Mine Enemy

“Definitely my last!” Agonizingly, he cried out wiping the trickling sweat off his brow with the back of his mud-covered hand.

Trapped in the humid sweltering afternoon sun, deep in a dense South American jungle, Chad was feverishly trying to find cover.

It was to be a straightforward dawn mission: A twenty-eight-thousand-foot HALO (high altitude, Low opening) tree jump; Disarm rebels; Retrieve target; Return to base; Mission accomplished. All was going to plan as they had landed at their drop zone with near pinpoint precision and rendezvoused to their first staging area.

Two team members would then set up observation points and continuously survey the perimeter while the others would get themselves ready. At sunrise, they all would traverse to their final staging area and enact their audacious objective and return home safe and sound with their objective in hand.

The unit had just huddled together going over their rehearsed minutiae in their heads when a deafening loud BOOM! followed by a massive shock wave pounded them. Each was flung like discarded marionettes in every direction as clouds of dirt and plant matter plumed over their twisted motionless bodies.

Chad had been catapulted and sent sprawled onto barbed bushes as countless, thorns, shrapnel and branches had made their way through his thick layers of combat gear.

Briefly, his eyes opened to the dust and particles scintillated in the morning sunlit air. Wreathing in pain, all he could hear was the unbearable high pitch ringing in his ears and passed out.

He'd awakened again only to sense every nerve ending in his body sparking.

Grappling himself off his less-than-ideal landing pad, Chad willfully pulled out the smaller branches out of his body and breaking off the larger ones. He'd managed to drag himself into a shallow ravine below a sparse tree line where he now rested.

“Ahhh!” Looking down at his bloodied covered uniform.

With his soldier instincts having taken over, he'd managed to peruse the area through his glazed-over eyes to ascertain his situation. He struggled to bring his dislocated arm up. His watch indicated it had been an hour since he’d had contact with his comrades. Feeling as if his chest had been hit by a sixteen-pound sledgehammer, he coughed breathlessly.

Calling out. “Bret, Stevo, commander, anyone?”

There was no response.  As per protocol, he’d have to “action on” as he were the sole survivor.

Even though he’d managed to get himself into a defilade, he was still much too visible. His legs mangled, almost useless, he had no other option but to slither himself to a more sheltered area. Reaching out for leaves, twigs, or any other foliage to cover himself with, he crammed as much as possible into his helmet, his belt, any space he could. He knew if he’d get caught, they'd surely “interrogate” him and most likely make him into a pawn - a bargaining chip.

The hazed over sun was now beaming through the trees penetrating the slits of his bloodied mud-crusted eyelids. All he could glimpse was the glitter of spent brass shells everywhere. It was obvious with the fresh smell of sulfur still lingering, artillery had been exchanged where he lay just moments ago.

‘What the heck!? No way they could have known. Unless...' Chad trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

They had landed in direct line of fire between two warring factions that shouldn’t have been remotely anywhere near their position. There had been a truce, a cease fire agreement between the two rebel groups weeks prior, or so they’d been briefed.

 ‘This mission should have been straightforward.’ Chad replayed every detail of their CONOP. It had been executed precisely and like clockwork.

For now, it didn’t matter who had given them bad intel as long as he found safe cover and reunite with his team. Until then, Chad’s plan was to lay low and stay out of sight and decide his next course of action.

But with the constant barrage of incessant clatter of artillery fire whizzing above getting louder, it was making it difficult for him to think straight.

CRASH…BOOOM!

Just feet away, another large artillery shell hit trees splintering and toppling them projecting large fragments everywhere.

Covered in debris, his every movement sent pain throughout his body making it hard for him to move.

'AHH! A dose of ketamine should do the trick.' Chad willed his arm once again reaching for his belt.

“Are you serious!” As his fingers couldn’t feel his med-kit.

It had most likely been ripped off his holster when he’d managed to untangle himself from the abominable bush that, coincidentally, may have saved his life. There would be no way he’d chance to retrieve it now. His whole body felt like his wounds had wounds as the coagulating blood mixed with sweat trickled down to his face from a deep gash on his forehead. With even all of what he was going through, Chad’s only focus was getting back home in one piece, alive.

As the adrenaline was being released throughout his body, he could feel his veins pulsating with each pumping heartbeat. The stifling heat was microwaving itself through his metal armor encapsulated by his thick black canvas outfit and all the gear required to serve and protect. Chad felt as if he was being roasted alive.

Seventeen years in the army but all of the training hadn't been near enough to prepare him for the assault on his olfaction sense. He'd managed to drag himself away from the exposed ravine and was now simmering in a bog of thick relish green-brown sludge. The stench of rotting flesh mixed with decaying foliage and burnt sulfur permeated the air. He could feel the inside of nostrils burning with each breath forging its way deep into his lungs. His breathing was becoming more laboursome.

Cough, cough, cough!

An overwhelming sense of nauseousness hit him as he puked out his first and last meals of nothing more than a couple of protein bars.

As his body was being subjected to unbearable punishment, he began to shiver. The shivers turned to shakes cascading into uncontrollable convulsions emanating from his feet creeping up through his spine, to his shoulders, arms to his head. Minutes passed, not knowing if it would ever end. Eventually, the tremors faded back to shivering which finally dissipated, leaving him even weaker. Exhausted and frustrated, he was losing his grip no longer able to control his emotions.

 “AHHHHH!” Tears of anger filled him as he could barely pound the muck that he was in. His anger soon turned to sadness then into remorse.

“Why?!” Sputtering barely uttering a sound. “It was supposed to be clear-cut. Why me? Why now!”

Self-pity turned into helplessness. “I can’t do this anymore.” Demoralized, he was resigning himself that this could be his ultimate end.

“NO!!” Chad clenched his fists.

That wasn’t him. He had no intention of ever giving up. The best course of action would be to get his body moving again if he’d have any chance. Reaching for his canteen, he dribbled the last drops of water remaining into his arid scratchy throat. The little liquid he'd managed to squeeze out felt like he’d drenched himself into an oasis. Having collected himself, he was ready to make his next move. As it would be, the slimy sludge beneath his battered body was making it nearly impossible to dig his boots into to propel himself forward. Mustering his inner animal strength, he grasped onto a thin root escaping the embankment. Both pushing and pulling, he slithered himself under a thicket of a sparce leafy bush.

Steadying himself, he'd gripped the base of the bush with one hand. ‘Yes!’ Assuming that he’d secured a good cover.

From the corner of his right eye, ‘Is that…?’

‘Is that a medic?’

Chad delusional, miraged people coming towards him with a bright shiny white luxurious gurney.

 Tears, whether it be of joy or of the infiltrated dirt, trickled down his cheeks barely able to crack a smile. It was his first real glimmer of hope. He was going to be saved.

 'No! Don't go! Where are you going? I’m right here.’ As they passed him fading away just like a heat puddle. Pulling and dragging himself closer hoping to be seen, he'd only squirmed a mere inch. Then as fate would have it, he could no longer move. Exasperated, he turned his head to see what supernatural force was keeping him from his salvation.

“Crap!” Sputtering out.

 It was a devil's branch sticking out the embankment that had caught onto his boot. Skimming backwards to get untangled, his head grazed a branch.

It would leave yet another mark that he’d have to explain to his wife as fresh sanguine pooled into his ears dripping down the side of his face. Finding every ounce of willpower, Chad succeeded to release himself from the monster's talons losing his boot in the process. No longer caring, he was at the edge of the embankment. Trying to divert the torture he was enduring, he clamped his teeth down on his lower lip. With his tank bone-empty, it was time to respite.

‘Just for a bit.’ As he painfully drew the deepest breath he could scarcely filling his lungs.

He could taste the saltiness from droplets dripping into his mouth from the sweat beading on the bridge of his upper lip mixed with the filth he was lying in. Fading further from reality with each blink, all he could think was how many ways salty water was referred to - was it brackish or is it brine? Maybe saline? He then thought of pickles. He could smell and taste the pickles. He lay there not moving.

But as if with a mind of their own, his fingers began to independently wriggled over the stenchy sewage encountering something metallic.

‘Just another shell.’

Clutching his listless fingers around it, he delusionally was tooling it as if a pick grappling closer to the ledge to his imaginary rescue. Chad was going in and out of consciousness as he heard distant muffled noises.

‘Is that someone? Am I dreaming? I just need to get up.’

Lying with his face squashed into the muck, his eyes impulsively opened and were shutting down like blinds.

 Then, as if struck by a bolt of lightning, every nerve simultaneously ignited throughout his body. His eyes exploded wide open then back into complete darkness.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consetetur sadipscing elitr, sed diam nonumy eirmod tempor invidunt ut labore.

GOOD MORNING

It had been a week prior that Chad was at home happily enjoying his normal life with his family and friends.

Brrrr…Brrrr…. Doo didly dew dop dew deedly dew brrr brrr…Chad had heard that familiar jingle more times than he could count. Taking his phone out of his faded blue jeans pocket, he answered with a grin on his face.

“Hey!’

“Hey, hey! How’s it going?”

 “Good.”

 “And the wife and kids?” It was Trent who still preferred to call than text. He wasn’t especially interested in knowing how the rest of his family were doing but it would be a lead up to a much more important matter. Chad of course knew there'd be a forthcoming question as well.

“They’re doing just fine. Any particular reason you’re interrupting me.”

“Glad they’re doing fine. So, are you uh…” Hesitantly asking. “…still on for a round?”

It had been forecasted to be another sunny day, the fifth one in a row with temperatures ranging in the mid-seventies. The perfect weather for eighteen holes on the links. He’d been looking forward to being out in the sun enjoying a relaxing day, as relaxing a golf game can be. Still, it would be a day outside surrounded by trees, pristinely cut grass, blue skies and with his friends.

“I guess. Why do you have to ask?”

Chad was a devoted family man married to his beloved wife Beth of nearly sixteen years, and to his two very busy kids. Unfortunately, his job, like most of his colleagues, had often propelled him away for several months at a time. His demanding position had often required travelling to foreign countries battling foes in the true sense of the meaning. He’d served for just over seventeen years having joined the military at a bright and tender age of eighteen. But after the last lengthy exhausting tour, he’d promised to spend more quality time with his family. Unfortunately, like most impossible promises to keep, his redemption would have to wait. He adored his wife and kids, but the military was his life, his bread and butter. The army had reared, transformed, and honed him into the man he’d become and was genuinely grateful.

Even so, it was nice to have a little - me - time with the lads away from all his duties, responsibilities, and worries. Today would be one of those days of drifting into another existence on the greens with the added obligatory and enjoyable dinner out with the family - a small price to pay.

Chad had started his day earlier than usual waking just after dawn to prepare his clubs and swanky golf attire. Having spent nearly an hour diligently scrubbing and polishing, his clubs gleamed looking like new, ready to impress even for an older set which had its share of a few slight emotional swings to the ground. Chad was ready and willing to carve a few divots and engage in a little English battling the fairways.

As his focus wandered from his conversation, he’d been drawn away by the luminous choreographed display in his living room. He was being hypnotized by the whimsical shadows dancing on the floor as sun rays streamed through his framed picture window. His gaze soon turned to another show outside as he watched their enormous old maple trees in his backyard gently swaying as leaves fluttered in the breeze. Birds were resting on the tip of branches teetering in unison while others whizzed right past. His mind eventually refocused back as he could hear Trent’s nattering.

“Earth to Chad! Are you still there?” Trent trying to snap him out.

“Still here…I think.” Nearly forgetting what the question was.

“Well, you did say that you weren’t sure.”

Chad smirked remembering having teased him about the possibly of not being able to make it.

 “You said the misses might have you do some paintin’ or some other thingy on her honey-do list.” His voice became raspy trying to overcome the urge to cough. Chad had only known Trent since the past five years. They had met while both deployed on a covert mission and in an instant their friendship clicked becoming best of friends. As Trent was still willfully trying to stifle the urge, the figurative dam broke, as he erupted out in an uncontrolled guttural overly forced coughing fit.

Crough, Crough, Crough!

“Get yourself some water.”

Crough, Crough.

“It’s starting…”

Crough, Crough.

 “…to get better.” His coughing was most likely due from years of smoking and even possibly yelling “FOUR!!” at an eardrum bursting level each time he’d swing at that tiny white ball. Trent finally regained control adding in a serious hoarse tone. “You better not make us look bad! You should learn to relax and drink more. It's NOT supposed to be a freaking serious competition.”

Chad chuckled. “Well, you should drink more water. That might help with all your coughing…and your game.”

Trent grumbled back. “You should retire. You’ve done enough for our country. We'd have more time to hit the greens.”

“More time with you? That’s what I’ve always dreamed of.”

“Bastard. Just be on time. Tee off is at 8:15 sharp.” Hanging up.

Chad checked to see if the call had ended and mumbled. “That boy needs to take better care of himself.”

As fast as his smile appeared, it disappeared. Just days prior, he had received a call from his commander informing him that his services were once again required. It wasn’t a training exercise either but would be an extraction in a full-on guerilla warfare zone in an undisclosed location in the deepest part of the South American rainforest.

“Chad!” His commander had called him into his office pointing to the chair in front of his desk. “Listen. We need your specific expertise in a delicate operation. You’ll need to get your gear ready.” As he casually said. “You’ll be leaving in two weeks.”

“Can I ask what it’s about?”

“I’ll brief you tomorrow on all the details. Just be prepared for jungle maneuvers.”

“Jungle? For how long?”

His commander paused and replied. “That all depends. We’ll go over the mission conops tomorrow at 0800.”

Chad had subtly slipped the news to his wife that night.

“It’s only going to be a month maybe less depending how it goes. When I get back, I’ll have lots of time to spend with you and the kids. We could go to Disney Land.” Doing his best to smooth it over like adding jam to a crushed pill.

She had already encouraged him to retire months ago and find a civilian job. But at thirty-five he felt that he was in the prime of his life and still in great shape with more of himself to give. Yet, he promised her that it'd be his last deployment, and he'd hang up his uniform and take a less demanding job when he got back.

“It’s just one more short assignment and I’ll be back in no time.” As he told her, flashing his bleached white teeth.

Beth, looking down, was pushing her food around on her plate with her fork looking forlorn.

“It’s not for another couple of weeks. We’ll spend some quality time together and have some fun - You, me, and the kids.” Chad kept eating as if it was just another dinner.

“Hey. Why don’t we go to a movie right after dinner? There’s a new Godzilla movie that I’m sure the kids will love?”

“Sure. That sounds like fun.” Still looking down at her plate trying to pretend to be more cheerful than she actually was.

“Great! Can’t wait to tell the kids.” As he wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of his Beaujolais.

Today would be his last game on the links before leaving. Chad was determined to make the best of it. He was looking forward to being in the hot sun wearing his worn-out and frayed green baseball cap with his battle buddies fighting a different foe: a dimpled ball.

TIME TO THINK

Staring down past the tumbler in front her, Breena slowly rolled the burnt amber liquid filled glass with the tip of her fingers from one hand to the other.

“Another dram?” The elderly grey-haired woman gruffly asked wiping the bar around her imbiber. Fraya, bartender and owner of the Inn, had long lost her élan - her husband. It had been just four short years that he'd passed, and her two children had all but moved away to 'follow their dreams' as they had told their mother. Widowed, with no intention of getting re-married, she ran her rustic establishment that they had managed together.

Breena nodded barely lifting her head as she sat on well-loved bar stool with her feet up on the tarnished brass foot rail downing the rest of her drink.

‘How could they have possibly lost it?’ Breena shaking her head as Fraya topped off the glass in front of her.

“Something bothering you lass?”

Breena just nodded again. “Have you ever lost something that could change everything if it were found.”

Fraya stopped and looked over her shoulder trying to hide a welling tear. “Bonnie. We all lose something. It’s unavoidable. If you’re lucky, some things, objects, or the likes, can be found, but other things are gone forever.” As she strolled away and sat on a chair in the darkness picking up her knitting needles and continued where she’d left off.

As Breena sat there, she felt stagnant. She missed being in the action and wanted to move forward and find that one thing. Though she’d been told time and again that patience was key, the insides of her wanted to scream. Taking a deep breath and sipping her nostrum, she'd have to be content sitting in this brooding pub that looked as if it had barely changed in the last hundred years.

As she sat there, she’d sporadically peak at her phone lying on the bar in front of her in hopes someone would contact her. Thinking she’d heard someone, her gaze turned towards the only small grimy inset window across the room. There was no one. It would be only the wind driven heavy raindrops pummeling the glass. It had been raining for five consecutive days without any poking or glimmer of sun peeking through the dark as ash clouds. And just like everyone else, she was anxious for a break from the dank. But the forecast was against her – ‘another three days of this putrid weather.’ She thought to herself.

Weeks before, when she’d arrived, the sun had been streaming through that very same window cheerfully lighting up the pub and her mood. Those rays had divulged the pub’s age spotlighting the wear and tear from decades of serving the locals their favorite sin.

It was just past four o’clock and Fraya was tapping a large pint of brew swiftly removing the excess foam from the top of the glass. No sooner, Breena could hear the door creak open followed by squeaking footsteps giving it away that whoever it was, were footing wellies as they made their way inside. The grating sound of a chair sliding on the floor ensued by a big clunk.

Fraya promptly brought the tepid filled glass to her timely customer. No words were ever uttered.

Not bothering to turn around to see who it was, Breena asked. “Still Yillen?” Using a Scottish way of saying rain.

“Aye. Just a wee hard.” He replied. “Slàinte Mhath!” as he gulped down the whole pint in one shot. “Just what this old lad was yearnin’ for.” He exclaimed, wiping the foam off his gob with the back of his hand.

“Cheers!” Breena lifting her glass in response.

“What’s a bonnie lass doin’ all by ye lonesome.”

“Looking for something.”

“I might just have what that is you'd be lookin' for.” Smirking as his eyes began to twinkle.

“Mind your manners bodach.” Fraya piped up as she dropped him a shot glass filled with a dark amber liquid.

“You can’t blame a lonesome dog, now, can you? Ken?”

“You’re too young anyways.” Breena shot back, not smiling hunched over.

Breena was barely visible in the near pitch-black bar if it weren’t for her shoulder length, bleached neon green-blue hair. She'd also be hard to miss in broad daylight being bigger and taller than most women. Sporting a short black leather jacket, purple T-shirt, black jeans, and cheap canvas high-cut running shoes of the same color, she'd attract attention from most. Even though being built like a slender women wrestler, she'd catch someone’s eye who wouldn’t be interested in just talking. Only the overtly confident or having imbibed in one too many would dare make a move on her. Breena was steadfast in her mission and had no time to get sidetracked. Unless… it meant that she could get what she was looking for.

It was late afternoon, and the only illumination provided was by a couple of stained-glass lamps hanging from the ceiling and a few dingy yellow dust cob-webbed covered wall sconces. Behind the bar, as if it didn’t belong, was an irregular stone wall which at one time may have been part of an outside wall. There was a large mirror centered on that wall with glass shelves perched with different bottles of liquid swallie, or as we call alcohol, reflected neatly lined. Dusty wine glasses were also hanging above the bar - A testament that the locals were mostly not interested in that sort of spirit.

The liquor was slowly making its way into her bloodstream and was barely numbing her anxiety. Alas, this drink didn’t affect her like most others. She could down a whole micky without even feeling remotely any effect. In the state that she was in, she could’ve still easily beaten any chess Grandmaster or even the latest AI at any game.

It had been a few weeks prior that she’d received an unexpected call from a good source and friend.

“Breena?” Said a soft male voice.

“Well, hello.” She replied.

“What are you doing right now?”

“I’m recalibrating and realigning the engine’s core.” She quipped.

“How’s it coming along?” Sounding as if it were true.

“Well, I’m still here, aren’t I.”

As dry as he could. “Since you are. It'd be nice if you could help us out. I mean if you’re not too busy with the engines that is.” Still not sounding as if he wasn’t joking.

“You know. I was putting you on, right?”

“Of course you were.” Replying. “We really do need to have ears and eyes on the ground if we’re to find either one.”

“Sure. I’ll book it in my calendar.”

“Excellent. There’s been reports of foreign entities messing around near the border. That should be a good place to start.”

“I suppose the engines can wait. I’ll pack tonight.” Replying with a grin.

“The sooner the better. Keep me posted.”

It hadn’t been the first time she’d been asked to sleuth all over the UK. Most times, it had been false alarms. Just a year prior, a bunch of international suits had been spotted in the northern parts, off the mainland onto Orkney Island. She had trailed them all over Scotland to no avail as they'd been simply on a sightseeing tour of some of the oldest and biggest standing stones.

So, there she was, staying at a tiny rural farmland community Inn located not too far from Ecclefechan. Why in the middle of nowhere? Why not? It was as good as any other place she could think of.

The Inn was sandwiched between a steep sloping hillside covered in a woodland forest and endless green and golden farmland to the east separated by miles of rock fences.

Breena was eking her way into the folds of her new environment and getting to be chummy with the owner, as much as possible, including the odd regulars. Since having arrived, she'd made a point of frequenting the pub every day. It had been mostly local folks and perhaps a maverick that trekked through looking to rest for the night or a quick refreshment. She thought it was the perfect location to start with her mission – A small towns always knew when anyone or anything was amiss.

For now, she was in no hurry to leave after her most intriguing encounter.

“You know. It’d be gotten too busy these days for me likin’.” Said a rugged looking older man wearing a brown cap in the deepest guttural Scottish accent as he sipped his near black nectar.

“The farm?” Breen asked.
“Pfff! That, this ol’ boy can handle. It’s the traffic down past me laneway.”

“Really. How so?” As her right eyebrow rose slightly.

“Well, the other day, I must have seen at least four cars darting by.”

“That’s a lot of traffic!?”

“You can say! I see Angus on his tractor a couple times a year and the odd pick-up truck puttin’ by. That’s pretty much all.”

“Still.” As Breena was enticing him to divulge more information.

“Did I tell you these cars were as big as my neighbor’s hayer. They be all black. You couldn’t even see the carters.”

“Huh.” As she tried not to sound too interested.

“But that’s not all. The very next day, believe me I saw other cars with un-Scott plates.”

“Maybe tourists that got lost?”

Sounding sure of himself. “They’d be way lost for sure. Aye. Oh, and a lot of trucks pullin’ trailers came by a few days later. That, you just don’t see…ever.” Shaking his head sipping as his upper lip and chin were covered in beer froth.

“Say. Where you come from? Curious that’s all.” Breena casually asking.

He took a good long slurp then in a low voice. “Ya know lass. I be here once a month. Fraya will tell ya. Just don’t tell the little misses though.” Winking.

Breena lifted her glass in acknowledgement.

“Well. I should be off.” Downing the last bit smacking his lips.

“Wait. You didn’t tell me where you’re from?”

“Right ya be. Let’s see… Just on the other side of the pine forest past the ridge on the left beyond the biggest willow, the one with the broken branch. A stone throws away from the MacDougall’s.” He replied as he walked out the door.

It had been the first most promising lead she’d gotten in this dark and musty-sour alcohol-infused bar as her mood improved drastically. She'd had enough of this somber hole; it was time she headed back to her room to relay her findings.

But before, a quick step outside to clear her mildewed infused lungs would be in order. As she opened the door, her eyes were dazzled by the contrasting daylight as the spattering of rain droplets drizzled over her face. She took a deep breath of the aqua filled air. In that brief moment, wiping the damp off her face, had made her feel re-invigorated.

VISITOR

Breena had made her way to her room taking the furrowed creaky stairs back up to her room ready to settle down for the night.

Bring! Bring!

It was an incoming text.

 -Are you still at the inn?

- Yes. Why?

- Can I come by? I have a lead.

- Sure. I have an update as well.

- Really? Ok. Be there in half an hour.

It was Auggrest who would rarely, if ever, make house calls, especially over the dinner hour. 'Now I wonder what could be so important.' Tossing her phone on the nightstand.

She had known Auggrest since they were children having grown up together in their own little unique community. He was like the older brother she never had who'd helped her adjust to their new dwellings. Their appearances were uncanny similar. Both possessed the same high cheek bones, large foreheads, and thin narrow eyebrows above striking inset citrine-colored eyes.

It was thirty minutes on the dot when she heard his signature knock. One knock - pause - three knocks - pause - one last knock.

          Breena creaked opened the door. “Hey brother! Come on in.”

“Bree!” As he squeezed past her wearing a brown corduroy jacket and blue jean.

“So! What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“Literal aren’t we. Thought I’d personally deliver to you some new developments.

“Shoot!” As Auggrest looked around her temporary dimly lit lodgings.  It was marginally decorated with a lamp on her nightstand, a walled narrow writing desk, a bumpy grey couch and a duvet covered double bed.

“Very interesting developments have been trickling back. This might actually be a real lead.”

“Come, sit and tell me all about it.” Directing him to that well-loved vintage burgundy paisley love seat.

“We seem to be getting closer with all the intel we’ve been gathering.”

“You might want to explain what you mean by getting closer. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard you or the others claim that. Just for once, I wish you’d tell me that you’ve located it.”

“Let’s just say…” Skewing his mouth. “…we’ve intercepted some chatter at some of the higher levels of government. It seems that they’ve stumbled onto something that's causing a stir. Significant, I'd say. It’s all cryptic of course.”

Breena’s left eyebrow propped upwards.

“Are you saying what I think you mean?”

Whispering. “That’s what we’re still trying to determine. There’s quite a lot of chatter floating around about a large object found. They're even sharing their discovery with the five eyes. The pentagon is beyond buzzing.”

“Hmmm. Well, ok then. Do you know where this thing might be located?”

“We suspect it’s located not too far from here.”

“Well, I’m not going to get my hopes up. It could just be another old religious relic.” As she got up grabbing a plastic figurine of an oversized bobblehead astronaut.

“I believe it's much more important than that. The White House is a flurry of activity right now. Secret service department heads have been seen crawling from one building to another."

Scanning the room to see if there was someone else lurking in the invisible darkness. “That’s why I’m here in person. I don’t want anyone to know what we know."

“You know, we do have encrypted phones these days.” As Breena smirked fully knowing Auggrest's response.

“Bee!” The NSA, GRU, MSS all the computing power in the world to come up with an eventual crack to our cypher.”

“But we have an edge…don’t we.”

“Maybe so. But they are catching up rather quickly. Our fault unfortunately.” Rubbing his chin.

Breena looking at Auggrest trying to figure out how much they’d really advanced.

“Well, it’s always nice to get a visit from my elder bro.”

“There’s something else. We’ve also intercepted some odd dialog with the Czechs as well.”

“Czechs!?” She blurted out.

“This is what makes the rest of what I’ve told you more plausible. For some reason they wanted to have a tête-à-tête with the UK physics department. That being said, we’ve also tracked suspicious flights coming from the US landing at a RAF north of Leeds.”

“Hmmm… Keep talking and you might have made a convert out of me. I’ve got a possibility as well. Just hearsay from a local farmer so far. He’s noticed more traffic off his road. Big black vehicles and even the likes of transport trucks.”

“Interesting. Where exactly?”

“I think it's not too far from here. I need to find a willow with a broken branch.”

“Huh!?"

"Yeah."

"Listen. I’ve got to get back. We’ve got more work to do.”

“Keep me in the loop.”

“That, you can be assured of.” As Auggrest made his way out into the night.

SMITH

Hunched over his office desk, Smith had been diligently working on affairs that may… or may not have been pertinent to the nation’s security. His job was stratospherically beyond secret dealing with strange, inexplicable anomalies. The kind that demanded total deniability, or at least plausible explanations for the inquiring public. It had been over an hour of sifting through redacted spookies, as he fondly called the reports as he rubbed the back of his neck reeling from a radiating pinched nerve. It was time for his obligatory ritual round as he stoically took the elevator to a faraway watering hole.

“Hey Farrell! Fancy meeting you here.”

“Smith.” The slender dapperly dressed man filling his ice cream cone shaped paper cup replied with a nod.

“I hear something big just came out of Washington. Spooky stuff the rumor mill has it.”

Smith really didn’t like small talk, but he knew that it was important to keep a good rapport with all his staff and peers.

“So, what you’re telling me, the same as usual?”

“Spookier.”

‘Spookier? Really? Huh! Doubtfully.’ Getting himself a cup.

“Most likely another balloon or drone crossing into our airspace. Same thing just a different day.” Knowing fully well there were too many weird and unexplainable anomalies being reported daily.

“I don’t think so. Bunch of big wigs are in a meeting right now.”

“Phew! I just may have been lucky enough to avoid being involved this time.”

Farrell smirked. “Should get back. Later.” As he crumpled his cup and tossed in the trash can.

Perched on the fifteenth floor overlooking the city skylines including a glimpse of the Tribune building, he casually strolled down the window lined corridors.

Captivated by the dark mottled grey shape-shifting rolling clouds, he turned towards the windows. Even though the scenery was macabrely dreary, this was undeniably an upgrade from his own office located deep below the bowels of the building having not a single window with only grimy concrete painted walls.

Daydreaming, rain drops began splatting against the glass. Individual droplets quickly grouping into miniature streams making their way downwards by gravity. As he followed each run, his attention had been drawn to the street below. 'Hmmm! That’s peculiar.' An unusually extended black SUVs had been parked directly in front of the building's entrance, nearly the size of a city bus. Curious, by no fault of his own, he kept his eyes fixed on the vehicle.

‘Now who could be so important? Farrell might be on to something after all.’

As he stood there in his pressed navy suit and gleaming black polished shoes, he was in a trance fixated on the vehicle.

His mind began wandering recalling the day he’d been first approached by the unit. It had been a similar dreary day; foreboding and slippery wet. And there was that smell he'd never forget- the pungent scent of worms mixed with diesel.

It was lunch hour, and as usual he’d escape the intense flurry of glowing LEDs and mind-numbing reports for his midday sustenance. Umbrella in hand, he nimbly shuffled down the smooth granite stairs trying to avoid personal humiliation. As he undauntingly reached the last step, a voice greeted him.

“Hi. Tom.” Grabbing and shaking his hand. "My name is Parker." Much to his surprise, a tall thin middle-aged woman wearing a smoky grey trench coat with her collar up in bright yellow high heal boots was smiling at him.

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“Not yet. We’ve heard quite a bit of good things about you back at the office. Can we talk? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Looking around to see if this was some sort of prank. “I’m just on my way to…”

“Have some lunch…with me.” She grabbed his arm, still overly confident. “I know a great place that serves the best Italian food.”

“Listen. I’m a married man.”

“And I’m a married woman. It’s not like that. I’m here to get to know you and possibly make you a job offer. All of this…” Leading him down the wet sidewalks. “Is just both of us talking, discussing…and eating.” She patted his arm cozying with him.

After just enough small talk, she'd explain to him all about national security and that his country needed a man like him to help ensure the safety of every man, woman, and child.

“Tom. We know all about you and believe you're the right fit.”

“Which is?”

Her cheeriness slid to a serious tone. “We are part of the public service unlike any other. I assure you. Our task is not only protecting this great country of ours but the entire world.”

‘The whole world. She can’t be serious.’

As she'd read his mind. “Seriously! I realize that this is hard for you to wrap your head around. It certainly was for me. You don’t have to decide right this instant. We’ll be back in a week for another chat. Please keep this between us.”

“This is quite all surreal. I’m not sure…”

“This could be your legacy - being part of something bigger. Not to mention that only a select few have had the privilege. You'd be working with the best - only the best and brightest.”

Tom had barely slept that night ruminating their entire conversation. He had a good job. An important one at that. Why would he jeopardize his job for a huge unknown. He'd made up his mind.

A week had gone by and on that fateful day, a sole knock resonated in his apartment.

"Who is it?"

“Hello. Tom?” A reserved elusive deep voice called from behind his door.

“It’s me.”

“Have you come to a decision.”

“Yes."

 “What will it be?”

“I’m interested.” In a leap of faith, he'd decided to take a chance and start a new chapter in his life even though he wasn’t entirely sure what it would really entail.

“Follow us.”

Tom grabbed his sport jacket and left with a woman and man both wearing black suits and dark sunglasses.

' Men in black?’ Thinking to himself.

A metallic-beige Mercedes with two black SUVs had been parked in front of his apartment. As he got closer, an impressively large bodybuilder type dressed as the others in fitted suit, wearing dark shades and an earpiece, slunked out of the car, opened the rear passenger door. Not exactly the typical agency-fellows in which he’d been accustomed to.

This one decision had changed a chapter, or more like a whole new book for Tom. One he hadn’t regretted - so far.  As with every person’s life, change is inevitable. These changes can minute, but these tiny fractal aberrations can compound and trickle themselves into many individualized chaotic outcomes over one’s life shifting someone’s perceived destiny. Just like a small movement in the tectonic plates cause tremors which can then lead to bigger and even bigger tremors into devastating earthquakes. A butterfly, a domino effect or whatever you want to call it. In an instant, your life is not how you would have ever possibly imagined turning out - a completely new novel. And so, it was for Tom - and for all the characters in this adventure.

Now using Smith as his new moniker, he'd always known he’d be in charge, a leader. It didn’t matter what. He biologically intrinsically knew it would be his destiny. It was helixed into his DNA.

Still focusing his attention onto the soggy scene below, his phone grumbled. “Yes. Tell them I’ll be there shortly.” His luck had poured away.

He'd worked his way up the figurative ladder and was now in a position of power and was regarded as one of their best. They would have to wait for his presence as he stood steadfast keeping his gaze up at the ominous charcoal transient clouds.