6 - Abandoned
Sammy's was a barbecue restaurant located downtown, in the heart of Washington DC.
"I come here for the ribs. They're to die for." Thompson heard James say, as he dabbed his lips with the clean paper towel.
"You don't say." Thompson replied, pressing his lips against themselves. He was here for something important, far more important than a rack of ribs and he could only be patient for so long.
"You should try them."
Thompson nodded, a slight smile on his face. "Not today."
"Why?" James said, grabbing the glass of water next to his plate on the table. "You just got back from a war. I know for a fact that you're not on a diet. At least not yet anyway."
"I'm just not in the mood." Thompson replied again, the impatience beginning to get the better of him. They'd been at the restaurant for almost an hour and he had spent the first twenty briefing James on the development of things. He could help but think, as James continued to devour his food that he was rather cavalier about the information for a National Security Adviser.
A few minutes coated by the sound of Jane's tearing through his ribs passed between them.
"So—" James finally said, grabbing another piece of paper towel. "Cincinnati you say?"
"Yeah." Thompson replied again.
"And you're sure."
"That's the thing, Mr Russell. I'm not sure of anything. All we did was trace the info we got from Neurospark to a facility in Cincinnati. We don't know what or who's inside."
"You can handle whatever happens, right? This shouldn't be your first time infiltrating a building."
"No." Thompson replied, sinking further into his chair. "It isn't."
"Well, I'm sure you're going to like the surprise I have planned for you then." Jacob continued. He grabbed the cup one more time and signaled to the nearest waiter.
Thompson frowned. "What surprise?"
Jacob leaned forward, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "A very good one."
Shane zipped his bags, an unsure look on his face. He didn't know if he packed everything he needed or not. For all he knew, this operation could take days or weeks.
Oh God, what if he was stuck in Cincinnati for months?
"Don't tell me you're already gaining some kind of affection for the headquarters already." Hera's voice called gently from behind. Shane scoffed and turned to look at her. Just like him, she had arrived with a backpack and unlike him, she had the biggest smirk on her face.
"I told you. We're calling it Warehouse." Shane corrected, folding his hands.
"We're definitely not."
"It'll catch on." Shane said, turning to his bag one more time. "You'll see."
"I don't think I really want to."
As Shane opened his mouth to speak, Aaron arrived from one of the spare rooms, holding a laptop. He had a look of concern etched all over his face.
"Aren't you packing your bags? Flight leaves in a few hours." Hera asked, staring at him with a confused frien
"Yeah, I know." He replied. "That's not important now. I was looking through the files again, trying to see if there was something I didn't catch the first time."
"And—" Shane asked, staring at him too.
"There is. I was looking through the bin for images that have once been deleted and I found this." Aaron replied, turning the laptop over to them.
Shane and Hera moved closer to the laptop. Behind the screen is a drawing of a red eye.
"It's an eye." Shane mentioned, his eyes flicking back to Aaron. "Why are we looking at a red eye?"
"I don't know. But I don't have a good feeling about this."
"Right." Shane mentioned.
"Look, something about it just seemed peculiar to me and I thought you guys should know about it, you know, before we leave."
A loud screech penetrated the air, signaling Thompson's arrival.
"You think we need to tell him about it?" Hera whispered, just loud enough for others to hear as Thompson's footsteps grew louder.
"Not until we know exactly what we're dealing with." Shane said.
Before Aaron could protest, Thompson arrived at the doorway, a victorious smile hanging on his face.
"Well, that's promising." Hera said, folding her arms and watching Thompson walk in.
"Just got back from speaking to the NSA." Thompson said, walking past them and towards the giant screen. "Apparently, we don't need to hurry to the airport to catch our flight anymore. We have our very own private jet."
A moment of brief silence passed between them before Aaron broke it with an excited scream.
"Okay, now that's sick."
"We're dealing with a matter of national security here. Jacob says we need all the privacy we can get."
"Okay, now that's cool. So when do we leave?" Hera asked, a mild smile appearing on her face as well.
Thompson looked at her, a deadpan expression on his face. "Now."
They arrived in Cincinnati the same day and headed straight to a hotel reserved for them by Aaron on the plane.
"So I tried digging further into the schematics of the facility on our way here. There are two cameras at the entrance but so no security. None I could see anyway."
They've all settled in their hotel rooms and have all assembled once again in Thompson's suite.
"So what, you think it's truly abandoned?" Thompson asked, letting Aaron's words sink in.
"Yeah." Aaron replied. "And I would advise we be stealthy about this."
"You're sure there are no guards?" Hera asked again, staring at Aaron.
"Positive."
Before Thompson could open his mouth to speak, his phone, which had been placed on his bed began to ring.
"Okay, we've had a long day. I think you guys should settle in and try and get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be even longer."
As the others made their way out of his room, Thompson grabbed his phone, the name on his screen causing his heart to skip a beat.
Jerome Hicks.
"Hello." He said, picking up the call.
"Tom." Jerome greeted, his voice floating rather peacefully from Thompson's speakers. "How's it going?"
Thompson took another look at his suite, staring almost emptily at the walls and the ceiling. He wouldn't even know where to start if he wanted to say anything to his friend.
"It's going." He finally said. "Did you find anything yet?"
His heart raced hard in the brief moment of silence that followed his question.
"Nothing too much, I'm afraid. Forensics is combing through all the evidence we got from the apartment."
Another moment of silence—this one, filled with disappointment.
"I didn't call to give you an update on Alex, Tom. I called to ask how you were doing."
Thompson sank into his bed. "I'm doing fine."
"I went to your house earlier and found the lights off. I'm guessing you're not home."
"I'm not."
Another moment of silence passed between them. Jerome was Thompson's best friend. He badly wanted to tell him about Shadow Command, but he couldn't. Not now.
Not yet.
"Tom. I really need to ask. You know, i just—i can't be your friend if I don't ask. I hope you aren't out there doing something—destructive."
"I'm not drinking myself to death if that's what you're asking, Jerome." Thompson replied, again. The first week after he came home and right before his wife's funeral, he'd hit the bottle, hard. And Jerome had been the only one around to witness it.
"Right." Jerome replied. "Have you thought of, you know, talking to someone?"
"You want me to get a therapist?"
"I mean, you did just get back from the war. That alone should've made you get one anyway."
Thompson rubbed his forehead, refusing to give almost any thought to his friend's advice. He also refused to make that evident either.
"I'll think about it."
"Tom, all I want for you right now, more than anything in the world is to get better."
"I'm not sick, Jerome."
"You know what I mean."
Thompson drew a long sigh. Was his friend right? Had he been pushing down all his grief since he got assigned this unit? What's going to happen if it all came bubbling back?
He spoke with Jerome for a few more minutes. They spoke about everything and nothing at the same time and some part of Thompson felt pain from hiding his new job from his best friend.
When he finally hung up and laid his head on the pillow, he let several thoughts swim through his head about the infiltration.
He might not be drinking himself to death but what he was doing—or was planning to do anyway, might be just as destructive.
And it could very much kill him
