Project Apollo

by B. B. Gallagher

  His eyes darted around the room as his plan began to hatch. The room’s only contents were a silver table, the chair and the clock.

  I’m going to need something more than that… I’m going to have to find something on my interrogator to use…

  At that very moment, Agent Andy Graves entered the room with a folder. A paperclip glimmered in the light at the top of the folder, catching Xander’s eye. Xander zeroed in on the paperclip and followed it all the way to the table on which the folder was dropped.

  He then turned his attention the agent and recognized him from the car crash. His arm was now in a sling and he had a black eye. He didn’t seem pleased to be back in Xander’s presence.

  You have to play desperate, make him feel that he has the upper hand.

  “There has been a terrible mistake.” Xander’s face immediately twisted into a desperate plea.

  “I don’t want to hear it…” Graves turned from the table, adopting the bad-cop persona. “We received executive orders straight from the White House to bring you in. Word has it that you are some highly trained operative that decided to go rogue on the day a terrorist sets an outbreak loose in the city.” The agent exhaled the stress from his day, as he leaned up against the table, arms folded in judgment.

  Xander scanned and processed him up and down.

  Typical black tie, white shirt, suppressed skin on the ring finger indicates a recent divorced. He favors his left side – he was most likely involved in that car crash earlier this afternoon. I can rile him up.

  “What’s your name?” Xander asked, still pouting.

  “Special Agent Andy Graves,” he responded. “And I had your file pulled, but…” He flipped the file around to show a completely redacted paper, filled with black bars, blocking out the text.

  “No luck…”

  “My name is Xander… Andy, listen to me. I was at Van Ness Station earlier today. I was there okay? I saw Mohammad Azir take his last breath on the floor of the station. I searched his pocket and found his phone. In a text message, he said that their man in the White House had been contacted. I couldn’t trust anyone in the White House after that, so I went dark… Don’t you understand? Our government has been compromised,” Xander appealed.

  Graves puffed out his chest in the most intrepid way possible, enjoying the high ground. The agent squared up close to Xander, only a few inches from his face.

  “It’s not every day one of us Feds catch a bad apple of the CIA. You’re not going anywhere.” Graves laughed and turned to the table.

  Xander seized the opportunity to ascend to his feet, quickly mounting the chair – his hands still fastened to the frame of the chair. Xander slipped his feet through the opening, between the back rest and the seat. He squeezed through the cavity and pulled the chair up over his head.

  With a twist of the wrist, the chair was now out in front of him as a weapon.

  He charged on the agent, knocking him up against the wall. The scuffle continued onto the table as Graves threw a right jab at Xander. Xander dodged and head butted the agent, just as a mob of agents breached the room, restraining Xander, back up against the wall – weapons drawn and aimed at him.

  “Okay! Okay! Damnit!” Xander exhaled in defeat, staring down the barrel of multiple guns in his face.

  “Do you know what is the only crime that is punished more than terrorism?” Graves scoffed, wiping the blood from his lip. “Treason…” He motioned to the agents to stand down. They slammed Xander back into the chair properly and added fetters to his feet as well, restraining them to the legs of the chair.

  “Now, there is reason to believe that you have Intel that you did not share with the White House. So, we have grounds to get that Intel out of you… you know what that means… I’ll be right back,” he winked at him, as if he’d enjoy interrogating him. He picked up the folder and began to walk out, but all the papers fell out of the bottom of the folder and scattered throughout the room. Graves awkwardly collected them and shoved them back into the folder, scampering out of the interrogation room.

  Graves didn’t even notice the paperclip was no longer on the folder.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Janet Powers reviewed the notes in front of her one more time, as the joint task force locked in the PEOC toiled on through any possible lead. They had no clue to the fourth target, save a 911 call from a student who was evacuated from Hurst Hall. They were trying to catch up on the situation, ensuring that the building was properly locked down and quarantined. They had no lead on their suspect. They merely blindly followed lose ends, hoping they could pick up the trail. The mood was gloom until Director Fangold announced to the room.

  “FBI has Xander and Seamus in custody.”

  Marty Jacobs cheered at the news, while Jackson Hardy shifted in his stance, eyeballing the Chief of Staff down the table. The other occupants of the bunker did not show either emotion, rather maintained a neutral stance on how they viewed the Spartans. Hardy slammed his fist down on the table, silencing the room with an echoing bang.

  “He just stopped the outbreak at American University! Hurst Hall was the last target. And he stopped it! Now tell me, Mr. Jacobs, who in the hell do you think is going to find the cure,” Hardy yelled over the table, all pleasantries were done.

  “We will get it done,” Jacobs responded over the silent room, eying Hardy back. They locked in a stare down across the conference table.

  Hardy broke.

  “See, that’s your first problem. You politicians use that word all the time and I have never gotten it. We… We… You don’t do jack! Sparta does it, or the FBI does it or the NSA does it! Not politicians. You have been spoiled by my men. They have given you such a sense of security that you are naïve enough to think that you can provide it yourself!”

  “I am heading up this joint task force—” Jacobs started a retort but was cut off by a much calmer and logical Hardy.

  “Why did you put Catherine Mueller in custody?” A moment hung throughout the bunker, eyes turned to Jacobs for an explanation.

  “I did not…” he lied.

  “You had her forcefully sedated in a hospital room. Do you know how I know that? Because my men extracted her.” Powers adjusted herself, sensing that a coalition was growing behind Hardy. “What I don’t understand is why would you keep her under lock and key, the one person who knows this disease better than anyone?” An inkling of an accusation surfaced in his words.

  The Chief of Staff was caught off guard, but quickly realized he was about to go toe to toe for the last time with Colonel Hardy.

  “I kept her in custody because I did not want this…” He pressed a button on his display control and the BNA news feed maximized on the far screen, showing footage of the panic throughout the streets. Riots ensued and only escalated as the night sky grew darker. “Catherine Mueller was possibly exposed to the contagion and had knowledge of its deadly effects. I did not want either getting out!”

  “She’s a valuable asset—” Hardy started.

  “Who is now working with us!” Jacobs raised his voice finally. “We knew a lot less then than we do now.”

  Hardy turned to the bunker and addressed the team.

  “Xander found a cell phone on Mohammad Azir just after he died in Van Ness Station… there was one text message on it to a fellow terrorist. It read, and I quote: “Our man in the White House has been contacted. All is going according to plan.” The room gasped at the news.

  “I will ask you again. Why would you keep our best asset under lock and key?” Hardy calmly asked again.

  “I already told you! If you think I’m working with the terrorist you’re crazy!” Jacobs grew more assertive as the accusations mounted.

  “Why would you brand Xander and Seamus traitors when they are the only people making headway on this? Their entire lives have been dedicated to serving this country, do you not think they have earned our trust?” Hardy asked again. Jacobs did not have a response.

  “Why would y
ou not be showing any symptoms whatsoever, when you have had the closest and most direct contact with our infected President?” he asked another accusatory question. The room was starting to follow Hardy’s persuasion.

  “I don’t know, but I would die, trying to take care of my best friend. So, I didn’t care if I got sick, so long as he got what he needed,” Jacobs answered, somber, knowing his long-time friend was quickly withering away in the other room. At the sound of this Powers shuddered in disgust. She had to step in, she was tired of being a spectator.

  “You have been disappointed about how he has handled the office… so much so that you are resigning after this term.”

  “Janet, you don’t think I would actually do anything like this, do you?” Jacobs pleaded. Janet considered all the evidence and tried objectively assessing it. As she was the closest to the President and the Chief of Staff, it was obvious that Hardy was awaiting her verdict. A small tear began to well up in her eye as she spoke three difficult words.

  “Tie him up…” Powers directed. Hardy started his approach as she issued the next order, usurping the position of power.

  “Clear Xander and Seamus’s names immediately, send out an alert for Harak Khan, put his face all over the News.” Fangold smiled as he picked up the phone, as if happy for the new leadership in the room.

  “You are making a horrible mistake,” Jacobs admonished – aware that no words would save him. Hardy and Powers ushered him into an empty utility closet. Hardy pushed him down into the lone chair of the dim room. He then restrained him with a plastic zip tie and leaned down next to his ear.

  “You know how you were saying that the Spartans are inhumane in their interrogations? How they don’t respect the dignity of each human being? How they go too far?” he asked.

  Jacobs stared straight ahead, shaking at the Colonel’s hissing words. Hardy leaned in closer to finish his thought.

  “I trained them…”

  Chapter 48

  FBI Field Office

  Interrogation Room #12

  7:50PM

  The door swung open and another FBI agent entered the interrogation room. Wearing the typical black suit and tie, the man carried with him a small black case. After placing it on the table, he unzipped the pack and opened it, revealing a series of vials and syringes. Xander’s squared up the agent before him, diagnosing his weaknesses.

  Slender build, young face. He’s fresh out of Quantico, he’ll be fighting by the text book.

  The agent fastened an empty vial on the syringe and twisted it into place. Without a word, he turned to approach Xander restrained in the chair.

  “You’re not going to want to do that…” Xander warned him. The agent drew a smug expression.

  “You have come into contact with the infected, I have orders to take a blood sample from you,” the agent informed him as if it were obvious.

  “You are not going to want to do that…” Xander repeated again, slower and more direct this time. The man shook Xander’s threats off and stepped forward to approach him.

  At that moment, a paper clip fell from Xander’s grip from behind the chair.

  Xander’s hands came forward freed from their restraints – the cuffs dangling from his left wrist. He rolled forward onto the ground, flipping the chair up and over his head. His feet angled themselves flat against the chairs of the leg, providing a path to slip through the rope. The chair launched forward into the agent’s chest, pushing him back on his heels, causing him to drop the syringe.

  Xander was now detached from the chair and readied for a fight. The startled agent aggressed with a boxing posture, throwing a right jab and a left hook.

  Xander dodged with ease and returned a crunching blow to his exposed kidneys. After folding over his hip, absorbing the blow, the man erected once more and steadied on his feet, weight shifting forward.

  Rookie… you’re going to go all-in already, with some kick off your front foot?

  And so, he did, spinning off his front foot and sending a side-kick around to Xander’s chest. Xander caught the agent’s leg and spun it back, sending the agent tumbling back.

  Then the door opened.

  More agents coming, they’re going to draw their weapons on me, I need to charge on them now before they can. Fight then flight.

  Xander ran forward at full sprint toward the door and lunged forward kicking the first agent into the second agent. They both stumbled back into the hall. Xander immediately turned right down the hall where another agent was approaching. He did not draw his firearm though, which struck Xander as strange, given his position.

  The agent lunged at him but in one swift motion, Xander ducked below his grasp, spun to his side and brought an elbow up to the agent’s temple. He fell limp, while the other two agents gathered their feet. As they charged, Xander stayed on the defense, his hands were raised and loose – not enclosed in fists, readied to catch any assault.

  Let them hit me, get them off balance and then use them against each other… but why haven’t they drawn their weapons on me?

  The one agent punched forward, catching Xander on the jaw, prompting the other agent to descend on him from behind. Xander was ready though, catching his punch and turning it into an arm-bar. From the locked position, Xander kicked the other agent square in the gut, cutting his breath out from him. The agent sent a powerful punch forward, but Xander swung his head, dodging the blow and allowing the punch to connect with the other agent behind him. Xander then used the agent in the arm-bar as leverage to run up the wall to flip back and kick the other agent. Xander released the arm-bar and grabbed the agent’s tie, using it as a leash to direct the agent where he needed him. Beset by the two agents, Xander carefully positioned each agent as either a body shield or a point of leverage.

  After a fury of a punches and kicks, Xander knocked them both back down the hall. After stumbling back on their heels, they approached side by side back toward Xander. Xander jumped and twisted, swinging a roundhouse kick across their faces. They spun off of the blow and crumbled to the ground. Xander’s eyes wildly searched the halls.

  No weapons? No alarm? Something’s up…

  Xander sprinted down the hall and ran the length of the office corridors, searching for an exit. He passed a bullpen of computer analysts and turned out the next corridor, stopping dead in his tracks at what he saw.

  Agent Graves stood casually speaking with Seamus. Graves looked up to see Xander.

  “Ah, just the man I was looking for…” Xander fell back on his heels.

  “What’s going on?” Xander looked to Seamus.

  “The White House rescinded their order, we are free, and the FBI is now at our disposal.” Special Agent Graves shrugged a difficult agreement.

  Xander’s adrenaline calmed and his alert level lowered. Seamus examined him and noticed the swelling under his eye and the dangling cuffs off his left wrist.

  “You’re a real Houdini,” Seamus jeered, imagining what had just happened.

  “I hope you didn’t do too much of a number on my agents,” Graves observed, reading the story in Xander’s appearance. Xander only took a second to assess the situation, obviously something had happened from the White House. He knew Hardy had somehow just saved his neck. The FBI was now their ally and they had no time to waste.

  “What did I miss?” Xander wanted to account for the lost time.

  “Follow me, I need to show you something,” Graves directed in a more amicable manner. Walking through the office, side by side Graves explained while leading the Spartans through a maze of hallways.

  “I was sent to BNA studios to investigate their hacking today and after combing through their network we found a Trojan Horse. An investigative journalist by the name of Porter Nash was contacted by someone who identified themselves as part of The Collective. They met, and an anonymous man gave him a flash drive, promising him the story of his life was on it. After bringing it back to BNA studios, he plugged it in and—” Xander interrupted to comp
lete the sentence.

  “It took over the network,” Graves confirmed Xander’s deduction.

  “We found it labeled as a JFK special and found in the virus a program that had another video scheduled to air at 8 PM. We were able to take it off the network and watch the video.” Graves had finally arrived in a control room with a high monitor on the wall. FBI staff were littered through the room, all working on analyzing the paused video on the large monitor. With a nod of his head Graves cued an agent to play the tape.

  Xander stood arms folded and emotionless. His mind raced with ideas and theories as he watched the text-filled video before him.

  Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts and murders itself. There is never a democracy that did not commit suicide.

  -John Adams

  The distorted voice was one that Xander had heard earlier that day on the news.

  All four targets have now been hit by the Skeptics. Your city is in chaos.

  This country has been infected by years of dirty politics and dysfunctional democracy. We at the Collective have recovered the cure and will disperse it to all infected zones. Although we are not responsible for this attack we are skeptical of America’s integrity and strength as a nation.

  You cannot change the government from within, the democracy is broken. The voice of the citizen has been muted and severed from DC politicians.

  We must once again declare our independence.

  The room was silent as the present agents watched closely, trying to pick out anything that seemed peculiar.

  We must become strong once again and rise against those who keep our voices at bay.

  This is a call to arms against the US government, a revolution must occur to correct the wrongs of this nation.

  We ask that anyone who distrusts their government and wants to restore the democracy our founding fathers envisioned, join the revolution. For it will be the cure.