Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter 22

The Compound

December 3
rd
2010

Xander stood at his window with a cup of coffee, peering from behind the drapes as the other Spartans walked to the classroom for their Military History class. He was careful not to be seen as he played the assumptions of his fellow Spartans against them. Not knowing that he had been discharged the previous night, they would still think he was in the Infirmary, and he planned to spend the day setting up surveillance in Fiona’s house. The classroom door closed with all the students behind it, and he smiled. Moments later, a refreshed and relaxed Xander walked out his front door wearing his usual jean jacket and a bag slung over his shoulder.

He strutted confidently to the white house next door, let himself in through the gate of the white picket fence, and approached the front door—locked.

He produced a small leather case from his pack and unrolled it on Fiona’s doormat. A variety of lock-picking tools was laid out before him. He grabbed a couple of picks and a tension wrench and went to work. Xander surgically maneuvered the picks like chop sticks, digging into the bottom of a bowl. He heard a click and froze. He had bypassed the first pin of the lock.

Fiona’s front lock clicked again. He remembered their lesson in the art of lock picking from Rearden’s class. Things were progressing smoothly.

One more to go.

And then he heard it.

Not the final click of the knob, but a traveling band of Spartans headed his way. Explanations rattled through is head, sending tremors into his fingers tips. His hand slipped on the pick. His palms began to sweat under the pressure.

The chatter of the Spartans grew louder.

What the hell? Did Hardy cancel class?

He repositioned his stance and pressed the pick again, hoping to slide it under the last lock pin inside the door. Xander felt his pick bend to a dangerous arch, almost snapping inside the lock.

He closed his eyes, anticipating defeat.

He rested his head on the door.

Seamus had just cracked a joke, the laughter of the group roared down the road.

They had reached the street a little quicker than usual on account of the jovial hops in their steps. He stopped altogether and counted to three through deep, slow exhales. His eyes opened, his hands calmed. With one final attempt, Xander twitched his fingers and heard the last click. He bolted through the door with his lock picks and bag just as the recruits turned the corner and came into view.

Fiona lingered an extra beat at her front step as she shared parting words with Seamus. This gave Xander enough time to find cover inside. Fiona grabbed the knob and inserted her key. After turning the slightly loosened knob, she proceeded into her living room passing the wedged intruder behind the open hallway closet door. Fiona continued into the kitchen.

Xander visualized the most likely routes Fiona would take around her house; his mind drew up a type of probable radar, increasing his chances of remaining undetected.

And so he made his move. He withdrew a hardcover book from his bag and located the same one on Fiona’s bookshelf, swapping them with a silent sleight of hand. Xander’s finger swiped over a small, unnoticeable slit in the book’s spine for his camera’s eye to peek through. Each house’s layout was identical, so he’d performed a trial run on his own house. He’d determined that the bookshelf provided a good angle on the rest of the room. His late-night rehearsal, though, was rendered pointless by the unexpected return of the Spartans to their barracks. He would have to improvise.

Remember your stealth training.

Fiona was clattering around in the kitchen to reach the other end of the living room. He brandished the Launcher, took aim, pressed the button, and shot the camera toward the base of the central light fixture. A clink sounded through the room as the camera made contact. Knowing its placement was perfect, Xander retreated to the foyer as silently as a cat. Fiona peered into the living room through squinted eyes. Xander was just around the corner, gathering hushed breaths. She turned to return to the kitchen, but as she began to pivot she reeled back and looked up. The pull chain to the ceiling fan was swaying. She stepped into the room with a concerned scowl over her face. And then the air conditioner vent cut off—its grate aimed toward the fan. The pull chain steadied. Her scowl softened at the sight and she returned to the kitchen to finish her preparations for an afternoon tea.

Xander heard the stove spark alive and the tea kettle clank as it rested atop the flame. He hypothesized Fiona’s next move was to go to her room to freshen up. The creak of a step confirmed his assumption. Immediately, Xander was in motion. He crept into Fiona’s kitchen and started working on a knob to one of the overhead cabinets. He spun it counterclockwise until it came loose in his hand and switched it with a bugged knob from his own kitchen, again with a small hollow for the camera. He then stepped up on a chair at the kitchen table to reach the valance above the window. With a press of his thumb, he stuck another camera to the dry wall behind the lace valance. He would be able to view the kitchen through the lace and the camera would be unrecognizable.

Xander knew he had to move. If the tea kettle started whistling, his window of opportunity was gone. He crept slow and low up the stairs. His eyes flicked from the stairs to Fiona changing into her workout clothes.

Move when she is taking off her shirt. It’ll be over her head, blinding and deafening her.

Fiona’s crossed arms pulled the bottom hem of her shirt up and over her stomach and then over her sports bra. Xander darted across her doorway to the laundry room down the hall while her shirt was up over her head. This was also the room in each house where trash was deposited into a chute leading to the Compound underground. Xander climbed the washer and pressed another camera on the ceiling between the trash disposal and the washer. Xander knew you could learn a lot about someone by their garbage. Then his face dropped at a stark realization.

I’ve cornered myself. Fiona was changing clothes… She’s coming this way.

Fiona, wearing only her standard-issue sports bra and underwear, began walking down the hallway toward the laundry room. Xander had pinned himself between the trash receptacle and the wall. Footsteps approached.

I’ve blown the mission. I’m also about to lose one of my only friends here. As soon as she opens the door, I will be exposed and nothing will be the same…

Xander’s fist tightened and his body tensed as he saw Fiona’s shadow cast into the small closet. The footsteps came closer and the knob rattled as Fiona grabbed it. After a muted, defeated sigh, Xander heard his saving grace.

The tea kettle whistled as loud as a train downstairs.

It reached Fiona’s ears and diverted her attention. She cracked the laundry room door and chucked her dirty clothes toward the washer. She closed the door back, leaving Xander in the dark cover undiscovered. His heart pounded, as if to compensate for the beats it had missed. He knew there was no time to waste. He darted out into the hallway toward Fiona’s room, just as she reached the bottom stair.

The close call had him precipitously on edge. Xander bumped into a tall, hallway table holding an ornate vase. The vase began teetering left, then right like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. Xander froze and with his agile reflexes caught the falling vase before it crashed to the floor. As he held the vase in his hand, he remembered Hardy’s test at Oakmont during his recruitment. Words echoed through his head from the distant memory.

Why would you want to break something so fragile?

He had one more room to bug and then he would exit the house. He positioned the vase back on the table with a delicate hand and proceeded to her bedroom. It was much cleaner than his; it definitely had a woman’s touch. He stopped in his tracks as he met the wall above her desk. His mouth dropped as he gazed at the wall where Fiona had drawn beautiful flowers. Acrylic colors covered the wall; her bedroom more closely resembled a beautiful garden than the Spartan’s typical bland quarters.

I didn’t take you as the artistic type, Fiona
.

He jumped up on her bed and reached as high as he could to plant a camera on the overhead light of the ceiling fan. He had purposefully chosen many high vantage points because of their wider perspectives on the room.

One camera to go.

He approached the desk in the corner. He would be able to watch what she studied and worked on from the vantage point he had selected. He withdrew his bugged desk lamp from the bag, made the swap and plugged it into the wall. The light bulb didn’t come on.
Click
. Nothing. Another
click
. Still darkness. He thought he heard the creak of the bottom step.

Come on, come on!

With a couple desperate flicks, the filaments aligned and the lamp illuminated. He shut the light off.

Recon planted. Commence evacuation.

Xander approached one of the bedroom windows and opened it. He ducked out and walked out on the roof of Fiona’s covered back porch. Xander scanned the open space before him. He could see everything from his second-story viewpoint. He saw no Spartans, so he closed the window behind him and jumped off the top of the porch, landing hard with a thud. The air in his lungs was taken from him. His mending ribs shot a painful ache across his chest from the landing but he knew he had to be on the move. He hopped Fiona’s fence, brushed himself off, and walked into his own home through the back door.

Chapter 23

Georgetown

June 30
th
2016

Jeremy Wilson had just finished dinner with a client at a local Georgetown restaurant called Filomena Ristorante. His gait carried the typical swagger of a young DC professional. Having begun to build his ever-important network, his confidence ran high, knowing that it was these types of dinners that separated partners from associates.

Jeremy unbuttoned the third button of his dress shirt. It was all the changing he would be doing from his business meeting. He scratched his unshaven jaw, which he arduously tried to style. The city crawled with Jeremy Wilsons, young professionals on the rise who worked hard and played harder. He sped to a jog as he saw the city bus approach the bus stop, hopped on board and walked toward the back of the bus. He was on his way to meet his friends at McFadden’s for the usual weekend outing—drinks and chasing tail.

His best friend, Kelly, would be there along with the rest of his fantasy football league. She was not the girl he had set out to date, but they clicked on all cylinders. He smiled, knowing they were stuck between relationship statuses. Even still, he was hesitant to make the move, clinging to his youth in one last stand before age forced him to settle down.

The bus was pretty full for a Saturday night. It was only nine o’clock, so people weren’t stumbling yet, but a great deal of rowdy Georgetown students had boarded the bus. Jeremy figured they were heading to Foggy Bottom for cheaper drinks than what were offered at Georgetown’s swanky piano bars. The students brought a bit of entertainment to the other passengers on the bus as they continued their conversation at a louder-than-necessary volume, as if on stage. An elderly woman grimaced at the future of America while a young married couple couldn’t help but laugh as one of the students finished his story about the last frat party he went to and why it was the last.

Jeremy sat in the back corner and stared out the window. He saw a couple giggling as they walked arm and arm, weighted down by shopping bags. He wondered if they had been married previously or if they were taking their time through their late thirties as he was. He knew it was smart to be focusing on work but he was getting restless. Everyone was telling him to wait to find a girl.

But why be closed off to it? What if I end up missing out on a great girl because I’m too stubborn? Kelly is a great girl. She doesn’t look like the girl I’ve been looking for, but maybe you don’t get to choose who you love… But if I ask her out, it could ruin our friendship. I need to man up and risk it all. I’ll do it tonight…

Just as he thought this, he noticed a break in the conversation up at the front of the bus. The group of students started yelling, others joined, and all was mass confusion. Confusion became panic and panic became terror. Jeremy looked toward the front of the bus as fire shot toward him, filling the bus and consuming the passengers. The bus windows blew and explosive flames billowed out and up into the city air. The streets began to stir as the charred remnants of the bus continued to roll down the street, only coming to a stop upon impact with a telephone pole.

Chapter 24

The Compound

December 4
th
2010

Although Xander’s ribs were still mending, it was time to return to class. There was a buzz about Xander’s return throughout the morning training sessions. Word had traveled about his remarkable performance in the battle over the five days of his absence. His popularity inflated among the recruits as stories of his tactical valor circulated in exaggerated tones. He attempted to avoid the topic of the battle as he took his usual seat in the Mess Hall.

“What do we got today?” Xander looked down at his tray.

“Looks like meatloaf but it could be just a flattened meatball… you never know.” Seamus smiled.

“Delicious.” Xander continued to deflect any attention but Jooles pounced, exclaiming. “Xander, we heard about the battle. Three tags! That’s pretty incredible.”

“You jumped off a rollercoaster.” Ezra shook his head over his astonishment.

“I liked it when you tagged Fiona, diving out from the pillar like that,” Seamus said, having put the fun house behind him.

“Thanks! But…I didn’t win, did I?” Xander responded, trying to humbly shrug off the stardom.

A shrill voice came from the other table. “No, I did!” Duke sat alone, feet propped up on the table, his hands locked behind his head.

“Yes, you did.” Xander rose and approached Duke. “You were clever out there. It was a good match, Duke.” Xander reached out a respectful hand.

Duke, caught off-guard, narrowed a derisive expression at him. He had only become more antagonistic after Bronson’s death. Xander sensed an initial impulse that was gracious and heartfelt, but it was quickly supplanted by the image of intimidation Duke so tirelessly fought to maintain.

“More like a mismatch, if you ask me.” Xander knew to drop his hand, as it would not be accepted.

Lunch continued along with the usual talk of the day. Xander didn’t like the attention on him, so he changed the subject at any hint of it returning to his performance in the battle. He turned his head to peer outside the large glass frame of the Mess Hall. He spotted a few of the instructors walking across the Compound grounds. There, next to Hardy, was the senator who had visited Xander in the Infirmary, wearing the same frozen smile. Xander had thought about their two meetings a lot, but he could not come to a well-founded conclusion for her presence or her cryptic offer to leave the Compound on assignment.

“Have you guys met that lady yet?” Xander pointed toward the window. The recruits fell silent and the atmosphere turned awkward, as if Xander had said something he wasn’t supposed to. Ezra looked at his toes. Tobias looked up and to the right, seemingly combing through the database of his memory. Xander couldn’t tell if they didn’t know who she was or if they knew who she was but didn’t want to talk about it.

“I noticed her once before, but I don’t know her name. Why is she here? She is creepy,” Jooles said.

“Do you think she’s investigating Bronson’s death?” Fiona asked.

Mac replied, “I thought about that but if they were going to investigate anything, it would have been months ago, although maybe the instructors are under a microscope now from it.”

“Rumor has it she is going to cut one of us,” Ashton offered.

“Cut one of us? Rumor? How does a rumor start among nine people?” Xander asked. No one offered an origin, but Duke flashed a mischievous grin.

“I got nothing to hide. She came and spoke to me at my house through the bookcase to the underground tunnels.”

“Underground tunnels? What are you talking about?” Mac asked. Xander mentally logged that not everyone had been exposed to the secrets of the Compound as much as he had. Duke shook his head from on high.

“Oh, you have so much to learn about this place. Yeah, there is a whole network of tunnels underneath this place. They come up through the bookcases in each house. It’s a one-way door so we can’t open it from our side without a keycard. But anyway, before I was interrupted…” Duke’s shoulders raised along with his ego. “Senator Bashfield came into my house and told me how great of an agent I was becoming. We talked about future opportunities… nothing big.”

“What kind of future opportunities?” Xander asked, as she hadn’t spoken specifics with him.

“I’m sorry, Xander, it’s above your security clearance.” Duke cackled while the rest of the table resumed their lunches. The Spartans voiced wild speculations as Ezra got up from the table and deposited his tray in the dirty dishes slot. He left without a word, and his gaze did not lift from his feet as he sidled out of the Mess Hall.

What is going on with him? He’s barely said anything all day.

That night the Spartans had fitness training. Each Spartan worked under the direction of Axle, who was a stack of muscle and expected nothing less from his trainees. After an intense workout, the Spartans were dismissed from their fitness training and trudged back to their barracks on sore legs. Fiona and Xander were left to each other, strolling at a slow pace. They drifted off in their own thoughts alongside each other—Xander had become much more melancholic since he was told of her questionable loyalty.

“Xander?” she asked.

“Yeah, Fiona?”

“Would you like to come over and…hang out?” She exhaled as if a weight came off her chest. Xander instinctually agreed, but upon further reflection did not know why.

Do I want to get closer to my mark so I can investigate her at arm’s reach? Or do I just need someone to talk to, mark or not?

Whatever the answer was to his crisis of conscience, they found themselves sitting on the roof of her covered porch. They gazed up at the moon, which was perfectly positioned through the dome window of the Compound.

“I feel like it’s been forever since I saw the moon,” Xander reflected over a hot cup of tea.

“Yeah, that’s the hardest part…about being here. It’s the small things you miss. Like smelling fresh air and feeling the sun on your skin. I miss the world. I miss my family.” She briefly smiled at the memory of her former life, but the smile quickly fell in sadness. “We’re spies who are supposed to make the world safer. We’re here to make a difference. But
can’t someone make as much of a difference in this world by having and loving a family?”

A long silent moment passed.

“I think they can… but I don’t have a family.” Fiona reached over and grabbed Xander’s hand, not letting it go.

“Tell me about them. What do you remember?” Fiona finally asked.

“I had a dream a few nights back… Actually it’s a dream I have a lot… I saw my parents and the car crash we were in. It’s the only memory I have of them. It’s the only way I can see them again…”

She placed her hand on the back of his shoulder. The slight contact gave him all the comfort in the world. He still didn’t know where he was or what was going on, but he knew he had a friend. Despite his assignment, Xander continually slipped back to the crushing friendship they had nurtured. This was one of those times, as they talked for hours. It wasn’t a conversation about what could be in the battle landscape next or the mysteries of the Compound; it was a conversation about each other and who they really were.

When talking to her, he existed.

They shared with each other their favorite ice cream flavors and songs, what their friends used to be like, what they wanted to be when they grew up, among other trivialities that now seemed to mean everything to them. The night was lost to the sounds of nostalgic laughter and joy.

“My little brother tried to run away when he was nine. He even packed himself a PB&J. We found him later sitting in the front yard with crumbs all over himself crying. He didn’t make it very far,” Fiona said. Xander chuckled and smiled upon seeing the glint in her eye.

They recounted remnants of a former life, one they never wanted to forget or let go of and the memory of which would live on now in each other.

“You know, it’s my birthday…” Xander admitted to Fiona. She smiled at him but didn’t wish him a happy birthday. Their gazes did all the talking. It was a pity. Birthdays were a shrugging memory of the past. The passion and invigoration for something so mundane as a birthday was gone.

But then he received the best present he could have ever asked for.

She did not speak.

She merely leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Xander turned and locked eyes with her. He smiled back as his arm raised and wrapped around her shoulder, bringing her into him. They sat in each other’s embrace as they gazed off to the moon, hanging overhead.

«————————»

Xander returned home well after midnight. There were no activities Saturday morning, so he could sleep in. He entered his living room, but the room no longer looked like it belonged in a cottage. An antenna stood erect and wires crawled the floors to a central monitor on Xander’s coffee table. There were seven surveillance feeds, each showing a night vision view. Xander’s eyes fell soft as they landed upon the feed showing Fiona snuggled up in bed. He fell asleep that night on the couch, watching the surveillance monitors.