Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (26 page)

Chapter 48

The Compound

June 11
th
2011

“Well done, Xander.” Hardy’s tone carried a nonchalance that initially disarmed him. “Put down the gun. We need to have a talk…”

“Why don’t I just shoot you right now, you sick bastard?” Xander’s grip tightened on the gun, his aim narrowed on the colonel.

“You aren’t going to shoot me,” Hardy said, calm and composed as he lit a cigarette.

“I will.” Xander nodded, trying to process everything that was happening.

“No, you won’t. You want the truth. You want to know just what the hell is going on, right?” Xander didn’t answer, but Hardy seemed to accept his silence as a
yes
. “You have just completed your training. I told you on day one that we know how smart you are and that we would make it challenging for you. There of course was the daily training in tactical warfare, stealth, intelligence, and military history, which is important, but your mission to set up surveillance on Fiona was unique to you and served a very specific purpose.”

Xander began to tremble, lowering the gun as reality came back to him slowly.

“So you just played games with us? You manipulated us?” Fiona’s voice trembled.

“This wasn’t a game, it was a test. Call it your final exam. And you passed with flying colors, Xander.” A smile came over Hardy’s face.

“You can’t use us like this,” Xander said defiantly.

“What do you think a life in covert affairs is?” Hardy laughed and took a drag from his cigarette. “We have been watching you the whole time. We have been analyzing your every action and emotion to ensure you are properly trained for life as a covert operative. Project Sparta is different from the CIA or FBI because we are designed to be exempt from bureaucratic oversight. So what does that mean?”

“It means you can get away with anything when you are designing a training program,” Xander replied through gritted teeth.

“Yes, in part.” Hardy shrugged. “But it means you have to be able to self-govern. You have to know what is right and what is wrong and be able to act accordingly of your own volition. You must be able to act in accordance with justice. And you have.”

The word
justice
hung in the air, a word he studied in Plato’s
Republic
, that he had discussed with Hardy and called upon when deciding to rescue Fiona.

“What do you mean I have?” Xander asked.

“We created a scenario of injustice. Not only are you trapped in a subterranean dome, but you are subjected to puzzles with no answers. You spied on her and she spied on you, for no reason other than we told you to. Then, when the cat was out of the bag, we decided to set the stage for her ‘murder.’” Hardy gestured quotation marks at the last word.

“I hacked your computer. I saw your email.” Xander spoke with bravado.

“I know! I watched from right here.” Hardy pointed at the bank of surveillance screens. “And by the way, that wasn’t my office, that is.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder and puffed on his cigarette. Xander looked and saw a mess of clutter at a desk. Hardy leaned forward to deliver the punch line. “We staged it all, Xander. Why do you think the door to the hallway was unlocked? And why do you think the office was the only open door down that hallway? Why do you think that note happened to be lying on the desk? If I put a letter on the desk that said,
We are going to kill Fiona
, you would have seen through it. You had to discover it yourself in my inbox. Why would we kill Fiona? She’s a great operative!”

Xander’s face dropped, but Hardy continued.

“Why do you think we added the line about C-4? To get you thinking that we murdered Ezra—which we didn’t by the way… We bred your contempt for us.”

“But why?

“We need men and women who will do the just thing. Who will do the right thing. So we did the wrong thing and hoped you would rebel. And you did. You did, Xander!” Hardy beamed with pride at his brightest recruit. “That means you have the right moral compass for this line of work.”

“I just killed those men for no reason?” Xander despondently turned back to the door, where the men he had shot laid. Hardy pressed a button, which populated the main monitor to reveal the security detail standing and adjusting themselves on the surveillance feed. After Xander saw them, Hardy closed the door.

“We knew you would take Axle’s gun. They were blanks. All part of the simulation.”

“That’s why he didn’t shoot me,” Fiona realized.

“That’s right. We weren’t sure exactly how it would play out, but I had a feeling.”

“But why have us spy on each other in the first place?” Fiona asked.

“The emotions of an adolescent are a very intense thing. We needed to devise a way to make sure they stayed in check—especially here. We were careful to monitor your emotional development. While we should have monitored Bronson Newton and Ezra Gonet’s emotions a little better, we would take no chances on you, Xander, our top recruit.” A flurry of sad memories rushed over Xander. Landing at the drop zone to learn that Bronson’s chute never deployed. Hardy’s announcement in the Mess Hall confirming his death. Ezra’s house exploding. His doubt in the program. Learning of his suicide. Hardy’s voice continued as Xander’s thoughts returned to the present.

“After his death, we came to a better understanding of the dangers of unbridled emotions here. What’s important, Xander, is that you were somehow able to compartmentalize your feelings for Fiona and pursue the truth behind her allegiance. Rearden dug for any Intel on your surveillance on her but you did not budge. You held onto the skepticism that is necessary in this job. As for our methods, we have to do a dirty job. We have to raise teenagers in this foxhole and train them to protect our country. Our methods may be unorthodox, but you have learned the single most important thing, Xander,” Hardy said.

“Yeah? And what is that?” Xander asked.

“That nothing is as it seems.” The words hung in the air and Xander knew that what they had done made perfect sense. He was able to face the brutal truth, unlike others his age. Sadness overtook his body as he focused on the program as a whole and his year in training. He had been battered, used, and mentally and emotionally controlled. Standing before Hardy, he had just learned his deepest efforts this training year were all guided by an elaborate ruse.

“Xander, I’m going to give you a choice. You can either walk out that door”—Hardy pointed to the door on the far side of the control room—“and you can walk out into the world and disappear. We won’t even look for you. You would be a ghost. You could settle down on a beach somewhere together and live happily ever after. But you will forever have to live with the guilt of knowing that you could have been something great for this country but you chose not to be.” Xander looked up from the floor at Hardy, as his words struck a nerve.

“Or you can walk through that door.” Hardy pointed to the door behind Xander. “That door leads back to the tunnels and back to the Barracks. Tomorrow we will be dismissing everyone from the Project and contacting them after a short break for active field duty assignments. If you walk out that door, it is back to being a Spartan. It is back to being a patriot and you will be putting all this training to good use.”

Hardy leaned back in his chair and brought the tips of his fingers together. He watched for a moment while Xander considered the options. Xander turned and consulted Fiona, reading her expression. It was a vision of sorrow. Fiona lifted her eyes to his and spoke a clear admission.

“Sparta needs you Xander. You are the glue that holds the team together. I don’t know what Project Sparta is without you.”

Hardy nodded to Fiona’s assertion but added something further.

“But you have to choose it or you will end up like Bronson and Ezra.” The tone in the room changed from business to personal. “You love her don’t you?” Hardy asked, gesturing to Fiona.

“Yes… I do.” Xander admitted to which Fiona smiled.

“What if I told you that we would discharge Fiona from Project Sparta? Would you stay with us?” Xander considered Hardy’s proposition for a moment.

“She does not deserve this life,” Xander muttered to himself.

“This is a tough life. No one would wish this for someone they loved,” Hardy said in earnest. Xander remained locked on Fiona as his mind progressed to its decision.

“Yes, I will stay and be your Spartan if you dismiss her. I will serve Project Sparta so long as she is free from this life. Let her disappear. She deserves a better than this.”

“You have my word.” Colonel Hardy nodded an agreement to his terms. Xander’s eyes fell to the floor as Fiona started her dissent.

“What? No! I want to stay with you Xander.” Fiona stepped forward as her emotions overwhelmed her. “I don’t want to leave you,” she began crying.

“Listen to me.” Fiona’s head rested on his chest. “Listen to me!” Xander grabbed her head and angled it up to him. “Do you remember the night on your roof? You said, ‘Can’t we make as much of a difference in this world by having and loving a family?’ I know you don’t want this life. I know that you want to see them again. I don’t have a family, Fiona. This is all I have. Go be with them, go live a normal life…”

“But why? Will I ever see you again?” Fiona’s tears began to stream.

“I don’t know… and I need to fight
for
you, not alongside you…” Xander could see in her eyes the pain and heartbreak they were both feeling, but also a deeper understanding of why things needed to be that way. She offered a difficult but certain nod.

Xander brought her in for a hug. His lips hovered next to her ear as he whispered one parting message to her.  

“I love you, Fiona.” A smile came over her. She blushed in his embrace. She turned to his ear and whispered her reply.

“I love you too.” She turned and kissed him on the cheek and left his arms. 

“Alright then, you’re dismissed Fiona.” Hardy pushed a button on his command console to open the back exit door, leading out of the Compound.

“If you ever come near me again, I’ll kill you,” she told Hardy.

Fiona turned from Hardy and looked back at Xander one last time before exiting through the door.

Xander stood still for a long moment as Fiona left. Hardy ascended to his feet and offered a comforting hand to his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, the fact that you saved her from this life makes me admire you all the more.”

Xander did not turn back to Colonel Hardy rather he remained focused on the door.

“The moment I learn that you are tracking her, is the moment I disappear. Do you understand me?”

“I do. You have my word, Xander. The games are over. Training is over. It has been a difficult year, but you have shaped into the best operative the United States will ever see.” Hardy assured him over his shoulder. “Why did you let her go?”

“Because she wanted to…”

“How can you be so sure?” Hardy asked.

“I’ve been watching her all year. She wasn’t happy here. Something deep inside her resisted this place… it was her innocence,” Xander reflected, coming to grips with her departure.  

“What do we say to the others, regarding the surprise disappearance of yet another Spartan?” Hardy asked.

“Tell them she was a mole and that she escaped through the tunnels. That was what the alarm was for. You’ve already had the ruse going. I’m sure you can keep it up for the others.” Hardy shrugged an agreement.

“I’ll inform the Spartans tomorrow that Fiona was a double and escaped.”

“Good and only you and I will ever know the truth.” Xander turned to Hardy locked eyes for a moment and then walked to the door, leading back into the tunnels. Before he opened it, he froze and looked back to Hardy one last time. 

“The ends never justify the means.”

There was no response – only Hardy’s downtrodden expression. He could only muster one defense, leaving Xander forever unsettled.

“We are a necessary evil.”

Xander’s expression fell. He turned to the door and walked back out into the tunnels. He passed the crates with the odds and ends on it, including the lantern and scribbled-on crossword, and sidled back to the stairwell leading to his house.

Chapter 49

Washington, DC

July 4
th
2016

Xander had suited up in Michael Sanders’s tuxedo. Jooles straightened his bowtie as they hastened to infiltrate the party upstairs. Under his jacket, Xander had two 9mms snapped in a shoulder holster and six clips lined its straps. Jooles’s black dress hugged her muscular frame tighter than that of the slender, gaunt blonde. Jooles only had space to strap one small pistol to her right thigh.

“How much time do you think we have?” Xander asked.

Jooles checked her watch. “Fireworks are scheduled to go off in fifteen minutes. I imagine it would be during the show.” Xander’s chin fell to his chest as he inspected his collar only to find a smear of lipstick. He smudged it with his thumb and smiled at Jooles as she puckered her lips in the same shade that she had just applied.

“Let’s go.” They sauntered down the hall dressed to the nines until they came to a stop at the bottom of the stairwell. They straightened their attire and breathed deeply. Poised with calm confidence, Xander offered his arm. Jooles accepted it and together they ascended the ornate stairwell, past the guards, and into the dense crowd gathered on the rooftop terrace.

The museum’s fifth-floor terrace was draped in sheer white as decorative trellises lined the patio. Red roses climbed the crosshatched wood grates that encased the area. Vertical lights shined on the exterior wall in red-and-white stripes while another set of lights shined white stars. Tables with hors d’oeuvres were scattered throughout the terrace as government types milled about with their dates. A classic uniformed serving staff switched out used plates for sparkling clean dishes.

Forced laughs sounded as the party guests swapped stories. Xander and Jooles moved through the crowd, still locked arm in arm, whispering to each other.

“I have located Hardy,” Ashton updated through the comms. “He is on the rooftop terrace of the American History Museum. I repeat, he is on the rooftop terrace of the American History Museum.”

“All right, let’s go get him. And keep your eyes peeled. Agent Zero or any of his mercenaries could be anywhere,” Xander said.

“I’ll take the east side, you take the west.” Jooles separated from Xander and smiled for the onlookers. Xander offered a parting kiss on her cheek to keep up appearances and they moved separately through the party.

«————————»

Agent Zero entered through the front door of the American History Museum. The trigger mechanism was in a coat pocket and connected to electrical wires that coiled up the coat’s sleeve. Agent Zero walked under the Star-Spangled Banner display in the foyer and toward the party. Two guards stood at the base of the stairs that led to the party. Agent Zero pulled out a pistol, shot both guards, and continued up the stairs.

«————————»

Ashton’s sniper scope located Hardy out on the terrace of the fifth floor of the American History Museum. He downed his Scotch and asked for another at the bar. Ashton readjusted her stance, pulling away from the scope for a moment when something caught her eagle eye up the Mall. A black Suburban was parked outside the National History Museum. The scope roamed over the Mall and settled on a herd of men in black-and-white suits running into the Gallery.

“Seamus, I think you have company coming your way,” she said. She kept her scope on the Suburban. One large man in black-and-white got out of the SUV and proceeded on foot across the Mall toward the Air and Space Museum.

“Copy that,” Seamus responded.

She felt a blunt impact on her head.

Her vision went double and slowly came back together.

Turning around, Ashton’s eyes focused on a man in a black-and-white suit standing over her, cracking his knuckles. Still disoriented, she charged with her shoulder, slamming the man against the wall. A tumbling brawl ensued. The two exchanged crisp punches and blocks. Ashton connected on a jab and a hook, only phasing the suited man for a moment.

“All right, let’s go, baby.” Ashton gathered her breath and brushed her hair out of her face. She cracked her neck to the side, readying herself for more, and jumped down the flight to engage the man.

«————————»

Across the Mall in the National History Museum, Seamus retreated into the Bone Hall. Fossil reconstructions of different wildlife stood about the gallery. He heard the peddling of combat boots from down the hall and squatted against a display case. He counted six or seven men by the sound of it. To his dismay, he heard them fanning out in all directions. He would prefer to take down a centralized unit with a flash grenade but he knew they had played to his weakness.

Whoever planned this attack knows us. To take these men down, I’ll have to do it with stealth.

Seamus’s stealth skills were doomed from the first day of training when he fell out of the tree in the Thicket. He brandished a 9mm from his pack that he had not intended to use and screwed on a silencer. He knew that he needed to retreat into the recesses of the museum to better isolate the fully armed terrorists, and so he did.

After passing through the Bone Hall, he squatted behind a sarcophagus of an Egyptian king. He silently panted as he awaited the men in search of him, his eyes roamed the exhibition room in full alert, readied for the fight.

«————————»

Mac’s right fist connected with another Skeptic’s ribs; he could hear the crunch from under the suit coat. Mac stumbled back into the rocket that stood erect in Gallery 114 of the Air and Space Museum, the large hall dedicated to the Space Race. Mac was out of his element with the hall resembling outer space more than cyber space. The Skeptic absorbed the blow and swung a wild right hook, which caught Mac on the chin.

His vision went into orbit.

Mac tried to focus back on his attacker.

The Skeptic took off his sunglasses, revealing a cut above his brow that was dripping blood.

«————————»

Tobias was now running, pushing his way through the massive crowd on the Mall. The twilight had faded to black, leaving a dark canvas overhead for the fireworks show. The haunting squeal of violins commenced in the distance. Tobias’s eyes widened as he spun in the whirlwind of activity. The symphony had just begun Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture.” He checked his watch for the time.

“Xander, you have to get to that bomb. We are running out of time,” he said.

And then it started.

Tobias lifted his eyes skyward and followed a rocket flying into the air, exploding at its peak into an array of colors. The fireworks had just begun.

«————————»

Seamus had just flanked the first man to enter the exhibit. He spun silently around the sarcophagus and positioned himself behind his opponent. His left hand came to the top of the gun as he pulled the trigger. The bullet shot through the man’s neck and snapped his brain stem. Seamus caught the bullet casing that was discharged upon the shot with his left hand and then stepped to the man, catching him before he collapsed. The takedown was clean and silent. He heaved the man into the opened sarcophagus on display and took his radio comm. Plugging the earbud in his ear, he was able to hear the terrorist’s communication.

“Jericho, come in. Jericho, come in.” Seamus looked down at the man crumpled up in the Egyptian coffin.

And you must be Jericho.

“Miller, check it out. To the West.” Seamus cracked a smile, knowing he now had the upper hand. They were feeding him men one by one. He moved from the mummy exhibit to the dinosaur gallery. Chain linked fences lined the displays and dinosaur skeletons stood about the hall. He crouched behind the largest display case he could find – the T-Rex. After a few moments of focused listening, he heard slow, cautious steps approaching. The suited man’s focus remained down the hall, Jericho’s last reported location, so when he passed by the display, he didn’t check his six. Seamus waited for the man to distance himself before he rose to his feet.

In one quick motion, Seamus grabbed both sides of the Skeptic’s head and jerked in either direction with such force that a vertebra jutted out from his skin from the fracture point of his snapped neck. His legs collapsed. The Skeptic’s blank, lifeless stare gazed over his shoulder toward Seamus’s footsteps as he proceeded down the corridor toward his next target.

«————————»

Mac was getting pummeled by the man twice his size. He had taken off his glasses and his suit coat, revealing a holster vest with concealed weapons and grenades strapped to his chest. The suited man cracked his fingers and his neck and approached Mac for round two of their match. Mac received a couple of rib-crunching blows, his breath violently ripped from his lungs. He heaved over defenseless. His vision remained fuzzy as he tried to focus on the ground before him. Then it was cut by a black blur coming up hard into his face as the man struck him with an upper knee blow, sending Mac to his back. The impact knocked him unconscious for a brief second. Mac could feel his brain rattle in his skull and his world spin in a haze.

The suited man picked him up and pushed him against a display rocket in the gallery. Releasing him to his wobbly stance, the Skeptic started striking him as if he had him cornered in the ring. Fist after fist, knee after knee pummeled into him as if he were a flimsy punching bag when hit hard. Mac had no chance; the man was about to end his life. Mac’s vision slowly focused on something within arm’s reach—the grenades attached to the Skeptic’s chest.

With all the might Mac had left, he snatched a pin from one of the grenades. He sent a hard side kick into his gut, pushing the man past his heels and back multiple steps. The man focused solely on getting the grenade out of the strap. Mac swung around the rocket and crouched with his head between his knees for cover. The man’s hands fumbled and fidgeted until it was too late.

The grenade blew.

Mac could feel the blast come over him but with the cover of the metal rocket, he avoided injury from debris. The boom sounded out in the Air and Space Museum and mixed with the sounds of commotion and fireworks over the lawn. As the dust settled, Mac finally took a deep breath and, with a sigh of relief, flung his head back against the rocket, which rang out. A smile crept onto his face and he started laughing

“That’s right!” he shouted between huffing breaths.

«————————»

Jooles spotted one gray head after another, yielding no match. She went to the bar, knowing Hardy’s drinking habit, but he was not there. She surveyed the faces of the crowd illuminated in different colors as they faced the skyline’s fireworks display. Jooles soon started spotting people she had already scoped out.

Where is he?

“Ashton, come in. I can’t find Hardy. Give me an update on his position.” Jooles requested over the comm. But no answer came.

She retreated to the far end of the museum, hoping Hardy had sought a more private view for the show. She came to a large empty section of the patio, but there was no sign of Hardy. Jooles cursed a stream of obscenities as she met another dead end.

“Where the hell are you, Ha—”

A violent fist connected with the back of her head. She fell, dazed by the impact and a hand come over her mouth.

“Keep your mouth shut and I won’t blow you to bits.” A hiss sounded in her ear, and the hand showed her the trigger mechanism.

«————————»

Xander’s eyes continued to comb through the crowd searching for Hardy or any sign of Agent Zero. Nothing.

If he isn’t here, where could he be?

And then it happened.

“Xander Whitt!”

A loud shrill sounded over the crowd.

Every head turned from the fireworks display to see where the voice had come from. Then panic hit. People ran for the door, tripping over one another and trampling others. The voice was distant and familiar, as if coming through a tunnel of memories. Xander couldn’t place it. He couldn’t concentrate as the mass hysteria ensued before him, head after head blocking the sight. He brought up his gun and aimed it through the crowd at whoever was on the other side. It was only when the mob of people had finally thinned out that he was able to see. Fireworks exploded in a million sparks over his head as it dawned on him. There before him was Jooles held in the hostage grip of a familiar figure. The figure had taken off a coat, revealing a vest with a stack of C-4 strapped to it.

“Oh, come on, don’t act so surprised to see me!” the shrill voice sounded.

Xander’s shock paralyzed his body, every variable of every possibility had been analyzed and he hadn’t seen it from a mile away.

He was finally face to face with Agent Zero.