Project Sparta (The Xander Whitt Series Book 1) (28 page)

Chapter 52

Washington, DC

July 4
th
2016

Dim lights shined down on the boardroom conference table but did not shine on the nine silhouettes seated around the table. Hands were visible on the table, revealing rings and Rolex watches. Some hands were masculine, others were feminine. The Chairman at the head of the table spoke before the others.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Collective, I’d like to first thank you for meeting on such short notice. We have an update from the field. I am proud to report that Ezra is in play. Xander did not kill him. This stands as evidence that he is the one. We must be very careful not to over manage him, but stay in the shadows and let this play out naturally. I trust in Ezra’s approach and so we will do our part, but from afar,” the Chairman explained.

“But Ezra killed Helen Bashfield, a member of this Collective.” One silhouette motioned to the empty chair at the other end of the conference table. “How can we trust him when he assassinated one of us?”

“Because I told him to.” The room was silent but respectful and patient, awaiting an explanation. The Chairman continued. “She failed to provide a secure meet, exposing Ezra’s target. She was on this board to provide protection from the clandestine agencies of our government. And she couldn’t even do that. Ezra had to improvise and he did so brilliantly. Our plan is coming to fruition. If Phase Two goes according to plan, Ezra will have that seat.”

Despite a slight hesitance in the room, the silhouettes complied with their leader’s directives.

“When does Phase Two begin?” asked a voice from the shadows.

“Preparations for Apollo are on schedule and underway. In three short months, Apollo will be in play, and this country will never be the same.” A sinister tone came from the Chairman’s voice as the shadows around the table clapped their hands in eager anticipation.

Chapter 53

Great Falls, VA

July 4
th
2016

Xander’s ‘Old Red’ pickup truck sped down the gravel road and over the wooden bridge that led through the woods of Great Falls, Virginia, and to his house. There were still Skeptics at large and there were still growing questions about the Collective. Ezra had uttered the same thing as Bashfield before she died.

We are the Collective. Are you?

He would have to deal with that another day. But for now, he was finally home. Xander pulled into his garage to see a 4Runner parked in the other spot. He walked into his house and threw his keys on the granite island before him. The flowers he had left had been arranged beautifully. He grabbed himself a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water as he noticed the green digital numbers on the clock read 3:14 a.m. He had just finished his debrief and said his goodbye to his team. Xander knew he most likely wouldn’t see most of them for a long time.

After gulping down the first glass of water, he filled it up again and began sipping on it slowly. He stretched and continued upstairs toward his bedroom. Xander opened the door and walked through his room into the bathroom. He met his reflection in the mirror for a long moment. He saw the bags under his eyes and the rough skin that lined his jaw. He had met someone who he had previously thought was dead and helped another fake their death to get out of Project Sparta. He remembered Duke’s words that were oddly relevant.

“I am a Spartan for life; death is the only discharge.” There is no discharge. You have to die to get out. But what I figured out is that through death you find life.

He was reminded of the thousands of times that Project Sparta’s motto had been proven true.

Nothing is as it seems.

Xander stripped to his underwear before his reflection. Scars littered his body, reminding him of his years of service and sacrifice to his country. Xander gave his life for his country. His youth was not his, his clothes were not his, his interests and friends were not his. His life was not his. Project Sparta was a controlled environment, and his life of active duty was still to this day as controlled by its commitments. He sacrificed his freedom so that others may have theirs. His hand reached for the cross around his neck, grasping it as he so often did when he didn’t know something.

“What is mine?” he asked himself in the mirror. After a moment of brief reflection, an answer came that made him smile.

His eyes left his reflection and turned toward the bedroom. He found his bed in the dark and plopped down on it, letting out a sigh that carried with it all the stresses and tensions of the past week. His hand found his bedside table in the dark and opened the drawer. It reached around until it found a smooth silver ring. Xander picked it up, closed the drawer and put it on his left ring finger. He turned onto his side and found the figure next to him. Careful not to wake her, his hands rose to a set of red curly locks. His fingers began to twirl while his other arm wrapped tightly around her, holding on to the only thing in his life that he could truly call his own.

EXCERPT FROM PROJECT APOLLO

The Compound

Three Months Later

Xander, Seamus, Ashton, and Axle had retrieved their prisoner and sat silently in the transport vehicle. Xander stared straight ahead, calculating his strategy and the probabilities of Ezra’s involvement in the events of the day. And then he considered the probabilities that Ezra’s men were acting outside the scope of his scheming. Xander formulated each step of his impending interrogation.

Twenty silent minutes passed until they turned down a back road. A rumble erupted under their feet, and Xander knew they were close.
They soon pulled up to a high security gate. The gate was shabby and brush was growing up and down it. There was no visible structure to it, merely a door that backed into a hill. Axle shifted the transport into park, approached an eye scanner and focused his eyes into the console. A high-pitched ding followed by a green blinking light signaled the opening of the first gate.

As the high gate opened, a ramp surfaced to lead them to a subterranean level. The transport entered the depths of the dimly lit tunnels. The tunnel system belonged to a decommissioned top-secret airplane facility. They passed bay doors on either side, leading to different hangars that once held prototypes. Few knew of this place and fewer were granted access to it. After a few turns, the transport leveled out and slowed to its stop deep underground.

They came to a garage door with the one word stamped on it like a cargo crate.

SPARTA.

The stamp had faded over the ten years that had passed since they had trained there. Axle stopped the transport and approached a second panel on the wall that opened at the scanning of his access card. It revealed an eye scanner, which Axle stared into until the door opened. The eye scanner only accepted a Spartan’s retinal print. There were no guards—secrecy was its greatest security.

The bay doors creaked open, revealing
a facility that had been forgotten for the last ten years. A stale, dreary atmosphere hung under the dome.
It was the blackest site in America, the one they trained in—the Compound.

A large bank of computer monitors and communication servers stood as a command post at the center of the Compound floor. Damien Cusick was the Compound’s only tenant. He was an alternative computer hack who had a fidgety and shy streak in him. He was a Spartan instructor who now ran general support for agents in the field. The Mainframe was the only structure in the Compound that continued its life. The Simu-climate no longer worked and the Thicket, a forestry section for wildlife, was overgrown and dead, casting an eerie aura through the Compound.

Three months prior, Ezra had attempted a terrorist attack on DC. After a cat-and-mouse game with Xander, he strapped a bomb to his chest on the roof terrace of the National Museum of American History. He put a bullet in one of his fellow Spartans head, leaving himself exposed to Ashton’s sniper rifle.

Xander, Seamus, Axle, and Ashton led Ezra into the facility he once called home. At the center of the Compound stood a large glass cube, which would serve as a holding cell. Damien Cusick’s head popped up from his keyboard, his eyes meeting the prisoner. He shot up and tripped over his computer chair in disbelief. He stared silently as Ezra was positioned in his new cell.

Xander unlatched Ezra’s constraints and took his stance before the prisoner. The two stared into each other’s hard eyes—Xander’s bulged while Ezra’s remained calm and steady, adjusting to the light.

For the first time, Xander was able to really survey his opponent. The captive’s skin was sallow and pale from the lack of food and sunlight. His brown hair was matted in natural grease from his lack of hygiene during his incarceration. His narrow nose contrasted his otherwise blunted features, and his chin bunched up around a small dimple, barely visible beneath the scraggly beard lining his jaw. Moments passed as the standoff continued. Xander carefully plotted his approach, his temple pulsated.

Ezra had intentionally laid the breadcrumbs for Xander to discover the target on that Fourth of July. But suspicion had grown that Ezra had intentionally discarded his human shield, that he wanted to be captured, and that he was still scheming a bigger plot. It had only become apparent that Ezra still had the upper hand this morning.

“What do you know about Apollo?” Xander asked, forgetting the pleasantries. Then to Xander’s dismay, a faint smile crossed Ezra’s face, confirming all his suspicions.

“And so it begins…”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BB Gallagher is a data analyst who lives in Belmont, NC with his wife and kids.
Project Sparta
is his first published novel but will not be his last as he is currently developing the rest of the Xander Whitt series. To join the Project, follow him on his author pages.

Twitter
: @bb_gallagher

Facebook
: facebook.com/bbgallagher

Blog
:
www.authorsblock.com

Wattpad
: www.wattpad.com/user/bbgallagher

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First, I’d like to thank my family. Alyssa, you were the best soundboard for all my crazy ideas, anagrams, and plot twists. You are behind me every step of the way as I pursue my dream. I could not ask for a better partner in crime. Mom, you are the best proofer someone could ask for and the first person to ever see the manuscripts. Thank you for catching all the missing commas and typoes (get that one?). Dad, thank you for the tremendous role you played in the editing and publication of this book. I am sorry for every time I wet the bed growing up. All my siblings, thank you for picking on me, it allowed me to write Duke’s bullying scenes easily. I appreciate all your encouragement and critiques.

Second, I’d like to thank my three-headed beta-reading monster: Steven, JP, and Kevin. Each of you have had the most impact on this novel. There is no way in hell I’d get this done without you. I am forever indebted to you guys because not only are you my best readers and editors, you’re my best friends, as well. By the way, Steven, you owe me $20 for fantasy football.

Lastly, I’d like to thank my technical crew: My editor, Danielle Poiesz of Double Vision Editorial. She made it very easy to go through the very strenuous editing phase for the first time. I recommend her for anyone (
http://www.doublevisioneditorial.com
)
. Caroline Kiser, my cover designer (
http://www.kiserdesign.com
)—your work is incredible.

Thank you to all my fans who offered honest, constructive feedback. Hope you enjoy
Project Apollo
next!