Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (18 page)

“Hey, Xander,” Mac called him over. “After we break in, we are going to need some privacy with the Senator.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed.

“Here’s my idea: we send this email to her chief of staff.” Mac leaned back, proud of himself.

The Spartans gathered around the computer monitor and read the open email draft that Mac had written on behalf of Bashfield.

I want to thank you all for a job well done this summer. I would like everyone to take the day off tomorrow to celebrate the Fourth of July weekend. Stay home and enjoy yourself.

– H.B.

“That’s great. Now, I want you to hack another Senator’s email and schedule a meeting with her for nine a.m. We need to ensure that she is in her office. Can you do that?” Xander asked.

“With these hands? I can do just about anything,” Mac announced.

“Oh please!” Ashton laughed, suggesting the sexual nature of what he said. The Spartans turned rowdy for a moment as Jooles rolled her eyes and Seamus sung a lick.

“Can’t get enough of your love, babe!” He dropped an octave to match the tone of Barry White.

“All right, all right. So this is how we get her office to ourselves? Good work, Mac.” Xander patted him on the shoulder. “Go ahead and send that email. But keep her inbox open so we can screen any responses from her staff. We will go in tomorrow at nine o’clock for our scheduled meeting. Good work.”

The bustle only intensified. Diagrams and maps of the premises were drawn out on a chalkboard. The pizza remained half-eaten, until the Spartans surrendered to their hunger. There was a focus in the room, despite the intermittent sounds of laughter that rang through the apartment as old friends became reacquainted.

Xander stepped back a moment from the commotion and looked over his team. They were a well-oiled machine, accounting for every part of tomorrow’s mission. He had no doubt that within twenty-four hours they would have the answers they needed from Bashfield. A cautious thought swept over him as he eyed each Spartan in the apartment.

Keep your head. Do not forget that Agent Zero could be in this room right now.

Chapter 33

The Compound

June 6
th
2011

It was June and exams were two days away, so Xander decided to forego his usual eight o’clock run to stay in and study with some books he had retrieved from the Library. He turned on the surveillance monitor and realized that he had never watched Fiona at this time of day. He had begun to take comfort in his lack of findings. There was nothing suspicious about her activities; the instructors must have been acting on inaccurate intel. He habitually watched her from the camera affixed to the center light of the ceiling fan.

              Fiona bounced over to her writing desk, which he had never seen her use before. Xander was struck, curious as she brandished a writing pad and pen. He peered closer and concluded she was drawing something similar to what he had seen etched over her wall. His eyes fell back to
The Republic
, but he couldn’t help but look at the surveillance screen again. Fiona’s shoulder was blocking his view of what she was drawing, but he could see her hand twitching. She was making short, assertive motions with the pen, not the smooth strokes used for drawing flowers. A chill ran through him; something was not right.

She’s writing something. I’ve been watching her for months and never have I seen her write. Is it a journal? A letter?

He bolted up and switched the central feed to the desk lamp camera, where he could have a better view. From this vantage point he could see that she was in fact writing. He couldn’t see the entirety of the message, but he could see the last few lines. Xander focused on the letters and rendered a reproduction of them directly onto the wood of his coffee table. She completed the letter, folded it, and placed it in an envelope. It hadn’t dawned on Xander what she had written until he looked at what he had replicated.

1900 hours – Xander finishes dinner and studies in the Library for upcoming finals.

2000 hours – Xander doesn’t take his evening jog and retires for the evening.

No intimate contact made.

Xander could not believe it. He rubbed his eyes, but the letters would not change and neither would their meaning. He wiped his face, pulling down his cheeks as he reviewed the message’s implications.

Fiona is tracking my movements. Not only is she a double, but she is spying on me. I’m her target, just as she is mine.

The realization was difficult to grasp.

But then the hardest question surfaced.

No intimate contact made? Has she been playing me this whole time?

Chapter 34

The Compound

June 7
th
2011

Xander sipped his coffee by his window as morning dawned on the next day. He hadn’t slept. His mind was too occupied, feverishly obsessed with the implications of Fiona’s letter. She was spying on him and that brought a new wave of questions to the endless mystery that was Project Sparta.

How long has she been tracking me? Has her attraction to me just been a front she put on to get close to me?

Xander heard the creaking of a door outside his window. He immediately darted to the wall and pressed his back against it, peering out his window from behind the white lace curtains. He didn’t see much, only Fiona’s red locks, peaking out of a skullcap, glowing in the day’s first light. Fiona went jogging in the morning, while Xander ran in the evening.

Xander waited for about thirty yards of separation to grow between them, and then he slid open his window and climbed out. He knew that the window wouldn’t creak as much as the door; it also gave him better cover than the door would have. Xander followed her at a distance, bolting from one position of umbrage to another. He minimized his time in the open and crouched low just as he was taught in stealth class earlier that year. He was thankful for summer, as grass was silent. If it were fall or winter, stealth would be much harder with the dead leaves. Staying in the shadows as best as he could, he was able to follow her across the Compound to the pond in the Thicket.

The pond was glimmering in the light of the new day. Morning dew hovered over its surface in a murky fog. This was where much of the small wildlife convened, where geese and frogs took their morning swims. Two wooden park benches sat at the water’s edge.

Xander hadn’t spent much time down in the Thicket since Ezra’s death. It was a memory lane that led him off an emotional cliff. But this was no time to reflect on the past, because what Xander observed shot him back to the present.

Xander veered left and flanked her in order to put himself in the best position. He found a large oak that stood at the edge of the wood. From behind the oak, Xander watched as Fiona approached the far bench. She produced a piece of bread from her sweatpants pocket and started to tear it into bite-size portions, which she threw into the pond for the ducks. With a smooth sleight of hand, Fiona waved over the side of the bench and left a chalk mark on its side. Xander was not deceived by the diversion and noticed the move.

She left a signal behind. Is she making a drop?

The motion was so quick and nonchalant that a passerby would see nothing more than a girl feeding the ducks after a morning jog.

Fiona removed a small envelope from her workout hoodie, and then sat down on the bench and surveyed her six. Xander spun for cover with the urgency of a soldier under fire. If he had not flanked her, he would have been spotted. He remained motionless for a moment until he heard footsteps fading in the distance.

She’s leaving.

After he could no longer hear her steps, Xander turned from his cover and eyed the bench. The chalk had been rubbed away, and there was no sign of the envelope.

She aborted the drop.

Xander remained in the shadows along with his racing thoughts. He had spotted her in the act but did not have any evidence. His breath ran from him and he could not catch it. He was paralyzed and became light-headed as his world turned upside down.

«————————»

That night, Rearden came to visit him through the hidden door behind the bookshelf for their final weekly update. Their meetings throughout the year had typically remained short and casual. As his handler, she was respectful of his process. She wore her usual unremarkable wardrobe and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She had changed her shoes since that morning’s class from navy-blue flats to worn-out sneakers. Her casual presence only echoed the notion that the mission at hand was off the books, an unofficial undertaking.

“Anything new on Fiona?” she asked. Xander paused a moment, considering his play.

“I haven’t been able to pick up on any suspicious activity,” he lied, straight-faced, his eyes locked on hers.

“Nothing? You have been watching her for most of training and you got nothing? You should have been able to find something, Xander,” Rearden asked with apparent indignation.

“I got nothing. She seems normal—focused on training.” He shrugged. Rearden’s face fell to an austere expression.

“So our intel was wrong? Is that what you are saying?”

“Yes.” He knew he had report a firm conclusion. “She is not a double agent.”

Rearden looked him over, scanning him for any signs of deceit.

“You know the consequences of withholding information from a superior?” she asked, challenging him. Xander affirmed with a nod, not taking his eyes from Rearden’s. She considered the response again in a tense moment of distrust.

“Playing your cards close to your chest, I see. I have taught you well.” She smiled as if she’d found in his eyes what she was looking for, and then turned on her heel and headed for the bookshelf. She swiped her keycard on the side of the bookshelf, and it swung off the wall, revealing a set of stairs that led into the tunnels below the Compound.

“Get some sleep, Xander,” she said before departing. “You’ll need your energy for final exams tomorrow.”

Xander exhaled after the bookshelf closed behind Rearden, releasing the tension he was holding from the discussion. A weight pressed down on him as he considered their exchange.

Rearden knows I’m withholding intel.
I just can’t turn Fiona in yet. I have no hard evidence, even though what I have seen indicates she’s a mole of some kind, but it’s still not adding up. She could be on assignment like me… or she could be the mole they suspect her of being. I’ve looked Fiona straight in the eyes and I don’t sense disloyalty. I’m supposed to be the master of deduction here… She seems too happy and innocent. She seems to genuinely like me. She can’t be faking that. Can she?

But if she was making a drop at the pond, who is she relaying her observations to? Who was the drop for? Who is using her to spy on me?

Chapter 35

Washington, DC

July 2
nd
2016

A cigarette burned toward the knuckles of a wrinkled hand. Ice cubes jingled in an empty whiskey glass like a calling bell to the well-dressed barkeep at Ozio Restaurant and Lounge. An aged man dressed in a tuxedo, fresh from a fundraising banquet, leaned against the bar. He carried an air of importance, his face weathered by experience. He was growing tired of all the summer galas and parties that he was expected to attend. The politics game in many ways was much more tiresome than his career in the intelligence community.

“How ya doing, Colonel?” the barkeep asked.

“Fine,” he answered. “I’ll take another.” The bartender brought the bottle of Scotch over for a pour. Colonel Jackson Hardy’s heavy hand collapsed on the bar, sending ash flying up like a spark around his hand. He recollected a similar sight from his days in the Compound and how the Spartan’s battle suits would expel an electric charge. He threw his cigarette in the ashtray and a fifty-dollar bill on the bar.

“You know what? Forget it. I’m off. Have a nice evening.”

“Would you like me to call you a cab, Colonel?” He waved his hand as if to say
forget it
and walked out the door. As he drove his BMW down the street, the loose end of his bowtie danced in the wind over his shoulder. Colonel Hardy began to reflect on the proudest years of his life, the ones he’d spent running Project Sparta. A smile cracked at the thought of the boys and girls who had passed through the program. It was a different life back then, one that wasn’t so fake and pathetic. Despite the amount of simulated elements ingrained in the program, he felt Project Sparta was far more steeped in reality than the political arena of Washington, DC.

Hardy pulled up to a large white estate that was so large it needed a set of four pillars to support the front façade. He kept the house to maintain appearances and status.

When George Hooper won the presidency, he brought along with him Senator Tom Johnson as his vice. Tom Johnson was a close friend of Colonel Hardy’s from his past life of special operations. So overnight, Colonel Hardy’s political capital skyrocketed, and he was almost immediately brought in to serve as a consultant for the White House on all things clandestine, including his proudest achievement, Project Sparta.

Hardy stumbled through the front door of his house. He made his way through the kitchen, dropped his keys on the granite island, and then prepared a drink for himself. Pictures of him shaking hands with the President Hooper, key members of the cabinet, and Joint Chiefs of Staff littered the walls of his living room. His eyes searched his wet bar for the auburn Scotch, and then he noticed that the brown leather chair was turned away from his mahogany desk. A thought occurred to the half-drunk man. He froze a long moment until he couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear as the realization grabbed a hold.

“Xander! What the hell do you want?”

Xander spun around in Hardy’s brown leather chair to face the man who had trained him into the operative he was today.

“Colonel, how are you?”

“Staying busy.” Hardy took a sip of his Scotch.

“I hear you’ve been consulting for the White House recently.”

Hardy shot him a grin. “Politicians are assholes.”

“What can I do you for, Xander?”

Xander took it from the top. His mission in Afghanistan, the box with a keyhole intended for him, the files hacked from the NSA, the call with Agent Zero. All of it. Upon hearing the mission status, Hardy showed a spark of interest.

“The bitch herself! I never trusted her. She always seemed to have an alternative motive. Just because she was the chairwoman of the Homeland Security Committee, she thought she knew what war and espionage was. She always wanted to get her greedy hands in it all rather than leaving it to the experts. She used you, too. She thought you recruits belonged to the state, like this was Russia or something. Remember she offered to take you from the Project and put you into active duty doing only God’s knows what? You know you weren’t the only one she offered that to. She always had her own agenda with you recruits.”

“Yeah, I remember she visited me the day Bronson died and after the first battle.”

“Was that the one in the park, with the Ferris wheel?” Xander nodded. Hardy’s eyebrows arched and a proud grin cracked as he recalled Xander’s knack for big explosions and daring tactical moves. Xander wasn’t in the mood for compliments, Hardy could see it in his expression.

“What do you need?” Hardy asked.

“I need security badges for the Russell Office Building.” Hardy’s brows raised at the words.

“How many?”

“Three.”

He nodded impressed. “So you, Jooles, and Ashton?”

“How’d you know?”

“You aren’t the only one with powers of deduction, Xander.” Hardy smiled to himself.

“Can I get them by tomorrow morning?” Xander cut him short.

“I should be able to get them to Axle tonight. He should pass them along to you. No reason I should be showing my face around you. It attracts too much press these days.”

“Oh yeah, word on the street is you’re gunning for Secretary of Homeland Security,” Xander said.

“Well the Secretary resigned after a sex scandal and supposedly it’s either me or someone you just told me is a terrorist,” Hardy explained with an aloof disinterest with it all. Xander smiled at the man who was the closest to a father he ever had.

“Get some sleep, Xander. You look like shit,” Hardy said. Xander left as quick as he had arrived.