Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (22 page)

Chapter 40

Tobias’s Laboratory

Northern DC

July 3
rd
2016

Terrorists don’t hate our government as much as they hate our culture. It’s a target that makes sense. Hit us on a national holiday, spread panic and chaos on the National Mall, and destroy priceless artifacts of our history all with one device,” Xander said, connecting the dots.

“How big do you think the bomb will be?” Ashton asked.

“I have reviewed the other attacks and their MO seems to be suicide vests. This is good news because there is only so much one can physically carry on their person. Harder to detect, though. I don’t think it will level a building but it’ll certainly do quite a lot of damage,” Seamus reported.

“How many devices do they have?”

“Only one was used in each of the last two bombings, but there’s no telling what the bastard is plannin’,” Seamus answered.

Mac spoke up. “The phone call referenced a
device
, singular, not
devices
plural.”

“Well, let’s take their word for it, then. Now, I just have one question: if I was a terrorist, which Smithsonian museum would I want to bomb?” Xander wondered. They crowded over a map on the table, pointing to each possible target.

“I would imagine the Castle, the headquarters. There’s all kinds of exhibits are there, and it’s essentially a national monument at this point. It also is at the center of the Mall and close enough to cause some damage to spectators of the fireworks show,” Ashton offered.

“I th-th-think it’s the American His-His-History Museum. There are just too many p-p-priceless artifacts and all of them are American,” Tobias opined.

“Of course there’s the Air and Space Museum, but I think there are higher-profile targets next door,” Mac said. “Though, if their intent is to go undetected and cause a panic, the Air and Space Museum is probably the easiest on the Mall to infiltrate.”

“Of course there is the National Gallery of Art—enough treasures there,” Seamus offered.

“The National Gallery of Art is not part of the Smithsonian,” Jooles corrected. “The National Museum of Natural History is.”

“Same difference…” Seamus waved his hand, giving up on forming a theory.

“So… we have no idea which one it could be,” Xander said. Each museum had its own appeal to a terrorist. “I think it’s safe to say the target will be one of the museums on the Mall, because of the crowd that will be there for the fireworks.” Everyone nodded in agreement. After a long moment of thought, he knew they would have to do it the hard way.

“We are going to have to split up and each take a museum tomorrow night,” Xander proposed. This would put them at an incredible disadvantage.

“What’s the progress on finding Duke?” Seamus asked. The Spartans fell silent.

“He is nowhere to be found online. Not one of his aliases has surfaced for anything so much as a Netflix subscription. I have been looking for him for the last forty-eight hours and have found no trace. He could have died in the field or maybe he went dark because he is deep undercover where contact cannot be made,” Mac explained looking up from his computer.

Xander knew the time for evidence had passed. Duke was the prime suspect in everyone’s guts. He had to focus his search on finding Duke while the other Spartans planned a tactical strategy for the Fourth.

“I may have someone that can help find Duke,” Xander murmured. “I’ll look into it.” Wanting to change the focus of his team, he said, “I’ll worry about Duke from here on out. I don’t have to remind you that we have twenty-four short hours until the biggest terrorist attack on American soil since 9/11. Get to work. We have a long night ahead of us.”

«————————»

Xander sat at a café along the Potomac the next morning after another all-nighter, waiting for his contact, Tiny Eddy. Xander chuckled at the name as he saw Tiny Eddy waddle toward him. He was anything but tiny at four hundred pounds and six foot seven. Despite his unkempt appearance, he handled himself professionally and had established a reputation for being the best fixer on the East Coast. He helped people disappear. Xander had enlisted his services a number of times when civilians got caught up by mistake in his operations. Usually the circumstances in which he met Tiny Eddy were much more rushed and urgent. They usually entailed making an informant disappear or helping a civilian go into hiding. But today they were simply having a relaxing cup of coffee.

“Xander, I’m sorry, I can’t help you with this one,” Tiny Eddy said.

“This is a matter of national security.”

“It’s always a matter of national security,” he fired back.

Xander paused to adjust his approach. “You know favors for me are always paid back tenfold. Of course, the source of my intel has to be completely confidential, but I give you my word.” Xander knew above all that these types of contacts liked anonymity more than money.

“This one is different. I just don’t think I can help.”

Xander began to diagnose his hesitancy. “It’s different, huh? Is that because you helped him disappear yourself? You didn’t pawn him off on a contact in the Midwest. No, you handled this one yourself, which means he is close by. Can’t be more than a couple hours, I would assume.”

Eddy wasn’t an operative for a reason, his poker face was terrible. “I can’t rat out my clientele. My reputation would go straight down the shitter,” his deep voice boomed, slightly appalled that Xander would even ask.

“Look, Eddy, this guy, Duke, is one of the most dangerous people in the world. He is capable of mass destruction and he is currently the lead suspect in a massive terrorist plot. So much so that I think I would get out of DC if I were you,” Xander lowered his voice. He knew information was a better bargaining chip than any price tag.

“What do you mean get out of DC?” Eddy raised his attention from his coffee cup.

“The metro bombing, the bus bombing. All of it has been leading up to this.”

“What kind of threat?”

“One that will change America forever if we don’t stop it..” Xander appealed to his patriotism. Tiny Eddy paused and scratching his second chin, considering what to do.

“If you say anything about this, even to your team, we are done.” Tiny Eddy sighed. He shifted in his seat, and then he gave Xander what he was looking for. “James Ritter, 1837 Perchwood Street, Westminster, Maryland.”

Chapter 41

The Compound

June 9
th
2011

The Spartans assembled in the Fitness Center in hopes that they could pump out an edge for the final battle the next day. Ashton and Fiona were running the treadmills, Duke bench pressed an impressive weight, and the others were scattered, using the rowing machine, medicine balls, and stationary bikes. When Xander walked in, he couldn’t make eye contact with Fiona; his mind remained calculating.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Duke’s loud voice boomed. “Join me in welcoming Second Place!” He started a slow clap. No one joined in, but the effect was still there. Xander walked past him, grabbed a towel, and flung it over his shoulder.

He began curling dumbbells, thirty-five pounders, bringing them up in sequential order from left to right to left. He tried to go about his business but Duke continued the pestering. Duke got up in Xander’s face, only five inches away. This was typical; Duke had been pushing him throughout training. He was almost begging Xander to take a swing, but tonight Xander was different. His clenched jaw almost bit through his teeth. Xander could feel the other eyes in the room on them.

“Listen, little orphan boy, you aren’t half the operative I am. You’re shit. You got that? Everyone here knows it, even that little slut, Fiona.”

Xander snapped.

The rage had possessed every muscle in his body. He swung the dumbbell, catching Duke straight in the gut. Every ounce of breath flew out of his body and he heaved over, trying to find oxygen. Xander brought his knee into Duke’s face. He fell backward and hit the ground with a thud. Xander dropped the dumbbells at his sides and glowered down at Duke, who was covered in blood from a split lip as he stumbled to his feet. Duke brought his hands up to a boxing position and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the outside of his fist. He spit out a wad of blood and smiled.

“All right, let’s go.” Duke approached with three confident steps. He threw a right hook, which Xander dodged with a duck. He returned a punch into Duke’s gut. Duke absorbed one blow, then spun to dodge the next. Xander was at Duke’s back, a position of advantage. Xander’s eyes lowered to Duke’s waist as he prepared for a hip throw. His sight was met by a driving elbow. Xander’s eyebrow burst open in a bloody mess.

All the Spartans had stopped their workouts and formed a perimeter. They had been waiting for this fight for the entire training year. Xander’s patience had finally run out.

The fight had picked up and they started traveling around the gym. Xander jumped up onto the squat rack, flung himself around like a gymnast, and kicked Duke square in the chest. After finding his feet, Duke threw a colorful variety of medicine balls at Xander on the approach, which brought him down to his knees. Duke lunged at the weakened Xander and pinned him to the mat on his back. Duke straddled Xander and brought down fist after fist on his face. His knuckles were bloody, and his eyes narrowed. Duke enjoyed the advantageous position only for a moment until Xander’s legs raised from behind Duke and wrapped around his throat, pulling him from his superior position. Once on the ground, a round of jujitsu began.

They made hold after hold, each more complex and precise than the last. Duke made a crucial shift and gained position on Xander’s back. Duke found a sleeper hold grasp and started squeezing off the oxygen supply from his brain.

Fiona pleaded from the crowd, seeing Xander’s compromised position. “Duke! Stop it! You’ve won!”

Duke didn’t stop, though. In fact, his grip had tightened from a sleeper hold to a full fledge choke hold. Xander felt the pounding of his temples as his vision started to fade. The oxygen was cut off from his brain and there was no reachable breath. He spluttered for air but to no avail. He knew he didn’t have much time before he would suffocate under Duke’s tremendous force. With all his energy, he got to his feet, Duke attached to his back like a book bag. Just as the Spartans hastened to step in and break up the fight, Xander backpedaled as fast as he could until Duke ran into the bench press bar. Duke’s grip loosened on impact. In one fluid motion, Xander broke the hold and threw Duke over his hip, slamming him into the ground with as much force as he could.

Gasping for breath, Xander immediately wrapped his body around Duke’s arm, locking him into an arm bar, a jujitsu hold that allowed the holder to apply as much pressure to his opponent’s arm as he wished. Xander could have broken it in half at the elbow if he jerked his hold a little, but he kept still and concentrated as Duke writhed in pain. Xander’s feet kept Duke’s torso pinned to the mat, while his arms and chest applied pressure at the different weak points of the arm. Duke screamed in agony as Xander began dictating his terms.

“You aren’t going to touch me again. You aren’t going to call me an orphan, and you are going to leave my friend alone. Do you understand me?” Xander’s firm voice somehow carried a sinister enjoyment. Duke’s head nodded. “I could break your arm right here, but then you wouldn’t be able to fight in the battle tomorrow. Maybe a lesser injury will suffice. Maybe a dislocated shoulder?” With that Xander twitched his grip and a crunch sounded through the gym. The other Spartans winced at the sight and the sound of the bone popping out of his shoulder. Duke screamed in an agony no one had ever heard before. His cry had reached a high-pitched whimper.

“It appears your shoulder has popped out of its socket. You are going to have to pop it back in before the swelling sets in. Let me help you with that.” With another twitch, the shoulder popped back into the socket. Duke’s scream turned to a cry as bone rubbed against bone. Xander finally released Duke from his grip. His chest heaved as he rose to his feet over the writhing body at his feet. He caught his breath and scanned the Spartans through the waterfall of blood over his eye.

They stood silent and terrified at the savage before them. Xander marched out of the gym without a word, slamming the door behind him.

Chapter 42

Westminster, MD

July 4
th
2016

The memories of the fight in the gym five years ago replayed in Xander’s mind as he pulled up to the large white house located at 1837 Perchwood Street. It was detached from any subdivision by a border of thirty surrounding acres. Abiding by Tiny Eddy’s wishes, Xander kept his team in the dark. He had to come alone.

Duke had been AWOL and had successfully evaded any attempts by Project Sparta to locate him—until now. His timely absence seemed to indicate that he defected and formed the Skeptics as the terrorist they knew now as Agent Zero. Xander knew he always had enough hate in his heart to do so, but a large two-story house on such an expanse of rolling land didn’t seem like the typical command center for a group of domestic terrorists.

Xander knew if a Spartan was gone, it was on purpose.

Due to the vast acreage surrounding the house, there was no choice but to approach in the open. There was no option of cover from any angle. Xander knew that Duke had picked this house because of its detachment and open vantage point. They were taught in Project Sparta that seeing your enemy before they see you was of prime importance.

Xander sat parked on the road in his red pickup, staring down the white farmhouse. He visualized the terrorist operations behind its  front door. His grip tightened on the steering wheel knowing that there was a high chance that he had found Agent Zero.

Xander tucked his Glock 9mm in the band of his jeans and approached the house with his hands out in front of him, visible for any onlooker to see. The fifty yard walk to the front door seemed to take an hour. He noticed movement rustling behind the drapes of the top floor. He had been seen. He was now offering himself to the mercy of the tenant of the farmhouse. He slowed his ascent up the stairs to the front porch. Each step creaked under his weight. His finger pressed the door bell, sending an antique ring through the house. He put a couple steps distance between himself and the door. He felt the tremor in his gut, knowing that he may have tracked down Agent Zero.

The handle rattled before it was turned, as if someone was fidgeting from behind the door. The loose knob turned and the splintered door creaked ajar. Xander watched with his hand behind his back, gripping the handle of the 9mm, tucked in the back of his pants.

He slowly slid the Glock up and out of the back of his pants.

An infinite darkness filled the crack of the door.

Gun ready. Finger on the trigger.

A figure materialized in the darkness.

A shock overcame Xander at the sight of the figure, causing him to loosen his grip on the firearm and tuck it back in his pants.

He knelt and gazed at the figure before him, eye to eye. It was a small boy no older than three years old. His soft blue eyes were bashful and his cherubic features inflated as a toothy smile welcomed Xander.

“Hey, buddy. Is your daddy home?” His question was met by an exaggerated nod. The boy, pleased with himself for answering the door, retreated back into the house to fetch his father. At that moment, the puzzle pieces snapped into place, revealing the picture. It all made sense. Duke had given up his life as an operative to become a family man. Xander knew the two lives were practically impossible to balance. After a moment of reflection, a bit of admiration grew into a smile as he saw Duke approaching the door with a dish towel slung over his shoulder.

Duke stopped in his tracks and exhaled a defeated sigh.

“Xander…” His voice was much softer than it used to be, as if his edge had been smoothed over. His features had hardened with age and his skin had a darker tone from years in the Afghani sun.

“James…” Xander said. A look exchanged, a thank you of sorts. A beautiful brunette came to the door.

“Honey, who is this?” She greeted him with a charming smile.

“Phillip Templeton, ma’am, nice to meet you. James and I went to school together,” Xander said, keeping the cover. He extended his hand. He had given his social name and Duke recognized the subtle peace offering. Xander would not spoil Duke’s new life.

“Oh, Virginia Tech, huh?” she asked.

“Go Hokies.” Duke flashed a nervous smile as Xander confirmed their connection on the fly.

“Well, any friend of James is a friend of mine. He never talks about his school years. I’d love to know about them,” Duke’s wife declared, waving him into the foyer. Xander followed her direction and stepped into the house.

“I’ve got some stories you wouldn’t believe.” Xander said in jest. Duke chuckled, nervously

Xander found himself out on the back patio sipping lemonade with Duke, while his wife and son played out in the yard at a safe distance, out of earshot. The morning sun had continued its ascent, marking the 10:00 a.m. position. The large pasture before them was populated by large willow trees and a shimmering lake with a rickety dock

“What do you want, Xander?” Duke asked, his voice laced with exhaustion.

“There is a plot against DC scheduled for tonight. The terrorist behind it is someone who goes by the name Agent Zero. He has taken credit for the two bombings over the last two weeks, the bus and the Metro. But he is planning something bigger—we think he is going to hit the Smithsonian,” Xander said.

“The Smithsonian? Which one?” he asked, aghast.

“We don’t know.”

“We?” Duke asked.

“I had to get the team together for this one.”

“Why?”

“Because one of them is Agent Zero.”

“What?” Duke’s brow furrowed at the suggestion.

“Agent Zero is from Project Sparta. I thought you were Agent Zero, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. So who else could it be?”

“Knowing you, you wouldn’t want to admit it but your ex-girlfriend.” Duke rocked back in his chair, showing a glimmer of the confident recruit he once was.

“I’ve been looking for her for the last five years. I’ve turned over every rock to no avail. Even if it was her, she’s too good to be caught. I had so many chances to take her down and I couldn’t. She was too good for me. Played us for fools,” Xander voice lowered to a disappointment.

“No one saw it coming.”

Xander’s head fell. “Maybe it is her… there’s only a handful of other people connected to Project Sparta. Whoever it is they’re playing some messed up cat and mouse game with me and I’m stuck with no one I can trust.”

“Maybe that’s what Agent Zero wants… for you to lose trust in your team.”

Silence fell between the two men as they looked out and over the yard.

“Who knows you’re here?” Duke asked with a tone of consternation.

“No one.” Xander nodded to Duke’s wife and son. “How did that happen?”

“I met her on leave, had some time stateside. We met at a gun range. Cool, huh?”

Xander nodded with arched eyebrows.

“Anyway, it started as a fling, and I fell for her quickly. But you know… I had to keep her at arm’s length. Then one day I called her… She said she was having my baby. I sent money and tried to stay stateside as much as I could, but it ate away at me… So for the last three years I planned my disappearance from Project Sparta and after only three months it’s blown.” Duke sighed.

“Duke, you’re safe here. I never saw you and no one knows I’m here. I’ll tell Axle that one of my contacts found you dead in Afghanistan.”

Duke consulted his fingers as if he was reflecting on his entire history, searching for a reason to trust Xander.

“It’s against our oath to go dark. I’ll be branded a traitor to my country. But it’s not the consequences, it’s the guilt that’s the hardest part.” Duke aimed his words at his feet. Xander pitied him with readied empathy. Just as Duke began to shake his head, Xander interjected.

“Duke, you have a nice life. I wouldn’t take this from my worst enemy.” The words caused him to sigh in relief.

“You wouldn’t?” Duke asked softly, a completely different tone from his younger years. With a nod of the head, a bond was formed, a trust that took five years to form. They ascended to their feet for Xander’s departure. After walking inside, Duke pulled a book off the shelf. It was “The Prince” by Machiavelli. Tucked in its pages was a four by six photo that he handed to Xander.

It was a picture of Duke’s dead body, a bullet hole in his head.

“Good makeup job. I’ll be sure to pass it through the right channels,” Xander said.

“You know there is no retirement from Project Sparta. Remember our Credo: ‘I am a Spartan for life; death is the only discharge.’ To get out of Project Sparta… you have to die. But what I figured out is that through death you find life,”
Duke concluded. Xander nodded in agreement.

“I am happy for you—you’ve earned this life.” Xander concluded with a genuine smile.

At that moment, Duke did something unexpected, something Xander thought he would never do, cementing the notion that they were changed men. He embraced Xander and squeezed him tightly.

“Thank you, Xander.” He was filled with a grave sincerity. His was the voice of a father begging for his family’s life. Duke released Xander and ushered him through and out of the house.

“Maybe I’ll come by and go fishing sometime out there on that pond with ya when things quiet down,” Xander said.

“Yeah, I’d like that, but things never quiet down,” he said just as his three-year-old son belted out a loud cry. They laughed at his boy’s timing.