by Jeff Seats
Within weeks after his discharge, Craig's father was diagnosed with Parkinson's. His availability came in handy as he became his dad’s caregiver helping mom keep him at home until the last possible moment. Upon his father's death, Craig began the process of finding a new role for himself in the world. But it found him in the form of a former commanding officer and an offer to put his training to the service of humanity.
Which is the reason why he now found himself standing in front of this door.
“Come on Benji! I’ve done the last five of these things.”
Saunders held up a broken matchstick in front of Craig's face. “The matches don’t lie brother.”
“You cheat.”
Saunders patted Craig on his shoulder sympathetically. “And you are a sore loser.” He grabbed the handle and swung the door open into the room. “Remember, as you look at them just imagine that they’re all wearing underwear. Or is it, always open with a joke? Hell, do both.”
“Thanks. Asshole.”
Saunders gave Craig a wink and a quick shove through the door and slowly closed it behind him.
Craig looked back to the door when he heard the latch click into place. Trapped. He swallowed slowly. Craig looked up and into the same lecture hall that he fondly remembered from the last several times he had been manipulated into “hosting” these proceedings. At the front of the room was a simple desk. Behind the desk, a projection screen had been pulled down covering wall mounted chalkboards. The desk faced risers with those chair/desk things that stair-stepped up to the back wall where a glassed-in projection booth was. The lecture hall was small, as these places went, and looked to be able to seat perhaps forty, but only the bottom two rows of chairs were populated with ten bodies, men, and women.
Craig looked up to the booth where Saunders was now standing at the window giving him a thumbs up sign with a big grin. Fucker. Craig thought and then stepped up to the front of the desk to address the waiting audience.
Nerves were about to overcome Craig as he tried to find his voice. He wished he had taken a couple of those drama classes when he was in high school. Being cast in a role or two may have helped prepare him for standing in front of a group to speak. Then again, maybe not. Wasn't it Olivier who confessed to having thrown up every time before he went on stage? Someone else for sure but that didn't matter.
Clearing his throat Craig began. “Welcome to the CSC. I am agent Craig Wright. You have all volunteered to...to...” He grabbed the glass of water off the desk and took a drink. He closed his eyes to collect himself, inhaled deeply, exhaled and opened his eyes. The men and women sitting before him now appeared to be sitting in their underwear. The men he looked at were all wearing a mix of tee shirts and jockey shorts. Then his gaze fell onto one of the women who sat wearing a white slip. Then he looked at another who was wearing a no-nonsense bra and waist-high panties.
Craig turned his head towards the last woman who was sitting in the front row. She was staring intently at him. He looked into her eyes but then his gaze dipped to her bare shoulders and lacy black bra. He felt the heat of his cheeks flushing from embarrassment. Flustered he gave a gulp and turned back to the desk to “organize” some papers. He took another drink of water and cleared his throat. When he turned around again everyone was again fully dressed. He looked at the woman in front, now wearing a blouse, jeans, and jacket, he tried to read the name on her ID badge. Adams, Elizabeth.
“So...I'm not a public speaker, and I don't play one on TV.”
Nervous chuckles came from several in the room. The one woman who had the lacy bra, Adams, had a broad grin on her face.
“Damn it. I’m not good at this but...sorry...please bear with me.”
Craig closed his eyes opened them and looked up into the booth. Saunders was standing in the window dressed in underwear; a wife beater riding up over his beer gut, boxers with teddy bears and black socks with garters. Saunders grinned with a thumbs up sign. Craig smiled back and relaxed.
Now in control, Craig addressed the gathered inductees. “Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the CSC. All of you have volunteered to work for an agency in the United States Government that none of you knows anything about. And by volunteered I mean that you accepted this invitation to be here today.” Craig held up a manila envelope with SECRET stamped in red on the face.
Craig paced across the front of the room. “In fact, very few people know of this agency’s existence except as a budgetary line item.”
“You were all told upon graduation from your respective enhanced training programs to report to Mountain Home where your assignments would be revealed. All you know is that it is something highly secret and vital to this country and humanity.” Craig paused for dramatic effect. Maybe he was an actor after all. “You were all selected for your advanced skills in various areas that were observed and noted during training.”
Craig stopped his pacing dead center of the room with a serious look on his face. “Now, before I tell you more I am obligated to ask if any of you wish to withdraw, because once I proceed with your indoctrination, and you learn about the CSC's mission, there will be NO turning back. The government will own you.”
Craig took a deliberate pause and scanned each of the ten faces before him. “Anyone?”
No one made a sound. Their faces were all set, but there were flickers of...something...in some of their eyes. Excitement? Fear? There always was a bit of both when presented with the option to flee the unknown or stay and learn what possibly could be so secret.
“Alright. Good. Let’s start with the name of this agency. The CSC. We are the Center for Specter Control.”
The recruits gave him questioning looks. A few had shocked expressions. The woman from the front row, Adams, raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“Aren’t specters ghosts?”
“Well, yes that's true, but the word specter implies a lot more than just ghosts.”
Liz continued her questioning, “You mean, like, pod people, and zombies and stuff?”
“No,” Craig answered, then thought a bit. “Well, yes, in a way.”
Craig waved up to the booth. The room lights began to dim.
“The best way to describe our mission is for you to watch this short film the CSC had produced for this moment. Please bear with the production quality as this was made in the '50s. You'd think that some highly secret government agency would have all the black money in the world to produce a better version, but the pencil pushers say that enough was spent on its initial production. To them, it's still perfectly good. I find it kind of quaint, but it still does tell the story. You'll be glad to know, however, that they have provided us with only the best projection system that money could buy...in 1990.” This got a few smiles from his audience.
Craig looked up at the booth, and the lights finished dimming. Before the room went totally, dark Craig added, “Don't let all this talk of no money and hand-me-down equipment fool you. Where it counts, we have only the best state-of-the-art tools to help us do our jobs.” As the room lights went out, they were replaced by a colored light show shooting out of the projector which danced across Craig and the screen behind him.
The film's opening titles ran accompanied by official sounding music. The credits ended and a menacing looking notice materialized.
This is a TOP SECRET communication. If you are watching this without explicit permission by a designated representative of the United States Government you are in violation of Federal Code 1725.30 and subject to the punishments listed there in.
The warning dissolved and the image of an army general appeared. He was standing in front of a wall with an American flag just off of his right shoulder, and a framed photo of Ronald Reagan was seen off to his left. “Hello. I'm General Lee Thompson, Commander of the CSC. This is usually the moment in your indoctrination where we try to tell you some very sensitive information concerning the nature of our organization. Before my time some brainiac determined that s
howing you all a dramatization would be less...shocking. I have seen lots of people like yourselves come through here, and I tend to agree that this film is a good way to break the ice on the subject.
“If I had my way we would have re-shot the whole darned thing with Bruce Willis.” The general showed a broad smile and waited for his unseen audience to laugh at his joke. (Which they didn't.) “But, budgets and bean counters being what they are I have to show you a brief history of the CSC as filmed in 1955. It's a little hokey in places, but it gets the point across. As a side note, I left the original introduction by General Arnold Trapper intact. He was the commander when I was a mere recruit like yourselves.
“Thank you. Welcome to the Center for Specter Control.”
The color image of one army general faded out, and the black and white image of another army general faded in. He was sitting behind a desk reading some papers. On the wall behind him was a framed photo of President Eisenhower next to one of Theodore Roosevelt. An American flag prominently stood next to the pictures.
The general looked up from the papers as though he was interrupted while doing some important work and glared sternly into the camera. “Hello, gentlemen. You are now a member of the most secret agency in the United States. What you will learn today will rock your belief system to its very core. But do not let that sway you from your sworn duty.”
The general stood and walked to the front of the desk, perching on its edge. “No words can adequately tell you what the CSC is or how our organization came into existence. The following dramatization of the events that lead up to the formation of the CSC should help. I will address you further after the presentation.”
The general stepped over to a projector on a stand and turned it on, the lights of the office/movie set, dimmed and a black and white photo of Theodore Roosevelt appeared on the screen and slowly dissolved into a sepia-toned scene from the Spanish-American War. A narrator’s voice came on, “In 1898 the United States went to war with the Spanish Empire. The historical cause of the war was overshadowed by the dark secret exposed during the height of the conflict.”
Herky-jerky, old film stock showed Roosevelt chatting with his men, mouth moving at an unnaturally high rate of speed. He paused and grinned at the camera and quickly turned back to his men. The following scene was obviously staged footage shot for this film. An actor who was now playing Roosevelt seemed pretty convincing with his classic grin, mustache, and pince-nez resting on the bridge of his nose and strongly resembled James Cagney.
The narrator continued, “The Spanish held the high ground, San Juan Hill. Theodore Roosevelt and the Rough Riders had to take that hill, but they had no idea that the Spanish had allies or who they were.”
A poorly faked night scene showed another actor—Ricardo Montalban?—playing a Spanish general looking over a map on a table. Several other extras/officers stood next to him. A man dressed in civilian garb looked up and the camera focused in on his face. Another actor with pale skin and, when he opened his mouth to speak, fangs.
The narrator went on, “This person is Alexei Rurik, the leader of the Spanish allies and the patriarch of all the houses of the vampire realm.” The narrator of the film took a dramatic pause, the image of Alexei Rurik froze, and the camera zoomed in so that his face filled the screen with fangs visible. A montage of old prints and illustrations of vampires attacking humans ran through the following narration.
This line elicited a general reaction in the lecture hall from the audience. Some were quite appalled while others outright laughed. A few were speechless. Liz turned around from her seat in the front row and hushed everyone with a commanding and forceful, “Shh!”
“For hundreds of years vampires had aligned themselves with the most despicable of mortal leaders trading their services as assassins—eliminating political opposition—in exchange for unfettered access to the underclass' blood and protection during the daylight hours.
“Years of human wars in which vampires fought for tyrants combined with a determined effort by various religions to hunt down and exterminate all vampires had dwindled their numbers to the point where it was possible to see the coming end of the vampire race.
“In 1890 Alexei Rurik responded to a call from elements within the Spanish Royalty to help Spain defeat the United States in Cuba. He gambled that by helping Spain, a Catholic country, they might be able to discourage the church in its hunt of immortals with an additional bonus of open access to the blood supply of the oppressed Cuban peasants.
“This turned into a costly, strategic error. The U.S. Army, having learned to kill on an industrial scale in the Civil War, was unlike any human force that the vampires had encountered up to this point. And when faced with Theodore Roosevelt and his Rough Riders, Rurik could see the eventual defeat of the Spanish in Cuba leaving no one to protect his people during the day, their most vulnerable time, leading to their, eventual, complete destruction.
“In a bold move to save his people from extinction, Alexei Rurik made contact with Theodore Roosevelt on the night before the charge up San Juan Hill.”
More reenacted footage showed Rurik and Roosevelt in a tent at night surrounded by American soldiers.
“Rurik negotiated a deal with Roosevelt to ensure the safety of humans and the longevity of his race. Theodore Roosevelt agreed to create a permanent home for the vampires and supply the necessary blood to keep them fed in exchange for a cessation of vampire’s nightly feasting on the innocent.”
The staged film showed Theodore Roosevelt and Alexei Rurik signing a document and shaking hands. This scene was cut short, and the lights of the movie set/office came up to full revealing the black and white general perching on the front edge of his desk looking into the camera.
“Admittedly, it took a few years to achieve full implementation of this agreement but with the elevation of Roosevelt to the presidency after the assassination of McKinley he was able to persuade Congress to establish the Center for Specter Control.” The general stood.
“The CSC was hidden within the Department of the Interior under the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Initially, its purpose was to establish a reservation where vampires could live in peace without fear of being hunted and humans could live without fear of the night. SITE-ALPHA was the first such reservation.
“Back then the word Specter referred to ghosts and other seen and unseen things that were scary and unexplained. We might call them monsters today.”
The general moved to the back of the desk and sat in the chair so that the photo of Theodore Roosevelt was in the frame. He picked up a pipe and held it ready to light.
“Over the years the CSC’s mission has expanded to find and contain all specters that roam this earth. Whatever your assigned duties, your active participation with this organization begins today; right now.”
The general relaxed and cracked a slight smile. “Welcome to the CSC. Thank you, men and good luck out there.”
The General leaned back in his chair and started to light his pipe as the scene faded.
The closing credits and patriotic sounding music rolled and then came to an end. The projector was switched off, and the room went dark. The only light was the green glow emanating from the EXIT sign over the door. Not a sound was heard except for nervous coughing. Lots of nervous coughing.
—— THE CENTER ——
AGENT CRAIG WRIGHT surveyed the stunned faces of the rookies. They had just watched a movie, produced by their government, telling them that the things which they had believed were just the stuff of scary stories were, in fact real. He had seen those looks many times before: incomprehension, panic, terror. Not all faces looked surprised, however. Adams was smiling and bursting with excitement. What's up with her? Craig wondered.
“Well, sorry about the dated material. As I said, the film was made in the ‘50s, and no women worked for the CSC at that time, other than secretaries, of course.”
Another agent entered the room, tall, shaved head, wearing a similarly bo
ring suit as Craig. He had a stack of folders under his arm. “The talented and lovely agent Dave Hamilton...” Agent Hamilton shot Craig a not-so-nice glare. “...is handing out folders that have further material regarding the vamps. Memorize it. It could save your life and as in all things at CSC the information in these folders is highly secret.”
While Hamilton handed out the folders, Craig continued with his briefing. “Now the Cliffs Notes version.”
Everyone in the room had grown more attentive. Adams sat so far forward on the edge of her seat that it appeared the slightest tap would send her to the floor.
“Humans have been telling stories about vampires for thousands of years. The ancient Sumerians and Egyptians had legends about blood drinkers. The Chinese called their version Corpse Hoppers. During the plague in Europe, it was believed that vampires fed off the dead bodies. They even thought that female vampires spread the disease.”
In the middle ages, Eastern Europeans would go to great lengths to keep a vampire from rising out of the grave once interred. Bodies of suspected vampires would have iron stakes driven through them and into the ground to hold the bodies in place. Rocks and bricks would be rammed into the mouths of the dead to keep them from chewing their way out of their burial shrouds.”
Red hair was once believed to be an indication that an individual was a vampire or might become one. In some biblical accounts, Judas Iscariot was said to have red hair.”
Liz suddenly became aware that all the eyes in the room were focused on her and her red hair. She remained sitting upright and didn't move, but she imagined herself dissolving and merging her molecular structure with that of the chair she was on thus removing herself as the target of the moment. Her only reaction to the attention was the uncontrolled flush that ran up her neck and colored her cheeks.