PROJECT SPARTA

CHAPTER 45

"Copy that," Seamus responded.

She felt a blunt impact on her head.

The world 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. Crisp punches and blocks exchanged between the two. Ashton connected on a jab and a hook, only phasing the suited man for the moment.

"Alright, 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.

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Across the Mall in the National Gallery of Art, Seamus retreated into the Rembrandt Exhibit. He heard the peddling of combat boots sound from down the hall. He squatted against a door frame that he selected as his cover. 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 and our weaknesses. To take these men down I'll have to do it with stealth.

Seamus remembered his 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 on using and screwed on a silencer attached to his bulletproof vest. He knew that he needed to retreat into the recesses of the museum to better isolate the fully armed terrorists and so he did, intentionally getting lost deep into the museum.

After running down a series of random corridors, he squatted behind a marble pillar at the center of an exhibit room. His breaths silently panting, as he awaited the men in search of him, his eyes roamed the exhibition room in an attempt to find his bearings. They ascended the far wall to a painting by George Bellows, entitled "The Art of Boxing". The oil painting depicted two boxers in the ring locked at the head, throwing punches into each other's gut.

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Mac's right connected with another Skeptic's ribs, he could hear the crunch from behind 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. The hall resembled outer space more than cyber space. Mac was out of his element. 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 from one of Mac's jabs. Mac knew that the man's strengths was physical and that he was outmatched. But he would have to fend for himself.

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Tobias was now running through the Mall's crowd. 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 spoke up his sleeve.

And then it started.

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