I'd visited the Pentagon once in my life. Nearly three years ago, I scheduled a tour with Samantha when we took a weekend to visit D.C., which we barely saw due to continuous battering nights of bars and alcohol. They performed background checks beforehand and finally escorted us around the Department of Defense after rigorous security procedures.
The television and movies make everything glamorous. I expected the best tech had to offer, innovative architecture upon arriving. However, hardly any technology was in sight since Wi-Fi was forbidden, along with cell phones. I was greeted to dull colors and stiff uniforms, which now considering, I should have expected. These people aren't here to impress us.
We saw the Hall of Heroes, and the September 11th memorial chapel, and then came the real surprises. The small world built around it. A mall of food joints, stores where we spent a good deal of time after the tour.
Three years later, I'm back, sitting at an outside patio table. The umbrella is unusually tied down since there are no employees to open it. The mall is a ghost town, the sidewalks barren considering the Pentagon is on high-alert and has sent most of its employee's home.
Aidan is sitting across from me, dressed in a navy blue suit. It's a dull shade, meant to fade him into the background. He can't possibly know how impossible that is. Even on edge and dressed in an outdated suit, he's strikingly handsome. From the small selections I had taken to Aidan's house, I had to improvise, choosing a soft white blouse and slacks. I hadn't packed heels but the pants are long enough to conceal most of my boots. I don't think anyone of consequence will mind.
There's fresh snow on the ground, white crystal covering over every surface, every bench. It's three p.m. and the hottest point of the day, which is currently 40 degrees Fahrenheit, and bone-chilling. In reality, we've been waiting under a half hour for the general's schedule to allow him to come retrieve us, but by the time I notice him approaching, signaling us with a stiff wave, my legs creak in resistance when I stand, numbed to the bone.
"Afternoon," he says, holding out his hand to me. "Ms. Taylor?"
I shake the limb firmly. "Yes, thank you for seeing us, sir. This is Aidan Hughes. He's a photo-"
"The photographer. Yes, I'm familiar with your work. It's a pleasure to meet you, both." He smiles, and I instantly like him. He's hardly reserved, which gives me hope that he's brought us here for a reason, not just as a favor to his opportunistic friend. "I was also a good friend of your fathers. He was a great man."
It clearly affects Aidan, the mention of his father, but he handles it well, thanking him politely.
He gestures with a flick of his chin for us to follow him back toward the famous five-sided building. While we're walking, he passes us each a badge, telling us to attach them to our clothing.
"Usually, non-personnel are required to have an escort through the building. You'll be with me until we reach my office, so I've excluded that restriction from your clearance. We are on lockdown, which I will explain in further detail once we're inside my office. Other than the camera, you've left electronic devices in your car or hotel room?"
"Yes, sir."
"Keep it hidden. If you're with me, they'll likely only check us in. Every inch of the Pentagon is under surveillance, so if you're seen taking photographs of documentation, staff, there will be consequences."
Aidan nods in agreement. "Understood."
Inside my bra is a recording device, although I won't tell him that. I've guessed that whatever he tells me, there will be no copies offered, nor jotted down notes. I can't imagine that he allowed us inside to give me inside information for a story, which makes me wonder why he agreed in the first place.
Does he want the information leaked? Does he want us to look over and decipher the facts?
We walk around to the river entrance instead of the main one for visitors. This side has view to Washington D.C., just across the Potomac River. The Lincoln Memorial stands high and erect in the overcast sky. When we walk through the doors and through security, eying the armed detail watching us closely as our badges are scanned, our Ids checked through the system, I'm sure we're entering through an area that journalists, let alone plain old civilians, would never be permitted to walk through.
Because of the company we're with and our lack of carry-on items, they allow us to pass through without more than a brief pat down. And once were inside, and I'm figuratively pinching myself, my eyes take in the details of the walls, the staircase leading to the Secretary's corridor, the office of the Chairman of the joint Chiefs of Staff. In a frame on the wall in the hallway hangs the Oath of Office, an allegiance to the Constitution.
Aidan and I both have great poker faces, but in this case, we're equally taken aback, soaking up the moment in our collective silence. It's clear the Lieutenant doesn't want to speak on the matter in hallways. He leads us through the second floor, inside the 9th corridor, weaving us through the alphabetically marked halls.
It's rare when someone passes by, but when they do, dressed head to toe in uniform, we take Martinez's lead, nodding with a subtle "sir". I doubt it's always this quiet, a result of the lockdown, which has made these corridors stiff with tension.
I'm relieved when we reach an office, which he holds open for us to walk through. Although his office is mediocre in décor and size, his view is spectacular, even more so since it's begun snowing again, white flakes coming down steadily over the grounds, the frigid river that gives me chills to look at. Just anyone doesn't get a view like this, and judging by the four stars on his uniform, he's one of the highest ranks here.
He shuts the door with a sigh. "Let me take your coats. I'll hang them up on the rack. It's right by the vent, which is a blessing in the winter. Warms them up fast."
We hand him our coats, and as soon as my gloves and hat is off, I'm missing the warmth.
"Have a seat."
Complying, we watch as he rounds the desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He removes the leftovers of his lunch from his desk with a small chuckle. "Sorry. I become a slob when there's no cleaning crew. Since the initial threats to the White House, which I know you're familiar with," he says, wiggling his brows at me, "we've stretched the designated days for crews to come in. And with this lockdown, I fear my office is only going to get worse."
He opens a drawer, depositing a thick folder onto the center of the desk. "All right, I'm going to get right down to it. This is the pre-approved information, information we want leaked to the public. We're not at the right place to announce it ourselves, but what is in this folder, we'd like you to compile a detailed piece, which you will need to run by me first, which I will run by the Press Secretary unofficially, and then upon approval, you will publish at The Chronicle."
"I'm curious as to why you want a Seattle magazine to release unofficial government information," I say. "I had the understanding that the article that went viral wasn't something that made the secretary very happy."
"No, it didn't. However, we do need to answer questions. The president doesn't want to address the threats head-on, and since you are already connected to the initial release of information regarding this mess, the secretary thought it would be better to be you than anyone else."
It sounds suspicious, but I won't be able to decipher the pros and cons of this without looking at the information first. I'm not really at liberty to deny him that. "Now, when you say you'd like me to write the article, are you asking or telling?"
"We're asking, Ms. Taylor. However, once your eyes see the contents of this folder, you will be accepting the job in its entirety, without question. So, consider it carefully."
I glance at Aidan, who simply regards me, allowing me to make the judgment call.
I've come all this way. There's no damn way I'm not looking at what's in front of me. With zero hesitance, I retrieve the pile from the middle of the desk, and he understands, nodding to me politely.
"I have a meeting. It shouldn't last more than an hour. I will leave you here to absorb the contents. Every drawer in this room is locked, not that I'd suspect you'd rifle through anything. Restroom is down the hall, on the left. A word of caution: You only have clearance to be in this room. You can come and go from here and no alarms will sound. If you try to get into any other room in this building, alarms will go off, and all technology inside will go black instantly."
"We're aware that we're in the Pentagon, sir," Aidan voices, stiffly. "We are aware of the limits, and security procedures."
"Glad to hear it," he says, lifting himself from his chair. "In that case, I will leave you to it."
The moment he's gone, the door shut behind him, I frown, amused only slightly. Aidan just looks confused. We both begin to chuckle together, to ease the tension the Lieutenant created.
"Is it usually this abrupt?"
"No, but this is the government. When are things ever in depth?"
***
Nearly an hour and a half later, the sky is darkening outside, the sun concealed by clouds now beginning to fade with the first hints of evening. The lieutenant hasn't come back, and Aidan and I have sifted through the papers over three times. While most of it, I already knew as it related to the contents of the article I wrote weeks ago, there are new copies of threats, typed and brief.
There's no pasted newspaper clippings of the alphabet, piecing together riddles. There's no evil nickname signed across the bottom. It's a blank sheet of paper other than a few sentences, typed with the most malevolent threats to the President, the Secretary, the White House.
The house they raided was full of war memorabilia, and the man on the lease did two tours in Iraq, where he was injured in a training exercise, paralyzing him from the waist down, which made him a likely suspect, even if it dismissed their belief that he planned to follow the plans through.
That man is currently undergoing questioning, as another report specified, but swears he's being framed and hasn't relented. It's the fact that while he's been in questioning, more letters have weaved their way through the heavily monitored system that is clearly the problem.
They haven't found the person responsible, which explains the lockdown.
It's plenty for an article, but not everything I had hoped for.
"I wanted a name," I complain to the window.
"I'm sure they'd like one too," Aidan hums, joining me by the wall. I roll my eyes at his nonchalance.
"They have to know more, Aidan. I knew half the stuff in that folder."
"It wasn't a complete waste. You know about Del Toro, about his accident in Iraq. You've gotten to see the threats in their entirety. That's something."
"Yeah, not enough. Why don't you go to the bathrooms so I can rifle through his things?" I joke, dejectedly. Aidan wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my temple, softly, a brilliant calming mechanism.
"One of the perks of me being here is that I can stop you from committing treason."
I lay my head into his chest, more than ready to leave. It's been a long day.
"Thank you for coming with me, for understanding why I had to come," I say, shivering as his hand scales the length of my back, rubbing to provide me comfort. "I know you think I'm risking myself needlessly, and I can't really explain how important all of this really is to me without sounding like an idiot, but I love that you're here."
"Me too."
"Maybe we could be partners." I bite my lip, pulling back to see his amusement. I clasp the back of his neck, grinning slowly. "Maybe Matthew will want to hire you."
"Ha. Ha. You know, I think I'm good? This is way too much excitement for me."
Lifted on my toes, I kiss him, softly at first and then more intimately, wrapping my arm around his shoulders, clasping onto the fabric of his suit jacket.
"Well, if you won't let me rifle, I'm going to the bathroom then," I sigh, untangling myself from him. "Where is he anyway? I thought he said an hour."
I grab the door, checking to make sure I have my badge, and step out into the hallway, walking until I see a labeled restroom. Shutting the door to the stall, I approach the sink, lathering my hands while I stare into the mirror. I'm exhausted and it shows.
Just this morning, I was walking in a forest with Aidan, wrapped in him and his words of love. We were in his manor, and now, just like that, we're across the country, wrapped up in an investigation instead.
I dry my hands off on some towels and exit, noticing two people in conversation just standing at the end of the hall, one beside a yellow cleaning cart, which makes me slow. One of the people is in full military uniform and is raising their voice at the other person.
The reason I slow is because the Lieutenant specifically said the cleaning staff hadn't been in the building for days. And I'm looking at one.
"Your manager should have informed you about the lockdown. And besides, there wasn't a route scheduled for today," the officer complains, firmly, "so I'm going to ask again, and I want an answer this time. What made you think to come into work today?"
My heart drops at the man's consistent lack of answer. The officer glances up at me, and holds up his hand.
"Ma'am, security measures are underway. Please-"
It happens so fast, like a whip cracking to air.
I see the bullet soar into the man's chest, sending him down onto the ground without a single chance to protect himself. At the shock, the soft hum of the silencer at firing, I shoot down, bending to my knees with a frightened yelp.
I extend my hands higher when he turns on me, pointing the gun at my chest. I don't dare move. His finger is hovering on the trigger. The man on the floor is gurgling on his own blood, and there's nothing I can do.
My eyes flicker over to the doorway where Aidan is, my heart crashing into my chest irrationally fast.
"Who are you?" he asks, stepping closer. He flicks the gun around, forcing me up onto my feet. "Stand up."
"Jo-Josephine. Josephine Taylor," I breathe, holding my breath as he stands right in front of me. "I...I don't even work here," I gasp as he intimidatingly presses the barrel of the gun into my stomach. He's bald, with dark, red-rimmed eyes, a sign of exhaustion or madness. Most likely both.
There is no flicker within them, which makes me realize this as what it is.
The lockdown.
It isn't a hoax. The plans-someone means to carry them out. This man is likely a piece to that puzzle, if not the piece.
"What do you do?"
"I write. I'm a journalist."
His mouth twitches, though showing no signs of life. "Perfect. That's perfect. Even better. Yeah, you're going to come with me."
I shake my head, frantically. "Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone I saw this, that I saw you."
"We only have a few minutes. I said move. Don't make a fucking sound or I'll pull."
He turns me with ease, his grip so tight that he's nearly flinging me forward. Cold metal is home against my spine, a consistent chill of death, leaving my limbs numb. We pass by the Lieutenants door, where Aidan is sitting unaware to the horrors outside the room.
"Look forward."
I don't want Aidan apart of this. I won't have him be part of this.
Oh god, he said there are only minutes. What does that mean? The halls are empty and frighteningly quiet. I have no idea where he's leading me.
"Why are you doing this?"
"It's not just me. There are a lot of angry people. This is just the start, lady."
Oh fuck.
"The start of what?"
"Of getting what we want."
"Getting what?"
"Shut up," he hisses, his grip tightening, nails sinking into my arm. I grimace, anger flaring in me.
"You won't get it this way."
"I said shut up," he growls into my ear, forcing me to stop to listen to him, "or I will get rid of you. You're the cherry on top, but you're not needed."
I don't want to ask him. I don't want to ask why a writer visiting would be of so much importance. Why he said it's even better that I'm a journalist. The gun in my back is a warning.
Whatever he's going to say-to do here-is going to be unprecedented.
I try to control my uneven breathing to ask him the dreaded question, needing to know the answer.
"W-What's my purpose?"
"Headlines," he says with a low snicker. He lets go of my arm, to clasp the back of my neck, sifting his fingers into my hair. I grunt when they bend and pull, capturing a fistful forcefully. "Now, fucking walk."
I won't let him hear my fear, the tears streaming unconsciously down my cheeks. I hold up my hands, taking step after step. Every corner I turn makes me begin to feel true panic, when we come upon empty halls.
The instant, overwhelming sound of an alarm makes the both of us stop in our tracks as it blares over the speakers and through the vents. It creates goosebumps that spread over my skin the longer it rings, a urgent voice clearly evacuating the building.
My eyes sweep up to the cameras, and I'm sure the body of the officer has been spotted. I feel a twinge of hope, despite this man's tight grip on my hair. That disappears when he begins to push me fast and desperate, sprinting into action.
"No, no!"
He forces me to stumble in every direction he wills, until he plants me in a doorway, shouting at me to open the door. I stutter, my tongue useless now, my body shaking as if an earthquake had descended upon Virginia.
"I-I don't have access..."
"OPEN IT!"
The barrel digs into my back painfully, and I reach for the badge, gasping.
"Oh god. Oh god."
The alarms are distracting, filling my head with dread and realizations. My life is threatened, and I'm sure whoever I'm about to expose to this man is also going to be at risk. The door suddenly opens, a group of men on their way out of a meeting.
Lieutenant Martinez is a few back, his features paled at the sight of the dire situation in the doorway. One of the generals reaches to his side, to a holster, and the man shakes his head, laughing.
"One move and you're all dead. I go down and this thing blows. I will do it."
Oh my god.
There are at least fifteen men standing in this room, who could easily overpower him. But at the mere mention of a possible bomb, they're forced to remain still, and comply, backing up as the man drags me into the room.
"Just...just let her go," Lieutenant Martinez asks him, his voice firm and unwavering. "She is innocent."
"Listen, we can negotiate-"
"There's no negotiating! You had your chance!"
"What are you talking about? You haven't spoken to us, about it. We will listen."
"It's too late. It's too late. You're out of time."
He slams the door shut with the back of his foot, and shoves me toward a desk. A few of the men move to grab me as I cower, but he steps in front of me and unzips his jacket, slowly. By the way their faces pale, eyes widening, mouths slimming, I'm sure he wasn't bluffing.
I sink to the ground, moving back into the wall as the commotion starts.
The man screaming at the top of his lungs.
The officers-the highest ranked officers in the military-shouting over him in an attempt to bring him down.
He drops the jacket on the ground, making it possible to see his torso, vested and armed with cords of all colors, attached to explosives. He's shaking now, his entire body jumping up and down in preparation.
"DO NOT PRESS IT! Think about this! Think about your life!"
Hyperventilating, I begin to crawl toward the door, glancing back continuously to ensure he's not watching me. The lights have dimmed and the red alarm light in one corner of the room is blinking, the televisions gone dark.
"THERE'S NO STOPPING THIS! YOU WERE WARNED!"
"Stop him! Stop him!" the men shout over the alarms. I grab onto the doorknob, my fingers slipping on the metal due to my unnatural trembling. I throw open the door and dive into the hall, and the door slams shut behind me, the shouts and screams of the men lowering instantly into a distant vibration.
I hear a sob leave my throat, and I look up, seeing Aidan just feet away, running to me. His eyes are wide, his face pale with realization. I can't hear the words he says. My ears are throbbing, my pulse racing so fast that to move is physically painful.
I try to speak, to tell him what's happening but I'm not sure anything coherent comes out.
Anyways, it doesn't matter to him. He's most likely seen the body in the hallway. He's heard the evacuation.
He knows we're under attack.
He heaves me up to him, crashing me into his body, and somehow he makes running seem like floating. He's doing most of the work. By the time we're near the tenth corridor, the ground shakes, the walls and drywall raining down upon us as an explosion erupts within the building. We both drop down, but can't afford to stop.
This is a nightmare, a nightmare come to life.
There's no time to stop and apologize. To tell him I'm sorry for letting him come.
If it were just me, I could handle the guilt.
We both scramble back up once the tremors have ceased, and take off in flight with newfound desperation. His hand is tight in mine, a grounding in this mess. We're reaching a corner of the Pentagon when another explosion... and then another erupt within the walls.
It's coming from everywhere.
A piece of the roof caves in right in front of me, and I have to jump back. Aidan's arms catch me, lifting me back onto my feet. "I've got you. I've got you. Come on."
The lights in this corridor flicker off, leaving us in mostly darkness. There's commotion up ahead, screams. It's not clear whether we should run for it or from it.
We have no choice to push forward.
The building is shaking in it's entirety as another boom riddles the structure, and it's difficult to remain on my feet. Our hair, our clothes are dusted in building remains.
This can't be happening. It's a dream. I'm sleeping on the plane.
I've got to be.
This isn't happening to us.
People aren't dying.
We round a corner, nearly hitting into a group of men in S.W.A.T. uniforms, who shout at us to reach the South Parking entrances. We don't stop to ask where that is, who is doing this, what to do when we get there.
The answer is simple... Run like hell.
We reach a swarm of people, a mess, chaos personified. The entrance is loaded with screaming, frantic people, men and women. We sprint for the staircase, needing to fight our way through them. It's slow moving, a trap and Aidan shoves me in front of him, surrounding me with his arms, because no one is to be trusted.
I'm still hyperventilating, thinking of the Lieutenant who is most likely dead upstairs.
"I'm so-sorry," I cry as we shuffle forward, attempting to get out. The building is becoming consumed with smoke. "Aidan, I'm so sorry."
"Shh," he kisses the back of my head, breathless, "shh. It's going to be okay. We're going to be fine."
"HURRY! NOW! MOVE!"
The shouts are coming from the front of the building.
Everyone is hitting into each other, not even realizing it. By the time we've reached the doors to freedom, the sky outside is black, hot ashes raining down upon the sidewalk. We both turn to look back, running through the doors, gazing up at the billows of smoke, the famous symbol of the United States in flames.
"Oh my god," Aidan utters in dread at the sight. We swerve around people struck still in panic, finally free of the confines.
We feel the vibration of detonation before we hear, or see the flash of light.
It surges like an erupting volcano and explodes, and the force of the wind hits first, hot wind scalding our backs.
The flash of light finally comes, and brings us complete darkness.
***
Screams.
The steady sound of flames.
A ringing to my ears, which feel wet, like my hair.
I can't open my eyes. Sirens are everywhere.
Every kind of alarm imaginable. In the distance, pipe explosions go off.
I know where I am, although I can't see anything. My eyes are burning, refusing to open.
I'm on my back, maybe on stairs. Maybe in rumble.
I can't speak. I can't move.
Everything hurts.
My head...fuck. My head.
Aidan. God, Aidan.
Aidan!
Mouth, work!
The pain wins out in the end, and I begin to slip, slip into darkness again, the thought of him not enough to sustain me any longer.
Aidan.
***
My eyes slowly begin to part.
It physically hurts do so, but I push through. I'm cold, and there's too much silence.
"Oh, she's moving!"
My head tilts toward the familiar voice. Samantha.
Samantha's here.
"Aidan, she's waking up!"
"He's in the waiting room with her boss," a different voice says calmly.
"Please tell him she's waking up!" she shouts, joyously. I can't really move, but my eyes finally begin to adjust to the bright white lights. Something that sounds like a heart monitor beeps wildly as I come to consciousness, disoriented.
I look at Samantha, whose eyes are swollen and dark. She looks pretty bad, like she's been crying. I gaze at her, oddly, licking my lips.
My eyes drift down to my body laid out in a hospital gown, my leg casted, my arm attached to an IV. There are jagged slices of skin all the way to the sleeve. My eyes begin to well up, with confusion.
I'm in a hospital.
What the fuck is happening?
A nurse approaches the side of the bed, smiling softly. She holds out water to me, encouraging me to sip slowly.
"Josephine, hi. I'm Felicia...do you know where you are?"
I stare at her, blinking as she sets down the cup. "The hospital."
She nods, pointing to Samantha. "Do you know who she is?"
"S-Samantha, my best friend."
"Good. Yes, that's good...You've been in an induced coma, for three days. Do you remember what sent you here?"
"A coma?" I shake my head. "What? A coma?"
"Josephine, look at me. Focus. I know it's hard, but I need you to focus." She grabs my hand. "Do you remember why you are here? What is the last thing you remember?"
Tears pour from my burning eyes as I try to cope, understand what she's saying.
Samantha moves forward, smiling awkwardly. A man rushes through the doorway, out of breath. I look at him as he enters, and as Samantha urges him over, studying him closely.
Gorgeous brown hair, that tumbles down to his shoulders. A lean body, which is also marred in scars. His temple is bandaged, as is his wrist. If his lips weren't broken open and cracked, I'm sure they'd be smooth. A face, both tormented and joyous with relief.
He reaches for me, and I flinch, my eyes moving down to his hand clasping mine.
My heart is racing. I have no idea what to do.
"Sir, give her a minute. She's...she's still coming to things."
Samantha leans in, glancing nervously to the man. "Jo, you...you know who this is, right?"
My tears fall, because I think I should know. Why does everyone think I should know?
His eyes have widened, touched with a hint of fear now-his own confusion.
"Baby," he whispers, bending down. "Jo, we were in an explosion. In the Pentagon. Three days ago, we were there together. You remember this, right?"
I glance from him to the nurse, swallowing. I might be sick. I need him to move because I'm going to vomit.
"Jo, say my name. Say you know who I am," he says, his voice escalating higher in fear.
"I think...I think she's overwhelmed. I think we should leave and wait for the d-"
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here. What the hell is going on?!"
"Sir, please calm down. Please." The nurse smiles encouragingly to me. "Sweetheart, you don't remember the explosion?"
I shake my head, slowly as the man beside me snaps up straight, his hand going to his head.
"Okay, okay," the nurse coos. "Do you know who this man is? Don't be afraid."
I glance at him, my heart clenching at the way his eyes fill with water at my silence, his gorgeous features etched with horror as he turns with a spin, gasping. Samantha reaches out to grab his arms, showing her own worry for him, and my chin shoots from side to side, like a bobble head as I attempt to absorb what's happened.
Absorb that my memory is gone.
My recollection of this man, who clearly knows me, is gone.
I'm going to be sick.
"Aidan..." Samantha whispers as he walks stiffly out of the room, escaping into the hospital wing.
The nurse's quick reflexes to grab a pale pink bucket just succeed as I begin to vomit violently, succumbing to my own horrors.
A/N: Okay...so this is probably the meanest thing I've ever done to you guys.
Just remember I love you guys (& these characters!!!)... please?????
Don't stone me.