Project Apollo

by B. B. Gallagher

  We are the Collective. Are you?

  The agents turned to Xander, in a gesture that conceded that he was now running point.

  “We have compiled every bit of data we have on ‘The Collective’. And we have nothing. In fact, no one has anything. Today was the first we have heard of them. We even interviewed the best-known hackers and they haven’t heard of them either. They are ghosts.” Graves explained.

  They were expecting a reaction, but they did not get one, rather Xander stood contemplative and within himself as he worked through the contingencies. He again remembered Senator Helen Bashfield’s last words before she died.

  We are the Collective. Are you?

  His arm lifted from his abdomen and he rested his face in his open palm, staring at the floor below him. Xander’s thought turned to Fiona and her solitude with Ezra.

  He’s recruiting…he is behind all of this.

  “This was scheduled for five minutes from now. So, it was already on the server waiting all day to reveal that the cure has been found? No, no, no that doesn’t make sense. This video was on that flash stick once it was received. The Collective has had the cure all along. They aren’t hacktivists. They aren’t the good guys behind the curtain…”

  “What do you mean? They exposed the problem, warning the American public.” One of the agents asked.

  “If the American public doesn’t have a problem they can’t be saved. If they aren’t sick, they can’t be cured. This is bigger than I thought… The Skeptics and the Collective are linked. We know this by the fact that Ezra, the leader of the Skeptics, was communicating his target to Senator Bashfield a self-proclaimed member of the Collective.”

  “So, you think it is one two-armed terrorist cell?” Graves asked, trying to deduce where his thought was leading.

  “Yes, but with two entirely different purposes. The Skeptics cause terror, they planned the attacks this Summer. They hijacked the disease from the NIH and are carrying out the attack on the targets. They cause the chaos we see in the streets.”

  Xander paced as he explained like a professor before a classroom.

  “The Collective then swoops in and saves the day. The Collective produces the cure, making them look like the Saviors, when in fact they orchestrated the whole thing and have used the Skeptics like pawns on a chessboard. Ezra Gonet is running point on all of this. The Skeptics and the Collective are two brands of the same cell. One brand serves the roles of the bad guys, the other serves the roles of the good guys – and playing these roles leads to the manipulation of the American psyche.”

  “But why? Why such an elaborate ruse just to look good for the American public?”

  “They are recruiting. They need the American people to trust them. Even the simple motto: ‘We are the Collective. Are you?’, it’s a plea. It’s a call to arms...”

  The FBI agents looked at each other as if considering his theory collectively.

  “Play it again please…” Xander asked from his meditative stance.

  And so, the FBI played it again.

  Despite Xander’s internal speculations he listened intently and heard what he was listening for.

  “Stop the tape.” He lifted his head from his hand.

  A tech paused the video.

  “Back it up, turn it up as loud as it goes, take out some treble and mid.” The FBI staffers complied as they tinkered with the sound settings of the video.

  “His voice is distorted, you won’t be able to find out who it is…” One of the tech’s reminded.

  “The voice is Ezra’s,” he noted with complete confidence. “He distorted it to distance himself, a known Skeptic, with the Collective. But listen, here.” Xander nodded for them to play the tape again. The video this time was loud and in the distance of the recording a very soft rumbling could be heard between Ezra’s words.

  “That. What is that?” Xander asked the room.

  “How did you hear that?” An agent asked under his breath, amazed by Xander.

  “We heard something similar in the background of the first video.” Graves chimed in. “We thought it could be some kind of engine.”

  “Would you like me to analyze it?” A tech was already pulling up a sound editor to parse through the sound waves. Xander shook his head though and searched his pockets for his secondary cell phone. All of his possessions had been confiscated.

  “Looking for this?” Graves held out his phone.

  Xander snatched it out of his hand with an uneasy look, powered it on and dialed a memorized number. After only half a ring, a voice sprung to answer on the other end.

  “Xander!” It was Mac’s voice. “Where the hell have you been?!”

  “Mac, listen I need you to take a look at something—” Mac didn’t care what he was saying, interrupting him abruptly.

  “I’ve tried calling you a hundred times!” Xander heard the inordinate excitement behind Mac’s voice and stopped.

  “What is it?” Xander asked.

  “Okay, so I think I know where our terrorist is. We lost track of their freezer truck because it stopped under an overpass on Connecticut Avenue for fifteen minutes. I ran all the searches I could. There is a door underneath it that leads to the underground trolley station of Dupont Circle,” Mac began reading from the internet source. “Closed and abandoned since 1962, the old Dupont trolley tunnel stretches over 4,000 feet. Hidden in plain sight, the station, only 1 mile from the White House stands right above the DC metro.” Mac finished reading the blurb online.

  “Hold on a second, Mac.” Xander pulled the phone from his ear.

  “Play the clip again.” The loud clip played again, everyone focusing on the vibrating hum underlying the voice. Xander cracked a short grin and turned to Agent Graves as if completing their previous conversation.

  “That sound is a metro train… We know where they are. Suit up.”

  Chapter 49

  Heading West

  8:00PM

  The decrepit state of the Compound grew more ominous as the floor was consumed in shadows. As the sun set, the oculus window in the ceiling no longer illuminated the Compound, so Fiona set up two standing work lights shining at either side of the glass cell, holding Ezra. Fiona kept them close to the cell to keep Ezra off balance and blinded by the spotlights on him.

  Fiona’s body passed in front of one of them, casting a quick, passing shadow over him. Ezra looked up from his hands and squinted toward the lights trying to make out the body that was his captor. Fiona had placed something behind the light stands. She then stepped forward into the light, facing Ezra straight on. Her outline glowed bright, while her countenance remained dark and squared on him.

  “8 o’clock… where is the cure…” she demanded. Ezra conferred with the red illuminated numbers of the clock on the wall.

  20:00

  Ezra flashed an insidious grin, realizing the hour had arrived. Just then, Fiona’s phone rang – she brought it to her ear.

  “Xander?” She knew it was Xander – he was the only person that knew her number.

  “What’s the clue?” her husband asked from the other end.

  “He’s giving it to me now…” She brought the phone down from her ear and positioned her glare on Ezra. Ezra arched an eyebrow and a crooked smile as his lips parted to form words – the one’s they were after for the entire day. He spoke slowly with calculated words:

  Concluding To Find What This Game’s About

  Now You Must Hurry Before Time Runs Out

  Four Clues Four Targets Add Points to the Plot

  Truth is Inside, X Marks the Spot

  Fiona stepped away from the cube and into the darkness of the Compound. She repeated the clue to Xander.

  “Are you okay?” Xander played the role of husband for a quick moment.

  “Just find the damn cure!” Fiona commanded. She didn’t have time to explain the files she had found or their implications. She needed him focused on the mission and solving the last clue.

 
“I need to know you’re okay,” Xander didn’t budge.

  “I’m fine…” Her hand trembled slightly. She heard how it came across though and so she corrected her tone. “I’m fine!”

  “Good. We think we found where the Skeptics set up shop, we think it is where they have held the disease. We are heading out now.” Xander was obviously pacing as his footsteps could be heard in his voice.

  “You can do this Xander.”

  “Keep your head!” Xander replied as if somehow knowing the psychological warfare she was enduring. The phone call ended.

  She stared at the phone for a moment, reminded that Xander knew her better than anyone, even Ezra. Her face dropped to a stern grimace. Her pace quickened as immediate adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her jaws bulged on either side as she bit down on a thought. S not going to let herself be manipulated by this terrorist. She had to reclaim her control over the situation and now that she had the last clue there was no risk. She picked up the case behind the light stand and brought it forward.

  The battery and the attached wires slowly came into view for Ezra as she stepped closer and closer to the cell. She took the key from her jeans pocket and unlocked the padlock at the side of the cell. She stepped up onto the glass platform where her prisoner sat; the spotlights imbued the cell with a blinding glow. She placed the battery on the ground and turned a knob to the ‘on’ position.

  A dull hum sounded as the charge filled its wires. The two ends resembled jumper cables, two clamps of different colors. Fiona brushed them against each other, sending hissing sparks out into the cube. Ezra shuddered at the sight, knowing what would be coming next.

  “Now…” she glowered down at him. “You are going to tell me everything you know.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Seamus and Xander led a cavalry of blaring sirens as they spun out of the FBI parking deck. The FBI followed in another black Suburban, allowing the Spartans to take the lead. The three Suburban caravan sped down the street, past ensuing riots and other signs of discord within the city. With darkness descending over the District, the panic intensified. Seamus passed a rolling oil drum ablaze and a series of shattered shop windows.

  Focused on the destination, Xander suited up in the passenger seat of the Suburban. He brought up the schematics of the Dupont Underground on his PDA and studied the underground tunnel system.

  “Okay, this one is for all the marbles,” Seamus positioned the scratch piece of paper at the top of the steering wheel and began to read.

  “Concluding To Find What This Game’s About, Now You Must Hurry Before Time Runs Out, Four Clues Four Targets Add Points to the Plot, Truth is Inside, X Marks the Spot… It doesn’t give us much off the bat…” Seamus observed.

  “It never does, does it?” Xander agreed, digesting the schematics of the Dupont tunnels.

  “Four clues, four targets add points to the plot… That’s just meaning that his terrorist plot had four targets. So, no more targets… that’s reassuring!” Seamus exclaimed, battling with his initial impressions over the clue.

  “Truth is inside, X marks the spot.” Xander read the last line twice.

  “Inside what? A safe? A safety deposit box?” Seamus asked.

  “Inside the Dupont Underground?” Xander offered, fixated on the lead. Seamus turned to face his passenger.

  “I guess we will find out…” Seamus shrugged.

  “Judging by the schematics there is plenty of space and privacy down there for a lab. We have to recover the bacteria to ensure containment!” Xander asserted, his head dropped to the schematics on his PDA.

  This large opening here is most likely where they would set up shop. Guards would be posted here and here. It’ll be dark.

  His hands fished in his bag for his night vision goggles. Upon retrieving them, he fastened them over his head.

  “ETA?” he yelled over the passing commotion on the street corner.

  “Forty-five seconds!” Seamus called back over his shoulder, swerving past a slower car. Xander settled himself and reflected. His hand instinctually grabbed his crucifix - he spun it between his fingers. He knew terrorists would be littered throughout the tunnels. He knew he could die. He knew he would have to kill. His hand released the cross and tightened around a different measure of justice – the loaded MK17 in his lap.

  “We’re going in hot!” he reminded his fellow Spartan.

  “What do you mean ‘we’?!” Seamus exclaimed, eyes darting to the rear-view mirror.

  Xander met his eyes for a moment, until the skin around his eyes perked up from the smile that formed over Seamus’s face.

  “Just kidding buddy!” After Seamus’s typical comic relief settled in, Xander’s tension alleviated for a brief moment. But then the van skidded to a halt, throwing Xander back up on his feet. They had parked alongside the road under the umbrage of the overpass above. The two FBI Suburbans parked behind them and the SWAT team assembled before the Spartans who took the lead on the breach.

  Seamus hopped out and ran around the side of the FBI Suburban, opening the door. Xander Whitt was fully dressed in combats, an arsenal of weapons strapped to his person and a respirator covered his mouth, while a pair of night vision goggles filled the upper half of his face.

  “What a pleasant sight!” Seamus gibed one more time, as he collected his equipment. While he quickly suited up, Xander addressed the team.

  “Let’s abide by the ‘rules of engagement’. If we can keep any of them alive, we might be able to pry the location to the cure out of them. Be careful of hitting any lab equipment. We are expecting to find the disease here and you don’t want to be infected by it, I assure you of that... Follow my lead.” Xander pulled his fist down to signal the ‘move out’ order, inciting the breach team to approach the maintenance entrance.

  The door was rusted at every edge, forgotten and hidden in plain sight. Xander checked his team behind him, before forcing the door ajar. The door’s hinges shrilled out a nasty creak that echoed under the overpass. With no immediate response on the other end of the door, Xander allowed it to swing fully open.

  Their eyes searched beyond the door.

  Nothing but darkness.

  After Xander sent the signal back through the team, they flipped a switch on their headsets, and their vision turned an illuminated green.

  Xander’s rifle cocked to the left of the doorway as it tracked a moving target – a rat. After silently checking on Seamus and the SWAT team, an arm gesture signaled their entrance strategy. With only a couple taps on the arm and a waving sign, Xander and Seamus knew that Seamus would bring up the rear, checking their six and flanking left with half of the team.

  Calculated and muted steps slowly entered the tunnels. Xander’s extreme focus training was being fully called upon as his eye ran the barrel of his rifle.

  No motion. No sound.

  They continued progressing southward down the tunnels, surveying their dusty surroundings. The only sound emitted from the team was their own filtered breaths. They passed through a square shaped corridor, lined in the original stone foundation. Cob webs glimmered in reflective green as they passed under them.

  They continued through the 75,000-square foot expanse of the subterranean network until Xander halted their progress with a raised fist. He then motioned a signal, conveying the layout ahead of them. There would be one more bend and then it would open into the West Trolley Station.

  Xander positioned himself up against a graffitied corner of the bend with his team, while Seamus continued to cover his six. Xander slowly peaked around the corner.

  Then the silence snapped.

  Bullets flew out toward Xander, who was barely able to swing his head back to cover. He could almost feel the vibration of the bullets through the tile-lined wall, providing his cover. A cloud of dust puffed up around them, while the shrapnel of tile shattered every which way. Then the bullets stopped.

  “We have visitors!” The Skeptic echoed down the tunnel, calling for back
up.

  Xander closed his eyes briefly and replayed what he saw before the bullets flew. He drew a mental map in his head of the schematics he consulted on the way. His breaths calm, his hands readied – he spun off the cover.

  In a slow moment, he popped out and found his attacker wedged against a support column. In one smooth motion and one twitch of the trigger finger, a single bullet sailed through the tunnels and met the mercenary in the neck. The Skeptic fell to his knees gasping for air like a deflating balloon. Xander repositioned himself and fanned out his team for the approaching hostiles.

  Seamus turned to Xander’s original position and inspected the body of the terrorist against the other wall. Footsteps echoed through the tunnels. Seamus’s team awaited Xander’s move, who waited patiently as the echo’s frequency quickened as they approached.

  There are one, two, three, four, five distinct patterns of footsteps heading our way. The closest is within sixty yards now. The other two are approximately another twenty yards behind.

  With one more signaled command, an all-out offensive was strategized. They met each other’s night vision and focused in on each other. With an affirmative nod of the head, Xander rolled end over end out into the main corridor of the East Trolley Station. Seamus spun from the wall out into the open, dropping to one knee.

  Xander and Seamus fired at will, locating the first two mercenaries with ease. Stumbling forward off balance, their heads continued forward as their legs froze. Their heads now exposed were easy picking for the trained SWAT team on the other end of an arsenal of AR-13’s. The mercenaries flew back, blood squirting out from their chests as bullets dug their way through their chests.

  The back two Skeptics fired off a magazine clip that caught two of the SWAT team members. A filtered yell sounded out behind Xander.

  “Give me cover!” he yelled out to Seamus.

  As Seamus fired rounds down the tunnel toward the Skeptics who had now found cover, Xander retreated to the two fallen men. Kneeling before them, he saw one of the entry wounds – through the shoulder. The man inhaled a lungful of air through his respirator, trying to surmount the pain, running down his abdomen.