The Compound
2010
Xander stood with a cup of coffee at his window, peering from behind the drapes as the other Spartans walked to the classroom for their Military History class. He was careful not to be seen as he played the assumptions of his fellow Spartans against them. Knowing they would still think he was in the Infirmary, he had planned this day for setting up surveillance in Fiona's house. As the classroom door closed with all the students behind it, he smiled and finished his coffee. Moments later, a refreshed and relaxed Xander walked out of his front door, wearing his usual jean jacket and a bag slung over his shoulder.
He strutted a confident stroll over to the white house next door. He let himself in through the white picket fence and approached the front doorknob.
It stopped after a slight rotation – locked.
He produced a small leather case from his pack and unrolled it on Fiona's doormat. A variety of lock picking tools was laid out before him. He grabbed a couple of picks and a tension wrench and went to work. Xander surgically maneuvered the picks like chop sticks digging into the bottom of a bowl. He heard a click and froze. He had bypassed the first pin of the lock. From his rehearsal the previous night, he knew he had four pins left to pick.
Fiona's front lock clicked again. He had spent hours learning the art of lock picking in the middle of the night on his own front door. Things were progressing smoothly.
One more to go.
And then he heard it.
Not the final click of the knob, rather a traveling band of Spartans headed his way. Explanations rattled through is head, sending shakes into his operating fingers tips. His hand slipped on the pick. His palms had begun to sweat under the pressure.
The chatter of the Spartans grew louder.
What the hell? Hardy canceled class?
He repositioned his stance - pressed the pick again, hoping to slide it under the last lock pin inside the door. Xander felt his pick bend to a dangerous arch - almost snapping inside the lock. The mission would be a failure.
He closed his eyes, anticipating defeat.
He rested his head on the door.
Seamus had just cracked a joke, the laughter of the group roared down the avenue.
They had reached the street a little quicker than usual on account of the jovial hop in their step. He stopped altogether and counted to three through deep, slow exhales. His eyes opened, his hands calmed. With one final attempt, Xander twitched his fingers and heard the last click. He bolted through the door with his lock picks and bag just as the recruits turned the corner and came into view.
Fiona stood an extra couple of seconds at her front step as she shared parting words with Seamus. This gave Xander enough time to find cover on the other side of the door. Fiona grabbed the knob, inserted her key and noticed it had a looser resistance than usual. After a moment of aimless speculation, she proceeded into her living room passing the wedged intruder behind the open hallway closet door. Fiona continued into the kitchen.
Xander made his move. He withdrew a hardcover book from his bag and found the same one on Fiona's bookshelf, swapping them with a silent slight of hand. Xander's finger swiped over the small, unnoticeable slit in the book's spine for his camera's eye to peek through. He felt the pinch on his fingertip from when he punctured it with the sewing needle during his preparations the previous night. He determined that the bookshelf provided a good angle on the rest of the room. Xander deduced that each house's layout was identical so he performed a trial run on his own house. His late night rehearsal, though, was rendered pointless by the unexpected return of the Spartans to their barracks. He would have to improvise.
Remember your stealth training.
Xander seized the risky moment of Fiona clattering around in the kitchen to reach the other end of the living room. He brandished the Launcher and took aim at the central light fixture. He pressed the button which shot the camera toward the base of the fixture. A clink sounded through the house as the camera made contact. Knowing its placement was perfect; he retreated to the foyer as silently as a cat. Xander visualized the most likely routes one would take around their house; his mind drew up a type of probable radar, increasing his chances of remaining undetected.
Fiona peered into the living room toward the sound's origin, through squinted eyes and depressed eyebrows. She stalked out into the living room and scanned her surroundings. Xander was only around the corner, gathering hushed breaths. She hastened to return to the kitchen, but as she began to pivot she reeled back, noticing something suspicious. The pull chain to the ceiling fan was swaying like a ticking metronome. Her heart sped to match its beat as her trained paranoia swept over her. Just as her alert level began to rise and her nerves began seizing, the air conditioner vent cut off – its grate was aimed toward the fan. The pull chain steadied. Her mind fell to ease as there was a clear indication that the swirling air current was her only company in the room. She returned to the kitchen and finished her preparations for an afternoon tea.
Xander heard the stove spark alive after a few ticks ignited the natural gas slowly seeping up from the line. The tea kettle clanked as it nestled atop the flame. He knew Fiona's next move was up to her room to freshen up. The creak of a step confirmed his assumption. Immediately, Xander was in motion. He crept into Fiona's kitchen and started working on a knob to one of the overhead cabinets. He spun it counter clockwise till it came loose in his hand and switched it with a bugged knob from his own kitchen, again with a small hollow the camera's line of sight. He then stepped up on a chair at the kitchen table to reach the valance above the window. With a press of his thumb another camera stuck to the dry wall behind the lace valance. His camera would be able to view the kitchen through the lace and be unrecognizable.
Xander knew he had to move, if the tea kettle started whistling his window of opportunity was gone. He crept slow and low up the stairs. Xander's mop of blond hair poked through the staircase spindles, holding up the small banister. His eyes at the stairs. Xander peered over to see Fiona changing into her workout clothes.
Move when she is taking off her shirt. It'll be over her head, blinding her and deafening her.
Fiona's crossed arms pulled the bottom fringe of her shirt over her stomach and then over her sports bra. Xander darted across her doorway to the laundry room down the hall as her shirt was up over her head. This was also the room, as designed in each house, where each Spartans would deposit their trash each week. It was a chute leading to the Compound underground. Xander climbed the washer and pressed another camera on the ceiling between the trash disposal and the washer. Xander knew you could learn a lot about someone by their garbage. Then his face dropped at a stark realization.
I've cornered myself. Fiona was changing clothes... She's coming this way.
Fiona in her standard issue sports bra and underwear began walking down the hallway toward the laundry room. Xander had pinned himself between the trash receptacle and the wall. Footsteps approached.
I've blown the mission. I'm also about to lose one of my only friends here. As soon as she opens the door I will be exposed and nothing will be the same...
Xander's fist tightened and his body tensed as he saw Fiona's shadow cast into the small closet. The footsteps came closer and then the knob rattled as Fiona grabbed it. After a muted, defeated sigh, Xander heard his saving grace.
The tea kettle wheezed as loud as a train-whistle downstairs.
It reached Fiona's ears and diverted her attention. She cracked the laundry room door and chucked her dirty clothes toward the washer. She closed the door back, leaving Xander in the dark cover undiscovered. His heart pounded, as if to compensate for the beats it had missed. He knew there was no time to waste. He darted out into the hallway toward Fiona's room, just as she reached the bottom stair.
The close call had him precipitously on edge. Xander bumped into a tall, hallway table holding an ornate vase.. The vase began teetering left then right like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. Xander froze and with his agile reflexes caught the falling vase before it crashed. As he held the vase in his hand, he remembered Hardy's test for him during his recruitment. Words echoed through his head from the distant memory.
Why would you want to break something so fragile?
He had one more room to bug and then he would exit the house. He positioned the vase back on the table with a delicate hand and proceeded to her bedroom. It was much cleaner than his; it definitely had a woman's touch. He stopped in his tracks as he met the wall above her desk. His mouth dropped as he gazed at the wall where Fiona had drawn beautiful flowers. Acrylic colors speckled over the wall and were in full bloom as her bedroom resembled more of a beautiful garden than the typical Spartan's taupe quarters.
I didn't take you as the artistic type, Fiona.
He jumped up on her bed and reached as high as he could to plant a camera on the overhead light of the ceiling fan. He had purposefully chosen many high vantage points because of their wider perspectives on the room.
One camera to go.
He approached the desk in the corner. He would be able to watch what she studied and worked on from the eye length vantage point he had selected. He withdrew his bugged desk lamp from the bag, made the swap and plugged it into the wall. The light bulb didn't come on. Click. Nothing. Another Click. Still Darkness. He thought he heard the creak of the bottom step.
Come on, Come on!
With a couple desperate flicks, the filaments aligned and the lamp illuminated. He shut the light off.
Recon planted. Commence evacuation.
Xander approached one of the bedroom windows and opened it. He ducked underneath the open window sill and walked out on the roof of Fiona's back covered porch. Xander scanned the open space of the Compound before him. He could see everything from his second story viewpoint. He saw no Spartans. So, he closed the window behind him and jumped off the top of the porch, landing hard with a thud. The air in his lungs was taken from him. His shoulder shot a painful ache across his chest from the landing but he knew he had to be on the move. He hopped Fiona's fence, brushed himself off and walked into his own home from the back door.
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