Episode 147 Previous Episode	Next Episode
“War is young men dying and old men talking. You know this. Ignore the politics.” Odysseus, Troy The nondescript blue sedan headed past the corridor of news vans and reporters that lined the side of the tiny, two-lane road. Inside the tinted windows of the government car, a man and a woman in black suits sat in the front with grim looks, their expressions matched by their two peers in the back. The man driving began to slow. “What is this?” he protested as they drove up to a barricade. As the car stopped, three military officers with machineguns moved around the car. The driver rolled down the window as a police officer with a thick porn-star mustache leaned in. “This area is off-limits to…” The driver flipped out an FBI badge, staring at the cop. “I’m Special Agent Leon Quincy and I’m here to see the commander-on-duty.” The police officer, unsure what to do, stepped back and pointed ahead. The officers and Marines between the car and the perimeter of military vehicles moved away, letting the FBI car through. “Dominant bunch,” said the woman in the passenger’s seat. She looked back at the two agents, also in black suits in the back. “Kathy, what do we know about this situation?” “Nothing,” said the blonde-haired agent sitting behind the driver. “There really isn’t a precedent for military reaction to a Marine base being seized by civilians.” “First time for everything,” said Quincy as he navigated through the crowd of anxious cops and soldiers. The colonel stood in front of the base gates, his graying dark hair matching his scowl. He considered the thick perimeter wall that surrounded the base as well as the lines of barbed wire that traveled along the top. At every junction of the wall, the slightest turn in the angle, the guard towers stood overhead. Each was manned by a figure in black and red, keeping a tireless watch on the military response before them. The colonel turned around, then looked quickly away as he saw Quincy approaching. “Got here fast,” said the colonel to himself. “This is FBI jurisdiction,” Quincy yelled aggressively, approaching the colonel. He stopped just out of arm’s length from the career military man, his black suit clashing with the colonel’s jungle cameo fatigues. “There’s been a military incident…” “Exactly, military,” said the older man, staring down his nose at Quincy. “This is our base; these are our people; this is our situation.” Without another word, he turned and walked off. Quincy was left standing, his tie fluttering in the morning wind. He brushed it down against his white shirt and glared after the colonel. He turned back to his team as they waited by the car. “Roberts,” he said to the brown-haired woman who had ridden next to him. “Get on the horn with the office and figure out exactly what we’re supposed to do if these guys don’t want to cooperate.” “Got it,” she said, taking out a PDA/cell phone. “CJ,” he said to the tall, former-military man standing between Roberts and Kathy. “I want you to talk to some of the grunts here and see what you can find out.” He turned and looked at the empty guard towers around the base. “I want to know why these guys haven’t just stormed the place.” “I’m on it,” CJ said. “Kathy, get on the phone with headquarters and…” “I’m already on that,” Roberts pointed out. “And find out what precedents exist that we can call on,” he said, emphasizing the different goal with a harmless glare at Roberts, making her chuckle. “Military bases have been compromised in the past; why is this situation so different.” “Yes sir,” she said with a mock salute. “Get to it people,” he said, sending them off in different directions. He watched them go and turned back to the military base. He stared through the open gate at the collection of buildings in the very center of the base’s land. Almost out of sight, the buildings were just a mass of brick color. He squinted for a moment, then reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small tool kit, retrieving a pair of collapsible binoculars. Through them, he could see a red and black US flag waving above the base. “What the hell?” he said to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a middle-aged man with black hair and a combat confidence in his eyes go walking by. He was dressed in black fatigues with SWAT written in yellow across his back. Quincy took one more look at the distant flag and moved to follow. “Special agent Leon Quincy,” he said quickly, introducing himself to the man. The SWAT man looked Quincy up and down, appraising him in a flash, and kept walking. “Agent Quincy, what brings you to our little debacle?” “Technically, this is the jurisdiction of the FBI.” “Is it now?” the SWAT man said with an indifferent tone. “By the way, I’m Simmons, commander of area SWAT.” He reached back, shaking Quincy’s hand. “It’s a pleasure,” Quincy said. “Where are we going?” “I’m going to meet Colonel Rodgers,” he said. “Have you met him yet?” “I think so.” “Kind of a dick,” Simmons said with a sigh. “But he’s calling the shots.” “Not for much longer,” Quincy said irritably. Simmons stopped and put his hand out, catching Quincy. “Listen, jurisdiction and stuff like that is above my pay grade and below my attention. You guys can sort that out between yourselves. But we’ve got hostages inside that base and their lives may very well depend on what solutions we can find. Now, you and Colonel Stick-Up-His-Ass can fight all you want. Hell, I think I’d like to see it. But you do it after we’ve gotten those people out, got it?” “My office hasn’t even been officially appraised of this situation,” Quincy told him honestly. “I haven’t been told about hostages and I’m not clear what exactly has happened here.” Simmons looked around, seeing the police and military men still setting up, preparing for every conceivable order to come down the chain of command like a bowling ball falling off a building. “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “A massive force of knights overwhelmed the base early this morning.” “Knights?” Quincy exclaimed. “You do know about knights, right?” Simmons asked. “Yeah, Chivalry, swords, all of that stuff,” Quincy said. “The FBI keeps tabs on all of…” His words trailed before he turned and looked back at the base. “That’s a knight flag then.” “The black and red US flag? Yeah, that’s what we think,” Simmons said, resuming walking. His stride almost half again as long as Quincy’s; he was oblivious to the efforts the FBI man went to keep up. “We haven’t heard anything out of them and they haven’t made any demands so far.” “Knights wouldn’t take hostages, though,” Quincy said. “These ones did.” “How do you know they’re knights?” he asked. Simmons snorted. He looked at Quincy, then looked at the guard towers and kept walking. Quincy looked back at the towers, seeing them empty. Lost, he rushed to catch up. The mobile command center was the size of a large RV. With stations along the walls, it was hot, the smell of sweat and electricity clogging the dense air. As the door shut behind Quincy, his eyes struggled to get used to the dim light given off from the numerous computer screens. “Sir, our system is having trouble reading the knights,” said a military woman in an army uniform. Quincy and Simmons stayed out of the way by the door as Colonel Rodgers stalked about along the narrow walkway behind the chairs. “Get those things running,” Rodgers said. “Knights are clever bastards, but they’re not smart. Figure out what they’ve done and get around it.” As Quincy stood, he heard a strange sound coming through the computers’ speakers. Like a waterfall, the constant barrage of almost-calming sound was relentless. He turned his head, trying to understand what he was hearing. “Do you hear that?” he asked to Simmons. “What’re you doing here?!” Rodgers barked, aware of for the first time of Simmons and Quincy. Quincy looked around comically. “Me?” he asked, pointing to himself. Rodgers’s left eye twitched and he walked squarely towards Quincy. As he neared, Simmons stepped subtly between the two, keeping them from having direct access to the other. “Get outta my command center,” he ordered. He leaned close, his chiseled, aged face right in front of Quincy’s eyes. “Get out or so help me, I’ll have you…” As he spoke, Quincy yawned broadly. “Simmons!” Rodgers barked. “Get him out of here.” “Uh, no,” Simmons retorted, unintimidated. “He’s here because he’s part of an enforcement agency. Given the situation, there is absolutely no help we can or should be turning away.” He took a step forward, getting into Rodger’s face. “And I really, really, don’t want to get into this jurisdiction crap,” he said quietly so only the colonel could hear him, “but technically, the area outside the wall is MY jurisdiction. Don’t be ordering me around like I’m one of your privates.” Rodger drew back a bit, glaring at Simmons. He settled his gaze on Quincy. “Why don’t you escort Mr. Quincy here…” “It’s Special Agent Quincy,” he pointed out with a harmless smile. “To the SWAT mobile command,” Rodgers finished. “He can observe, and offer help, from there.” “Fair enough,” Simmons said. Without another word, he turned, guiding Quincy to the door. “Wait, no,” Quincy protested. Rodgers stood stock-still, his eyes twitching. “Take what you can get for right now,” Simmons whispered to him. “Sir!” All three turned as a soldier at the far end of the command center held a phone against her chest. “Sir, I’ve got a call for you. He says he’s the man who has taken control of Fort Harrington.”
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