Broadcast News Association
Washington, DC – 3:30AM
Bradley Spencer paced through the mostly empty bullpen of the Broadcast News Association, or BNA, with a pile of notes shoved under his arm. His other hand steadied the bicycle that served as his only mode of transit. A five o'clock shadow had budded up and down his neck. His pants were wrinkled – his shirt stained. A lose tie hung low from his unbuttoned collar and his tweed jacket's lapel was folded under in an ensemble of unkempt presentation. He was in the middle of another late night of investigative journalism
BNA was a cable news network that once held a command of the ratings charts, but in recent years their ratings had tail-spun. A Canadian-born entrepreneur named Lukas Meeklesen had resurrected the news station from its ashes. Known for his ever-present management, his office stood atop a flight of stairs looking down on the bullpen. He rarely spoke to anyone but delegated through his close assistants and kept the pressure on the producers, necessary to create ratings-worthy TV. He had loosened the fact checking procedures of the station, once arrogantly stating 'It's true if we say it is'.
This shift in ownership had led to the over-coverage of crisis news and weather strikes. Political commentary and foreign affairs had taken a backseat to the more fantastical stories that attracted the casual viewer. The news agency never slept, but at this hour there were few souls apart from the cleaning crew roaming the office.
Bradley Spencer noticed the glob of ketchup on his tweed lapel from his usual late-night diner snack he was just now returning from. He wiped the glob off and then lifted his bag carrying eyes to a tall black haired professional woman, leaning up on her office doorframe.
"Hey Rachel." Bradley pushed his bicycle past his producer.
"Bradley, step into my office when you get a minute," she ordered casually, looking her most struggling journalist up and down. His features had aged quickly, including his hair. There was a slight sag to his skin off his high cheekbones and an exhaustion behind his dark brown eyes. After years of struggling with thinning hair through college, he eventually shaved his head bald, surrendering to his premature aging.
Bradley nodded and continued through the bullpen until he arrived at his cluttered desk. Crumbled pieces of notebook paper littered the space beneath it, while random notes, scrawled out on post-it notes stuck to every service before him. He leaned his bicycle up against his file cabinet and flopped the stack of notes under his arm down on the only clear spot on his desk. After looking over his workstation he saw one foreign object – a note left for him on his chair. Raising the note to the light, he made out its words.
The Four Missing Scientists All Attended A Conference At The WHO Called: "Biological Advancements in the Field of Infectious Disease." Two Months Prior To Their Disappearance.
Bradley had known this already, but welcomed the thought that his assistant was actually digging for information to help him out. He crumbled the note and deposited it under the desk along with all of the other trashed ideas on the subject.
He sighed deeply and trudged toward his producer's office. Before he reached the office, his colleague in the neighboring cubicle stumbled up to him, collecting his laptop from his desk.
"Why coooo....dn't you meettttt.... Usssss for drinks! McFadden's was soooo fun." Bradley feigned a grin at his colleague's apparent drunkenness.
"Working...." Bradley responded short.
"Oh I seeeee h...how it isssss..." His buddy's drunken antics motivated him to seek solitude.
"It's nothing personal, I'm just stuck on this story..." Bradley commiserated.
"Welcome to journalism!" His colleague had said it so much that it came out slur-free. He stumbled away, leaving Bradley to his desk of crumbled papers. After glancing over everything, he walked on from the desk and turned the corner to enter Producer Rachel Norton's office. She looked up from a first draft of a story and pulled her reading glasses down and off the tip of her nose.
"Bradley, come in..." He obliged and plopped down in a seat in the office.
"What can I do for you, Rachal?" He asked with as much charm as he could muster.
"You could give me the story on the missing scientists. Something... anything," she responded short, cutting through the crap.
"I have nothing," he responded defeated.
"You're an investigative journalist – your job is to find something," she reminded him.
"Every lead has been a dead end. I've tapped all of my contacts. They vanished without a trace. I've been working non-stop on this story for the last 3 months and I have nothing to show for it." Bradley's head bowed in his own disappointment. His producer felt a surge of empathy, her hardened cadence softened back to its normal warmth.
"Bradley, listen to me..." The journalist lifted his eyes up to her. "You are the best journalist the BNA's got!"
"Has..." Bradley corrected with a small smile.
"My point exactly! You know that I will always be in your corner. But you also know that Meeklesen is breathing down my neck, because of one core competency that is lacking here," she imitated her bosses lecture.
"Ratings," Bradley finished her thought.
Bradley adjusted in his seat as the elephant in the office was stated plainly.
"I think this story could be the story of the year. Something bigger is going on.... I can sense it. Every time I get close something odd happens to curtail my efforts. If I could just get one break... I could crank out an editorial you wouldn't believe. This could be the story that puts BNA back on the map. I'm talking Pulitzer here, Rachel" he argued.
"I'm not doubting that or you. But what does every Pulitzer start with?" She repeated her typical line of questioning to her staff.
"Letters, spaces and punctuation..." Bradley reluctantly repeated on command.
"You have till the end of the day to find me something. Then I'm pulling you off the story." Bradley exhaled the mounting stress and stared wide-eyed at the floor of the office. He nodded distantly and ascended to his feet.
"I understand..." Bradley responded, disarmed and vulnerable.
"You can find something. Take a fresh look at your leads, something is there I assure you. You just have to see it." Rachel pep-talked him, Bradley offered another nod and turned on his heel and left the office in pursuit of four missing scientists.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marty Jacobs lived in a spacious apartment that mostly remained empty. Living the life of his career, he was consumed in work fulltime with no time for home décor, hobbies or even relationships. Despite his loneliness he slept on the right side of his king mattress, reserving the spot next to him for someone special one day. The only decoration in his bedroom was a photo of the President and him back at the DNC many years ago, but the picture was now flipped onto its face, no longer facing his bed.
On the same bedside table was his cell phone, charging via the plug in the wall. It began rattling atop his oak bedside table. Jacobs rolled over for another late night phone call. His groggy voice answered, while his hand rubbed his face awake.
"Hello?"
"Sir, we have some bad news..." It was the US Marshals.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Fiona sat before the dimly lit glass cell, staring at their prisoner. Ezra remained silent, as if deep in contemplation. A deafening silence consumed the expansive Compound, the only sound was coming from the hum of the computer servers. Fiona knew that if they were playing a game, it was Ezra's turn and she would have to await his move.
Fiona's mind wandered through the memories of the Compound. She remembered the snowball fights, the training, her instructors and of course, Xander. She could almost see the jean jacketed blonde boy, jogging around the Compound as was his nightly routine. Her eyes followed the faint memory around the track as it led to the row of houses at the Compound's north side. There she found her two story white cottage, where she had lived during the year of training of Project Sparta. Then her eyes found a break in the line of houses, where a cottage used to stand. Her eyes closed as they focused in on the memory of the night Ezra had supposedly committed suicide. His house engulfed in flames to every recruit's shock and horror. Then her memory honed in on the lone standing bookshelf, the one that led to an underground network of tunnels and ultimately Ezra's extraction from the program.
Her mind then fast-forwarded many years to Moscow, Russia – the night that she died.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Xander ran point alongside Fiona while Seamus worked the comm units. The file on the flight indicated that they needed to destroy a pharmaceutical factory that harbored biological agents intended for American attacks. Intel indicated that the privately held business was functioning as the biological workshop for a terrorist cell out of the Middle East.
It was a dark, cold Russian night. Fiona's pack held five pounds of explosives to bring the four story building down to its foundation. Only a large explosion would incinerate the biological agents within its laboratories. Upon consulting Tobias, the correct dosage of explosives was determined and so they began their infiltration.
Xander and Fiona both hung from a grapple line caught snug on the rooftop ledge. Dressed in skin tight black suits and oxygen masks, they could barely be seen against the exterior of the structure and their bodies were sealed from contact with any potential contagion in processing. They ascended the façade of the building as if it were a rock cliff in the desert, careful of each foot's placement and finger's grip. They ascended to the third floor, battling the chill of Russian wind that beat across their hanging bodies.
Upon finding the correct window, Xander grabbed a glass cutting tool from his pack. He pressed it upon the pane until the suction cups activated, sticking it the window's surface. With one lap of its revolving arm, the window was cut clean with no sound emitted. Xander gently popped the glass disc out of the window and positioned his hanging body through the window's newly formed hole. After helping Fiona through and detaching himself from his climbing line, he placed the disc back into the window and they slung their assault rifles to the cocked and readied position.
The third floor held rows of cubicles and offices, all of which were abandoned at that late hour.
"Seamus, what does this floor look like?" Fiona whispered into her comm unit.
"All clear on this floor, just a sleeping security guard near the elevator." Seamus was positioned on an adjacent rooftop, battling the cold himself. Hooked into the building's security system via its corporate headquarters, Seamus had eyes on the whole layout of the building.
"The lab is in the basement. Tobias said you should place the explosives there. Incinerate the viruses and burying it in the building's rubble," Xander reminded the team, combing the floor down the sight of his rifle.
They approached the elevator and met the sleeping guard. In one quick motion, the guard's throat slit open and bled out as Xander's blade passed by. The elevator dinged open and Xander and Fiona boarded. A Russian anthem was playing faintly over the elevator speaker. Fiona ripped her oxygen mask and looked over at Xander. Xander pulled his mask up so their eyes could connect. Her glacier blue eyes spoke volumes just with a look. They had been prepping for months for this night and it was the last step to procure their life together if all went according to plan. She mouthed the words "I love you" so Seamus couldn't hear it or see it from the high angled security camera in the elevator.
They fastened their masks back on and prepared for the door to open.
"Four guards patrolling this floor. Six on the first floor. Can't make out who is in the basement." The elevator dinged open and the armed operatives exited with quick, level steps – eyes down the barrels of the rifles the whole way. Xander pantomimed Fiona down the east hallway while Xander took the west hallway. Fiona closed in on an armed guard, whose back was turned unaware of the reticent predator, stalking behind him. With one silenced round to the back of the head, the man dropped, but not before Fiona caught him to mute his collapse to the floor.
She didn't break stride, remembering her tactical training from Sparta. She was a deadly machine, the best female operative the country had. Her natural ability to channel her pumping adrenaline into the correct places, allowed her to be fierce and composed. She continued down the hallway until she heard a guard yell something in Russian. A beat later, the red alarm sounded, sending a deafening blare and blinking hue of crimson red lights through the facility.
"Shit!... Fiona, get to the basement and place those explosives. I'll take the first floor myself. We need to blow this place," Xander ordered over the comm.
"On my way, Seamus, which stairwell do I take?!" Seamus typed feverishly on his computer to see the guard's movements.
"Ummmm.... east!..... No! No! West!"
"Is it east or west, Seamus?" Fiona barked at him.
"West! Sorry. Mac is better at this than me!" Fiona spun on a dime and reached a full sprint toward the west stairwell. She descended the stairs careful not to disturb the explosives on her back.
"Man coming, Fiona!"
"Fiona saw him turn the corner and shot a few bullets into his chest as she descended the stairs past the first floor to the basement." He fell to his knees and slid under the momentum of his sprint, but folded on himself dead.
Fiona reached the basement and found a security door, awaiting a fingerprint.
"Seamus, can you get me in?" Fiona asked. For a moment there was no response only the fast pattering of fingers on a keyboard.
"Open Sesame." With the hit of the enter key, the digital command wound down the fiber-optic cable on the adjacent rooftop through the tunnel systems below the street, up through the foundation of the facility and finally into the door Fiona stood before. It snapped open.
A few scientists were scattered through the expansive laboratory. Fiona sieged the lab taking two scientists out with consecutive rounds. She could faintly see a third figure, not dressed as a scientist, but a soldier, across the lab illuminated in red. The mercenary sent fire her way. Fiona returned the fire as she circled the room placing an explosive on each support in the room.
Fiona and the soldier popped from cover at the same time and shot multiple rounds toward each other. Fiona caught the mercenary square between the eyes, but not before a well-aimed bullet soared across the lab, catching Fiona in the shoulder. The impact knocked her back. She popped up from the wound and confirmed the downed soldier.
"We got to get out of here! How are those explosives coming, Fiona?"
"Good, where are you?!" She asked Xander over the comm, bringing a bloodied hand out from her shoulder. Her other arm immediately flung over her back, elbow in the air, he fingers felt behind her shoulder until they found the exit wound. A relief came over Fiona at finding the wound on her back.
The bullet passed through, I'll be fine.
"Reinforcements are arriving as we speak!" Seamus interjected over the comms.
"Just cleared the first floor and exited the building. Ready for detonation here!"
She returned to the mission in the now empty laboratory, placing an explosive on the final support. Knowing Seamus couldn't see her in the basement, she paced twenty steps methodically from the south wall.
"Honey..." her voice trembled through the comm.
"What is it?" Xander's voice turned tender, knowing Seamus was listening and the comm's were being recorded.
She placed a smaller quarter-sized explosive device on the spot. Xander paced out the same twenty paces on the other side of the south wall in the tunnel beneath the street and placed the explosive on the same spot as Fiona.
"I'm hurt pretty bad, I can't make it...." Her voice dripped of sadness. That was the signal. Together Fiona and Xander silently counted to three and braced themselves. Clicking a trigger, a small, contained blast broke a hole through the basement laboratory wall that led out to the sewers.
"I'll come and get you, stay put!" The drama in Xander's elevated for show, while he met his bride on the other side of the explosion in the tunnels. He inspected her shoulder, but she shrugged him off, indicating she was fine. With a silent kiss, Fiona was off down the depths of the sewer system.
"No! The reinforcements are here. They've made it to the basement. I'm cornered!" An extra tremble sounded over the comm, followed by a silent moment. Xander ascended the ladder back to the street and found cover around the block and sent the signal of the all-clear to Fiona over the comms.
"I love you, Fiona..." Xander cried.
"I love you, too..." Knowing Xander was at a safe distance now, Fiona clicked the detonator 100 yards down the sewers. The explosion engulfed the laboratory and the guards who had recently entered. The blast blew through the sewers but only 25 yards or so before the air pressure pulled it up into the Moscow air. A massive explosion towered up into the sky, knocking Seamus off his seat. He watched as the flames enveloped the air before him. Seamus sat stunned as he listened to Xander's distant cries over the comm. It was evident to anyone listening over the comms that they had just lost Fiona.
But they hadn't.
Fiona was jogging down the sewers, safe from the blast. She would meet up with Xander back in the states in a few weeks. She threw her comm from her ear into the sewage water that lined her footsteps. And with that she left the life of clandestine operations behind.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The memory faded from her recollection as Ezra adjusted himself for the first time before her. It was as if he was slowly awakening from a deep contemplation. Fiona checked the clock on the Compound wall – it read 4AM. She sat up in her chair and hastened to notify him of the time, expecting a clue, but before she could do so, Ezra's lips parted and formed words.
Let Us Begin Make Your Hypothesis
Twenty-One Steps Before Anonymous
Follow the Dial at Apollo's Rise
To Discover Where Your First Patient Lies
The game had now begun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
10 points for whoever can guess the target!
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