The Quixotic Faction: (Above Top Secret Edition)

by T. D. Kohler

  A shadow casts over a bank employee as they approach the desk. The employee appears to be shaken, but not by their presence. She leans back, cautiously in her chair and sets her pen down. Looking up, and with a barely audible voice, she says, “What can I do to help you?”

  Nomi holds up a badge. “Department of Homeland Security. We need to talk to the manager.”

  The employee weakly nods and picks up her phone. “Ma’am, there are some people out here to see you.” She hangs up her phone, and before she can gesture to a door it opens, and a large woman approaches the two agents.

  Reaching a hand out, she says, “Margherita Vargas. How may I be of service?” The presence of St. Clair stops her in her confident tracks. “Dios mio!” she says as she places one of her hands on her large bosom.

  Without acknowledging the extended hand, the two agents stare blankly at her. The voice inside of Nomi interrupts her thoughts, “What on your planet is that?” Avoiding a smirk and ignoring the question, she speaks up, flashing her badge again. “Department of Homeland Security, ma’am. Is there a place where we can talk, privately?”

  Unable to take her eyes off of the giant agent the woman nods. “Si, si, if you will follow me,” she says and leads them back through the door and to her office.

  As they walk back every employee watches and stares at St. Clair. Looking up, Nomi shakes her head, but before she can say anything, her partner leans down. “I have learned to ignore the gawkers.”

  Trying to prevent a smile, Nomi nods. “I understand”

  Escorting them into her office, Ms. Vargas sits down behind her large oak desk. “I don’t know what I can tell you that I have not already told the police or the FBI?”

  Leaning in, Nomi places her hands on the desk. “We are more curious regarding the missing video recordings. According to the police, this man made no attempt to hide himself behind a mask. If he was wearing some type of facial disguise he would not have a need to collect the recordings. So, we will ask, where are the recordings from the other day?”

  The bank manager sits assertively. “I will tell you the very same thing I have told everyone else. The recordings are gone, missing, desaparecido. I do not know what else you want me to say.”

  The voice inside Nomi speaks up, “She’s lying. Her sweat pores opened up. We should just kill her.” Wincing at the suggestion, Nomi lunges towards the desk with incredible quickness, backing the manager back down in her chair.

  “You’re lying!”

  The manager shifts her eyes back and forth. The little agent takes on a more serious tone. “What is on those recordings? Is it something you do not want anyone to see? Because we couldn’t give a shit if it is remotely embarrassing for you.”

  Nomi watches the manager’s reactions and squints her eyes, as if to see through the facial expressions of the large woman.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s something else, something that you want to watch, over and over again.” Nomi pries.

  A tear begins to fall down her cheek as guilt and terror sweep over her. Ms. Vargas absently reaches into a lower drawer of her desk and pulls out a mini DVD player and a small stack of discs. She stands and slides them across to Nomi. Her hands start to shake as all confidence has gone. “I can’t help it, you do not understand—”

  Agent St. Clair raises a hand, gesturing her to stop and sit back down. They open up the player and press play. After a few seconds the small monitor fills with an obscene scene of the bank interior. All of the nerves in Agent Nomi’s body flare up, and she slams the lid back down on the player. Anger and disgust fill Nomi as the voice inside her whispers, “We should kill her now.” Handing the player and discs to her partner, she makes her way around the desk effortlessly and with amazing speed, startling the large woman back into her oversized chair.

  Before Nomi can act on her inner voice, St. Clair booms out, “Agent! We have the recordings. It is time for us to leave!”

  Catching herself leaning over top of the obese woman, Nomi regains her composure; she turns without saying anything and exits the office. St. Clair watches the manager put her head in her hands and start to sob. Shaking his head, he exits the office to meet up with his partner at the entrance to the bank. “What da hell was dat back there?”

  Forcefully opening the doors, the intense heat and humidity absorbs her anger. She takes a deep breath, feeling the heat burn her lungs, as she is able to regain control. In a calmer tone she tells him, “That woman is a disgusting disgrace to humanity.”

  “I would agree. Now let’s get dis back to the room so we can get a clue as to how this man forced all those people to do dose things as well as get the police officers to turn on themselves.”

  Nomi looks up at her partner; the sun is behind him, and he is creating his own eclipse, making him look even larger. She takes in another deep breath and perks up. “Let’s get away from here. I’m hungry.” She takes off for the truck with the pep returning in her step.

  Shaking his head, St. Clair walks to catch up to his partner.

  James Monroe Building,

  Richmond, VA

  July 20, 0912 hours

  A short, stout man walks quickly around to the back of the skyscraper. In tow is a tall, fair-skinned woman. Both are impeccably dressed, and as they reach the back sidewalk neighboring I-95 they step inside and immediately are in front of an elevator.

  Once inside the woman swipes a badge in the elevator console and without pushing a floor number the doors close. The man checks his watch on his thick wrist and takes in a sharp breath of air.

  She looks over to him while still trying to catch her breath. “Grunt, I really wish you would relax. How a nervous Nellie like you ever got to where you are, I will never know,” the woman says as they wait for the elevator door to open.

  Grunt gives the tall, red-haired agent a sideways glance then turns to look out the window of the elevator. He ignores her rambling and watches the scenery fall in front of him. The elevator stops halfway up the building. As they step out, there is a large set of doors, reading MAINTENANCE. He walks over and punches in a passcode on a control panel as they hear the click of the doors unlocking.

  After walking through, they make their way past the A/C plants and electronic-control switchboards until they come across another set of doors. Without any markings on the door, Grunt again walks up to a control panel and holds his thumb to a clear-lighted touch screen, and the light turns green. The woman repeats, pressing her thumb until the light turns green. A click as the doors unlock. The woman goes to open the doors and looks over to the man.

  “With all this technology, why can’t the doors open themselves, like in the movies?” Grunt shakes his head and walks past her. Smiling, she watches him fume past her.

  “You know, one of these days I am going to get you to say something.”

  As they make it to the office spaces a young intern steps in front of them. With a flip of some of the pages she is holding she looks up at the two. “Madam would like to see you two in her office.”

  Grunt gives his partner another sideways glance as they change their direction and head towards their director’s office. The woman lifts her hands to her shoulders, shrugging “what?” After putting her hands down, she mumbles as she hurries to catch up with her partner, “I guess it is going to be one of those days.”

  Turning a corner, she sees the wide oak door of the director’s office. Standing in front and staring at his watch, is Grunt. As soon as she stands next to him, he gives her a disgruntled look and knocks on the door.

  They look at each other as they hear the director yell out, “What are you two waiting for?”

  As they enter they see an imposing woman standing in front of a large television screen. Without saying a word, the director motions them to watch the screen.

  On the screen they see the hood of a vehicle pull up to a rundown farmhouse. A man wearing sunglasses and a lightweight windbreaker over a grey and blue, pinstripe, spandex suit wal
ks outside the rundown farmhouse to meet the vehicle. As they watch what would appear to be a polite verbal exchange, two police officers come into view as another strange-looking man steps out of the house with his hands up. This man is wearing some type of computerized headgear with matching gloves and boots, as well as the same grey and blue, pinstriped suit.

  The woman looks back at the director. “Director Carol, what is this, a low-budget movie pitch?”

  Director Carol is leaning back on her desk with her arms folded. She points a finger to the monitor. “Just watch, Agent Selenia, and tell me what you see.”

  With her attention back on the screen she sees the picture go sharply at an angle as a glass and dust cloud fills the screen. They take two steps back from the screen and raise their arms to shield themselves from the debris. As soon as the man with a windbreaker on freezes the police officer’s hand the woman takes in an exasperated breath. “Wait, that’s the missing nitrogen backpack,” Agent Selenia says while waving a hand in the air. “The one developed for locating water sources on dry planets.” She begins to pace, glancing between the television and the floor. “Who is that wearing it? What is this? Now I see it! Those are the prototype MIT space suits. Where was this taken?”

  Selenia is watching the screen when Garrett flies over the camera, through the porch railing, and pins an officer that was about to fire his gun against the wall.

  “Didn’t see that coming! What is that?” Selenia tries to contain herself. As the scene on the television calms down they see the police officers scrambling off the porch. She turns and faces the director as if to look for answers.

  Without saying a word, Director Carol uncrosses her arms and walks around her desk. Sliding paperwork around on her desk, she takes a moment to read the memo that came with the video. “This was a police cam video that was recorded yesterday at a remote farm in Western Louisiana. As for the three gentlemen at the farm, we do not know who they are or how they came to acquire that equipment.”

  Taking a moment to look up at her agents, she sees Selenia staring intently, while Grunt’s attention has not wavered from the television monitor.

  “We have an operative investigating in the area, and we are still waiting to hear from her.” Director Carol points back to the screen as the camera view looks as if it is being removed from the vehicle.

  Coming into view is the image of a young woman wearing dirty and bloodied clothing. Then the television screen goes blank.

  “As for that young woman, she has already been identified as Agent Kristen Abergathy, out of the Las Vegas branch. Brilliant, but inexperienced mind; she was to be working with our operative.”

  Agent Selenia taps Grunt on his shoulder to get his attention before turning back to Director Carol. “So, what would you like us to do?”

  Opening a cabinet door, the director removes a thumb drive and sets it on a folder, then slides it to her. “Find out who these guys are and as much information on their equipment as you can. The local LEOs have already put out an all-point bulletin for their arrests, and the FBI has already been brought in. So, finding them without drawing attention will be a challenge. Neither the FBI nor the State Police Department has this feed anymore, so they are flying on memory only. That gives us the tactical advantage, let’s use that advantage.” She sits in her chair and starts to refile the paperwork.

  Selenia takes a moment to flip through the folder then looks down at the thumb drive. Nudging her partner, “Come on, we have work to do.”

  Grunt looks over at the thumb drive and with low garbled, heavy accent he says, “Gud movie,” as he heads for the door.

  The director calls out as the agents go to exit, “Oh, and if you’re late again, this will not be such a pleasant meeting,”

  Grunt scowls and gives Selenia a sideways glance and storms out of the office.

  Agent Selenia exits behind him closing the door.

  “What? Look at bright side, we get to go to Louisiana. It’s miserable there this time of year, you’ll love it.”

  Hilton Garden Inn,

  Katy, TX

  July 20, 1525 hours

  Steam billows out of the hotel bathroom as Agent St. Clair walks out with a towel wrapped around his waist and drying his hair with another one. He walks in front of his bed where he looks down at his clothes he laid out when a voice chimes up behind him.

  “Hey, big handsome, me love you long time.”

  “Bumboclaat!” Jumping and whipping around to the voice, he quickly fades from view and reappears. When he reappears the towel that was around his waist has dropped to the floor.

  Agent Nomi gets a full-frontal view of her partner. “Ack! Oh my God!” she says as she jumps from the chair she was sitting in to on top of the table.

  “You frighten me, Flea! How’d you get here? What’d you doin’ here?” He gasps as he reaches down to recover his towel.

  Without getting off of the table Nomi covers her eyes and turns to faces the wall. “I am so sorry, Little John . . .” A small smile forms. “Well, I should say, not-so Little John.”

  He reaches down, grabs his clothes, and storms back into the bathroom. “I can’t believe you woman.”

  Nomi smiles as she peeks and watches him storms into the bathroom. Not bad, she thinks, looking at his tight physique. “Don’t be so uptight; I was just having fun,” she calls to her partner.

  She notices the circular discolorations that slightly malformed his skin. They do not, however, take away from his physique, which has her thoughts drifting. “Stop it!” The familiar voice inside her snaps her from her thoughts.

  “What the hell, you won’t let me have any fun.”

  Out of the bathroom, St. Clair raises his voice. “You call this fun! Sneakin’ in my room and givin’ me a heart attack, fun?”

  Regaining her sensibility, she says, “Come on out, let’s talk about this guy and how we are going find him.”

  Coming out of the bathroom shirtless, having only grabbed his pants, St. Clair looks at her shaking his head. “I still don’t know how you got in here.”

  “That was easy; the rooms are in both of our names. I just asked for a key.” Walking up to him, she reaches up and places a hand on one of the darker spots near his shoulder blade. “Are these the coils the director mentioned earlier?”

  Recoiling away from her touch, he says, “Yes, now if you don’t mind. I would like to finish getting dressed.” Picking up a shirt, he side steps around her to the corner of the bed.

  A little disheartened, the petite agent backs away and sits back down. “I realize it’s personal, but how? Why do you have those coil implants? What are they for?” Realizing from his perplexed reactions to her, “I mean you made the statement that they allow you to be, and I am curious. You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.” Nomi gives him a flirting smile.

  The voice inside her sets her nerves on edge. “What are you thinking?” Straightening her posture, she shifts and sits in the chair. “It’s called trust.”

  Finishing buttoning down his shirt, he looks at her with curiosity. “Okay, we may need to open some of those little bottles for this; you may not believe everything I tell you otherwise.”

  Nomi opens a few of the small bottles of alcohol and pours them each a drink. Walking over to the table, he picks up one of them and takes a sip. The alcohol hits him and a shiver hits his spine. Looking at the drink he tells her, “Yeah, this it’ll do.” He looks over at his partner. “First of all, how much of the Great War do you remember?”

  Curling her feet under her body in the seat, she takes a sip of her drink. “If you are talking about World War II, that was a little before my time.”

  After taking a few steps to look out the window, turning and taking another sip, he looks up at his partner. “Well not for me.” Taking one of the chairs over to the window, he sits and looks out through the curtains. “I was born a child of the Depression-era, 1921. My mother was killed when I was very young, and in 1929 the Great Depres
sion hit. My father tried for a few years but could no longer support me and in a drunken rage sent me to the streets. I was thirteen.”

  Clearly shocked and trying to do calculations in her head, “Wait, you mean to tell me that you are ninety-four years old?” With effortless movement, she jumps to the bed, sitting with her legs crossed. “No freaking way. You don’t look even thirty yet?”

  “Thank you, however, you are getting ahead of the story. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, four years later I enlisted into the navy. In 1936, when World War II started and the bread lines relocated to the recruiting offices, I became a Water Technician and got stationed on the Destroyer Escort, DE-one seventy-three, USS Eldridge. Our ships were having trouble making it past the German U-boat blockade. In ’43 my ship was reassigned to Philadelphia to undergo a refit. The powers that be were hoping to find a way to get by the U-boats. That’s when things got real interesting.”

  Looking back over to the bed where Nomi was sitting, he finds her squatting on the chair again and pouring herself another drink. “Are you finding this boring?”

  Finishing pouring her drink, she settles back into the chair. “No, I was never one for history.”

  “Well let me try to shorten it up. What do you know about Albert Einstein?”

  Looking at him with a deadpan expression, she says, “E-equals MC2, dude, right?” She motions her arm over her head. “Way over my head.”

  “Fair enough. What about Nikolas Tesla?”

  “Oh, the electricity guy,” Nomi says. “I saw a show about him on television the other night. It was Ancient Aliens; I love that show.”

  St. Clair gives her a confused look. “Wait, you said, that you don’t like history, yet you watch the History Channel?”

  Finishing her drink, Nomi’s expression turns solemn. “It’s not the history that interests me; let’s just say I have a personal interest in aliens.”