Andrews Air Force Base, DC
Hangar C
2016
The V-22 neared airplane hangar C and followed the waving directions of two red illuminated wands. Hovering over the landing zone, the magnanimous aircraft descended to the ground in heaved motions as if it were a monster exhaling. The engine was cut, the beast sputtered a sigh and Xander popped out of the cockpit. The news of Xander's stealing of the V-22 had already circulated the base. He was met by a myriad of reactions - half did not appreciate his rogue behavior, half admired it – but all were unsure of who he was.
Xander strutted a swag in his step, as he had called into the Air Force Base with his code name, a name that was above the law and above everyone's security clearance. Those on the ground only knew he was blacker than black ops and not to mess with him. It was guys like him they had only heard rumors about, the military's version of ghost stories. Normal transport protocol had been broken and Xander had come out from the shadows.
"Sir?" To Xander's surprise, someone spoke to him.
"Yeah..." He wanted to be invisible, but he guessed that was too much to ask for when he arrived in a massive aircraft he stole from Bagram.
"I've been instructed to escort you to the hangar. Someone is there to see you," Xander nodded and followed the unassuming officer across the landing strip to a hangar. It was the largest hangar on the grounds. The structure stood as a large enclosed hexagon and was the most secure hangar in the world due to the massive Boeing VC-25 it harbored. This plane was better known as Air Force One. Xander walked under its blue and white fuselage, past the Presidential Seal and across the hangar toward the corner. There, an old TV set blinked upon a very large, bald man.
"Been awhile Axle, how you doing?" Captain Axle's goatee had grayed, showing the aging that the Project had on him. With Hardy ascending the political ladder, as of late, Axle was the primary operational handler of the Spartans. Hardy had become a valuable consultant to the White House on all things covert.
"Oh, you know me..." Axle's intimidating demeanor, fizzled out after training -- his voice carried a rasp behind it, as his career of barking had finally caught up to him. Axle had a strange relationship with the Spartans. He couldn't call himself their superior anymore, for they had surpassed him in every area. He preferred the term 'handler' as it nuanced reeling in their havoc. Axle used to come off more like a drill sergeant but not had aged into a more of a grumpy old friend.
Axle, arms folded, turned from the television and glanced at the massive aircraft, still powering down, outside the hangar.
"If you weren't the best, you know, you wouldn't get away with half of the shit you get away with." Xander couldn't help but smirk at one of the only compliments he had ever received from Axle.
"I'll try to be more... discrete next time." Xander smirked and then returned to the television where Axle's eyes focused.
"The world's going to hell," Axle said as his eyes remained locked on the television screen, glowing in its flashing colors.
A Broadcast News Association, or BNA, news report was airing, the headline read "Metro Bombing in DC".
"You have to be shitting me," Xander sighed.
"Agent Zero has already claimed responsibility for it," Axle reported distantly.
"How many dead?" Xander's tone dropped from the thought, depressed and saddened by the news.
"Fifty-six." Xander exhaled an emotional disbelief. A vengeful motivation ignited in him.
"What do you have for me?" Axle handed him a folder that he immediately opened. As the Agent Zero's identity was still unknown they used a standard black silhouette as the dossier image.
"Thanks to our friends in the NSA, we know a little more about him now. The intelligence community has been working round the clock on this one man."
"Or woman," Xander added. Axle shrugged an agreement to the possibility.
"Or woman..."
"So what's the word?"
"As you know, Agent Zero is regarded as a philosopher, whose writings have swept through the terror networks, motivating radicalism throughout America. But after careful analysis of those writings, nothing about them indicates that Agent Zero is religious, one way or another. They focus more on natural philosophy – like the ancient Greeks."
"Like Plato?" Xander immediately remembered the book planted in his house during Project Sparta.
"As a matter of fact, yes. There is a great deal of references to the Forms and Education."
Who else could Hardy have given that book to?
"Plato's Cave..."
"What do you mean, Cave?" Axle noticed a hypothesis come over Xander.
"It's an allegory Plato uses. He speaks of prisoners chained to the cave wall unable to turn their heads. All they can do is make out the shadows on the wall. But the prisoners would only know those things as shadows and not as the objects themselves."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Axle did not follow, but Xander remained transfixed on the symbolic meaning behind Agent Zero's words.
"What do you think the Compound was?" Axle's goatee turned downward as it became clear to him.
"It was a Cave..."
"Agent Zero really is from Project Sparta. The Compound shaped Agent Zero's principles, and whoever they are, they now believe those principles to be a farce." A silence settled over the two men as Xander's analysis was complete.
"We were also able to gain some practical insight into his M.O. The bombing you see here was done by a suicide bomber. So we believe that Agent Zero may be using your typical Jihad terrorist to carry out these bombings."
"You think Agent Zero is using Muslim terrorists as soldiers?"
"Why not? You have thousands of people willing to blow themselves up to hit America, why not exploit that sentiment to achieve your end." Axle offered the conjecture.
"Makes sense... Agent Zero has already proven to be calculated and clever, even manipulative. Sounds like a Spartan, doesn't it?" Xander asked to which Axle agreed, still unsettled by the fact that the Agent Zero was one of their own.
"Agent Zero has gained a following and is not acting alone. It appears that he has established some sort of infrastructure. We don't have any details on this network, and at this point we are largely left to our theories and speculations, but a name for his following keeps coming up."
"What's the name?" Xander asked the follow up.
"The Skeptics..." Axles added the new variable to Xander's internal calculus on the crisis at hand.
"As you know, we have received credible intelligence that the metro bombing is the first of a string of attacks, culminating in the 'Day of Reckoning'. There are rumors that Agent Zero has already traveled stateside."
"Yeah, the man Vashad met, who I couldn't identify, told him: 'that will be enough for your transit and operations stateside. My employer also assures you safe passage - off any watch lists.'"
"Agent Zero has help from on high," Axle concluded, realizing the implications alongside Xander.
Not only do we have a defector from Sparta but we have a traitor on the inside of the government.
"Show me the rock," Axle directed.
Xander complied by taking the stone out of his jacket and handing it over to him. Axle unwrapped the stone from the Middle Eastern cloth. His reaction was much the same as Xander's, shocked and confused.
"So this was intended for you all along? Agent Zero called an audible on the meet, knowing you would be surveilling the exchange."
"That's right."
"Well what do you make of this? You've had time to think about it," Axle asked.
"They are mocking us..." Xander noted.
"Mocking us? What do you mean?" Axle inspected all sides of the brick.
"Agent Zero inscribed 'Nothing Is As It Seems', our motto back at Sparta, the name of the cell is the Skeptics. A Skeptic is someone who doesn't believe anything. Nothing is certain, thus you can't believe in anything because there is no empirical proof, literally, nothing is as it seems. This does not smell like Hezbollah or some Islamic fundamentalist. In fact, this isn't religious at all. This is a battle of ideas and culture."
Axle looked up from the rock and listened intently to Xander as he provided his analysis as his employed his uncanny ability to process things – an ability that set him apart from his fellow recruits.
"America is a country of ideals, we believe in the abstract and live by them. We give our lives to the idea of patriotism, freedom, liberty, what have you.... You know the spiel... These guys don't believe in anything. What is a terrorist who wants to bring 'nothingness' to a country?" Xander led him to the conclusion.
"An anarchist..." The TV feed flickered like a light bulb on Axle's face.
"So we have an anarchist defector of Project Sparta called Agent Zero who has assembled a terror cell called the Skeptics who is conspiring with a partner within the United States government to carry out a massive terrorist attack on American soil....." Axle exhaled, exhausted.
A long, silent moment followed by a distant nod concluded the exchange.
"Xander, DC is breathing down my neck. Whatever you figure out, you are going to need to figure it out fast. When there is a bombing a mile and half from the White House, people start getting on edge. So what are you doing from here?"
"First, I'm going to get this stone analyzed. Then, I'm going to assemble the Spartans, any and all that are in the area." Xander's plan caused a smile to curl the crevasses of Axle's face.
"Keep your friend's close but your enemies closer? Are you taking advice from the Godfather again?" Axle asked.
"Something like that."
"Well remember everyone dies in that movie, so I wouldn't take their advice for a grain of salt."
Xander smiled as Axle handed the stone back to him. He spun on his heel and exited under Air Force One.
As he walked under the tail of the plane, something dawned on him that caused a hitch in his step.
Agent Zero has the upper hand and is intentionally leading me by the breadcrumb trail he has left for me. Agent Zero is two or three moves ahead of me in this chess game.
Andright now... I'm just his pawn.
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