WASHINGTON, DC
2016
"Ezra..." Xander's voice trailed, as his throat closed up. Jooles struggled but lightly, not wanting to detonate the fifty pounds of C4 strapped to her captor's chest. Xander didn't know what to do but play the game that was intended to be played all along.
"Thought I was dead?" Ezra although much older had kept the same crazy look in his eye that he always had, but it had somehow transformed to a deranged grin on his face.
"I saw your body burning." Xander searched for answers.
"You don't think they can get a dead body... That was a terrorist they had in the other hangar."
"But... I saw your house blow up. You were in that house..." Xander's mind continued to race trying to connect the dots. The dots were too scattered, though.
"No. I wasn't but I was watching." Ezra flashed a wild smile. The image of the silhouette he saw at the high observation window surfaced.
"The silhouette I saw that night... was you? But how?" And then it dawned on Xander. He remembered the underground tunnels the crates with the odds and ends on it – a wad of clothes, a lantern, and a scribbled on newspaper. Upon closer inspection, the scribbles were answers to the crossword section of the newspaper.
That was Ezra's... he left them behind before leaving the Compound.
Hardy's voice echoed through his head.
Tunnels within Tunnels...
"Extraction..." he said. The bookshelf couldn't be opened from the Spartan side without a keycard; Xander remembered tilting every book to no avail.
It had to be opened from the other side. But who would extract him?
And then again the next puzzle piece fell into place. He remembered Bashfield's offer to him to get out of Project Sparta.
"Bashfield?" Xander asked to verify the story developing in his head. Ezra nodded.
"Did she offer you the gig first?" Ezra knew exactly how to stand behind a body shield, though. "Of course, she did. You were always their Golden Boy... Xander, I couldn't stay trapped in the Compound anymore, are you kidding me? So to extract me we had to stage my death... Death is the only discharge..."
"What'd she have you do?" Xander asked still trying to make sense of it all.
"They needed a Spartan to go deep undercover in Afghanistan. I was a beggar for three years, living off of scraps and only reporting to Bashfield once a month. Eating dirt and freezing through night after night all for the good of my country," Ezra explained.
"Why are you doing this, Ezra? Why don't you put the detonator down?" Xander asked him.
"Listen carefully, Xander and Jooles." It was the voice of Ashton in his ear. "I do not have a shot; I repeat I do not have a shot. We can try the countdown shot." Xander shifted his feet again as if to say, 'okay'.
"Because my government took everything from me! Hardy plucked me from my perfect life and stole my youth! I gave them everything and they just used me as a pawn in their messed up war games."
As Ezra grew comfortable in his explanation, his eyes came off Xander from time to time. With one quick nod of his head over his right shoulder, Jooles eyes slowly raised to the heights of the Washington Monument. A gentle nod confirmed the message was received.
"And so you want to exact your revenge on Colonel Hardy?" Ezra nodded in reply. "You had no identity, so you had to strike a deal with Bashfield, so you could get back into the States, so you got here and hired your band of mercenaries...I understand now..."
"You don't understand shit!" he yelled, holding the detonator out. Jooles eyes widened as Ezra grew more intense. Jooles held three fingers across Ezra's arm.
«————————»
Ashton steadied her rifle on Ezra the best she could. She saw one of Jooles fingers tuck into her fist, leaving only two fingers. The countdown was continuing.
"OK the count is two..." Sweat strolled down her temple as she steadied herself within her stance. Her scope remained on Jooles's hand as she awaited the next signal.
«————————»
"The problem is Ezra is that you are trying to blow up innocent people!" Xander knew he had to rile him up. He needed him to be reckless as the countdown continued.
"Collateral damage! A war is upon us, Xander... The Collective will rise!" his voice screeched in a wild frenzy.
Jooles flashed one finger. The countdown had been finished. Ashton adjusted her cross hairs to Ezra, knowing her window of opportunity was fast approaching. Xander had him wild and off his guard – just where he wanted him. Ashton's finger gripped the trigger, ready to pull as soon as Jooles made her move.
"Are you ready for your choice, Xander?!" Ezra screamed. A silent moment passed as their eyes locked. Then a diabolical smile came over Ezra. As if Xander could read his mind, he reached out for her.
"No!" Xander saw it happen in slow motion. Ezra in one movement brought the Glock 32 up to Jooles temple and pulled the trigger. A shot of blood sprayed out from her skull as her lifeless body collapsed to the terrace floor.
Jooles was dead.
Lacking his human shield, Ezra was now exposed for Ashton's line of sight. An immediate shot rang out, soaring through the air, over and across the Mall, catching Ezra in the arm holding the detonator.
Ezra flew on to his back with tremendous force. Blood squirted high up into the air from the wound. The detonator released from his hand and fell to the ground along with his body. Ezra's chest heaved for breath; his eyes still had control as they darted from side to side. The bullet had snapped the large tendon running down his arm, which extended to his fingers. His body was paralyzed by the pain spreading from his arm.
Xander approached with his gun out front leading the way. He noticed Ezra's arm was so debilitated, it hung limp like a snapped tree branch. Xander turned to his fallen comrade and friend, Jooles, limp atop her own pool of blood. Her eyes stared out to a far, lifeless distance. Flashes of news reports from the subway and bus bombings flooded his mind. A rage boiled in his gut, his limbs tingled as if his heart had short circuited. This man was a traitor and one that deserved the kind of justice Spartans usually dealt out. His grip tightened on his firearm, his teeth clenched down.
His thumb reached up and cocked the 9mm.
"Go ahead and kill me," Ezra taunted through an eerie smile. Xander couldn't breathe as the moments passed. The vein running up to his temple pulsated as his nose flared through rushed breaths. A whirlwind of recollection resurfaced.
There's the choice Xander, will you act on emotion, or reason? I know that conflict is in you... And I really want to know the answer.
He was still playing Ezra's game and he hated him more for it. His gut told him to kill the bastard and be done with it but his head was telling him otherwise.
Ezra focused in on him through the pain – eager in a demented way as to whether Xander would pull the trigger. Xander hadn't experienced such a torn dilemma since he thought Fiona was a traitor in the Compound. The real defector now lay helplessly before him; the judgment was in Xander's hand down the barrel of his gun.
"Don't, Xander... We need him..." Ashton spoke softly in his ear. "Don't make him a martyr to his people."
Xander's grip tightened till the whites in his knuckles surfaced. His finger slowly started to pull the trigger back as his mind was racing through every contingency. He identified this moment as a fork in the road leading to very different futures. If he pulled the trigger, Ashton would cover for him and the guilt wouldn't be much of a pill to swallow. This terrorist deserved to die. If he didn't pull the trigger they could capture him and interrogate him.
And then a rational thought came to him. Xander remembered Hardy and his walk through the park during Project Sparta.
Just because we often use the word 'justice' incorrectly does not mean there is not a real meaning behind it – a real meaning that in many ways still needs to be discovered but in every way needs to be protected
The finale of the fireworks show exploded in the sky. A chant sounded from the crowd, audible over the sequential bursts in the air, "USA! USA! USA!" It was a national pride calling out to him. His hand reached up and grabbed the crucifix under his shirt. He thought of what true justice was and how he could ensure its place in society. He released the trigger altogether.
Looking down at his old friend, Xander saw Ezra's blood lined smile.
"We are the Collective... are you?"
"Justice it will be then..." There was a contingency backing his tone, almost as if the move entailed more than Xander initially anticipated. Xander brought the butt of his gun down hard into Ezra's face, knocking him out cold.
Xander's decision brought a smile to Ashton's face – it was a reminder that they weren't just killing machines but they had somehow developed a moral compass that values true justice. Xander took the suicide vest off of Ezra. He called in a Medivac helicopter to treat Ezra's wound and take him into custody and paced the terrace to process everything that had happened that night.
Xander walked over to his fellow Spartans dead body. A blood puddle pooled out from beneath her black hair – her eyes lost straight ahead, one rolled in the back of her head. Xander stared down at her, fighting the tears from his eyes. He knelt beside her and in one wave of the hand closed her eyes. After taking off his jacket, he placed it respectfully over her face. He said a prayer through silently moving lips and crossed himself, ascending to his feet and turning away from his comrade.
The fireworks show had ended and the chant continued over the expanse of the lawn as the onlookers funneled out.
"USA! USA! USA!" The Medivac helicopter approached.
The box was intended for me all along... to be here right now, making the choice. He killed his human shield. He wanted to be exposed... It's almost as if he planned this...