty interior of the closet.

  Their eyes searched wildly. Xander moved a shelving unit of cleaning supplies off the wall. Seamus looked through a storage cabinet but to no avail. It wasn’t until Xander’s eye fell to the floor when they noticed something.

  Those scratch marks in the tile. That’s from that cupboard – it has been moved.
<
br />   “Help me move this,” Xander motioned. Seamus put his hip into it and together they walked it off the wall, where a ventilation duct hid.

  “Bingo!” Seamus was already taking out the flathead screwdriver from his vest. It was one of many bomb disposal tools the ballistics expert carried with him at all times.

  “You got it?” Xander asked.

  “Mickey’s A/C Repair at your service!” Seamus quipped, turning the first screw of the AC vent.

  Upon removing the last screw, the vent came off the wall to reveal the device. The vial of fluid rested at its center and a timer counted down.

  58…57…

  “I know I’m your ballistics expert and all but this thing is going to detonate in less than a minute. Get everyone out of here,” Seamus ordered, already working the screws off the central panel of the device.

  Xander sprinted down the hall, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “Everyone out now!” He yanked the fire alarm down, the sirens blared through the building. After a long moment, students and staff began to potter down the stairs, continuing their conversations. They slowly herded their way through the building until Xander pointed his Glock in the air and fired off multiple rounds into the ceiling.

  “Get out now!” Xander yelled at the top of his lungs. The evacuation quickened its pace immediately. Panic stirred toward the exits.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Back in the janitorial closet, the countdown monitor detached from the main device, revealing a series of wires that looped and connected to each other. Seamus’s eyes inspected the maze-like network of connections.

  He doubled back the wiring, there are two trips here and here… no detonation receiver… pure countdown.

  Seamus ran a series of possibilities through his head as he gingerly moved the wires around to view the entirety of the apparatus.

  No way to increase the timer. There is definitely an open circuit here. Pulling power incorrectly will detonate the device. Three wires: Red, White and Blue… How patriotic of him…