Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (2 page)

Translation:
Nothing is as it seems

Xander recognized the last line of the Project Credo, something he had recited hundreds of times during training.

“The Project took everything from you and me. This is my reckoning for the wrongs our country has done to us, what Project Sparta has done. I assure you, Xander, they were right: nothing is as it seems.” Xander’s mind spun along with the swirling red smoke. “In the end, you will be faced with a choice, Xander. Did Project Sparta turn you into a mindless soldier? A deadly machine? Or did you maintain your humanity through it? Your objectivity and independence? There’s the choice, Xander. Will you act on emotion or reason? I know that conflict is in you… and I really want to know the answer.” Agent Zero’s voice remained composed, while Xander’s grew caustic.

“You listen here, you piece of shit!” Xander yelled into the satellite phone. “I’m going to find you and I’m going to kill you. I’m going to stop your attack and you’re going to wish you’d never been born.” He stuffed the brick back into his pack and then started back toward Vashad through the red cloud of smoke to check on his only other lead to Agent Zero.

“There’s that emotion I was talking about… Now, I’ve left you enough breadcrumbs to follow. This is your game, Xander. Play it well. People’s lives depend on it. And Xander?”

There was a short pause as Xander broke through the cloud of smoke and arrived at Vashad.

“I’d be careful. Looks like Vashad got one of your grenades. Happy hunting.” The phone clicked dead.

Xander’s eye met Vashad, who held a pin in his mouth and a grenade in his outstretched hand.

“Allahu Akbar!”
Vashad shouted at the top of his lungs. The grenade detonated, sending a rippling shockwave through the village. Xander was thrown off his feet and flew twenty yards back into the red cloud. The lights faded as the red smoke swallowed his motionless body.

And then…darkness.

Chapter 2

Bagram Airfield

Afghanistan

June 29
th
2016

Xander awoke with a deafening ringing in his ears and a splitting headache. Anytime he woke up in a hospital bed, his first impulse was to take inventory of his body parts. All were intact. Nurse Penny approached his bed and began talking. Her voice was faint, as if she were whispering from the other end of a tunnel. Xander raised his hand to his ear and signaled to the nurse that he couldn’t hear. She grabbed a white board and began writing.

Hearing should come back,
she wrote. Xander nodded and began to look around. She erased the board and wrote something else.
You need rest. Sit back and relax.
Xander shook his head and attempted to sit up, but winced from the pain surging from his ribs. Nurse Penny pushed him back down on the bed lightly. She flashed the same message again and pointed to the words,
you need rest
. She then wrote another message that caused him to lean back:
You’ve been unconscious for three days!

Xander settled down and asked aloud, despite not being able to hear his own voice, “Package?”

She wrote again.
Your pack was recovered from the extraction site.
She retrieved Xander’s standard-issue black backpack from the corner and handed it to him. Xander dug through it until he found the brick wrapped in cloth. He exhaled in relief.

The mission was not a failure.

Xander gestured a thank you and a request to have the room. Penny obliged and left him with the mysterious object.

Xander unwrapped the brick and couldn’t believe what was in his lap or what it meant. He stared for a long time, analyzing every minute detail at rapid speeds. The rock itself was a rectangle shape, smoothed on every edge. On the brick’s face was the hand chiseled Arabic characters that Xander translated over and over again.

Nothing is as it seems.

The clue before him only opened a door to a hallway with more doors. It was only a piece of the puzzle.

Agent Zero confirmed that they knew me from Project Sparta. We have a defector who is planning an impending attack on American soil. But who could have possibly turned from the program?

Xander’s alert level heightened as the implications of the mission settled on him. His eyes darted to a folded pair of clothes in the corner. Upon seeing them, he buried his pain and sprung out of his bed.

«————————»

Nurse Penny retreated to the back room where she retrieved different prescriptions from the shelves in the pharmaceutical closet, arranging them according to the doctor’s orders. It was a blistering hot day, and she unbuttoned one button of her blouse to let the fan cool her off a bit more and then she chased a breeze to the open window. Her view outside of the hospital was of runways and airplane hangars. She always enjoyed seeing the planes take off and land, although the noise was deafening and made surgical focus impossible. Her eyes watched as a capped man with a standard-issue black backpack walked up a staircase to board a V-22 Osprey. Nurse Penny enjoyed the daily speculations of each man’s mission, but she never let her curiosity lead her beyond her place.

Treat the patient, not the war
.

She loved seeing the V-22 take off, heaving its massive build skyward. The aircraft was primarily used for transport of troops into battle zones. It could take off and land like a helicopter under the power of its massive propellers. The propellers were already churning, as Penny marveled at the engineering feat, which had cost the US taxpayer $118 million. Remaining focused on her work, she picked up a replenished tray of pills and headed toward Xander’s bed to administer the next round of treatment. She stopped dead in her tracks, gasped, and dropped the tray, sending the pills rolling in every direction. The bed was empty—his pack was gone. She was left wondering where her patient was, as the capped man with the backpack flew the V-22 overhead, toward the setting sun of the west.

«————————»

Xander snatched the ball cap off of his head and threw it to the floor of the cockpit. He fastened a comm headset over his head and guided the massive V-22 in its ascent. His grip tightened on the throttle as his thoughts orbited the fact that there was a traitor in Sparta. The bond had been broken, the bond that any band of clandestine agents had to rely on—trust. He had forged strong relationships with his fellow Spartans by facing more hardship than most friendships could survive. They were more than friends—they were comrades. And one of them had defected.

Chapter 3

Oakmont Preparatory school

Pittsburgh, PA

June 3
rd
2010

Young Xander Whitt barreled down the hallway, leaping in celebration of his last exam before graduation from Oakmont Preparatory School, a boarding school for the region’s brightest students. Xander’s blond hair fell over his forehead into his pale blue eyes as he hurried toward the exit. He pushed the door open and it smacked against the building. The sun struck his high cheek bones, illuminating the few light freckles sprinkled over them. His lips were pencil thin and gentle, even as they cracked a wide smile at the realization that he had completed high school. His frame stood acute and underdeveloped, still small and smooth. His dimpled chin rounded out his cherubic features.

Despite not being able to remember his parents or anyone who ever loved him, Xander was able to keep his emotions controlled during his schooling and he excelled under the school’s rigorous academic curriculum. Xander was nothing short of a genius, being two years younger than anyone else in his graduating class. He jogged across the campus toward his dormitory and then accelerated to a jaunty sprint. He passed the girl’s dormitory, where he and his friends had played a few pranks over the years. He then passed the trail that led into the woods where they had sometimes sneaked after curfew to build fires in the neighboring forest and share stories, both poetic and comical. He ran across the baseball field toward the administration building, recalling his time as the lead hitter in the clean-up spot of the school’s batting order. He relished the feeling of the wind brushing across his face as he emerged from the memories of his time at Oakmont Preparatory. He was now a young man ready for the world.

He lifted his eyes and came to a dead halt as he made out a familiar figure in the distance, watching him. Dean Ellington was standing near the administration building and beckoned his approach, so Xander hurried past his dormitory toward him.

“Congratulations, Xander! Our valedictorian. Well done.” Dean Ellington smiled as he shook Xander’s hand firm. The dean’s comb-over was usually far too tight, but today it hung with a slight wave, revealing his graying roots.

“Thank you, sir.” Xander replied through hurried breaths from the run. He had picked up proper manners and etiquette from his schoolmates and his foster mother, Ms. Baker. He followed the dean into the building toward his office.

“Being a flagship branch of the Olympic Academy education network, we are proud that this institution continues to maintain an advanced curriculum steeped in intense classical liberal arts. Oakmont stands with the other nine Olympic Academies across the United States as the most prestigious high school of the region.”

“Yes sir, I am very proud to become an alumnus of this academy,” Xander offered, adopting a more formalized demeanor for the dean.

“Now, I know my students, Xander. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that the majority of the students are snobbish elitists.” Xander craned his head up toward the dean in disbelief as they came to his office door.

“However, you are different, Xander. There is an incredible opportunity waiting for you on the other side of this door. I want you to consider it, and, above all, I want you to follow your heart.” Heat rose under Xander’s collar as he responded with a nod. Unsure of what was to come, he tugged at his sleeve to straighten his appearance.

“Yes, sir,” Xander exhaled, still catching his breath from his jog across campus.

The office door opened.

The dean’s office was littered with pictures of the man golfing with famous people. He had a large photo poster of a basketball hoop with the words
Opportunity
:
You Miss 100% of the Shots You Don’t Take
written underneath.

Xander met a full-framed man upon entering the office. He wore a neatly pressed set of olive-green military formals. His face was vaguely familiar. It was creased with age and shaped by austerity. This face had been present on the most difficult day of his life—the day he woke up in the hospital after the car crash that had killed his parents. Xander’s brain had lost all memories prior to that day to the black hole of amnesia. The man before him was his earliest recollection, the first entry in the album of his photographic memory. His eyes strayed from the man to another person in the room—his foster mother, Ms. Baker. He approached her with outstretched arms and wrapped her in a tight hug.

“I’m done, Ms. Baker!”

“Congratulations! I am so proud of you.” The moment was short lived, however, as the presence of the other man loomed over their reunion.

“Thank you, Dean Ellington.” The military man embraced the dean’s hand as an old friend. The dean then exited the office and closed the door behind him, leaving Xander with his two visitors. Ms. Baker found a seat, but Xander turned to meet his unexpected visitor. 

“My name is Jackson Hardy.” His deep, gruff voice sounded from the back of his throat.

“I know,” Xander responded, as he reflected on the first memory he had. It shook him to the core, as the feelings of loss and loneliness from that day returned. “I’m Xander,” he continued through the unearthed sadness of his childhood.

“I know.” Hardy’s eyebrows rose and he cracked a smile from one corner of his lips. Hardy extended his hand and Xander shook it, but his eyes shrank away to a bouquet of lilies atop the waist-high table between them. A short stalemate and an awkward silence formed between them as Xander processed the man’s presence, trying to understand why he was there and what Hardy wanted with him.

Breaking the silence, Hardy popped his hip out to nudge the table, knocking the tall, crystal vase atop it off balance. The vase toppled to the ground, but before it crash-landed, Xander dove and caught it with incredible reflexes on display. Xander beamed up at Hardy from the floor with the vase in his hands.

“You did that on purpose!” Xander said, breaking from his timidity.

“Yes I did.”

“But why? Why would you want to break something so fragile?” He gathered himself and got back to his feet.

“I sometimes asked myself that very question… but I needed to make sure you’re the Xander Whitt everyone’s talking about.”

“Who’s talking about me?” he asked, confused by his apparent popularity.

“A lot of people who are very interested in having you come to our program. Xander, you have tested off the charts in every category.”

Hardy helped himself to a glass of Scotch at the dean’s wet bar. After pouring a few fingers worth, he settled into the ornate armchair. Xander took the other seat across from Hardy and Ms. Baker. By her posture, he knew Baker was unaware of the subject of the impending conversation.

“How do you remember me, Xander?” Hardy asked as if it was a test.

“You came to see me in the hospital eight years ago, after the car crash. My mother and father died and I hit my head in the backseat. I can’t remember anything before that day.” A knot formed quickly in his throat that he tried to choke down through a dry swallow.

“What do you remember about
that
day?” Hardy further inquired, testing the depths of his recollection.

“You wore a different set of military formals, not nearly as pressed as these. You introduced yourself as Jackson Hardy, a man who was interested in performing some tests. You had me put together puzzles and solve word jumbles.”

“Do you remember the answers to the puzzles?” Xander gave a bashful nod, not taking his eyes off of the space on the floor six inches from his toes. Hardy stood, struck in awe, but had to focus on carrying out his purpose.

“Xander, you are something of a rarity. You have so many natural abilities and you excel at… everything. We think your mind could make this country be a better and safer place. You could help solve our country’s biggest problems: disease, the economy, famine, war… There is no telling what else you could do if you were just properly trained. I know you are planning to attend Harvard, but I’d like to propose a different direction.” Xander’s eyes lifted from the ground to see Hardy shift from side to side in his chair and take a deep breath.

“We have developed the most rigorous programs to ensure you reach your fullest potential. You could serve this country better than most. And you won’t be the only adolescent there, either. One student is being recruited from the graduating class of each boarding school in the Olympic Academy network. Nine others have also been recruited from all over the country, all between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. You wouldn’t be alone.”

Xander turned to Ms. Baker, who sat forward, trying to understand the implications of what the colonel was saying.

“We have been observing these schools, and we have been watching you in particular for some time now, Xander. Everything from your testing to your athletics and even your social life. You’re the top of your class, two years younger than the rest of your peers, identified as the brightest and most well-rounded student at this institution. Oh, and you don’t have a stick up your ass, either.” Xander cracked a smile, sensing his disgruntled outlook on teenagers. At this, Xander’s cold, shy exterior warmed toward Hardy.

“You, Xander, are the one we want,” Hardy said.

“But… I’m just a teenager. What am I supposed to do—”

“Don’t let your humility blind you from your greatness,” Hardy retorted. He then covered the computer chip-sized medals over his left breast.

“How many medals do I have?” Hardy asked plainly.

“Twenty-three… Why?” Ms. Baker beamed with pride at her foster child’s remarkable abilities.

Hardy leaned down, his presence strangely comforting. He looked directly into Xander’s eyes and began to explain. “Xander, you can do things that very few people in this world can, regardless of age. You caught the vase, not only displaying remarkable reflexes and agility but also a natural concern for the fragile and defenseless. You knew after looking at me for thirty seconds that I am wearing twenty-three medals. It took me over thirty years to earn these medals. We need your abilities—we need your mind. Come with me and the world that all your classmates, your foster mother, and even Dean Ellington live in will be much safer. We just need to match those abilities with a particular set of skills.” The sales pitch had become a plea.

“What kind of skills are you referring to?”

“Espionage.”

Xander leaned back at hearing this. “You want me to be a spy?” He shook his head and chuckled under his breath in disbelief.

“Yes… but this training program is not like any other.”

Well I don’t know what the hell any other spy training program is like…

“So you’re CIA?” Xander posited.

“No. We are a private firm that contracts with the government. We do the stuff the government doesn’t want to even know about.” Hardy’s voice lowered to a grave note.

“Does this
private firm
have a name?” Xander asked, still suspended in confusion and skepticism.

“It does, but I’m afraid it’s confidential until you join. You haven’t heard of it anyway and neither has Google.”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t exist and neither would you if you joined.” Hardy’s presentation of the facts remained composed. Xander leaned back in his chair, wiping the disbelief from his brow. At a loss for words, Xander looked over at his foster mother who spoke up for the first time.

“When will he have to leave?” It was obvious from Ms. Baker’s tone that she was already entertaining the idea for Xander.

“The program starts in one week. I am sorry for being cryptic but you can review the information in this file, take it home, let it marinate. And I hope to see you for orientation.” Hardy handed over a red file and ascended to his feet.

“Xander, you truly are like nothing I have ever seen before. I hope you consider my offer, because lumping you in with the norm would be a disservice to you and to your country.” Xander elevated his eyes to meet the colonel’s. They locked in a moment of profound understanding. And then Hardy turned on his heel and exited the dean’s office.

Xander consulted Ms. Baker as the two of them tried to make sense of what the colonel’s offer entailed. After finding no answers in his foster mother’s eyes, his search fell to the red file in hand. He flipped the file open and found the first page. His mouth dropped slightly as his racing eyes scanned the words before him:

I am a Spartan.

I am a Spartan who does not exist.

I am a Spartan who safeguards our country from enemies both foreign and domestic.

I am a Spartan who preserves the virtuous state through true Justice.

I am a Spartan for life; death is the only discharge.

I am a Spartan who fights for the Common Good of all.

I am a Spartan, and nothing is as it seems.