The White House
Washington, DC – 10 PM
President Hooper entered the dimly lit Situation Room. The attendees stood at a respectful attention until the President sat down. Hooper's long eyes moved from seat to seat. Before him at the conference table was Marty Jacobs, his Chief of Staff, Janet Powers, his National Security Advisor and his Vice President, Tom Johnson.
Johnson was a product of multiple preparatory schools – a Yankee who grew up in politics. His Massachusetts origins and his family's wealth drew similar comparisons to the Kennedys. Hooper knew a more liberal and Northern presence on the ticket no doubt helped him win the White House, but he and his Vice President seldom agreed on much.
Johnson's broad shoulders squared up the table like a linebacker. His rusted facial features narrowed down at the file before him and his thinning gray hairline swooped back, trying its best to cover his scalp. Dressed in a prim navy blue suit, his American flag pin shined off its lapel. As he adjusted himself, he realized his pin had rotated upside-down. After affixing it to the upright position, he placed his hands on the table where his fingertips met each other.
Another unusual presence in the room was Michelle Fernandez, the director of the NIH. Her dark hair only fell to her jaw line, tightly framing her stern expression – her lips pouty and eyes roving, always on the defensive. She fidgeted in her leather seat, trying to supplant the feelings of guilt. The NIH had the largest security breach in its history under her watch and she could feel the officials in the room aiming for her.
"I hear that we have a bug on our hands..." The President's eyes scanned down the file before him. His attempts to make sense of the file were futile. He dropped the folder next to the water pitcher hopelessly. "I'm not going to pretend like I understand biology so why doesn't someone educate me." All eyes in the room found the NIH director, and so Fernandez began.
"Bacteria are microscopic, but just how small are they? You could fit tens of billions of bacteria in that pitcher there. They are everywhere and we need many of them to perform the basic functions of our life. Digestion, for instance, needs Lactobacillus, which helps ferment indigestible carbohydrates and aids in the breakdown of sugars. Not all bacteria are helpful of course, studies have about 40% of all human disease are caused by microorganism and further studies have shown that three percent of all bacteria could potentially induce a severe depopulation event," she expounded. A grave silence filled the air in the Oval Office.
"Could it react differently to each person who is exposed?" Jacobs asked.
"Yes, there is a certain level of host-pathogen interplay that determines its microbial virulence. But there should be common threads in all of the infected that will gain us insight to the core characteristics of the bacteria."
"So where do we stand with this bacteria?" Hooper asked.
"All we know about the pathogen in question is that it had killed an entire village in the Congo. First the World Health Organization took notice and assigned an investigative team. It was flown in by our transport aircraft and arrived yesterday morning and has since been taken," Fernandez explained.
"Let's back up... We don't know how this virus spreads?" Vice President Johnson asked.
"Actually Mr. Vice President, it is not a virus. It is a bacteria..." Fernandez countered.
"Can you explain for us the difference?" the President asked.
"Most viruses are incurable, you treat the effects and prevent its spread. Whether it's HIV or the common cold there is no cure. Because of this the host's immune system must be strong enough to outlast the viral attack. Pathogenic bacteria are much different. Bacterial infections are curable, however it needs the correct antibody to cure it. It can spread by a variety of means among them human to human contact and human to inanimate contact."
"What do you mean by that?" Jacobs interjected.
"If you have bacterial infection and you are typing on your computer, and I use your computer, I could contract the pathogen by touching the same keys you have." Fernandez continued the lesson.
"So you are saying that this bacterial pathogen that was taken from the NIH has a cure." Powers added the tone of optimism to the grim scene.
"It can be cured, via an antibiotic, but that does not mean that a cure has been found. To culture an antibiotic, one would have to retrieve the naturally built antibodies from a subject whose body had beaten the infection. So far, everyone that we know of has died from contact with it," Fernandez said.
"Can it be altered?" The Vice President asked.
"Yes, a bacterium can be manually altered, it can be intensified or lightened, that is a way that we try to develop cures in the lab," Fernandez responded.
"Wait... so the terrorists who have this bacteria can be changing it as we speak?" Jacobs's tone grew frustrated. Fernandez silenced, she raised her eyes from her notes.
"Yes..." The room paused for tense reflection.
"Okay... what I want you to do Ms. Fernandez is to make sure this bacterial infection is not spreading out from the Congo," Fernandez nodded to her orders.
"Alright, Janet what do you have for me?" Hooper turned to his National Security Advisor.
"We have Captain Axle on satellite; he says that he and his team have a lead on the suspect," Powers briefed him.
"How does he know about this?" Jacobs exhaled.
"They are Spartans..." A shrug and a grin came over Powers while a grimace came over Jacob's.
"Mr. President, are you sure we want to involve Project Sparta in this?" the Chief of Staff asked.
"Why not?" Hooper bumbled.
"They are vigilantes. Uncontrollable. They chaff against authority every chance they get. Their errant behavior is nothing to be trusted in a time like this," Jacobs unleashed a history of anger.
"Do you have a better plan, Marty?" Hooper ignored the lashing out and remained calmed and calculated. Jacobs shifted in his seat and responded only with silence. After a few moments, Hooper turned to Powers.
"Alright... Patch them through." She touched a monitor in front of her to bring a satellite feed up on the monitor. Axle's face appeared aimed at the camera set up in Tobias's warehouse.
"Good morning, Mr. President." Axle's militaristic bark reported through the feed.
"James! Good to see you. What do you have for me?
"We have the identity of your suspect." His terse response gave the assembly some relief.
"James, the NSA, CIA and FBI are all searching their databases for this man and there hasn't been any progress. Can you explain why that is?" Vice President Johnson spoke up.
"You wouldn't find him there. He's a ghost." A digital file came through the feed with the grainy image of the man from the NIH's surveillance footage. "His name is Mohammed Azir. He is a low level entry member of the Skeptics." The room froze in confusion.
"I thought you guys took care of the Skeptics," Vice President Johnson accused.
"We cut the head of the snake off, but the tail is still wiggling," Axle responded.
"What do you mean?" Powers asked the monitor.
"I mean this man's only known associate is Ezra Gonet, also known as Agent Zero." The name struck an ominous note in the room. "After our capture of him over the summer, the other Skeptics associated with his cell went underground. They disappeared without a trace – until now. It appears that there is more at play here," Axle answered. A few moments of reflection came over the President. The attendees of the meeting awaited his move.
"Do you mean to tell me that our only lead is a black operative traitor from Project Sparta who attempted to blow up the National Mall three months ago?" The President asked.
"Yes sir. It is our belief that he may be behind the heist from the NIH and that Azir is merely carrying out his plan. We request to transport him to the Compound where the Spartans can interrogate him." Hooper's eyes glanced to either side of the table, he saw no objections.
"Do it! And do whatever it takes to find the son of a bitch. I want Jackson Hardy in here tomorrow morning with some real Intel. He recruited Ezra and knows him probably better than anyone. Got it?" Hooper's voice resounded.
"Yes, Mr. President, Xander Whitt will be running point on this." The Vice President shifted in his seat at the sound of the name. Hooper recalled the number of briefings he had read based on Intel from Xander's field ops. Although never having met him, Xander's reputation preceded him.
"Good, he's our best man."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After the briefing, Marty Jacobs retreated to his dimly lit office. He wiped the exhaustion from his face before checking the time on his clock. 11 PM. The ever constant hum of the bullpen could be heard faintly from behind his oak door. There was no such thing as off hours in the White House.
His fidgeting hands yanked down on his Windsor knot, letting the ventilation flow through his shirt. He then lowered his hand to the decanter of whiskey in the corner bar of his office, uncorked the bottle of its glass topper and poured the auburn liquid into his scotch glass. Taking a smooth sip, a vibration came from his pocket, shaking his lips from the glass' edge.
"Hello?" The other end of the phone hissed as helicopter propellers powered down in the background.
"Mr. Jacobs!" The armed guard yelled over the noise. "Catherine Mueller has just landed. As discussed her room will be guarded, no one in or out."
Jacobs's shoulders rolled back at the news – his chest inflated, "Good..." He clicked the phone dead.
The Chief of Staff stood, reflecting on the phone call and its implications. He turned his head as his eyes slowly scanned the military operations and passed legislation that lingered within the walls. The nostalgic review continued as he sipped down his whiskey.
What have we really accomplished here?
His sights settled on a picture of him and the President on election night. He gulped down his last sip of whiskey but held his empty glass in hand, readied for the finer whisky.
After exhaling the burn, he exited his office and started toward the Oval Office. He reflected on the many years of service before him. Each review led to back his current discontent. Staffers perked up from their conversations and Facebook pages as the Chief of Staff walked through the bullpen. Upon reaching the President's office door, he offered two courtesy knocks and then let himself in.
The President sat sipping on his own scotch before an open file of intelligence briefings. His pointed face lifted from the papers to meet his old friend at the door. The two men had an agreement that on quiet nights like this they would be friends rather than the political animals the day called for.
"Marty! Join me for a night cap." He motioned for his approach. Timid at first, Jacobs proceeded into the Oval Office and offered his glass for a refill. The President filled it with a 25 year Glenlivet and leaned back to enjoy the company.
"More movement in the Middle East?" Jacobs asked nodding to the file.
"Terrorist cells are a game of whack-a-mole. Smack one down and another pops up...All you can hope as President is to get the high score..." he quipped.
"Truer words have never been spoken..." Jacobs responded, distant.
"What's on your mind, Marty?" Hooper's tone dropped, sensing Jacobs's angst.
"You could always read me like a book." Jacobs's hands fiddled with the glass in his hand, as his nerves extended through his fingertips.
"You were my law school roommate, Marty. Best man at my wedding...Of course I can..." Hooper spoke with trepidation. Jacobs paused and faced the President from his glass.
"I'm out, George."
Hooper paused and absorbed the blow. He remembered the promise on election night that they'd stick together through it. He placed his glass on the coffee table and sat back, folding his legs in thought. His fingers found a contemplative grip on his chin.
"I understand." The President remained out of breath.
"I'll see you through this term and get your feet on the ground for your reelection run..." Jacobs attempted to save face.
"I appreciate that." Hooper took the high-road. "You've made it no secret that you disagree with some of my decisions. But, you have stuck by me and served your country well. I wish the best for you."
Jacobs's grip tightened on his glass, hoping that the President would have been less reasonable and understanding. It only made what he was doing that much harder.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Any theories yet? Comment and Vote!
Make sure to check out my other story Hallow Springs!
https://www.wattpad.com/story/110038969-hallow-springs
Vote, Comment and Share, and be sure to follow me!
www.Facebook.com/bbgallagher
Goodreads at https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14686764.B_B_Gallagher
Book Bub at https://www.bookbub.com/profile/b-b-gallagher?list=followers