The Eagle

by Jillian Dodd

  "Yeah."

  "How old was he?"

  "Nineteen."

  "Jeeze. That's illegal."

  "It didn't feel illegal, Josh."

  "He took advantage of you."

  I shake my head. "No, he didn't. If anything, I took advantage of him. I had a crush on him. I knew his habits. When I blew out the candle, he was my wish."

  Josh wraps me in a hug like I need one. I pull away, still gripping the gun tightly. I'm not sure what the hell is going on here. No way everyone is dead. They can't be.

  "Sex is just sex, Josh. The means to an end. Isn't that what they taught us? That you can and should use sex to your advantage?"

  "Yeah, but you just never seemed that way. You impressed the hell out of me with your skill at--well, everything-- but there's a softness inside you that you don't let many people see."

  "So back to graduation."

  "I believe they are cleaning house because of you. Just what kind of a mission are you on?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "How many people did you interact with at Blackwood during your time here?"

  "There were eight students when I arrived along with four instructors, the Dean and his secretary, two kitchen staff and two cleaning crew. Four came my second year, four more my third year, and then our class had ten, including me. Twenty-six students--all the letters of the alphabet."

  "So with the staff, that means thirty-six people know the truth about you. Thirty-six people who know you're not really Ares Von Allister's long lost daughter," Josh states. "Thirty-three of which are now dead. That leaves three. Me, you, the Dean."

  "How do I know you didn't kill them, Josh?" I ask, pointing the gun at him. "We were all well-trained. Why are you the only one who got away?"

  "The two assailants came in from the back and opened fire. I managed to dive behind the stage steps and hide while I tried to assess my options. From what I could see, everyone was down but me. The pair was now going row by row and finishing off anyone who wasn't already dead. One of them came to check the bodies on the stage. I ambushed him, took possession of his gun, and shot the other assailant."

  "And then what?"

  "I took off their masks. One was E. The other was A."

  "Two former students were the shooters? That makes no sense."

  "It does if they work the same place you do. Who do you work for?"

  "Have you ever heard of Black X?"

  "No, what is it?"

  "Are you sure you've never heard of it? Think. When they talked to you about what you would do after graduation, wasn't it ever mentioned?"

  "No. It wasn't. Not that it matters now. You have to help me, X. In the twelve hours I've been gone, someone came in and cleaned all this up. The bodies, the carnage, it's all gone. All our possessions. Every single file. Every trace of any of us is gone. And as soon as they figure out I'm not dead, they'll come after me."

  "And you've never heard of a covert organization called Black X? I'm pretty sure it's how Blackwood Academy got its name."

  "Never have I ever," he says, making a little joke.

  I make a quick decision and stuff the gun into my waistband. "Come with me, Josh. We need to get out of here and figure this all out."

  "What did you do!?" the former Dean of Blackwood Academy yells, spittle flying out of his mouth, as he storms into the leader of Black X's office.

  "What are you talking about, old man?"

  "Graduation was supposed to be today. I went. No one was there. Nothing was there."

  "Due to a situation, graduation was held yesterday. You must not have gotten the memo."

  "Where are my students? What did you do?"

  "I did what I had to."

  "Tell me where they are!"

  "They are dead," the leader says.

  The fear of this has been sitting in his stomach since he arrived at the school to find it not only empty, but completely cleansed. He knew the school would be closing, but the current students had still been living there.

  "Why? Why did you have me train them only to kill them? They could have helped us here like the other graduates have!"

  "I'm afraid the other graduates along with the staff are dead as well."

  "You wiped out most of our organization?" Tears fill the old man's eyes. Spies aren't supposed to get emotionally attached, but he isn't a spy anymore. He had become like a father to those young men and women. He had taken pride in their advancement.

  "We can only afford to have those who we explicitly trust."

  "Who does that even leave us with? A concierge, an anthropologist who likes to shop, a decrepit spy, a couple hackers, and The Ghost? How are we supposed to run an operation with so few?"

  "You forgot to mention Aristotle and Huntley. The rest of them have served their purpose and had to be eliminated."

  He touches a photo on the leader's desk. "She would be ashamed of what you've become."

  "They killed her because of me--because of the mission I sent her on--and I will do whatever it takes to destroy them."

  "Wouldn't it just be easier to let the Ghost kill them?"

  "Their plot runs deep. Cutting off the head of the snake will not cause it to die. It will simply rise again in another form."

  "Does X know?" he asks. "Those were her friends."

  "You trained those young men and women admirably. You taught them to survive on their own. She does not know the fate of her former classmates, and she must never find out."

  "I quit," the Dean says.

  "You owe me your life. I could have let you go to graduation and suffer the same fate."

  "So it's come to this? You don't even trust me?"

  "I do trust you. That's why you are still alive. And I need you to continue to monitor her. She trusts you."

  "So you're only keeping me alive because I'm useful?"

  "Yes, and you would be wise to remember that fact."

  The old man flips him off as he exits the room. He knows he deserves it but he can't be swayed by the old man's emotion. He slides his hand down the photo, remembering how she called him right before she died. How she told him she had figured it out. How they would meet the next morning.

  His thoughts are interrupted by a computer beep, indicating a secure email from one of his sources in the Middle East.

  He reads it, then picks up his phone, hits a button, and says, "We need to talk."

  A few minutes later, the Ghost enters his office. "I was on my way in here when you called. We have a big problem. One of the graduates managed to escape."

  "How did that happen?"

  "He was well-trained, I assume. But it gets worse. He took the men's hoods off and knows two former graduates were sent to kill them. I've cleaned up the mess, disposed of the bodies, and the school has been cleansed. No one will ever know what happened, unless--"

  "He talks," the man says. "Do you know where he is?"

  "No idea. I'd ask the old man for help, but he's not going to be happy to learn that we disposed of his former students and staff."

  "He already knows, but don't worry, I'll deal with him. We did what we had to do. I would have preferred to use them in our fight. They were well-trained. But with X's high profile, it was inevitable that someone would make contact with her. We couldn't risk blowing her cover."

  The Ghost nods in agreement. He understands sometimes there is collateral damage on the path to justice. "If you would have let me take care of it as I requested, it would be done. Now we have dangerous threads blowing in the wind. One little pull could unravel what's left of our organization."

  "Something curious has happened in the world today," the leader says, indicating their previous conversation is over. "We know part of their plan hinged on controlling the Strait of Montrovia. I just received a tip from a source that the Syrian government has seized control of the Russian port in Tartus."

  "Are they crazy? Russia will destroy them."

  "It's my understanding that Russia is trying to work
on a diplomatic solution, which will take too long. We have to do something."

  "Why was this not on the news?" the Ghost wonders.

  "Because it's not as sensational as the President's funeral."

  "And you believe this is related to Montrovia? I don't understand why they would want Tartus. It seems so random."

  The leader points to a map on the wall. "The Strait of Montrovia controls access from the Mediterranean Sea to the Atlantic Ocean. Without access to an ocean, you don't have access to the world. European countries rely on the sea to export goods. Russia is rearming. They have made huge increases to their military budget, including a jump of nearly $11 billion over the last year. But all that will do them no good if their ships can't get anywhere. Tartus is their only deep, warm water port. From Tartus, Russia can project its naval power anywhere in the world. All of its other ports are either ice-locked for some of the year or landlocked, which requires them to pass through straits controlled by other countries. My guess is that they are trying to cripple the world's military superpowers, so when the time comes, they will be ham-stringed in the fight."

  "The old saying goes that if you control the oil, you control the world."

  "It also goes on to say that if you control the food, you control the people," the leader adds. "Maybe that's a future step, but before you can control the people, you have to be able to their cripple governments, simultaneously. And what better time to do it than when the world is preoccupied with the death of a President?"

  "We need to figure out their plan. I fear we don't have much time."

  The leader leans way back in his chair, thinking.

  The Ghost takes a seat, keeping his thoughts to himself. He knows better than to interrupt the leader's process, simply watching him as he leans forward, places his elbows on the desk, and steeples his fingers, pressing them against his lower lip.

  After a couple of long minutes, the leader speaks. "I have a plan to kill multiple birds with the same stone."

  "How so?" the Ghost asks.

  "Think about it. No one knows where the student has been while he was at Blackwood. We create travel documents proving he's been in Syria and pin the assassination of the President on him. There will be a world-wide manhunt. Once they arrest him, we'll know where he is, and you can take him out. Problem solved. In the meanwhile, our new President needs to make a bold statement to the world. Our government will retaliate against the terror organizations in Syria for the President's death, and in doing so, will take control of both the country and the Russian port. We rid ourselves of our problem and foil their plan all at the same time."

  The Ghost leans back in his chair and smiles. "That's brilliant."

  "Make it happen," he says.

  Together, Josh and I carefully exit the mansion, move slowly past the out buildings, and make our way to my car.

  Josh whistles. "Nice ride."

  "Perk of my cover," I say, starting the car. There's a good song on the radio, so I turn it up and take off, not really sure where to go, but needing to think.

  The music is interrupted by an announcement. "Breaking news. The FBI has begun a nationwide manhunt in conjunction with the assassination of the President. The fugitive's name is Josh Bentley. He's a five-foot eleven inch, one hundred and seventy pound, twenty-one-year-old Caucasian with dark hair and brown eyes. If you see a man of this description, do not attempt to detain him. Call the authorities immediately."

  "Josh! They're saying you killed the President! Why would they say that?"

  "They know that I'm not dead--that I escaped. They're manipulating the press to try to find me."

  "You think Black X has the power to manipulate the entire country?"

  "But it makes sense that I shot the President of the freaking United States? The country I have trained to serve?"

  "No. Merda. This is a mess."

  "What am I going to do? If they find me, they'll kill me."

  "I think I know where we need to go," I say, a plan coming together in my head.

  I check my speed. The last thing we need right now is to get pulled over.

  I hold my hand up, thinking, running through all I know and wondering if I'm correct in believing Josh as I drive toward the one man who might be able to help him. Once I'm on the highway and headed to my destination, I put the SIM card back in my phone and turn it on. I don't know if I'm being tracked, but it's probably best not to appear off grid right now.

  When we arrive at the upscale mall, Josh looks at me like I'm nuts. "I know you're driving a Ferrari and have loads of money, but maybe now is not the best time for shopping?"

  I park near the store's back exit, grab the business card, run my hands through Josh's hair so it sticks up artfully, and say, "Just follow my lead."

  "You're not turning me in, are you?"

  "I hope not."

  "Well, that's reassuring."

  We go into the boutique, where we are immediately greeted. I flash the card. "I have an appointment with Mr. Gallagher at four."

  The sales clerk studies us with a calculating glare, and I'm praying she hasn't seen the news.

  "Follow me," she finally says, then proceeds to lead us to a dressing room, which she unlocks. "Wait in here." She shuts the door, inserts the key, and locks us in the room.

  "She knows," he says, looking panicked. "She's locked us in and is going to call the cops."

  "Shh. Stop worrying. You know we could pick that lock in a heartbeat."

  "Do you still have my gun? Are you armed?" He smiles. The first time since he found me at school. "Not that you need to be."

  We turn when we hear a scraping noise and see the trendy reclaimed wood wall behind us slide open.

  "Is this your secret headquarters?" he asks, his eyes getting huge. "How cool."

  The parting of the wall reveals an elevator. We step inside, noticing there are no numbers for us to push. When the doors reopen, Intrepid is waiting.

  "You were supposed to come alone," he chastises.

  "I'm going to dinner at the Montrovian Embassy tonight and need a cute clutch to match my gown."

  Gallagher lets out a chuckle, shakes his head at me, and leads us to an office. "So who is your friend?"

  "Have you seen the news? Apparently, he killed the President."

  Gallagher's eyes bulge. "What?"

  "Turn on the television."

  He clicks a remote and is immediately rewarded with a photo of Josh. The announcer reports that Josh was sentenced to prison a few years ago but never showed up for his term. That there is an outstanding warrant for his arrest, and he is to be considered armed and dangerous. Then some theory that he made his way to Syria where he was trained by a terror group and sent back to kill the President.

  Gallagher twirls a pen in his hand and watches the television with amusement. "That's all pretty convenient, isn't it? The evidence all laid out? So how do you know him, and why did you bring him here?"

  "Do you remember when I told you I work for Black X?"

  "Yes, that's what I wanted to talk to you about today. I hadn't heard that name in years."

  "What do you know about it?"

  "I believe the case had something to do with the Georgia Guidestones--have you heard of them?"

  Josh and I shake our heads.

  "How it was erected and who paid for it is a mystery, but the large monument appeared in 1980, is reminiscent of Stonehenge, and is said to be a guide for our future world. The most widely agreed-upon interpretation is that the Stones describe how to rebuild the world after some kind of massive, devastating population reduction, possibly nuclear war. Conspiracy theorists believe it was put up by a group whose goal it is to create this new world."

  "How will they do that?" Josh asks, enthralled.

  "That's where we get into the conspiracy theories. Mostly revolving around the first guide, which is to maintain humanity under five hundred million. Considering the world population is currently at somewhere around seven billion, that w
ould mean a ninety-three percent reduction. Conspiracy theorists say we are being poisoned by fluoride in our water, chem-trails, genetically modified grains, soft drinks, fast food. You name it, there's a conspiracy theory about it. But most of them lead to something called 'The Great Culling,' which is believed to be--now this is where it gets a little crazy--something planned by either Satan, the Illuminati, the Masons, the very wealthy, or aliens--depending on the theory--as a way to wean out the weak gene pool and to allow only the strong, or possibly the very rich, to survive. Black X was the name of a study that was trying to discover if there was any truth to the theories. I couldn't remember much more or what the outcome was, so I looked it up in our database."

  "What did you find out?"

  "Nothing. Not one single thing. Which in and of itself is very odd. We British pride ourselves on our due diligence. If I heard it in the office, someone would have documented it."

  "Are you saying it was purposefully deleted or classified higher than your pay grade?"

  "I have the highest security clearance there is. And because I am curious by nature, I had our men hack into the database at Langley. Also, came up empty. How did you come to work for Black X?"

  "Are you going to document what I tell you in your database?"

  "No. Our conversation is off the record."

  "I find that hard to believe," Josh interrupts. "More than likely everything we've said so far has been recorded. Don't tell him, X. We shouldn't trust him."

  "Did he just call you X?"

  I nod. "Are you recording us?"

  "No. You have my word."

  "I don't trust him," Josh says.

  I level my gaze at Intrepid then turn to Josh. "You have no choice but to trust him. Because I already do."

  I know I should hold back and tell him only what he needs to know, but I don't. I give him the condensed version of everything from my mother's death forward, ending with the massacre at our school, what I overheard the Director of the CIA say, and the conspiracy theories on my mother's locket.

  He listens intently, clearly absorbing it all and combining his knowledge to come to a conclusion. I expect him to have something profound to say, some way to figure this all out.

  Instead, he says, "Was your mother Charlotte Cassleberry?"

  "Yes, did you know her?"

  "I did not know her personally, but I do remember hearing about an American agent being assassinated and how they never found her daughter. It was heartbreaking to those of us in the business." He studies the ceiling. "The CIA couldn't find you and presumed you were dead. They didn't want to admit two of their best agents were killed on their home turf, so they covered it up by saying you all died in an automobile accident."