Acton, California, suburb of Los Angeles
Michael Tate slept peacefully, snoring softly. His twin brother, Marcus, on the other hand held his pillow over his head, trying to drown out the noise.
Although Mike's snores weren't loud, Marc's hearing had always been very sensitive. A cricket outside would keep him awake. The twelve-year old moaned and turned over. Seemed like ever since he'd started to hit puberty everything in life was a lot more difficult.
A twig snapped outside and Marc sat bolt upright. Ordinarily he wouldn't be able to hear something so small, but their window was open that night and a lot more noise than usual was filtering in.
"Mikey," he whispered. "Mikey, wake up!" Mike mumbled something incoherent and turned over. Marc crawled out of bed and tip-toed to the window. He looked outside and saw nothing. It was totally dark. He couldn't even see a lit street lamp...
A strong arm suddenly wrapped around Marc's neck, with an accompanying hand clasping his lips shut. The man was wearing leather gloves, and they smelled like chemicals of some sort. He was spun around and saw another man standing up from Mike's bed with a syringe in hand. He placed that syringe in a pouch on his hip and extracted another from the same pouch. Marc's captor cocked the head to the side and the man with the syringe plunged the needle into his neck. Marc yelped in pain, and then began to feel drowsy.
As he began to black out he heard one of the men say to the other, "Kill the parents. Don't leave a ransom note." Then everything was black.
Agent Jordan Willoughby pulled up the house, running a hand through his dark blonde hair. Several local squad cars surrounded the area already. A few detectives and uniforms stood talking to neighbors. It wouldn't be any use. Willoughby already knew that. He pulled his black Malibu to the curb and got out. Several officers looked at him and looked back down at their notes, a hint of disgust on their faces. Willoughby was used to it. It was a common reaction to many federal agents, mostly out of the feeling that a fed would slow down the investigation.
Willoughby walked towards the house, flashing his badge to the first officer that approached him. "Willoughby, Department of Defense," he stated.
The detective raised an eyebrow then offered his hand. "Jackburn, LAPD homicide." Willoughby accepted the hand and shook.
"A little off the beaten path are we?" Willoughby asked.
"Not really," Jackburn replied. "I could say the same for you though agent. What's the interest of the Department of Defense in a double homicide and kidnapping?" Willoughby shrugged.
"Tate was a DoD employee, working on a very sensitive project," he replied. "We're afraid the project has been compromised." He gestured towards the house. "Mind if I...?"
"Be my guest," Jackburn replied, gesturing towards the house. Willoughby walked the direction of the house, looking around as he did so. It looked like the house had no signs of forced entry on the exterior of the house, but it was spring in Los Angeles. The family probably had half a dozen windows open to allow cool air to flow through the house.
"Were there any witnesses?" Willoughby asked as Jackburn escorted him inside.
"The best we got was a mention of a dark colored SUV at about the estimated time of the murder," he replied. "Didn't even get a make on it, much less a plate number."
"Damn," Willoughby whistled. "Can you show me the murder scene?"
"Certainly," he consented, leading Willoughby to the parent's bedroom. A group of crime scene investigators bustled over the scene, dusting for prints, looking for shreds of evidence, anything. Willoughby walked immediately over to the bed. Doctor and Mrs. Tate were asleep when they were killed. They were each shot in the head he guessed from the blood stains that had spread across the pillows. Bullet holes also graced the center of the stains.
"Have the bullets been recovered?" he asked.
"I believe so," Jackburn said looking at one of the investigators. The woman nodded.
"Are any of them still here on site?" he asked. The same investigator nodded. "Can I see one of them and a magnifying glass?" She waited for a nod from Jackburn and then retrieved a small manila evidence envelope. As she split the envelope open, Willoughby slipped on a pair of latex gloves. She removed the bullet with a pair of tweezers, and then handed Willowby the magnifying glass followed by the tweezers.
"You mind if I ask what you're looking for." Jackburn asked.
"When a silencer is used, it scores the bullet in the same way the weapon's barrel does," Willoughby said as he held the glass close to his face. He held out the bullet to magnify its surface. "Damn," he whispered.
"Agent?"
"I was right about the silencer. These guys were pros." He looked up at Jackburn. "I need to see the boys' bedroom." He handed the tweezers back to the investigator, but kept the gloves. Jackburn shrugged and led him to the small bedroom. "Have your people combed this room yet?"
"Nope," he replied. "We've concentrated on the murder scene thus far."
Willoughby's shoulders slumped. "Not to be bossy, but we need a CSI team in here now." He noticed a small object on the floor. He crouched down and picked it up. A needle from a syringe.
"Do you have an evidence envelope?" he asked Jackburn. He shook his head, and then leaned out the door.
"Hey, we need someone down here!" he called. One of the investigators joined them quickly.
"I know you'll analyze this anyway, but I want to know what drug was injected through this needle." The investigator held out an envelope and Wollowby dropped the needle inside. He then peeled off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. "If you'd excuse me, I have to make a phone call."
Willoughby walked downstairs, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. He saw a garbage bag for the gloves and reached back into the other pocket, extracted them and dropped them inside. He flipped open his phone and hit the speed dial for a number he could have dialed by memory. He walked into the living room, ensuring he was out of earshot of the police. The phone rang twice, and then a voice answered.
"Give me John Buckner," he said. "Authorization Patriot Gamma Omega." The phone rang twice again, and then another, more familiar, voice picked up.
"This is Buckner," it said.
"Sir, it's Willoughby," he said. "I'm at the Tates. The project has been compromised. The Tate twins are in hostile hands. If their location is known, then the location of every subject of the project has been compromised."
"Dammit," Buckner whispered. He sighed. "I'll inform the secretary. It may be time to activate the defense protocols."
"Yes sir." Willoughby hung up the phone. He looked around the house, whispering a short prayer.
"Heaven help us."
Jason Mack walked alone. He'd walked home alone every day for months. Ever since his parents had moved him here, he hadn't made friends. Of course, that was probably because he'd isolated himself for so long. He wouldn't isolate themselves with the dreams he'd been having. Dreams of laboratories, doctors, and painful procedures.
A car screeched up behind him. Jason turned to face the vehicle. Three men with guns jumped out, each pointing their weapons at Jason.
"Freeze!" one screamed. Another rushed over to Jason, pressed the gun to his head and pushed him to the ground. The third man rushed over, forced Jason's arms behind his back and fastened a pair of handcuffs to his wrists.
"Jason Mack, you're under arrest," one of them said.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" he screamed. "What are you taking me for?!"
"Tell it to the judge," the second man said. They drug Jason to the car and threw him in the back.
"What are you arresting me for?!" he cried.
"Absolutely nothing." The third man punched Jason across the face, knocking him unconscious.
Willoughby strode into the Department of Defense operations center. He had spent another six hours that day with the LA investigators. He was exhausted. He had hit the wall hours ago. He was ready to go home, but Buckner had requested he come into the office before he went home.
The office was a flurry of activity. Willoughby walked through the crowd. Something big was going on. He could see Buckner in his office overlooking the floor, where various analysts and agents rushed to and fro, gathering data and making phone calls.
Willoughby ran up the short stairs up to Buckner's office, taking them each two at a time. He knocked on the glass door. Buckner looked up and waved him in.
"Yes, Mister Secretary," he said. "We're working on finding them right now."
"Good Buckner," said a voice from his speaker phone. Willoughby recognized it as the Secretary of Defense. "We'd never dreamed of this day, did we?"
"I believe this day was the reason why the project was initiated in the first place sir," Buckner said. "We just never dreamed that our sleepers would be turned against us. Hell, even they didn't know about themselves."
"Agreed," said the secretary. "And John?"
"Yes, Mister Secretary?"
"Go home and get some sleep. You sound exhausted and you're not going to find these kids tonight. It's an order." Buckner leaned against the desk and chuckled.
"Yes sir."
"Good night John," the secretary said.
"Good night sir." The line clicked and went dead. Buckner pressed the button to close the line on his side. Willowby frowned.
"This much over two of the A-Next kids being kidnapped?" he asked.
"No one's told you what's going on?" he grunted.
"I came straight to your office sir."
"I wish it were just the Tates, Jordan," Buckner said. "They were the first." He waved to a small pile of file folders. "Jason Mack, Tatum Forsgren, Samuel Chance, Rebecca Halberg. All kidnapped since the Tates were this morning."
"They've stolen the gods," he whispered. Willoughby rubbed his eyes, partly from exhaustion, and partly a nervous habit. "How bad is this?"
"Six of our sleepers kidnapped in twenty-four hours?" Buckner said. "I'd say this qualifies as 'very.'"
"What do we need to do?"
"I've posted agents on as many of the kids as I possibly could Jordan. I'm afraid however that we may have to activate a group of them."
"John?"
"If these terrorists activate the sleepers and turn their programming against us, then we have six weapons of mass destruction staring us in the face. I don't want that Jordan. We may have to fight fire with fire."Buckner stood and looked Willowby in the eye.
"Let's just pray we don't get burned."
Kate Bishop sat in her Jacuzzi, enjoying the sensation of the hot water and bubbles against her mostly bare skin. If she could have, she would have taken her nightly dips in the nude, but after the fiasco with her father and several of his clients walking in on her climbing out of tub after one such dip he had demanded that she always at least wear a bikini. She resented him for that. She brushed her hand across her face, and then dipped her head beneath the bubbling surface of the water. As she came up, she noticed a human form in front of her.
Thinking it was her father, Kate wiped the water from her eyes. She was surprised to find a man she had never seen in her life. Kate gasped and covered her breasts in reflex.
"Miss Bishop," the man said. "There's nothing to be alarmed about. I apologize for my intrusion, but we needed to reach you immediately and your father let me in."
"Who are you?" Kate asked.
"Jordan Willoughby, Department of Defense. Miss Bishop... the country needs your help."
In Project: A-Next #1: Exactly what is A-Next? Five young people find out for themselves as the Department of Defense activates the Project!