Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (27 page)

Chapter 50

Washington, DC

July 4
th
2016

The fireworks were in full show. Thunderous pounds almost shook the foundation of the Washington Monument as Ashton, bloodied and bruised, was thrown to the ground and mounted by the Skeptic. Ashton was losing the battle and she knew it, but Project Sparta had forged her from fire. She could take more of a beating than most, and she knew how to wait to pick her points in a fight. Similar to her skills with the sniper rifle, she awaited the chance for one incredible shot to pull the trigger. She continued to wait for her moment as bloody fists smashed down on her. The Skeptic had her pinned under his weight as he wrapped his hands around her neck. His thumbs pressed hard down on Ashton’s windpipe, shutting off any flow of oxygen. Ashton knew her move would have to happen quick. She began throwing punches up at the Skeptic who leaned back to keep his head out of arm’s reach. Ashton didn’t want to punch him, though, she wanted him to lean back.

In one quick motion, Ashton’s legs came up from behind the Skeptic and wrapped around his neck, prying him off of her. The Skeptic, locked between Ashton’s legs, gasped for breath as his face turned a deep crimson and the veins in his forehead bulged with a thumping pulse. With a quick jerk, a snap sounded through the nape of the neck and the man fell limp.

Ashton gathered her feet and spat a wad of blood down onto the lifeless figure before her. Huffing and puffing, she heaved each leg up each stair and made her way back to her rifle. Perched at the window looking over the Mall, she hitched the sniper rifle to her shoulder and brought her eye to the scope. The crowd changed colors as the exploding light from the fireworks flashed across the sky. Most people remained in their halcyon stances, necks cocked up and mouths gaping slightly. But commotion was stirring by the American History Museum. She swung her barrel to the north and noticed many formally dressed people running out of the building in all different directions. It looked like someone had stepped on an anthill and all its residents were scurrying every which way.

Her sight fell on Tobias’s crazy nest of hair, bobbing up and down as he hurried down the gravel path toward the AHM. Ashton read a distraught expression, wondering what she had missed since the Skeptic had beaten her to a pulp.

«————————»

Tobias grabbed Hardy’s arm. The colonel had left the party—and the museum—before the stampede. His pace and aloof demeanor suggested that he was completely oblivious to the hunt for him.

“What the hell, Tobias?” he barked a mumbled slur.

“We got to get you out of here. Now!”

He started pulling Hardy alongside him toward the street where the van was parked.

“Okay, ease up. What’s the problem?”

“The Skeptics are here. You were the target.”

«————————»

Ashton ran her crosshairs up the edifice of the American History Museum. The fifth-floor terrace had emptied except for a few people. One was Xander. She knew from his mop of dirty-blond hair. He appeared unharmed but was engaged in a standoff.

“Xander, this is Ashton. Shift your feet if you can hear me.” Xander rocked back and forth in his stance as his feet found a new foundation.

Ashton traced the aim of the gun to two figures. One was Jooles. She was being held across the neck, being used as a human shield by a person behind her. Ashton saw a red-and-blue wire behind Jooles and a trigger mechanism in her captor’s hand.

There’s our bomb.

The figure shifted and spoke over Jooles’s shoulder to Xander. His face came out from behind Jooles. It was a slightly familiar face, one that Ashton hadn’t seen in years. She squinted through the scope.

It was the defector from Project Sparta.

The traitor was wearing a suicide vest.

It all clicked in her head immediately along with her jaw as it dropped to its next joint.

But he’s dead! He died in the Project!

She realized something instantaneously, as she recalled her old friend.

Agent Zero wasn’t just a name. It was an anagram:

AGENT ZERO

EZRA GONET

Chapter 51

Washington, DC

July 4
th
2016

“Ezra…” Xander’s voice trailed as his throat closed up. Jooles struggled in his grasp. Xander didn’t know what to do but play the game.

“Thought I was dead?” Though older, Ezra still had the same crazy look in his eye, but it had become more deranged.

Xander searched for answers. “I saw your body burning.”

“That was Bronson…”

“But…I saw your house blow up. You were in that house.” Xander’s mind raced, trying to connect the dots. But the dots were too scattered.

“No, I wasn’t, but I
was
watching.” Ezra flashed a wild smile. The image of the silhouette he saw at the high observation window surfaced.

“The silhouette I saw that night…that was you? But how?” And then it dawned on Xander. The underground tunnels, the crates with the odds and ends on it, a wad of clothes, a lantern, and a scribbled-on crossword.

That was Ezra’s. He’d left them behind before leaving the Compound.

Hardy’s voice echoed through his head.

Tunnels within tunnels…

“Extraction,” he said. The bookshelf couldn’t be opened from the Spartan side without a keycard. Xander remembered tilting every book to no avail.

It had to be opened from the other side. But who would extract him?

And then the next puzzle piece fell into place. He remembered Bashfield’s offer to him to get out of Project Sparta.

“Bashfield?” Xander said. Ezra nodded.

“Did she offer you the gig first?” He paused. “Of course she did. You were always their golden boy. Xander, I couldn’t stay trapped in the Compound anymore. Are you kidding me? So to extract me, we had to stage my death. Death is the only discharge, remember?”

“What’d she have you do?” Xander asked, still trying to make sense of it all.

“They needed a Spartan to go deep undercover in Afghanistan. I was a beggar for three years, living off of scraps and only reporting to Bashfield once a month. Eating dirt and freezing through night after night all for the good of my country,” Ezra explained.

“Why are you doing this, Ezra? Why don’t you put the detonator down?” Xander asked him.

Ashton’s voice sounded in his ear. “Listen carefully, Xander and Jooles. I do not have a shot. I repeat, I do not have a shot. We can try the countdown shot.” Xander shifted his feet again as if to say
okay
.

“Because my government took everything from me! Hardy plucked me from my perfect life and stole my youth! I gave them everything and they just used me as a pawn in their messed-up war games.”

As Ezra grew comfortable in his explanation, his eyes came off Xander from time to time. With a quick nod over his right shoulder, Jooles slowly raised her eyes to the top of the Washington Monument. A gentle nod confirmed the message was received.

“And so you want to exact your revenge on Colonel Hardy?” Xander theorized.

“Jackson Hardy is the bastard who stole our lives from us!” Ezra’s voice became irate.

“You had no identity, so you had to strike a deal with Bashfield so you could get back into the States, so you got here and hired your own band of mercenaries. I understand now.” Xander’s spoke through his revelation.

“You don’t understand shit!” he yelled, holding the detonator out. Jooles’s eyes widened as Ezra grew more intense, and she placed three fingers against his arm.

«————————»

Ashton steadied her rifle on Ezra the best she could. She saw one of Jooles fingers tuck into her fist, leaving only two fingers. The countdown had started.

“Okay, the count is two…” Sweat rolled down her temple as she steadied herself within her stance. Her scope remained on Jooles’s hand as she awaited the next signal.

«————————»

“The problem is, Ezra, is that you are trying to blow up innocent people.” Xander knew he had to rile him up. He needed Ezra to be reckless as the countdown continued.

“Collateral damage. A war is upon us, Xander. The Collective will rise!” His voice screeched in a wild frenzy. Xander had him wild and off his guard, just where he wanted him.

Jooles flashed one finger. The countdown had been finished.

«————————»

Ashton adjusted her cross hairs to Ezra, knowing her window of opportunity was fast approaching.  Her finger fed through the trigger guard and gripped the trigger, ready to pull as soon as Jooles made her move.

«————————»

“Are you ready to make your choice, Xander?” Ezra screamed. A silent moment passed as their eyes locked. Then a diabolical smile came over Ezra. As if Xander could read his mind, he reached out for her.

“No!” Xander saw it happen in slow motion. In one swift movement, Ezra brought the Glock 32 up to Jooles’s temple and pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed out from her skull as her lifeless body collapsed to the terrace floor.

Lacking his human shield, Ezra was now exposed. He extended his arm as if displaying himself for the eye in the sky. A shot rang out, soaring through the air, over and across the Mall, catching Ezra in the arm holding the detonator.

Ezra flew onto his back with tremendous force and released the detonator. Blood squirted into the air from the wound. Ezra’s chest heaved as he gasped for breath. The bullet had snapped the large tendon running down his arm, which extended to his fingers.

Xander approached, holding his gun out in front of him. Ezra’s arm hung limp like a snapped tree branch. Xander turned to Jooles, limp and lying in a pool of her own blood. Her eyes stared out, lifeless. Flashes of news reports from the Metro and bus bombings flooded his mind. A rage boiled in his gut, and his limbs tingled as if his heart had short circuited. This man was a traitor and one that deserved the kind of justice Spartans dealt out. His grip tightened on his firearm, his teeth clenched down.

His thumb reached up and he cocked the 9mm.

“Go ahead and kill me,” Ezra taunted through an eerie smile. Xander couldn’t breathe as the moments passed. The vein running up to his temple pulsated and his nostrils flared through rushed breaths. A whirlwind of recollection resurfaced.

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.

He was still playing Ezra’s game and he hated him more for it. His gut told him to kill the bastard and be done with it, but his head was telling him otherwise.

Xander hadn’t experienced such a dilemma since he thought Fiona was a traitor in the Compound. The real defector now lay helplessly before him; the judgment was Xander’s to make.

“Don’t, Xander. We need him,” Ashton spoke softly in his ear. “Don’t make him a martyr to his people.”

Xander’s grip tightened till his knuckles turned white. His mind raced through every contingency. This moment presented a fork in the road with both choices leading to very different futures. If he pulled the trigger, Ashton would cover for him and the guilt wouldn’t be much of a pill to swallow. This terrorist deserved to die. If he didn’t pull the trigger, they could capture him and interrogate him.

And then a rational thought came to him.
Xander remembered Hardy and his walk through the park during Project Sparta.

Justice does in fact have a real meaning that in many ways still needs to be discovered, but in every way needs to be protected.

The finale of the fireworks show exploded in the sky. A chant sounded from the crowd, audible over the sequential bursts in the air. “USA! USA! USA!” National pride was calling out to him. His hand reached up and grabbed the crucifix under his shirt. He thought of what true justice was and how he could ensure its place in society. He released the trigger altogether.

Looking down at his old friend, Xander saw Ezra’s blood-lined smile.

“We are the Collective. Are you?” Ezra said.

“Justice it will be, then.” There was a contingency backing his tone, almost as if the move entailed more than Xander initially anticipated. Xander brought the butt of his gun down hard onto Ezra’s face, knocking him out cold.

Ashton sighed a relief over the comm. —it was a reminder that they weren’t just killing machines. They had somehow developed a moral compass that valued true justice. Xander took the suicide vest off of Ezra. He called in a medivac helicopter to treat Ezra’s wound and take him into custody.

Xander walked over to his fellow Spartan’s dead body. A puddle of blood pooled out from her head, her eyes staring straight ahead. He looked down at her, fighting tears. He knelt beside her and in one wave of the hand closed her eyes. He removed his jacket and placed it respectfully over her face. Then he said a prayer through silently moving lips and crossed himself.

The fireworks show had ended and the chant continued over the expanse of the lawn as the onlookers funneled out.

“USA! USA! USA!”

The medivac helicopter approached.

The box was intended for me all along…to be here right now, making the choice. He killed his human shield. He wanted to be exposed. It’s almost as if he planned it this way.