Poison Paradise - Damned of the 2/19th

Old Dark Codes

General Wilson swallowed and stared at the thin man. He had no idea what warranted a visit in his office from a CIA Deputy Director, a SEAL, and some woman in a suit, but he was pretty sure it wasn't going to be good.

"The subject of your explanation will be one Staff Sergeant Anthony Stillwater, also known as Ant or the Atlas Ant," Timmons said softly. "He may be listed in your files under Chernobog."

"He was on a classified mission when his plane disappeared," Major General Wilson said, smiling with just the right amount of sadness. "Nothing major, just routine inspection."

"I find that interesting," Timmons said, sitting down. The woman in black stood on his left and the SEAL stood on his right. He reached up to the pocket on his flannel shirt and removed a battered green notebook and a pen. When General Wilson went to speak the woman finally spoke.

"Be silent," she snapped. Her voice was empty, cold, void of human inflection.

Wilson closed his mouth.

Timmons was finished thumbing through the notebook, reading a page and nodding to himself.

"Flight 382 to Hawaii. Charter plane to Johnston Atoll. Then a charter plane to Marshall Island Chain. Then a Navy destroyer to the decommissioned Paradise Island Training Area," Timmons said. He looked up. "Interesting," then went back to looking at his notebook.

"What is?" Wilson asked, finally breaking the silence.

"No flight was actually paid or chartered to take Staff Sergeant Stillwater from Hawaii to Johnston Atoll or from Johnston Atoll to Marshall Island Chain. No Navy ship was detailed to pick him up and take him to Paradise Island at any time in the last six months," Timmons murmured. He looked up. "That, combined with the plane's transponder going out soon after takeoff seems a bit suspicious to me."

"With the plane having gone missing, there was no need to arrange the other phases of the trip," General Wilson said. He shook his head. "The loss of life is, of course, a tragedy and my thoughts and prayers go out to the families who have lost loved ones."

Timmons nodded. "Of course," He said.

"Be better off to have Fruit Bat pray to an oak tree for those people then saddle them with the prayers of this sack of..." Miss Smith started.

"Decorum, Miss Smith, decorum," The big SEAL murmured.

Wilson noticed that the small woman struggled for a moment to get her expression under control.

"General Wilson, what do you know of Sergeant Stillwater?" the mild looking CIA agent asked, crossing his legs primly, like a dowager maid at a ball, folding his hands on his knee. Despite his goofy outfit he acted as if he was wearing an expensive suit.

General Wilson cleared his throat. "Quite a bit of it is classified under National Security, so I'm not at liberty to divulge much of the information. I'm sure you understand."

Timmons waved his hands. "Feel free to contact the Central Intelligence Agency's information clearing division, I'm sure you'll find all my Special Access Program clearances, SIGMA identifiers, and other clearances in order."

General Wilson felt sweat bead up on his back. "That kind of information shouldn't be discussed in an office that anyone could walk by," he tried.

"And the new laser directional microphones could pick up the vibrations of our voices on the glass of the window," Mister Timmons nodded. "Perhaps a visit to the Secure Information Terminal less than a hundred feet away may be in order?"

Wilson gritted his teeth at the fact the little man was able to counter his excuses and his jaw muscles ached as the small man smiled at him.

"General Wilson, I have been a CIA analyst for over two decades. If you think that attempting to hide your actions or inactions or involvements behind the guise of National Security, you are sorely mistaken in that labels ability to deter my intelligence gathering or analysis," the small man said. The suited woman snorted slightly, amused by the comment and the big SEAL just rolled his eyes slightly.