by Peter Darley
B.J. took his hand and smiled. “Thank you, Payden. I really appreciate that.”
Payden looked into the ether, almost eerily. “Firedrake.”
While everyone stared at Payden, B.J. tilted his head, pondering the strange word: Drake-in-the-line-of-fire—Firedrake. “Well, guys. It looks like the ball is rolling already. You just got your superhero name. Firedrake. That’s the name of the website and movement.”
“Are you serious?” Woody said.
“Sure. It hit me as soon as it came out of his mouth. It’s catchy, dramatic—and it doesn’t mean a damn thing.” B.J. laughed in a manner similar to a school kid who’d just gotten away with something.
Heather walked over and hugged him as he gazed proudly at his new team. “Yeah,” he said. “You. Are. Firedrake.”
B.J. and Heather spent the evening explaining everything they knew to the team. B.J. gave Woody his sat-scrambler Z-Watch number.
Within an hour, Woody had designed a basic template for the website, with an intriguing homepage heading—Firedrake: What is C.O.T.?
B.J. moved across to Phil and checked an image the young artist was creating on a portable, digital enhancer. He was instantly overcome with awe at a stunning illustration of the legendary, dragon-like fire-bird. “How in the hell do you do that?”
“I don’t really know,” Phil said with a proud chuckle. “It just comes to me.”
“Before I go, is there anything you’d like to ask me? You’re going to go far, Phil, but I know you’re up against some stiff competition.”
“I think I’ve got all I need. I’m going to cold call them this time. In person. They can’t possibly say no to me with all of the information you’ve given me. I can’t thank you enough.”
B.J. felt a sense of satisfaction come over him, and turned to Heather. “Well, babe. I suppose we’d better hit the sack. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
“You’re right.”
The following morning, B.J. and Heather showered, dressed, and waited for the arrival of their escorts.
As if on cue, there was a knock at the front door.
“I’ll get it.” B.J walked out of the living room and opened the door. Two men in dark suits waited on the other side.
The one on the right showed his Secret Service ID badge. “Agent Drake. We’re here to provide you and Ms. Addison with safe passage to Washington D.C. The president is awaiting your arrival.”
“The pr—?” B.J. held himself in check. Despite the humorless way in which this guy was speaking, he hadn’t been expecting that. Given that Jed had arranged for his transportation, he presumed they’d just be getting a ride back to EDID.
The other guy handed him a suit, shoes, and a shirt in a protective holder. He gave Heather a woman’s executive blue jacket, blouse, and skirt in another. “The clothes you requested, sir.” With his hands free, he flashed his badge.
“Thanks, guys. We’ll just get changed and be with you in a minute.”
B.J. moved away from the door and looked at the maudlin faces of his four friends standing in the hallway. It was clear they were sad to see him go.
He approached Woody feeling compelled to say something that had been bugging him. “You have to stop this inferiority thing, Woody. You know that, don’t you? Nobody is better or worse than you are. You’ve proved it to me, if that’s worth anything.”
“It’s worth everything. The site will be up by tonight. I’ll keep you informed of anything that comes in.”
“Thanks, Woody.” With that, he went back upstairs to get changed.
In less than a day, Woody’s outlook had completely changed. He could already sense the winds of change thundering within him.
He joined Phil, Sharon, and Payden at the front door as B.J. and Heather walked toward a Mercedes with their two escorts. One of the agents carried a box containing the Interceptor armor.
B.J climbed in and rested his fingertips on the rear side glass. The car moved away, and Woody kept his gaze on them until finally, they disappeared from view.
He closed the front door and walked back toward the living room, determined. “I’m not gonna leave it at this.”
“What do you have in mind?” Phil said.
“He told us to remain anonymous. I can’t do that.”
“What are you gonna do, Woody?” Sharon said.
“First, I’m gonna take the story to Channel 7 and get our word out there. I swear guys, we’re never gonna be the same again.”
“Buddy, that’s insane,” Phil said.
“I don’t care. Does B.J. run away from danger? No. He faces it head-on, even when he’s scared. I’m not cowering away any more. We’ve got to stop being pathetic. I can’t just stay in here monitoring messages while he’s out there putting his life on the line.”
He walked into the living room and noticed a flyer on the living room desk. He picked it up and glanced over it—an ad for Bodywize gym, right on his doorstep in San Fernando. He smiled, knowing that’s where he was heading after lunch.
He knew the others thought he was having an over-zealous, delusional moment. But they were wrong. For the first time in his life, he was determined to make a difference.
Thirty-Eight
Rosie
After a three-hour jet flight from LAX, B.J., Heather, and Jed arrived at the White House, and walked along the corridor toward the Oval Office. Accompanied by their two escorts, they waited while a balding, presidential aide knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
The aide opened the door and placed one foot inside. “Director Crane, Agent Drake, and Ms. Addison to see you, Madam President.”
“Thank you, Charles. Send them in.”
B.J., Heather, and Jed, stepped inside. B.J. could sense Heather’s nervousness and restrained his instinct to hold her hand. Doing so would surely have compromised her dignity. She had to go through this, and he knew she had the steel to rise to the occasion anyway.
Vice President Myers stood beside the president’s desk and gave them a nod of acknowledgement.
“It’s good to see you again, sir,” B.J. said.
“Likewise, Agent Drake,” Myers replied.
The president approached B.J. first, and extended her hand. He noticed what looked like a hint of awe in her eyes. No way. This is ridiculous.
“I can’t tell you how much I admire your tenacity and courage, Brandon,” she said. “You are an extremely rare breed.”
Did she just call me Brandon? “Madam President, I am honored, believe me.”
She turned to Heather. “Ms. Addison, I applaud you also, for taking such a risk in Los Angeles. You had no way of knowing Senator Sloane was unstable, but you risked yourself for the greater good.”
“Is there any word on Senator Sloane’s condition?” B.J. said.
“He’s under medical observation at the moment. It seems he was in denial and chose to stop taking his medication. I’m told there’s also evidence of narcissistic personality disorder present. The senator’s envy of you played a role in what you’ve been through, Brandon.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Now, we have serious matters to discuss,” the president said. “What do you know about these disasters? You’ve been in the middle of them more than anyone.”
“I know very little,” B.J. said. “But that’s probably more than anyone else. It all began when I received a voice-only message from a young woman. The location wasn’t displayed. She sounded late teens, maybe early twenties. She told me the disasters were the work of a cult she identified only as C.O.T. I have no idea what that means, but I’ve seen these people with my own eyes. So has Heather.”
“Ms. Addison?” the president said.
Heather lightly cleared her tight throat. “Madam President, after I left Channel 7 studios, I discovered my two EDID escorts, Jem Davis and Peter Jupp, had been murdered. I immediately found myself running from a group of individuals wearing long, brown, monk-like robes and hoods.”
“How did you survive?”
“I was picked up by a civilian along a side street. The assailants were upon us, and I managed to get a look at one of them. I’d say he was somewhat androgynous-looking, with very pallid skin. He had a scar trailing along the left side of his face. The injury had caused the loss of his left eye.”
The president looked at her pensively for a moment, and then said, “Who was the civilian who rescued you?”
Heather glanced at B.J. as though pleadingly asking what she should say.
“His name is Woody Schuster,” B.J said. “He’s an impoverished young man, just a civilian. But he gave shelter to Heather, and then to me. He’s what most people would call a social outcast.”
“Please provide the secretary with Mr. Schuster’s address and contact details. I’d like to commend him.”
Woody, I think you’re on your way, bud. “Madam President, I have to tell you the latest.”
“The latest?”
“During the disaster in Los Angeles, I saw these hooded, monk-like characters on a skyscraper rooftop. I used the zoom in the INT-Nine’s helmet first, and then took off to confront them. There was no doubt in my mind. They were either the same people, or part of the same group, that attacked Heather and Woody.”
“And what happened?”
“I flew up to the rooftop, but they took off in some kind of stealth aircraft. I went after it, but none of my sensors could detect its direction.”
“Could you describe this craft?”
The Vice President came forward, seeming particularly intrigued.
Noticing his interest, B.J. acknowledged him. “I’d never seen anything like it. It was shining silver, but small. I’d say it was about the size of this room. It had the basic design of a shuttle, but also it looked kind of . . . arrow-like.”
The president held his gaze for a tense moment. “All right, I believe you,” she said finally. “None of us know what we’re dealing with, but I want all of you back to work immediately. We have to get to the bottom of this. I’m going to initiate an investigation through every intelligence agency. We have to find out what C.O.T. is and take it down.”
“Yes, ma’am,” B.J. said.
The president approached Jed. “Director Crane, until we can bring an end to this C.O.T., I want Project: Interceptor stepped up. It can’t be just Agent Drake shouldering this burden. He needs help.”
“Madam President, we’ve already recruited a new leader for the INT-Nine project. Since the tragic death of Tito Mendez, I am confident we’ve secured the best possible replacement. Seventy-five further units are currently in development, and an equal number of troops at Fort Bragg are being prepped for the operation as we speak.”
“I should’ve been on top of this,” she said with a regretful tone. “The situation has been overwhelming. I thank you for your service. Vice President Myers will be overseeing the operation.”
Myers held out his hand for Jed. “I’ll be acting as your immediate superior, Director.”
“It’s a privilege, Mr. Vice President.” Jed caught B.J. and Heather’s attention. “I think we should get back to work. Agent Drake, I want to introduce you to your new handler.”
***
“You got this Woody guy to do what?”
B.J. cringed at Jed’s tone of disapproval, and considered maybe he shouldn’t have told him about Firedrake just yet. “We’re trying to flush out C.O.T. Uncle Jed, and Woody’s good. I mean he’s really good.”
They stepped out of the elevator and made their way toward the Testlab.
“I don’t know, B.J. Was it really a good idea to involve a civilian in all this?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice. The world’s falling apart, and I had to act fast. Anyway, it’s not just Woody alone. There are four of them monitoring the messages in shifts.”
Jed stopped at the Testlab door. “All right. But I want all the details on them. If we’ve got a team of cyber hunters working on this, I’ll have to talk to them and run the usual background checks.”
“Sure, no problem.”
They stepped inside the lab and walked toward a woman with shoulder-length, sandy-colored hair in a white lab coat. B.J. estimated she was probably mid-fifties. She wore only the subtlest application of make-up, yet her demure appearance exuded dignity and class.
“Agent Drake,” Crane said, “I would like you to meet our new recruit and your handler, Professor Rosemary Butler.”
“My handler?”
She came forward and offered her hand. “So, you’re The Interceptor.”
B.J. was surprised by her polished, British diction and aura of self-assuredness. But who was she? “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor. Love the accent.”
“Thank you. And please, since we’re going to be working so closely together, call me Rosie.”
“You got it.”
Jed smiled and said, “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. I have to help Heather get settled in. And myself, for that matter.”
“All right, I’ll see you later, Unc . . . Director.”
As Jed departed, Rosie gestured to the INT-Nine, mounted upon its usual, allocated mannequin. A number of wires protruded from it, connected to two digital consoles. “I’m just running a diagnostics check. Everything looks to be in order. The modifications Tito added are astounding.”
“Did you know Tito?” B.J. said.
She shot him a sad look. “As a matter of fact, I did. He was my finest student at M.I.T. What happened to him was so horrific. I understand the two of you were very close.”
“Yeah, we were. You were his tutor?”
“Yes. He was a genius. When the other students saw dead ends, Tito opened doors. Nano technology was second nature to him. I don’t know of anybody else who could’ve made those jet boots become a reality.”
“Really?”
She stepped up onto the platform and gazed at the armor. “My connection to this project goes back twenty-five years. I knew Abraham Jacobson. He started working on the design of this armor in twenty-fifteen, but it was beyond impossible at the time. In that same year, the military borrowed the basic template for the first TALOS prototype, but it was primitive compared to the INT-Nine. The flight capabilities were the stuff of comic books. In the end, Tito made it happen.”
“He sure did. But how did he pull it off? It’s saved my life and the lives of many others already.”
Rosie stepped down again, grinning proudly. “It’s nano technology. The miniaturization of mechanics. He engineered the principles to create the miniaturized rockets in those boots.”
“And you taught him all this?”
“Partly, but he took it beyond my tutoring. That’s why Director Crane brought me in to run the program. I’m now learning from Tito, and I’ve already begun with the expansion project.”
“I didn’t think anyone could match Tito,” B.J. said. “But how can I argue with the one who taught him?”
Rosie laughed. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Agent Drake.”
“B.J.,” he said with a wink.
It had just turned 5 p.m. B.J. closed down his office computer console and prepared to call it a day. He was eager to return to his apartment with Heather. It felt great and such a relief to have gotten his life back.
His Z-Watch buzzed. Once again, it was an anonymous caller, and his heart missed a beat. It’s her. He opened up the line, but there was no holo-ID, only a voice. Unfortunately, a male voice: “Agent Drake, don’t say a word.”
“Who is this?”
“Take the INT-Nine and come to New York Avenue immediately. On the north side, you’ll find a deserted building, the old Herland clothing store. We’ll be waiting in an alleyway behind it. If you don’t show up, we’ll wipe Washington D.C. right off the map. Say a word of this to anyone, and we’ll trigger the quake before you can even reach that lab.” The line ended.
B.J. ran to his office door, rage bursting in his chest. All
right, you bastards. This time, it’s for keeps.
In the grip of determination, he exited the office and briskly moved along the corridor, his right hand already loosening his tie.
Thirty-Nine
Confrontation
The lab door opened. B.J. ran inside, shirt and tie open with his suit jacket under his arm.
Rosie looked up from the console at the far side of the room. “Is everything all right?”
Oh, shit. She’s my handler. What am I gonna tell her? “Rosie, please. I can’t say anything, but I need to take the INT-Nine.”
She stood and came toward him. “I have a duty of care, B.J. I’m your ground handler. I’m here to help and support you. Now, you have to tell me what’s happening.”
He paused for a moment, his anxiety at its peak. He didn’t have time to waste, and he was compelled to remain silent. It was a no-win situation.
Finally, he realized he had no choice but to bring her into the loop. “Rosie . . .” His tone quietened to a whisper, unable to shake the feeling C.O.T. were listening. He placed his forefinger over his lips and walked over to a desk on the right side of the lab. He spotted a ball-point pen and a stack of printer paper on the desk, and quickly began to write. After a few moments, he handed her the paper:
I had a call from C.O.T. They said that unless I meet with them, and if I said anything to anyone, they would destroy the city. I think they know every move I make.
He watched Rosie’s complexion assume a pale shade. She looked up at him from the note and nodded.
Without delay, B.J. stripped down to his shorts and frantically began to don the INT-Nine. Once all the attachments were sealed, he gave Rosie a worried look and ascended the steps to the exit pad.
The doors opened to reveal the dusk. B.J. activated the jet boots, hovered for a moment, and then soared into the dark sky.
The city came into view within a second. He shot forward over the skyscrapers and then came in low, skimming over the rush hour traffic through the underpasses and the highway. New York Avenue was right ahead.