Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (6 page)

Chapter 9

The Compound

June 11
th
2010

The Spartans’ physical and mental assessments took place the next day. Xander throughout the day ran a forty-yard dash, bench pressed his max, took a written exam, and finally sat down with the Project’s psychologist, Dr. Pindar.

They sat in Xander’s house facing each other, Xander on the couch next to the bookshelf and Pindar in the armchair across the room. Xander’s features hung, exhausted from the day and agitated by the thought that he was now a lab rat for a mysterious government contractor.

“Okay, Xander, we are just going to talk. Our aim here today is to open up about how you are feeling and handling the transition to the Project.”

“Okay.”

“So, how’s it going?”

“Fine…” A long pause followed the terse response. Many moments passed, and Dr. Pindar adjusted her approach.

“It’s okay to open up to me. Anything you say here will remain between us.” A smirk materialized on Xander’s face. “Is something funny?”

“I’m a guinea pig in a fish bowl trying to figure out how to swim…” Xander shrugged.

“Why did you come to Project Sparta?” Xander hesitated a beat.

“I always knew that I was different after the crash. I saw things differently. I remembered everything and could read people instinctually. Every other kid around me was behind. So I devoured every book I could get my hands on because I had no friends and couldn’t relate to anyone my age. I would have stopped going to school a very long time ago if Ms. Baker hadn’t forced me to go. I figured this program was for people like me. What I have seen so far is that each recruit is here for a specific purpose. But I can’t figure out what my purpose is. What’s my expertise? What makes me special? Why do you people even want me here?”

Dr. Pindar jotted down a few notes. “Colonel Hardy hand selected each Spartan. I do not know why he picked you, but I can tell you this: for the last forty-eight hours I have been speaking with each recruit, helping them cope with the reality that they have been selected for a black ops training program and their lives will never be the same,” Dr. Pindar explained.

“So?”

“I can tell you that you aren’t nearly as distraught by that reality. So, maybe it is your courage that sets you apart.”

«————————»

Xander couldn’t sleep at all that night—morning came and he had not closed his eyes once. He fixed his sights on the revolution of the fan and again assessed his peculiar surroundings. His mind raced, attempting to process the mystery and unorthodoxy of the Compound. He reflected on the day, his assessments, and how he was being tested by government contractors. He still didn’t understand why. Project Sparta’s apparent methods and quarantined nature made Xander skeptical of its true intent.

It helped to know other recruits were going through it with him. He had the beginnings of a friendship with Ezra and Jooles, but there was a special, unspoken connection with Fiona. It consisted of guilty, bashful smiles, small talk, and awkward interactions. It was something to look forward to each day.

Today was his first day of live training. He fried three eggs that he had found in the refrigerator food supplies, just like what Ms. Baker used to make him on his first day of school. He had never been taught but he had watched her one morning and most of the time that was all Xander needed. He walked out into his front yard in his bathrobe and looked up at the dome ceiling. It no longer looked like a ceiling; rather, it was imprinting with an image of clouds and birds flying by. The concrete walls and ceiling were no longer exposed, and the Compound before him now resembled a small midwestern town. The warm temperature relaxed him and the cool summer breeze brushed by in a whirl. The lone circular window to the outside world poured bright natural light in for the trees of the Thicket. The Compound now had a pulse. They were in their own world now.

To Xander’s surprise, a voice from the sky spoke sweetly, like a mother waking her children up for school.

“Good Morning, Spartans.” The voice paused a moment as the other recruits joined Xander outside in the middle of the street and gazed toward the massive skylight. Fiona smiled, still dressed in her pajamas, as if she were amazed by the seemingly livable and charming place before them. “I am Anni. I am an artificial intelligence program that helps run the Compound. It’s my pleasure to serve you. Your training begins today. You will first report to the Armory for weapons training at oh-seven-hundred. You will then go to securities and intelligence training in the Mainframe. Lastly, you will report to the Thicket for espionage and stealth training. Have a good day, Spartans, and remember, nothing is as it seems.” The intercom system in the Compound returned to playing the typical suburban background samples of dogs barking, birds tweeting and kids playing.  The recruits looked around at one another, still taken aback by the surprise voice from the sky and the new atmosphere of the Compound.

The warmest voice I’ve heard since I’ve been in here…and it isn’t even human.

«————————»

Later that morning, the Spartans walked over to the Armory for their first class. The facility was bigger than it looked from the outside. There was a shooting range, wrestling mats, and archery targets, as well as trenches dug into the ground. Captain Axle awaited them, arms folded across his chest, beaming down at his new recruits. He noticed the inflamed grape covering Xander’s eye. His eyes furrowed as if to say,
Attaboy.

“All right, Spartans, we are going to learn how to shoot one of these.” Hardy flashed his Glock. “The first and most important lesson of using a firearm is safety.” Axle proceeded to teach the proper holding technique, the different parts of a firearm and basic concepts in how to physically and mentally handle a firearm. After thirty minutes of introductory lecturing, Axle looked over the recruits and made his selection.

“Xander, come here.” Axle held the M1911 pistol out for him. Xander sauntered up to the gun and grabbed its thick grip. The gun dropped in his grasp; he was not expecting its weight. Xander looked to Axle for direction. “Go on! Go over to the range and try to shoot the target.” Xander heaved the gun over to the shooting mats, careful to employ the correct safety measures. He held the gun up with both hands and fired a round which jolted him back a half a step. He wasn’t ready for the kickback and his shot came nowhere near the target. His ears rung. His eyes were closed. The bullet drove into the ground twenty feet in front of him. The only sound to come through his ringing ears was the snickering of Duke as a second misfire blasted through the room.

“What the hell is so funny?” Axle ripped into Duke with a deprecatory bite.

“Nothing, sir.”

“You bet your ass nothing. Now I want to see how excellent of a marksman
you
are, Duke.” He motioned for Duke to approach the gun before him at his shooting mat. Duke did so and took a pretty experienced stance. Xander noticed he was standing with his right foot back and his left foot forward to increase balance, stability, and cushion for the kick. He noticed his raised shoulders and firm grip. He zeroed in on the whites of his knuckles, his skin creases pulled tight. Duke’s eye down the sight of the pistol—he fired off a round, hitting the shoulder of the target sheet at the end of the range.

“Beat that, Oliver Twist!” he taunted, looking over at Xander. Xander had absorbed everything he could from observing Duke’s shot, his posture, form, and grip. His mind processed what he had seen, and in one fluid motion, Xander brought the barrel up to his eye and fired off a full magazine at the target down the range. Each bullet punctured the black silhouette’s chest and then with one quick aiming adjustment, Xander’s last round hit the target in the middle of the forehead. He ejected the clip and hit the ground, then he placed the empty pistol back on his mat. The hot gust of air rose from the end of the barrel and with it any doubt in Xander’s abilities. The Spartans started murmuring among themselves.

How did I do that?

The only one not impressed was Duke, who had just been outshot by the kid who didn’t even know what skeet shooting was.

“Have you shot a gun before today?” Axle asked. Xander shook his head. “How did you do that?”

Xander caught the lump in his throat and couldn’t find the words.

“I just learned it, I guess…” All eyes were steady on Xander, who was motionless in disbelief.

“All right, Spartans, all of you give it a go!” Most of the cadets looked overwhelmed and inexperienced, but over time they grew more confident with the firearms and their shooting techniques improved. The only other natural in the room was Ashton, who had the steadiest hand and the most precise aim. After a round of target practice, they covered the basics of assembly and disassembly, as well as the physics behind a shot.

«————————»

The Spartans had found their way over to the Mess Hall for lunch after Tactical training. Xander sat at a table with Fiona, Ezra, Jooles, and Mac. Seamus, Bronson, Ashton, and Tobias sat with Duke. They had gotten their food from the cafeteria line and were served a high-protein diet—a mushy mystery meat, kale and lentils.

“Where is the sugar?” Ezra exclaimed. His comment was met with general agreement and labored mastication.

“This food might be the hardest part of our training,” Seamus said, spitting out a half-chewed portion of mystery meat. He started coughing in disgust.

“Wrong pipe?” Fiona asked.

“Any pipe is the wrong pipe. Where are the chicken fingers for God’s sakes?” Seamus responded over his plate. The Spartans laughed collectively.

“Xander, that was some incredible shooting today!” Fiona said, as impressed as the rest.

A slight blush crept into his cheeks. Xander became reticent and bashful at the sound of her praise. He could only muster a short, breathy reply as his eyes fell to his shoes.

“Thanks…”

“You really showed Duke!” Jooles lowered her voice so the other table couldn’t hear.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You should have seen his face!” Fiona whispered, beaming at him.

“Oh, I did, and I’m glad I have a photographic memory because that’s one face I never want to forget!” The table erupted in laughter. Xander looked over to the other table and met Duke’s vengeful expression. A shiver shot through Xander’s spine. He knew Duke’s hatred was entrenched and only growing, and Xander feared what that would make him capable of.

Chapter 10

The Compound

June 12
th
2010

“Welcome to Intelligence class. I am Damien Cusick,” the instructor said. He was dressed in casual clothes again—today it was a Rage Against the Machine T-shirt. The Mainframe felt strangely eerie, as shadows littered the room from the faint glow of the computer monitors. The room was disordered with hardware sprawled out everywhere; screens and computer consoles lined each of the interior walls. There were five workstations on each side, one for each Spartan. Wires hung from the ceiling and coiled around the four support beams in the room. It resembled the guts of a machine and they were all plugged into it.

Cusick held a keyboard with one hand and typed at an incredible speed with the other. Screens began to change and graphics started moving. “We are going to be learning a lot of different things in this class. This is where you will develop your inner geek like me. You will learn how to crack firewalls, analyze intelligence. You will learn anything and everything having to do with computers. You will learn how to hack.”

Mac’s face lit up like Christmas morning.

“And more importantly, I will teach you how to not get caught. If I heard correctly, that was how we found you, Mr. Morrison.” He smiled at Mac, who was still the primary enthusiast in the group. A small chuckle came over the room.

“Today we will start out slow with computer basics, and then we will get into basic Java script.” They all hopped in the cockpit seats at their workstations, all of which were color-coded. Screens surrounded each Spartan, encasing them in a virtual reality. While the recruits fumbled through the lesson plan, Xander found that it came easily to him. He was able to work his way through basic problems logically although he was somewhat limited by his lack of technical know-how. Mac, however, would complete the exercises twice as fast and help his neighbor finish theirs. Xander noted how helpful Mac could be to him in the future.

After class the Spartans took a long walk across the Compound to the Thicket. The Thicket was the forest that lined the other side of the Compound. It was a deep and long wooded area that had man-made hills and streams. Oak and fir trees towered seventy feet tall; many of them had grown toward the light shining through the oculus window in the dome. When the recruits arrived, no one had any idea where to find their instructor, Juliette Rearden. In front of the main clearing leading into the woods was a tree stump with a piece of paper nailed to it.

To find what you seek, you must think like what you seek

“She must be hiding or something.” Bronson concluded. The recruits became kids again, playing a game. Eight of them ran off in every direction looking under rocks, behind trees, anywhere Rearden could have been hiding. Ezra and Xander remained at the stump. Xander’s instinct had kicked in and Ezra could see that he had a plan up his sleeve.

“They aren’t going to find her,” Xander whispered. “She’s too skilled to be found. She might get flushed out from her hiding spot. If so, we should be camouflaged and find higher ground, let her come to us.”

Ezra arched his eyebrows. “Didn’t realize you had such a knack for strategy.” Xander shrugged and headed to the nearby bank of the stream.

“Brilliant,” Ezra whispered. Together, they ran over and flopped down in it like pigs taking a mud bath. Covered in mud, they would blend in with the trees. They returned to the tree and climbed as high as they could get. From their perch near the top, they were able to view the whole Thicket. They marveled at the beauty of it all. The sun shined through the oculus at the center of the dome and cascaded down through the trees until it settled on the southern pond. They could see their fellow Spartans run down into the meadow, chasing the wildlife on their way.

Ezra and Xander sat stone still, blending in the best they could for the next half hour while the others continued their search. Then Xander caught something out of the corner of his eye below—an optical illusion.

The grass was shifting.

Xander focused in on the inconsistency and nudged Ezra. After scanning the same, strange sight, Ezra nodded to Xander and they seized the moment before it was too late. They had found her. Xander and Ezra dropped from tree limb to tree limb until they reached the ground.

“Got you!” Ezra yelled as he tagged his instructor. Ms. Rearden smiled, impressed by the muddy boy in front of her. She pulled the green hood off her head, revealing a long mane of flowing brown hair that was tucked in her jacket. Her hoodie and pants were the exact color of the grass this time of the year. Xander could see the brushstrokes of the paint brush on the hoodie’s unique pattern.

“Good Job, Ezra. Cleverness is a natural gift.” She pushed a button on her wristwatch and spoke into it.

“Anni, bring them in.”

“Attention Spartans, Instructor Rearden has been found.” Anni’s robotic voice rung throughout the Compound. “Please rendezvous at the entrance of the Thicket.”

The cadets assembled, each one winded and indignant upon realization that Xander and Ezra had won the challenge.

“The first lesson of espionage is to become invisible. Whether you have to lurk behind corners or hide in plain sight, you will learn it all here. We will have many exercises in the Thicket but our lessons can be anywhere. Today we will start our beginner’s tutorial in basic stealth techniques. We will begin with walking.”

“Walking?” Seamus scoffed. “We all know how to walk.”

“Oh do you?” Rearden cracked a smile and began the lesson.

Throughout the class, she showed the Spartans five different forms of walking. They took each step slowly to ensure proper form would become habit. Every minute aspect was covered from weight distribution to arch angle. They practiced over and over until their feet became numb, constantly stumbling over themselves and falling off balance, as the proper walking form proved more difficult than they thought.

The second half of the class was dedicated to being light on their toes. Each Spartan had to stand on a large tree limb of a tree and catch eggs tossed from a partner without allowing them to break. Balance, sure feet, and soft hands were of the utmost importance for this exercise. Jooles caught the most by far, moving through the tree like a feline. Not all Spartans did well at the exercise. Seamus, for example, was naturally reckless, and he fell out of the tree.

“Ah, my bloody back,” he cried when he hit the ground. “Someone tell me why we are catching eggs in a tree again?” The Spartans laughed together at his angst as he was wheeled off to the Infirmary. It was obvious that he wasn’t seriously injured, but it served as a reminder to the real dangers such training presented.

After classes were over for the day, free time commenced. Some of the Spartans went to the Fitness Center to work out, while others went to the Library. Xander decided to retire to his house to read. Each book on his shelf was either a literary classic or a military history, but one in particular stood out. It was a thick book and at first Xander could not tell what it was that was strange about its appearance. After a moment of reflection, its most obvious characteristic struck him: it was white. Xander realized that nothing was white in the Compound other than Fiona’s house. The Compound was all ashy grays and calming beiges. The book’s context made it almost shine throughout the room. On the spine it said,
The Fox and the Grapes
. He recognized it as one of Aesop’s fables and a thought occurred immediately.

“The Fox and the Grapes” is just a short story. Not nearly long enough for the size of that book.

His hand could not resist grabbing the book from the shelf. His fingers grazed the siding of the book. On the book’s front cover it only had the plain text of the title—no author, no cover art. He also noticed that on the front cover some of the letters had been crossed out.

THE FOX AND THE GRAPES

T
H
E
F
OX AND
TH
E
G
R
APES

The remaining letters formed two new words:
To Xander

What the hell? Someone has placed this book in this house specifically for me. They obviously went through a great deal of discretion to make sure that only I saw it.

He opened the front cover and saw the hidden title page. It did not say “The Fox and the Grapes”; rather, the text had an entirely different title. Its cream pages were neatly stitched into the binding of the false cover:

The Republic

by Plato

Ask yourself the highest questions.

– J. H.

His eyes narrowed on the cover page, realizing the text was purposefully hidden.

I guess you really can’t judge a book by its cover…

Xander reviewed the circumstances that brought the book to his shelf, curious of its purpose.

J.H… Jackson Hardy. He planted this book for me. He wants me to learn philosophy? But why? I’ve never studied it. I don’t even really know what it is. What does philosophy have to do with spy craft?

Ask myself the highest questions…

But what questions?