PROJECT SPARTA

CHAPTER 32

Washington, DC

2016

A cigarette burned toward the knuckles of a wrinkled hand. Ice cubes jingled in an empty whiskey glass like a calling bell to the well-dressed barkeep at Ozio lounge. An aged man dressed in a tuxedo from a fundraising banquet leaned up on the bar. He carried an air of importance – his face weathered by experience. He was growing tired of all the summer galas and parties that he was expected to attend. The politics game in many ways was much more tiresome than his career in the intelligence community.

"How ya doing, Colonel?" the barkeep asked.

"Fine..." he answered. "I'll take another." The bartender brought the bottle of Scotch over for a pour. Colonel Jackson Hardy's heavy hand collapsed on the bar, sending ash flying up like a spark around his hand. He recollected a similar sight from his days in the Compound and how the Spartan's battle suits would expel an electric charge. The Compound was a former life and so many things had happened since. Judy, his wife, had passed away three years prior. After her passing, he returned to the administrative duties of Project Sparta and quickly found himself consulting in the White House on all things clandestine. The thought of Judy's passing and Project Sparta brought a morose nostalgia to Hardy that killed his buzz immediately.

He threw the smoke in the ash tray and a fifty dollar bill on the bar.

"You know what? Forget it. I'm off, have a nice evening."

"Would you like me to call you a cab, Colonel?" He waved his hand up as if to say, forget it and pottered out the door. As he drove his BMW down the street, the loose end of his bowtie danced in the wind over his shoulder. Colonel Hardy began thinking nostalgically about the golden years of his life, Project Sparta. A smile cracked at the thought of the boys and girls of the program. It was a different life back then, one that wasn't so fake and pathetic. Despite the amount of simulated elements ingrained in the program, he felt Project Sparta was far more steeped in reality than the political arena of Washington, DC. He had enjoyed his role in up-close formation, more so than his current position in strategic thinking at a distance.

Hardy pulled up to a large white estate that was so large it needed a set of four pillars to support the front façade. He had fired the service staff as soon as his wife had passed because he wanted to be alone with his misery and so he was. He kept the house to maintain political appearances and status.

When George Hooper won the presidency, he brought along with him Senator Tom Johnson as his Vice. Overnight Colonel Hardy's political capital sky-rocketed and he was almost immediately consulted by the White House on all things clandestine, including his proudest achievement, Project Sparta.

Hardy's BMW beeped as he stumbled through the front door, the keys crashed on the granite island and his glass clinked from ice cubes dropping as he prepared himself another drink. Pictures of him shaking hands with the President, key members of the Cabinet and Joint Chiefs of Staff littered the wall. He noticed through the French doors to his office, the brown leather office chair was turned around from the mahogany desk. He was before the bar, eyes searching the auburn Scotch. A thought crossed over the half drunk man. He froze a long moment and couldn't help but smile from ear to ear once the realization grabbed hold.

"Xander! What the hell do you want?!" Xander spun around in his brown leather office chair to face the man who trained him into the operative he was today.

"Colonel...how are you?"

"Staying busy..." Hardy took a sip of his Scotch.

"I hear you've been consulting for the White House recently..."

"You know you need to stay in touch more...I see the reports on you, I'm always watching." Hardy shot him a grin.

"I'm sorry about Judy." It was a terse observation, not resembling the slightest condolence. Xander couldn't feign the empathy as well as the politicians that surrounded Hardy on a daily basis.

"Sorry about Fiona..." Hardy responded in the same 'matter of fact' way. That's about as much sympathy one could get from an operative, out of touch socially and always focused on the job at hand. Hardy and Xander spoke the same language though - it was a body language and they were both fluent.

"What can I do you for, Xander?"

Xander took it from the top. His mission in Afghanistan, the box with a keyhole, intended for Bashfield, the files hacked from the NSA, the call with Agent Zero. All of it. Upon hearing the mission status, Hardy showed a spark of interest.

"The bitch herself! I never trusted her. She always seemed to have an alternative motive. Just because she was the chairwoman of the Homeland Security Committee, she thought she knew what war and espionage was. She always wanted to get her greedy hands in it all, rather than leaving it to the experts. She used you too. She thought you recruits belonged to the state, almost like you lived in Russia or something. Remember she offered to take you from the Project and put you into active duty doing only God's knows what. You know you weren't the only one she offered that to. She always had her own agenda with you recruits." His brow smoothed to a more unfurrowed expression.

"Yeah... I remember she visited me in the Infirmary four months in after that first battle."

"Was that the one in the Park, with the Ferris Wheel?" Xander nodded. Hardy started laughing in disbelief as he recalled Xander's knack for big explosions and daring tactical moves. Xander wasn't in the mood for compliments and Hardy saw that in his expression.

"What do you need?" Hardy asked.

"I need security badges for the Russell Office Building." Eyebrows raised at the words.

"How many?"

"Three..."

"So you, Jooles and Ashton?" He nodded impressed.

"How'd you know?"

"You aren't the only one with powers of deduction, Xander." Hardy smiled to himself and continued to explain. "Bronson is three years in on a deep cover assignment, Duke is AWOL, as I'm sure you are now aware and particularly interested in, Ezra and Fiona are dead, Seamus would run support in his van with Mac and Tobias..."

"Can I get them by tomorrow morning?" Xander cut him short.

"I should be able to get them to Axle tonight. He should pass them along to you. No reason I should be showing my face around you, it carries too much press these days."

"Oh yeah... word on the street is your gunning for Secretary of Homeland Security, White House Cabinet?" Xander asked.

"Well the Secretary resigned from a sex scandal and supposedly it's either me or someone you just told me is a terrorist," Hardy explained with an aloof disinterest with it all. Xander smiled at the man who was the closest to a father he ever had.

"Get some sleep, Xander, you look like shit," Hardy said. Xander left as quick as he had arrived, leaving the same smile affixed to Hardy's flushed face.

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