The Quixotic Faction: (Above Top Secret Edition)

by T. D. Kohler

  “Hey, Chatter, Grunt, glad to see you made it. That didn’t take you long.” St. Clair pulls the phone down just before Selenia and Grunt get too close.

  Adjusting her sunglasses and giving a quick gesture towards the car, she tells him, “Little John, have you seen her drive?”

  St. Clair looks over at Grunt. He could almost sense a smile coming from him. Almost forgetting he was still on the phone, he says, “Director, are you still there?”

  “Glad to hear you all are together. Now it is up to you to get everyone on the same page. That is a quality of a good agent.”

  “Yes, sir.” Disconnecting the call, he looks up at Selenia, who is standing there with her arms crossed.

  “Looks like we’re staying teamed up. There’s a guy that caused this destruction, and we need to get whatever technology he is using.”

  Dismissing St. Clair, Selenia glances at Grunt for an uneasy minute then back at St. Clair.

  “Look, I know those are your instructions, but ours is to bring in the admiral and his friends”

  St. Clair leans back in his chair. “Well, I saw them take off, whereabouts unknown. And before you can ask, they were kicking up too much dirt to get a license plate number.” He stops long enough to get her complete attention. “Eleadora, since you are here, we could use your help to find out what happened here.”

  Selenia exchanges glances with Grunt and shrugs. “Okay, we’ll assist you. But keep this in mind, we are helping you. We may need your help later, and I expect you to help.”

  “Yes ma’am, I surely do appreciate this. People here are just starting to wake up.”

  Adjusting her sunglasses, Selenia’s confidence becomes smug. “You can never trust human recollection. If we want to know what happened here, we need to find someone who has not woken up yet.” She turns and walks out.

  Looking between the food, Selenia, and Grunt, St. Clair tosses Grunt a seafood po’boy and grabs the chicken po’boy for himself. “Here we go.”

  Sine’ Irish Pub,

  Richmond, VA

  July 21, 1551 hours

  Finishing up his meal, Director Harris stares at his untouched pint of Guinness. A roar from the fraternity group snaps him out of his daze. Taking a napkin to wipe his brow, he fishes out his phone from his jacket. The waitress startles him, appearing out of nowhere. “You didn’t want the Guinness?” she asks.

  “I enjoy the aroma. Sadly, I can’t indulge.”

  She reaches for the glass. “I apologize; did you want me to take it away? I can bring you some water?”

  “No, no, no, my young lady, but I will take a refill of water.”

  “Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “That will be perfect, and no, nothing else, thank you.” As she goes to leave, his eyes drop to his phone. Scrolling up and down the contact list, he looks at the list when the screen lights up with an image of Al Capone. Setting the phone on the table, he leans in and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  Answering the phone, he takes a deep breath. “Ryan O’Connell. How is life in the Windy City?”

  A deep, heavy Irish accent booms out of the phone, “Sydney! What the hell is going on?”

  “I was just thinking about you.”

  “More like you were expecting a call from me.”

  “I stand corrected, or rather, you are correct.” Director Harris laughs as he looks around the restaurant. “I trust you have heard from Victoria?”

  “You know damn well I did. I just got off the phone with her. I have never heard her this upset.”

  Staring at the glass of Guinness and running his fingertips through the condensation, Director Harris drifts in thought. “She lost her daughter. I am not about to know how she feels. It is just that she is looking to blame someone”

  “More like hang, and that is you my longtime friend.” Director O’Connell pauses, leaving the phone silent. “Perhaps you can explain to me why I shouldn’t launch a full-scale internal affairs investigation on you?”

  “I do not know what to tell you, Ryan.”

  “You can start with why the director of astronomical affairs is assigning field assignments to agents and operatives in Louisiana?”

  Director Harris leans back in the booth and rubs the back of his head with his free hand as he cranes his neck and tries to find the right words. “Earth’s magnetic field was, or rather is, being influenced by something. I sent two agents to investigate. It turned out the cause was sentient.”

  “What!”

  Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looks around to see if he has drawn any attention. He then brings the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, that’s what I said—only a little calmer.”

  The waitress returns with his refill. Director Harris motions drawing a checkmark on his palm and receives an acknowledging nod from the waitress as she reaches in a pouch and lays the bill on the table. Turning his attention back to the phone, “Hey, look, Ryan, right now I am working on finding who is responsible for the fiasco in Katy, Baton Rouge, and now Oakdale.”

  “Sounds like you landed in the middle of a shit storm there.”

  “Look, if you want to come down here I can walk you through everything. Right now, I am not in a place where I can go into details.”

  “Well, Sydney, if I don’t launch some kind of investigation, then it will be my head in the noose.”

  “Integrity. That is a good trait for a director/I do not fault, nor will I resist, you with your investigation. I do request you keep everyone away from the agents in the field that are trying to apprehend and solve these mysteries.”

  After a moment of silence, Director O’Connell chooses his words carefully. “Victoria is calling the twelve cities, so I’m not making promises; however, I will see what I can do.”

  “I imagine I will see you soon, so until then.” Laying enough money to cover the bill and a generous tip, he stands to leave. “I wish you luck. I have to get back in the frying pan.”

  “See you soon, Sydney, and good luck.” The phone goes quiet, and he places it back in his jacket.

  Walking out the door, he straightens his jacket and brushes his pants. He takes in the sun and the temperature change as he steps outside. “Good to know you’re alive.”

  His phone starts to ring the X-Files theme song. “Director Harris, how can I be of service this fine day?”

  “Sir, something has appeared in the Upper Mesosphere.”

  “Details, my man, have I not taught you that yet?”

  “Sir, that is as detailed as we can get. A small, unknown object appeared from nowhere. We have already cut the Hubble feed.”

  “Quick thinking is a good trait, get as much information on it as you can and keep me posted. Meanwhile I need you to monitor anonymous terrestrial-energy readings.”

  “Sir?”

  Director Harris leans into the phone. “Listen carefully. You need to monitor lower-atmospheric readings in Southwest Louisiana and Eastern Texas. Let me know if anything shows up, anything that seems even remotely out of the normal.”

  “Ahhh, yes sir.”

  Roy’s Catfish Hut,

  Kinder, LA

  July 21, 1838 hours

  Crunching peanuts and grumbling under his breath, Garrett looks across the table to watch the admiral scrutinizing the menu as Stevens ignores it and stares out the window. Letting go of a handful of peanut shells onto the floor, he cracks a smile.

  “Ever get the feeling of déjà vu?”

  The waitress chuckles as she approaches the table. “That’s funny. I remember you fine gentlemen from last week. I was hoping I would get to see you again.”

  The admiral smiles and nods. “We’re honored that you remember us.”

  Her smile widens as she shifts her weight. “Let me see just what I do remember.” Pointing to the admiral, she says, “Unsweetened tea,” looking at Garrett, she says, “a Coke,” and gesturing to Stevens, she says, “For you, sir, water.”

  Leaning back in
the booth, Garrett crushes up some more peanuts. “That is impressive.”

  “Why thank you, it is a gift.” Not taking her eyes off of the admiral, she says, “Did y’all know what you want to eat?”

  Garret speaks up first. “I’ll have the Crawfish Etouffee.”

  “Very good choice, and for you, sir?” she says, still smiling at the admiral.

  “I reckon I will have the shrimp, please,” he says, and noticing that she was going to say something, he raises a quick finger and adds, “The large platter.”

  “Yes sir.” Shifting her attention to Stevens, who remains looking out the window, she asks, “And for you sir?”

  “Just a house salad for now, with ranch,” the admiral answers for him.

  “I will put the orders in and return with your drinks.” She turns to leave, giving the admiral a quick curtsey and nod.

  “I’m not complaining, but why we are still in the area, because I am complaining.”

  “Two reasons,” Stevens says and holds up two fingers. “Reason one, do you remember The Purloined Letter by Edgar Allen Poe? ‘The best place to hide is in plain sight.’ And reason two, we don’t want to get too far away from Professor Mildiani and Kristen.”

  Garrett leans in. “She’s is one of them!”

  Stevens quickly turns in to the table, leaning towards his friend, and pressing his finger into the table. “She’s a scientist, just like you and I—no more, no less. She wanted answers just like us.

  “Now if you will excuse me, I need to wash my face.” Shoulder nudging the admiral, Stevens nods to the restrooms.

  Admiral Kay lets Stevens out and watches him storm off before he looks back at Garrett.

  “You know, the girl was trying to help us,” the Admiral lets him know.

  “I know; however, she’s still an agent of an unknown organization that employs giants that kick our asses.”

  The admiral runs his hands through his hair. “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around that guy and how things just passed right through him.”

  “Well wrap your brain around this knowledge,” Garrett says while grabbing some more peanuts. “Not only have our pasts been erased, but we have made it on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”

  “That’s fantastic,” the admiral says, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Now you see why we need to get out of here.” Garrett smiles as he disposes the peanut shells. “And now for something completely different. This area is becoming a hot spot for Project Cadmus. Not only are they after us and the Professor, but MUFON is getting all kinds of strange reports that have surely caught their attention.”

  The waitress arrives with the drinks. “Here you go, gentlemen.” Rocking back on her hips, smiling at Admiral Kay, she says, “If there is anything I can do for you while the food is cooking, just let me know.”

  “Absolutely, we will do just that, thank you.”

  The admiral waits until she turns a corner, before looking back at Garrett. “What kind of strange reports?”

  “Well, last week the inside of a bank in Houston was turned into a Roman bath house, and outside of it the police re-enacted the O.K. Corral. Three of the four police officers were killed. In Baton Rouge, yesterday, an area became a green, alien atmosphere that caused almost immediate fatigue. People dropped like a prize fighter that finished twelve rounds,” Garrett tells him while trying to control his excitement.

  The admiral’s curiosity peeked. “Was a bank involved yesterday?”

  Garrett brushes his hands together dropping some more shells on the floor and smiles. “No, it was a currency exchange company.”

  “How are they causing people to do that?”

  “The local newspaper this morning is calling it an atmospheric phenomenon.” Garrett leans back to wait for a reaction from the admiral, then continues, “That is clearly a cover-up article, and you have to be impressed how fast they work hiding the real information.”

  “Unreal. Of course, who are we to say what is real anymore, and this happened yesterday?” the admiral asks.

  Stevens surprises everyone as he firmly places his hands on the table and leans in. Trying to curb his enthusiasm he bends his knees, bringing him to the table level. “The only thing I know that can cause that is amplified Orgone energy . . .” Motioning his hand to wave off that thought Stevens looks at the admiral. “Set that aside for now. Admiral, you have to hear this gentleman about what happened to him today.” He turns his head, and everyone follows his gaze to see a young man with weathered skin and jet-black hair rubbing both of his temples with the palms of his hands.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Garrett tries to mask his annoyance at being interrupted.

  “Hear him out and you will see.” Stevens straightens his legs, but still keeps his hands on the table while lowering his voice. “Look, if it’s too much trouble, don’t. I just overheard them and thought you should hear it.”

  After a moment of nobody saying anything, Garrett shrugs his shoulders. “Well alright then . . .”

  “Relax, Harvey.” The admiral wipes his mouth and tosses his napkin on the table. Watching Stevens with curiosity, he says, “What happened today?”

  “The guy believes he was abducted,” Stevens tells them, letting the statement just hang there.

  Garrett finishes off his Coke while everyone just exchanges looks. Setting his glass down, he says, “My curiosity is piqued. Let’s go and hear what this man has to say.”

  The admiral begins to slide out of the booth. “Well Lincoln, lead the way, and we can learn what else happened today.”

  Upper Mesosphere

  July 21, 1840 CST

  Waking up, Agent Abergathy massages the back of her neck as she pushes herself up to look around. The room is completely made of some type of metal. There is an eerie silence as the only sound she can hear is her heartbeat.

  The walls were mesmerizing, watching them pulse, she stands and gingerly touches the them. It emits a pulsating heat, almost as if it had a pulse and blood flowing. Flashes of the diuranium octoxide and thorium nitrate pulsating through the ununpentium skin of Professor Eprem Mildiani flood her mind.

  She snaps her hand away from the wall with an uncomfortable feeling that she invaded someone’s intimacy. Crossing her arms and rubbing her shoulders, scanning the room. Near the front, she notices waist-high poles that flair out on both sides.

  he sees Professor Mildiani leaning back on a standing chair. “Professor? Where are we?”

  The professor does not flinch or make a sound. She walks around the room, keeping her distance, trying to get a better look at him. “Professor?”

  A voice she recognizes as his appears to be coming from everywhere in the room. “Hello Ms. Abergathy.”

  Taking a step back and looking around, she straightens up and walks in front of him.

  “Professor Mildiani, why did you kill my friend in the cornfield?”

  Professor Mildiani looks up, as his shoulders appear to straighten up. “That was not intentional. Her biomechanics reacted different than the rest of her.”

  He turns to look at Agent Abergathy, causing her to step back again. The radioactive chemical combination can be seen pulsating through his facial features. He shifts his head as if to study her. “You were not aware of her biomechanics.”

  “Let’s say one minute I’m doing math trying to solve an anomaly affecting Earth’s magnetic field and next thing I know I’m in the middle of a Marvel meets X-Files universe.” Kristen smirks. “Never would I imagine meeting someone who can kill with a wave of a hand or have been teamed up with a woman with bio-mechanical arms.”

  After a few minutes passes with no one saying anything, the professor shifts and turns to look at the young lady. “What brought you and your friend to my farm?”

  Crossing her arms, Kristen leans back on her heals. “You know why already. Why didn’t you kill me as well? Why did you bring me here?”

  “You are a person o
f science and understanding. You are strong willed, and yet have no ill intent.” The professor looks straight ahead.

  Walking around the room, she notices that there are no corners and no hard edges on the room. “Where are you from?” She asks as she continues to look around the room.

  “I am Georgian,” the professor notes.

  “I know accents, and your name, Eprem Mildiani, neither of which are Southern.”

  The professor shifts his gaze to her. “You misunderstand me. I am from Georgia the country—not the American state. We were traveling here to learn and speak about mineral radiology.”

  “You are referring to the diuranium and thorium nitrate that flows through you and this room. What I really would like to learn about is the ununpentium—Element 115.”

  Without saying anything, he brings up an aerial photo of the Louisiana Bayou on a large monitor. As soon as the picture focuses, the professor acknowledges Kristen. “The Bayou is rich with thorium dioxide and thorium hydroxide. I was speaking at a conference in Tulane, in 2012, when we were asked to look into a rock found by some alligator hunters.” The screen pans and zooms in on an area near Bayou Corne. A large sinkhole comes into focus on the monitor.

  Dropping her crossed arms, Kristen steps towards the screen. “I’ve heard about this sinkhole. That is where you found the rock.”

  “We did not find it. I we were asked to study it. It was uncovered after the waters of Hurricane Katrina receded and washed the swamplands away from it.”

  “What came of that, the rock, I mean?”

  “It was 90 percent ununpentium, and approximately the size of a small car.”

  Walking up to the screen, the agent looks up at the twenty-two-acre sinkhole. “That element is unstable for Earth’s gravitation. How could you have found it solid as a rock and one that large?”

  “Once again, we did not find it. It was a meteor, and what we did not know is that the area’s stability was being maintained by a thorium-ununpentium relationship. We realized later that the Thorium was keeping the meteor and the element stable.”