The Oval Office
11:15AM
Vice President Johnson opened the door to the Chief of Staff's office. He offered the two Secret Service guards a nod thanking them for the escort across the locked down West Wing. After he closed the door, now alone in the dimly lit office, he picked up the phone. He punched a couple of buttons on the dial pad and a young voice answered on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Yes, this is the Vice President, I'd like to speak to the President."
"Yes sir, one moment please." The Vice President scanned Marty Jacobs's pictures and degrees, hanging on the wall. He checked the door to ensure it was closed.
"Tom, how are you?" The President's voice was direct.
"Fine. Can I assume that this lockdown is related to the issue of Ezra Gonet?"
"Yes, you can," he answered gravely.
"He's targeted the White House, hasn't he?" From his many years in politics, the Vice President could connect the dots and portend how schemes would play out before they hatched.
"Yes, he has," the President affirmed.
"Obviously we need to try to keep this under wraps; we don't want to stir a panic. I'll keep telling everyone it's a routine lockdown, just a suspicious backpack outside the gate... the First Lady is here. Should I inform her of the situation?"
"No, not yet. I don't want her worrying about me down here."
"I will manage AMRIID. I already have them on alert, digging for anything they can on the bacteria. They are checking their inventory for any infectious diseases that cause coughing and seizures."
"Do you think it's likely they will have anything? Any treatment? Any cure?" Each question grew more desperate in the President's voice.
"I don't know... we have so many biological weapons there we won't be able to narrow it down until we have a full work up on the disease. The Spartans have a sample of the bacteria, correct?"
"Yes, they do." The President elevated his volume, hoping his Vice President had a plan.
"When they are done profiling the bacteria, please have them send me their findings and I will relay those to the AMRIID. I need the latest in case they altered the disease since it struck in the Congo." The Vice President was firm in his orders.
"You got it, Tom. I'll have them sent your way. Thank you and keep me posted."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Ashton find me a map of the city. If this attack is confined to the metro area we need to start tracking our progress. Seamus, the President has offered us as much support as we need but if a SWAT team flies in, I want to be right there with them. We need tactical gear. Find us some," Xander spoke swiftly to his colleagues. He knew he needed time to block out everything and digest the events of the day.
Ezra's words echoed in his head.
Don't you see Xander? All of this... the Fourth of July... the box... everything... all has led to this moment, and the next and the next...
The disease is lies, Xander – lies. We live a life of lies. Our government hides our identities and our service – our very existence is a lie. We don't even exist... As you know, Apollo is the God of light and knowledge, Xander. And this disease will show you the light that is why I have named it as such.
The cure, Xander... is truth.
His hand instinctually grasped his crucifix that hid under his shirt.
For a moment, he remembered his time at Project Sparta, hunting with Ezra late at night. They had gravitated towards each other instantly in the Compound. He had encouraged him to pursue Fiona, despite any Compound rules and had become a close ally through training. It wasn't until one night midway through the training program that his house exploded and his apparent suicide was faked. Little did Xander and the others know, it wasn't a suicide at all, rather an extraction.
Seamus broke his recollection, approaching with a pile of gear for the day. Among the pile were respirators with air filtration cartridges affixed to them, bullet proof vests, gloves and other articles of tactical clothing. Atop the gear was Xander's marquee jean jacket, which he dusted off and flung on over a brown leather shoulder holster – his Glock poked out from his ribs behind his jacket.
"You better suit up. We should get down to central DC before the clue comes. If word gets out about a killer bacteria lose in the city, there's no telling what the streets will be like." Ashton circled back, smacking a wad of gum as she talked. She handed Xander the respirator off the top of the pile but fumbled the hand off. It crashed to the floor.
"Oh sorry, Xander." She hastened to pick it up, but Xander knelt first. After picking it up, he lifted his head to see Ashton's hanging locks of hair before his eyes.
Xander froze at the sight, focused in on it.
And then found himself somewhere else.
He was now in the backseat of the station wagon staring at his mother's dangling hair, which hung low behind the back of the passenger seat. Xander's mind had fully transported to the memory, he only saw the memory. The wood paneling of the interior of the car, the faded blue fabric of the seats, every detail exactly the same. He then remembered how the details of the car were not the only thing the exact same each time. His parents recited the same script each time and the truck would hit them at the exact same time. It always ended in tragedy and wanted a different outcome for him and his family, even if it was just a dream.
But what if I could change this dream? Act on it and have it react to me?
"Isn't that right, Xander?" It was the same beginning as always. The question came from the front seat.
"You're about to say, 'and we love you, Xander. You are so sweet'," he answered, anticipating their next line. His mom propped herself on her knees as usual and smiled over the head rest.
"And we love you, Xander. You are so sweet." Her delivery was as robotic as before, the fact that Xander had just strayed from script did not faze her.
No matter what I say, they still repeat the same things. My imagination should be able to alter this scenario, shouldn't it? They should be confused right now.
"Why can't I change anything?" He asked aloud to his parents, hoping they would react.
"We're right here Xander," they spoke as a broken record on repeat.
If I can't change them maybe I can change.
He seized the final moment of the dream to open the car door and dive out of it. He rolled to a violent stop, trained his eyes down the road, where he could see the crash unfold before his eyes. The car spun on impact. His mother thrown from the car and crushed by its screeching wheels. The eighteen-wheeler burst through the station wagon and barreled toward Xander on the street.
Then he was consumed in light.
Xander was back in Tobias's laboratory on the floor, held by Ashton.
"Xander? Xander? It's okay. What is going on?" Ashton asked, trying to comfort him from his blackout. Seamus was stranding over him.
"You blacked out," Seamus informed him. Xander shook his head, helping himself to his feet while resisting any offer of help.
"I don't know... it must have been a rush of blood to the head or something..." he explained, rubbing his eyes back to reality. Xander froze a moment and reflected briefly on the vision, turning his head to consider a thought.
Why couldn't I change anything in the memory? My imagination should be able to alter the script at least...
Xander snapped from the thought as Catherine and Tobias emerged from the isolation unit. Xander approached immediately, leaving Seamus and Ashton behind to their concern.
After taking off the headpiece, Catherine brushed her hair behind her thick black glasses and gathered herself. Tobias inhaled deeply as if finally coming up for air. They had been in the isolation unit for many hours straight.
"What do you got?" Xander attempted to leave the instance of his blackout behind and move on with their investigation.
"That corpse is a mess," Catherine started.
"We j...j...just finished a f...f...ull autopsy of the bo-d...d...dy," he said, his stutter returning. "This ba...ba...cteria absolutely wrecks the host...t...t." He looked to Catherine, as if asking her to give the briefing. After a curious smile, she stepped forward and reported the findings.
"First the lungs, filled with blood. The esophagus was as raw as sandpaper from all of the coughing fits, the blood vessels running through the mucosal region were burst open. There was blood in his mouth, in his nose, even in his tear ducts and behind his ear drums. It was like a grenade went off in his head."
"But does that explain the seizure?" Ashton asked from behind Xander.
"I originally thought the physical trauma the body endured could have led to the seizing of the brain... not anymore," Catherine answered, peaking the interest of the Spartans before her. She motioned them to a lab table behind the isolation unit. There laid a glass contamination box with two gloved entries for manual operations. They crowded around the back lab table and focused on the contents of the box.
Inside was a scorched object that resembled a shriveled football. The organ was blackish, grey and crusted at its edges.
"What the hell is that?" Xander peered forward.
"That is ... his brain," Catherine explained.
"Are you kidding me?" Seamus added. "Maybe a grenade did go off in his head..."
"Do you remember how I told you this bacterium was a releasing agent?" The Spartans looked on with no objection. "I don't think it's meant to release blood vessels... I think that was a side-effect for this. So, you breathe in this bacterium. It goes down into your lungs and stays there. It infects your lung cells, causing you to cough it up violently. The bacteria then comes up from your lungs to your throat and then into your nose. Once it is there, everything is connected, so it eventually travels into your brain via oxygenated pathways. Being present in the brain, this releasing agent doesn't release blood like it did into the lungs and the nose. Rather, it releases electricity. Neurons go crazy and drive you insane. Your brain can't take it, unless it is used to a high neural activity. Once it is pushed too far, it causes seizure, leading to death." Catherine struggled to find the final words.
The Spartans looked on, perplexed and overwhelmed. Xander finally understood what they were up against. He nodded, keeping his eyes on the fried brain in the isolation unit. He knew what Catherine was saying, but felt the need to put it in layman's terms for the others.
"The bacteria short-circuits the brain."
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