could see a tap against the wall he had seen men drink from earlier in the trip. It was tantalizingly close, but also completely in the open. Opening his bag, he removed two of the empty water bottles. He unscrewed their caps and shoved them into his pocket. With one last glance around he raced across the open space between the containers and the tap.
He reached the wall without being seen and turned the tap on, placing the first bottle under the stream. The tap seemed impossibly slow, but it was probably just his imagination. His heart hammered in his chest as he swapped the second bottle for the first and started to drink down the first bottle.
His thirst quenched for the moment, he refilled the first bottle and turned to leave when a fist slammed him directly on the nose. His eyes watered from the searing pain. He tumbled backward, striking his head on the hard metal deck. Darkness overtook him.
The White House, Washington, DC
“William,” said Sheila, the Chief of Staff’s secretary. “I need you to take this envelope to the President’s secretary. Hand it to her personally and have her sign the receipt.”
“Yes, ma’am, right away!” Billy jumped out of his chair, grabbed the manila envelope, and rushed down the hallway. Turning a corner, he ran headlong into Rachel. He dropped the envelope and, much to his horror, the cup of Starbucks Café Latte with low-fat skim milk she was carrying landed right on top of it, spilling its contents.
“You loser!” she yelled. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” She picked up the coffee cup and headed to the nearby bathroom to wash herself off. He picked up the envelope and headed to the men’s room to try and dry it off. Many paper towels later and several minutes under the hand dryer were of no use. It was obvious something had spilt on the envelope. He had to do something. I can’t bring the file like this to the President’s office! He put the file under his sport coat and headed to the supply room. Finding a matching envelope and looking around, he untied the red string that held his now stained envelope. Inside was a document with several photos clipped to the front. He pulled it out and was about to put it in the new envelope when he stopped.
“What the hell is this?” he asked aloud, then quickly looked around to make sure no one had heard him. He flipped through the photographs, each of a different person. They’re dead! His stomach churned. He steadied himself and looked closer. Most had a bullet hole through the head and all had Terminated written across the bottom except the last photo. It showed a man with Target Status Unknown written on the bottom. He looked at the name. Professor James Acton. He hurriedly stuffed the photos in the new envelope, realizing he was probably not supposed to have seen them. His heart raced. God, please don’t let them find out I saw these!
Darbinger sat on the couch in the Oval Office, talking to his old friend, who sat across from him. “It would be nice, though.”
“What?” asked Jackson.
“To not have to be watching over our shoulders constantly.”
Jackson nodded. “Yes, ten years of hiding in the open. I’m afraid that if this doesn’t get resolved before my term is up, they won’t hesitate to remove us. They wouldn’t dare while I’m in office, though.”
“No, you they wouldn’t,” agreed Darbinger. “Me on the other hand….”
Jackson leaned toward his friend. “Don’t worry, your position protects you, as well. We’re too visible to eliminate. Besides, this will soon all be over.”
Darbinger nodded. “You know, when you first approached me about stealing the Smithsonian skull I thought you were mad.”
Jackson chuckled. “Yes, but you came around soon enough. You knew it was the right thing to do. The only way to accomplish our goal is to take control of at least three of the skulls.” He leaned back and stretched his arms across the back of the couch.
He reached the wall without being seen and turned the tap on, placing the first bottle under the stream. The tap seemed impossibly slow, but it was probably just his imagination. His heart hammered in his chest as he swapped the second bottle for the first and started to drink down the first bottle.
His thirst quenched for the moment, he refilled the first bottle and turned to leave when a fist slammed him directly on the nose. His eyes watered from the searing pain. He tumbled backward, striking his head on the hard metal deck. Darkness overtook him.
The White House, Washington, DC
“William,” said Sheila, the Chief of Staff’s secretary. “I need you to take this envelope to the President’s secretary. Hand it to her personally and have her sign the receipt.”
“Yes, ma’am, right away!” Billy jumped out of his chair, grabbed the manila envelope, and rushed down the hallway. Turning a corner, he ran headlong into Rachel. He dropped the envelope and, much to his horror, the cup of Starbucks Café Latte with low-fat skim milk she was carrying landed right on top of it, spilling its contents.
“You loser!” she yelled. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” She picked up the coffee cup and headed to the nearby bathroom to wash herself off. He picked up the envelope and headed to the men’s room to try and dry it off. Many paper towels later and several minutes under the hand dryer were of no use. It was obvious something had spilt on the envelope. He had to do something. I can’t bring the file like this to the President’s office! He put the file under his sport coat and headed to the supply room. Finding a matching envelope and looking around, he untied the red string that held his now stained envelope. Inside was a document with several photos clipped to the front. He pulled it out and was about to put it in the new envelope when he stopped.
“What the hell is this?” he asked aloud, then quickly looked around to make sure no one had heard him. He flipped through the photographs, each of a different person. They’re dead! His stomach churned. He steadied himself and looked closer. Most had a bullet hole through the head and all had Terminated written across the bottom except the last photo. It showed a man with Target Status Unknown written on the bottom. He looked at the name. Professor James Acton. He hurriedly stuffed the photos in the new envelope, realizing he was probably not supposed to have seen them. His heart raced. God, please don’t let them find out I saw these!
Darbinger sat on the couch in the Oval Office, talking to his old friend, who sat across from him. “It would be nice, though.”
“What?” asked Jackson.
“To not have to be watching over our shoulders constantly.”
Jackson nodded. “Yes, ten years of hiding in the open. I’m afraid that if this doesn’t get resolved before my term is up, they won’t hesitate to remove us. They wouldn’t dare while I’m in office, though.”
“No, you they wouldn’t,” agreed Darbinger. “Me on the other hand….”
Jackson leaned toward his friend. “Don’t worry, your position protects you, as well. We’re too visible to eliminate. Besides, this will soon all be over.”
Darbinger nodded. “You know, when you first approached me about stealing the Smithsonian skull I thought you were mad.”
Jackson chuckled. “Yes, but you came around soon enough. You knew it was the right thing to do. The only way to accomplish our goal is to take control of at least three of the skulls.” He leaned back and stretched his arms across the back of the couch.
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