When Commander Arlington learned about Brittany Parker’s botched decommissioning procedure from Chief Herbert, he decided to maintain a close eye on her vitals to ensure she remained comatose. He was highly suspicious of what information she had already ascertained.
He reviewed the historical surveillance data again and took note of when her Gamma-Frequency Identification (GFID) signature had abruptly registered high levels of stress just before her heart rate had nearly flat-lined. It wasn’t the first time he had seen a GFID signature register a false ‘death’, so he always remained skeptical any time he saw such an anomaly occur.
Just then a blip on the live feed radar caught his immediate attention. When Agent Wilson – a.k.a. her persona ‘Lily Thatcher’ – went missing a few days ago, he had committed her GFID signature to memory.
“Jill!” he barked at his secretary. “Get General Marcus on the phone immediately!”
Jill nearly fell out of her chair and scrambled to pick up her cell phone from the floor. “Yes, sir!” she stammered.
He shook his head in annoyance, returning his attention to his old laptop. Being a supposedly nonexistent branch of the government had some serious downsides. It had been at least ten years since they had gotten any upgraded equipment.
He recalled looking at Agent Wilson’s data files when she went missing. Upon the disappearance of her GFID signature, he sent a detail team to Allan Young’s home, where they found the place cordoned off by police tape. He contacted Chief Herbert for an explanation, and from him learned about the pool of Lily’s blood. This concerned the commander immensely, for her GFID signature registered high levels of anxiety just prior to her disappearance. She couldn’t be dead, for the GFID signature would have indicated it. Instead, her signature had simply disappeared off the face of the planet.
He raised a confused eyebrow, double-checking her coordinates. Her signature indicated that she was airborne, near the coast of Pakistan. At the speed she was traveling, she had to be in a small plane.
What is she doing in that part of the world?
Suddenly a red light began strobing overhead, and an automated voice squawked over the intercom. “WARNING. UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY DETECTED.” The message repeated itself, over and over again.
Out of instinct, Commander Arlington whipped out his gun and ducked behind his desk. Several gunshots rang out from a nearby room.
Keeping low to the ground, he exited his office.
“Stay here,” he whispered to his secretary, who was cowering behind her desk. She nodded, face white with terror.
He crawled across the floor, hauling himself upright when he reached the other side of the wall. Holding his gun out in front of him, he risked a peek around the corner. A shootout was still in progress between several of his agents and a group of hooded individuals taking cover near the elevator. With the alarm sounding above and bullets ricocheting off the walls, he couldn’t hear himself think. He popped off multiple rounds from his handgun taking out several of the hooded assailants. Then his luck ran out. He took aim once again, and a bullet implanted itself in his chest.
He fell backward in shock, gasping for air. Blood spilled onto the carpet where he lay, and it took every ounce of effort to continue breathing, a battle he knew he would lose.
Images of his beautiful wife and daughter flashed through his mind. His wife’s blonde hair shone brilliantly in the sunlight as they walked, hand in hand, along the shore of Santa Cruz beach. It was their honeymoon twenty years ago, when they were young and in love. Then four years later, came the birth of their only child. Melissa was a beautiful baby, born with a layer of thick black hair on her tiny head. The hair shed after a week, but it gave them the opportunity to capture some beautiful photos.
His breath devolved into a raspy gurgle. It was his daughter’s sixteenth birthday next week. He and his wife had planned the perfect party for her. He had reserved a wedding hall for a dance, and had hired interior decorators, a deejay, and had even arranged for a caterer to bring food from her favorite Italian restaurant. It was an expensive undertaking, but worth every penny.
The gunfire in the other room ceased. A cloaked individual stepped around the corner, his gun drawn.
“My, my,” he hissed. “What do we have here?”
Commander Arlington struggled to focus. “Who… who are you?”
The man removed his hood to reveal a shockingly familiar face.
“Senator Davies?” He croaked, coughing up blood. “What… what are you doing?”
“I’m just following orders.” Davies cocked the pistol and aimed at the commander’s head. “Any last requests?”
“Let me guess.” he flashed an evil grin, “Why would a Senator be involved with the Creed of Nephilim?”
He took the commander’s silence as confirmation.
“I think the real question should be: how did a member of the Creed become a U.S. Senator?” he tilted his head. “You see, I wouldn’t be in such a position of high prominence if it wasn’t for the help of the Creed.”
Commander Arlington was unable to think rationally anymore. “But my daughter’s party…”
“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” the Senator huffed. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to it personally that your family receives my deepest condolences for your untimely death.”