CHAPTER 45

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WASHINGTON, DC

2016

Xander had suited up in the unconscious man's tuxedo and Jooles straightened his bowtie as they hastened to infiltrate the party upstairs. Under his jacket Xander had two 9mms snapped in a shoulder holster and six clips lined its straps. Jooles's black dress hugged her muscular frame tighter than that of the slender, gaunt figure of the blonde. Jooles had only space for one small pistol strapped to her right thigh.

"How much time do you think we have?" Jooles checked her watch and answered.

"Fireworks are scheduled to go off in fifteen minutes. I imagine it would be during the show." Xander's chin fell to his chest as he inspected his collar only to find a smear of lipstick. He smudged it with his thumb and smiled up at Jooles as she smooched her lips in the same shade that she had just applied.

"Let's go," together they processed down the hall dressed in black and whites. They came to a stop at the bottom of the stairwell, straightened their attire and breathed deeply. Poised with calm confidence, Xander offered his arm. Jooles accepted it and together they ascended the ornate stairwell, past the guards and into the thick of the crowd gathered on the rooftop terrace.

The museum's fifth floor terrace was draped in sheer white as decorative trellises lined the patio. Red roses climbed the cross-stitched wood grates that encased the area. Vertical lights shined on the exterior wall in red and white stripes while another set of lights shined white stars. Tables with hors d'oeuvres were scattered about as government types milled about with their dates. A classic uniformed serving staff switched out used plates for new sparkling dishes.

Forced laughs sounded as the party guests swapped stories. Xander and Jooles passed by still locked by the arm, whispering to each other.

"I have located Hardy, he is on the rooftop terrace of the American History Museum. I repeat rooftop terrace of the American History Museum." Ashton updated through the comms.

"Alright let's go get him.... And keep your eyes peeled, Agent Zero or any of his mercenaries could be here anywhere...," Xander instructed.

"I'll take the East side, you take the West." Jooles separated from her date and smiled for the onlookers. Xander offered a parting kiss on her cheek, keeping appearances up. And so they filtered separately through the party.

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Agent Zero entered through the front door of the American History Museum. The figure's hand dug into its coat for a trigger mechanism, connected to electrical wires that coiled up the coat's sleeve. The figure processed forward under the Star Spangled Banner display in the foyer and toward the party, pulling a pistol out and shooting both guards. Stepping over the guards Agent Zero processed up the stairs.

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Ashton's sniper scope located Hardy out on the terrace of the fifth floor of the American History museum, downing his Scotch and asking for another from the bar. Ashton readjusted her stance, pulling away from the scope for a moment when something caught her eagle eye up the mall. A black Suburban parked outside the National Gallery of Art. The scope roamed over the Mall and settled on a herd of men in black and white suits running into the Gallery.

"Seamus, I think you have company coming your way," she spoke up her wrist. She kept her scope on the Suburban which unloaded a couple of men, who proceeded on foot across the Mall toward the Air and Space Museum.

"Copy that," Seamus responded.

She felt a blunt impact on her head.

The world went double and slowly came back together.

Turning around, Ashton's eyes focused on a man in a black and white suit standing over her cracking his knuckles. Still disoriented, she charged with her shoulder, slamming the man against the wall. A tumbling brawl ensued. Crisp punches and blocks exchanged between the two. Ashton connected on a jab and a hook, only phasing the suited man for the moment.

"Alright, let's go baby." Ashton gathered her breath and brushed her hair out of her face. She cracked her neck to the side, readying herself for more and jumped down the flight to engage the man.

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Across the Mall in the National Gallery of Art, Seamus retreated into the Rembrandt Exhibit. He heard the peddling of combat boots sound from down the hall. He squatted against a door frame that he selected as his cover. He counted six or seven men by the sound of it. To his dismay he heard them fanning out in all directions. He would prefer to take down a centralized unit with a flash grenade but he knew they had played to his weakness.

Whoever planned this attack knows us and our weaknesses. To take these men down I'll have to do it with stealth.

Seamus remembered his stealth skills were doomed from the first day of training when he fell out of the tree in the Thicket. He brandished a 9mm from his pack that he had not intended on using and screwed on a silencer attached to his bulletproof vest. He knew that he needed to retreat into the recesses of the museum to better isolate the fully armed terrorists and so he did, intentionally getting lost deep into the museum.

After running down a series of random corridors, he squatted behind a marble pillar at the center of an exhibit room. His breaths silently panting, as he awaited the men in search of him, his eyes roamed the exhibition room in an attempt to find his bearings. They ascended the far wall to a painting by George Bellows, entitled "The Art of Boxing". The oil painting depicted two boxers in the ring locked at the head, throwing punches into each other's gut.

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Mac's right connected with another Skeptic's ribs, he could hear the crunch from behind the suit coat. Mac stumbled back into the rocket that stood erect in Gallery 114 of the Air and Space Museum, the large hall dedicated to the Space Race. The hall resembled outer space more than cyber space. Mac was out of his element. The Skeptic absorbed the blow and swung a wild right hook, which caught Mac on the chin.

His vision went into orbit.

Mac tried to focus back on his attacker.

The Skeptic took off his sunglasses revealing a cut above his brow that was dripping blood from one of Mac's jabs. Mac knew that the man's strengths was physical and that he was outmatched. But he would have to fend for himself.

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Tobias was now running through the Mall's crowd. The twilight had faded to black, leaving a dark canvas overhead for the fireworks show. The haunting squeal of violins commenced in the distance. Tobias's eyes widened as he spun in the whirlwind of activity. The symphony had just begun Tchaikovsky's '1812 Overture'. He checked his watch for the time.

"Xander, you have to get to that bomb, we are running out of time!" he spoke up his sleeve.

And then it started.

Tobias's sights lifted skyward and followed a rocket flying into the air, exploding at its peak into an array of colors. The fireworks had just begun.

«————————»

Seamus had just flanked the first man to enter the exhibit. He spun silently around the marble pillar and positioned himself at the back side of his opponent. His left hand came up to the topside of the gun as he pulled the trigger. The bullet shot through the man's neck and snapped his brain stem. Seamus's left hand caught the bullet casing that was discharged upon the shot and he lunged at the man, catching him before he collapsed. The takedown was clean and silent. He dragged him over into the corner and took his radio comm. Plugging the bud in his ear, he was able to hear the terrorist's communication.

"Jericho, come in, Jericho, come in," upon hearing this Seamus looked over the man collapsed in a puddle of blood in the corner.

And you must be Jericho...

"Miller, check it out... to the East." Seamus cracked a smile, knowing he now had the upper hand. They were feeding him men one by one, his plan was working. He had to use the size of the Gallery to his advantage and he had done so. The only problem was that in an Art Gallery there were not many structures to provide cover. Most rooms were large expanses of hardwood floor to allow for the better flow of traffic as tourists looked from picture to picture. He decided to meet the Miller halfway in the East Sculpture Hall that offered many display pillars as cover.

Seamus moved quickly and knew he was invisible as the communications had just rattled off a position update. He crouched behind the largest sculpture he could find. After a few moments of focused listening, he was able to hear slow, cautious steps approaching. The suited man's focus remained down the hall where Jericho had last reported his location, so when he passed by the sculptures he didn't check behind their marble bases. Seamus awaited for the man to distance himself. A couple of slow steps passed him before he rose to his feet.

In one quick motion Seamus grabbed both sides of the Skeptic's head and jerked in either direction with such force, a vertebra jutted out from his skin from the fracture point of his snapped neck. His legs collapsed. Lifeless, his blank stare gazed over his shoulder toward Seamus's footsteps as he proceeded down the corridor toward his next prey.

«————————»

Mac was getting pummeled by the man twice his size. He had taken off his glasses and his suit coat revealing a holster vest with concealed weapons and grenades strapped across his chest. The suited man cracked his fingers and his neck and approached Mac for round two of their match. Mac received a couple of rib crunching blows – his breath violently ripped from his lungs. He heaved over defenseless. His vision remained blurry as he tried to focus on the ground before him. Then it was cut by a black blur coming up hard into his face. The impact knocked him unconscious for a brief second. Mac could feel his brain rattle in his skull. The man had struck him with an upper knee blow sending him to his back.

Mac's world spun in a haze.

The suited man picked him up and pushed him against a display rocket in the gallery. Releasing him to his wobbly stance, the Skeptic started striking him as if he had him cornered in the ring. Fist after fist, knee after knee pummeled into him as if he was a flimsy punching bag when hit hard. Mac had no chance, the man was about to end his life. Mac's vision slowly focused on something within arm's reach – the grenades attached to his chest.

With all the might Mac had left, he snatched a pin from one of the grenades. He sent a hard side-kick into his gut, pushing the man past his heels and back multiple steps. The man focused solely on getting the grenade out of the strap. Mac swung around the rocket and crouched with his head between his knees for cover. The man's hands fumbled and fidgeted until it was too late.

The grenade blew.

Mac could feel the blast come over him but with the cover of the metal rocket, he avoided injury from debris. The boom sounded out in the Air and Space Museum and mixed with the sounds of commotion and fireworks over the lawn. As the dust settled, Mac found a deep breath and with a sigh of relief, flung his head back against the rocket, which rang out an echoing hollow ring. A smile crept on his face and he started laughing out loud in the gallery.

"That's right!" he taunted over his huffing breaths.

«————————»

Jooles spotted one grey head after another, yielding no match. She went to the bar, knowing Hardy's habit, but he was not there. She surveyed the faces of the crowd illuminated in different colors as they faced the skyline's fireworks display. Jooles soon started seeing people she had already scoped out.

Where is he?

"Ashton, come in. I can't find Hardy, give me an update on his position." But no answer came.

She retreated to the far end of the museum, hoping Hardy had sought a more private view point for the show. She came to a large empty patio section, where there was no sight of Hardy. Jooles cursed a stream of obscenities as she met another dead end.

"Where the hell are you, Ha –"At this, a violent fist connected with the back of her head. She fell dazed by the impact and saw a hand come over her.

"Keep your mouth shut and I won't blow you to bits." A hiss sounded into her ear, the hand showed her the trigger mechanism.

«————————»

Xander's eyes continued to comb through the crowd searching for Hardy or any sign of Agent Zero. Nothing.

If he isn't here, then where could he be?

And then it happened.

"Xander Whitt!"

A loud shrill sounded over the crowd.

Everyone's head turned from the firework display to see where the voice had come from. What they saw immediately induced a panic throughout the terrace. The frenzy ensued as people ran for the door, tripping over each other and trampling others. The voice was distant and familiar as if coming through a tunnel of memories. He couldn't place it, he couldn't concentrate as the mass hysteria ensued before him, head after head blocked the sight. Xander was lost in the scene, as it unfolded faster than his mind could process. He brought his gun up to aim through the crowd at who was on the other side. It was only when the mob of people had slowly thinned out that he was able to see. Fireworks exploded like a million light bulbs over his head as it dawned on him. There before him was Jooles held in the hostage grip of a familiar figure. The figure had disrobed its coat, revealing a stack of C4 strapped to its chest – detonator in hand.

"Oh, come on, don't act so surprised to see me!" the shrill voice sounded.

Xander's shock paralyzed his body, every variable of every possibility had been analyzed and he hadn't seen it from a mile away.

He was finally face to face with Agent Zero.


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