Threads – Chapter Three

Chapter Three

First Lieutenant Ben Jafri was pissed.

For the past three days he’d been stonewalled at every turn. Any inquiries into the reasons he’d been denied access to information that should have been his prerogative as a ranking officer of the facility were met with stony silence and slammed doors.

So he’d decided to take it up with the one person who could set things right. Griggs would fix everything.

“General, surely you can sort out this misunderstanding.”

“Lieutenant, as you’ve undoubtedly been told already, you don’t have the necessary security clearance. Hell, I don’t even have clearance! If I could help you, I would, but we have to follow protocol.”

“Screw protocol! If the DHS knows something about this, we should too!”

His impassioned declaration was met with silence. He contemplated his superior for a moment. There. A flicker of… something in the older man’s eyes gave him away. Well, it appeared as if the old man wasn’t quite as clueless as he pretended.

Jafri nodded slowly. “You already do.”

The General stared at his protégé somberly. “Shut the door, son, and take a seat.”

Closing the shuttered glass door with a quiet snick, Jafri dropped onto the rickety arm chair facing the large, faded oak desk. His legs sprawled awkwardly before him, his tall frame too large for the small perch.

General Damien Griggs surveyed the surly soldier. He was a good lad, if a tad hot-tempered. He was an asset to the unit and one of Griggs’ crowning achievements, if he did say so himself.

Griggs was damn proud of his outfit. He’d trained them all; worked them, pushed them hard to become the best of the best – and he’d not been disappointed. Dozens of men and women with every conceivable skill set made up his loyal group. His people would fight and die for him, and he for them. In particular, young Jafri had proven himself time and again above and beyond the call of duty.

It was what made the task at hand all the harder, for Griggs knew how frustrated the young man before him felt, for he felt it, too. How does one tell a man of action and principle to sit back and wait it out?

“Can I offer you a drink, son?” Perhaps some alcohol would help fortify him.

“Thank you, Sir, but I don’t drink.”

“Ah, that’s right. I respect a man who upholds his beliefs.” Griggs leaned back in his seat, tapping a finger to his lips. “You won’t object if I indulge myself?”

“Of course not, Sir.”

Griggs poured a couple fingers of a thirty year old single malt. The liquid was a deep shade of amber and had a heady smoky aroma. Taking a sip, he swallowed, savoring the heat of the drink as it burned a path down his throat and smacked his lips in appreciation.

“Nothing quite like it.”

Smiling fondly at the lieutenant seated stiffly opposite him, he eased onto topic.

“I understand your feelings, Jafri, I do. And normally I would agree with you: if a lower level division is privy to information that we’re not, we should be. Simple as that.

“The problem is that the government is in chaos. The reasons that divided us across the globe are the same ones keeping us all in the dark. The chain of command has been broken and we don’t know how badly the organization has been compromised as a result of this attack or the Familiars’ coup. For all we know, the department heads could have been replaced… or worse, turned. There are too many unknown variables.

“Just after the Pulse hit but before the insanity really kicked off, we received an emergency transmission from the White House with instructions to keep a low profile and maintain our silence. That was the last communiqué we had from anyone in a position of power.

“As none of the other security departments have contacted us, we believe that the existence of this project has remained secret. It is of utmost importance that it remains that way so do me a favor, son, and just this once, try to curb those hot-headed tendencies of yours before you blow us all out of the water. It’s not just the project on the line, Jafri, but our lives.”

Much as he hated it, Jafri knew that Griggs was right. Ranting and raving and causing a ruckus could only make things worse. If he understood correctly, the entire project’s success hinged on their ability to fly beneath the radar – and for however long was necessary. He only wished he’d been assigned to one of the other bases. He hated this barren, desert wasteland. Sand was a real bitch; sometimes it felt as if he’d never get the substance out of all the cracks and crevices.

“I understand, Sir.”

“I knew you’d see reason, my boy. I wouldn’t have wanted to lose one of my best men.”

Jafri was almost flattered. It was a compliment he’d long felt was his due, yet the delivery – wrapped in a thinly veiled threat – left him wary. This kind of black ops outfit didn’t reassign soldiers that didn’t work out; they retired them. Permanently.

“What are my orders, Sir?”

“How about you take the afternoon off and get a little sun?” Griggs offered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was obvious that the strain of uncertainty was weighing heavily upon the General, making him appear older than his sixty-two years.

Jafri understood, though. The Pulse hadn’t just sent the United States economy and administration crashing and burning, it had left thousands of American civilian, military and commercial centers across the globe leaderless and without any real direction. Sure, there was still plenty to do and they had standing orders which would keep them busy, but to what purpose? What good was all their training and preparation when the nation they served might not exist beyond next week?

Lieutenant Jafri smiled briefly. “Sounds like a plan, Sir. Thank you.”

Life as they knew it had officially gone to shit.