Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (17 page)

One, two, three.

He swung the door open and she let the grenades fly. Xander fired rounds into the room, followed by Fiona, covering his six. Sparks flew as the grenades exploded.

A flash of light.

Then darkness.

“Green team has been eliminated. Congratulations, blue team. You have won the battle.”

Chapter 32

Crystal City, VA

July 2
nd
2016

Jooles was eating a sandwich out of a folded wrapper as she stepped onto the Metro. She was a lean African American woman with beautiful dark eyes and a slight curl to her dangling bangs. As an expert in stealth, her current assignment was to track a drug ring in the DC area. She consulted her iPhone in an effort to blend in with the public on mass transit. However, Jooles was not reading
Drudge
or playing “Angry Birds,” she was profiling each passenger—a training exercise that had become a habit.

The corner of her eye met the drug dealer she was tracking this afternoon, hoping that he would lead her up the food chain. He was a Caucasian, and he was wearing a long Tupac graphic tee, untied Timberland boots, and cornrows under a do-rag. He had a handgun tucked in the waistband of his pants, which sagged well below his hips. Jooles chuckled to herself at the sight, knowing this commute would be eventful. Right on cue, something unsurprising happened as soon as the door had closed. With about twenty people in the Metro car, the thug pulled out his gun and started waving it around. Screams sounded throughout the train car.

“Gimme yo wallets now or I’ll blow yo head off! A’ight?” he shouted. Several elderly women whimpered and passed over their pocketbooks with shaky hands. The man walked down the aisle collecting wallets until he came to Jooles, whose hands remained empty.

              “Where’s yours?” He turned the gun sideways and aimed straight at Jooles’s forehead. Jooles finally looked up from her phone and down the barrel of the gun at the criminal, who had no idea that he was robbing the wrong train.

“You in a gang? Trying to earn your merit badge?” Her tone became more defiant. “Well, I don’t have a wallet for you.” The attacker didn’t appreciate her contempt and pressed the end of the pistol to her forehead.

“What’s that then, sista’?” He pointed at the clutch in her hand.

“First of all, I’m not your
sista’
. I have an IQ of one hundred eight-seven, so there is no way an idiot like you shares my gene pool. Second of all, this is a Coach clutch and you are not taking it from me, because I love Coach,” she spoke frankly and calmer than any passenger on the train.

“Give me yo wallet or I’ll shoot yo fuckin’ head off.”

“You see, aiming the gun sideways is really the worst thing you can do for your aim.”

He adjusted his stance and aim almost in an off guard panic. He wasn’t expecting a lesson in marksmanship. “Oh, looks like we got a hero, here, don’t we?” He was trying to bark up his confidence.

              “No, not a hero. I’m just a pissed off girl who doesn’t have patience for guys like you robbing granny over there. You should be ashamed of yourself, you coward. But not only are you a coward, you aren’t even a good mugger. First off, your wrist is bent, making it easier for me to disarm you.” Jooles ducked and snapped his wrist. The bone broke and his hand released the gun. “Second off, you’re in close quarters so if I was to quickly do this—” She jabbed her hand into the thug’s throat, causing his airway to temporarily collapse. “—you wouldn’t be able to do anything, because you need space to attack.” She heaved his body headfirst into the wall of the train car. “And your pants are too low to have the mobility necessary to spring back on the defense.” The robber gasped for air, trying to recover, and Jooles yanked his pants down to his ankles. He stumbled over his pants and fell to the ground. Jooles snatched his handgun off the floor and popped the loaded bullet out of the barrel, then tucked the firearm in the back of her pants. She beamed down in disgust at his untied Timberland boots.

“Your shoes aren’t even tied! How in the hell do you expect to make your escape with untied boots?” Jooles seemed genuinely disappointed. “I think your cornrows have been done too tight,” she said as she returned the wallets to their rightful owners. A passenger phoned the police while the attacker lay incapacitated on the floor. The Metro squealed to a stop. Jooles gathered her newspaper and readied herself to exit the train, as if nothing had happened. The passengers applauded her and she offered a slight curtsey in return. She stepped over the defeated robber and walked off the train.

Jooles walked out of the Metro station and opened up her newspaper on the street corner. The passengers passed, amazed at what they had seen. As she did every day, she turned to page four of
The
Washington Post
, but today she did a double take at what she saw. Her eyes focused in on an advertisement in the top right corner. It said,

Chip’s Auto Sales

$1,500 down

0% APR till Saturday

Jooles was already gone as the paper fell to the street.

«————————»

Jooles arrived at Safe House #17 in Alexandria to find Seamus, Tobias, Xander, and Mac.

“Come on in, Jooles.” She couldn’t believe the sight before her: five Spartans were back together. A pizza sat on the coffee table.

“I never thought the signal would come.”

“Well, we have a problem,” Xander said. “I’ll brief you as soon as our last team member joins us.” At that moment, the last person walked in. Her shimmering blond hair had turned to a more flaxen tone that bounced with each step. Her figure had grown into the perfect balance of lean tone and voluptuous curves, while her smile remained as bright as it was in the Compound five years prior.

“Ashton! Good to see you.” Xander met her at the doorway and offered a greeting kiss on both cheeks.

“I got here as soon as I could,” she explained.

“It’s okay. Thank you for coming. We’re just getting started.”

“Where’s Duke?” Ashton asked.

“We will get to him.” Ashton’s eyebrows arched at this as she took her seat.

There they were: Xander, Tobias, Ashton, Seamus, Mac, and Jooles all gathered for the first time since training five years prior.

Everyone had the same question:
Why are we all here?
Xander paced in front of the seated Spartans.

“I called you all here today because Mac and I have discovered something that requires our attention.” He directed them to the wall covered in notes. “You most likely have heard about the bombings in the DC area.”

“Like the one yesterday in DuPont Circle?” Jooles asked.

“Actually, no. That one was us,” Mac chimed in.

“I must take credit for the design… I did the riggin’ of Mac’s apartment myself. I saw a cell phone video of it. A work of art if I say so myself,” Seamus noted, kissing his fingertips like a chef who had just served his guests.

“The bus and the Metro train?” Jooles asked. Xander nodded.

“Responsibility for both attacks have been claimed by a new cell. They call themselves the Skeptics. They are led by someone who is referred to as Agent Zero. After gaining a following, Agent Zero left Afghanistan and came stateside. We have been investigating this man.” He pointed to the picture pinned to the wall of the older Muslim man. “This is Hamal Abadi, who now appears to be working for Agent Zero. Thanks to Mac, we were able to obtain intel on him from the NSA.”

“I’m s-sure that w-w-wasn’t legal,” Tobias chimed in.

“No, Tobias, it was not, but the government not giving us full access to their data is their fault. This intel leads us to an American contact who has helped arrange and fund Agent Zero’s stateside operation. This American contact sent a courier to retrieve the details of the target. But Agent Zero called an audible. This box here was not intended for the American contact. It was intended for us.” He pulled out the box showing the Arabic characters that spelled out “nothing is as it seems.” There was a collective shock as they read the words.

Xander was careful to survey the room’s reaction, fully aware that Agent Zero could be sitting before him.

“The Spartan Credo,” Seamus gasped, barely audible.

“Yes. It is. Agent Zero is a defector from Project Sparta.” Disbelief paralyzed the newcomers. A hushed silence swept the room as they reflected on its implications. Xander continued to eye each one of his fellow operatives up and down, until they began to look at one another with unsettled suspicion.

“I not only think we have one defector, I think we have two: the American contact. She is currently our only lead to the Skeptics.”

“She? I’m guessing you know who the American contact is?” Ashton interrupted. Xander answered by lifting a final head shot of Senator Helen Bashfield. He taped it up on the drywall along with the other suspects.

“What the hell?” Seamus asked.

“Senator Helen Bashfield was recorded having a conversation with Hamal Abadi, planning to finance Agent Zero’s travels in exchange for the impending target on American soil. By the sound of the recording, and Mac will play it for you, she sounded like she thought she was Agent Zero’s superior. The infrastructure of the cell is unclear at this point, but Bashfield is without a doubt playing a role in this.” The room went silent. Everyone knew Bashfield and her shady reputation.

“We have two traitors on our hands, guys. We know who one of them is, but we still don’t know the identity of Agent Zero,” Xander explained.

“Duke.” Seamus coughed the name as if to muddle his suggestion.

“By now most of you know that Duke has gone AWOL. He is our chief suspect. But there are others associated with Project Sparta that had even a more direct relationship with Bashfield. Any of our instructors—Cusick, Rearden, Axle— hell, it could have even been Dr. Rodgers. The point is that we have to remain objective because our predispositions toward someone in particular could cloud our judgment. For all we know, Agent Zero could be in this room right now.” A long pause came over the room as each of the Spartans shifted uncomfortably at the thought. Xander analyzed each reaction, trying to pick up on any sign of a guise, but again to no avail.

“What about Fiona?” Jooles asked square.

“We aren’t ruling out anything.”

“Duke is our primary suspect…” Mac updated.

“Mac has been working around the clock trying to locate him. He covered his tracks well,” Xander said. “I called you guys in because we have to get to Bashfield. We need to interrogate her so we can find out who Agent Zero is and stop the next attack before it happens.”

“But it sounded like she doesn’t know! I mean we have the target. We just can’t open it.” Mac asserted.

“I know but I think she has the key…” Xander theorized.

“What how?” Seamus asked. Xander pointed to the wall with the dialogue from his conversation with Agent Zero, scrawled in Black Sharpie over it.

I’ve left you enough breadcrumbs to follow.

“Agent Zero knew we would find the conversation. It’s a trail. He is leading us to the target.” Xander smiled at the revelation. “We need to infiltrate her office and question her there. She probably has the key there.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Seamus interjected. “I hear ya there, Xander, but the only problem is Senator Bashfield’s office happens to be in the Russell Senate Office Building on Capitol Hill. That’s a tall order.”

“I know. That’s why I need your help.” Xander’s last statement hung in the air. The Spartans exchanged looks and knew what they had to do.

“Let’s get to work, then,” Seamus said with a smile.

«————————»

Over the next five hours, the apartment transformed into a workshop. Six of America’s best operatives were all in one room planning an infiltration of a US Senator’s office. They each brought fresh perspectives and their own expertise to the table—a table now littered with notes and city maps. Xander was the undeniable leader of the team, directing each Spartan’s efforts.

Xander left to retrieve blueprints of the Russell Senate Office Building from a Russian contact. They met in the park to play chess. Russian Joe never used his real name and never met anywhere but in public, but somehow he always came through for Xander. He always had the stub of a cigar lodged into the side of mouth and wore a conductor-style hat. Stubble covered his double chin.

“I never like seeing you.” Russian Joe took a long drag on his cigar and wheezed out a cough. He delivered the blueprints three hours later in exchange for a handsome sum of cash that Xander had fished out of the ceiling of the safe house. Xander didn’t know Russian Joe’s sources nor did he care to know. They were in the business of getting results and that’s what they got from Russian Joe.

Operatives always had an unwritten little black book and it took years for Xander to acquire his network, but there were always a few ground rules. No names, no questions, and cash only. As long as these three commandments were unbroken, both parties would remain in each other’s good graces.

Upon Xander’s return, Jooles studied the layout of the Russell Senate Office Building and mapped out the movements that would keep them free from attention. Ashton had gathered a wardrobe of disguises for the mission, while Mac hacked into Bashfield’s personal email.