IGNIS WAKE

The canteen was vacant as Hamish entered, he was early. The automated lights buzzed to life and flickered a glare across stainless-steel benches that rowed along each side of the modestly sized hall. A set of narrow windows accompanied each bench on the right side. Thick tropical fauna brushed and dragged with the wind against the exterior. The spattering of sunlight through the leaves and branches did very little to brighten the facilities dull concrete and iron panel laced interior. A closed hatch straight ahead into a kitchen indicated that lunch was not yet ready. But as Hamish’s mission detailed, this was the only opportunity to discuss the operation with his fellow MI6 and CIA agents embedded in the mysterious projects activities.

Project Ignis this place was known. A ring of islands, an atoll chained together by a stretch of shore. But there was also a wall. A towering behemoth of concrete that encircled all of it. It’s location was in the Pacific ocean approximately thirteen hundred kilometers west of Hawaii. It’s origin, a complete mystery.

Only the word IGNIS blotched in black paint across the drab concrete confirmed what they were looking for. A mysterious supplier of a dangerous nerve agent that had killed dozens of American soldiers in the middle-east two years prior. A far reach from any member of the Taliban brewing something from the Anarchists cookbook. This place was organized, expensive and dare Hamish say, advanced.

‘‘Hamish?’’ a voice whispered from the doorway.

Hamish turned startled to the voice from behind him. It was a short and plump Englishman. His strawberry blonde hair and beard were clumped with grease and split ends. He seemed tired, or more accurately, exhausted. His eyes were red with shadowy bags that indicated a lack of sleep. Each hand was smeared with dirt and grime. He worked in mechanical engineering, or more specifically vehicle mechanics. The complex designated the name Quadriga. That wasn’t just evident by the ware of his appearance, but also by the cyan colored markings that labeled what compartment within Project Ignis he was assigned to.

‘‘Sid,’’ Hamish responded while holding out his hand to greet his fellow imbedded MI6 agent. ‘‘How were things on your end?’’

Sid yawned and brushed the sleep from his eyes before returning the handshake. “I didn’t think that when I initially joined the royal engineers, I’d end up with some Malaysian twat being the one barking the orders.”

Hamish relayed a subtle smile. ‘‘A long night was it?’’

‘‘It was either that or get my ginger arse burned off by the sun. What kind of maniac would build this place in the middle of the tropics?’’

Hamish snickered with a show of relief. Sid was still himself, even after the several months of covert activity his sense of humor hadn’t been dampened. But there was still the other two agents, the CIA operatives who were still yet to rendezvous. “Tasper and Laswald should be with us soon, are you ready to get out of here?”

Sid suddenly appeared alarmed. “It’s time?”

“We’re out of time. Tasper will be here soon with the plan to reach the awaiting sub. We need to take what we have and leave now,” Hamish said with a quick glance over the Englishman’s shoulder to make sure no other worker had turned up early and was listening in.

Sid’s face appeared to drop with a wash of distress and disappointment. “But your pictures from the Medusa, will that be enough?”

Hamish took of his glasses and checked the SD card disguised within a hidden camera. “It might be,’’ he said before slipping the SD card back in. The Englishman had started to lightly tremble. ‘‘What’s the matter?’’ Hamish then asked.

‘‘What about the other facilities?’’ Sid blurted, seeming to brush of the concerned query. ‘‘Surely working maintenance you were able to gain access?”

‘‘Sid. If there is anything that is off concern to the mission then you must tell me immediately,’’ Hamish pushed further.

‘‘Really, i’m fine. I’m just not looking forward to having to sneak out of here.’’

Hamish sighed, the explanation seemed reasonable enough. “Everything here is more compartmentalized than that operation in Venezuela,’’ he said to answer Sid’s original question. ‘‘Outside of the Medusa complex I had very little access. What intel did you gather?”

“Past working on broken-down transits? Fuck all. This place is secretive as fuck-” Then suddenly Sid was interrupted by the rattling of the kitchen shutter. Both men jolted towards it. The kitchen staff were ready for lunch as the shutters then roared open. A chef emerged through the newly opened access to the kitchen and plonked a pot of watery stew on the serving mount. He was bald with a round worn face. His apron wasn’t just stained by an assortment of colors from assumably what he had cooked in the past. It was also riddled with lacerations. As if he had the habit of testing his own cutting utensils on his own uniform. He glanced towards the two men. Then as sudden as he rattled the shutter open, he turned around and disappeared back within the depths of the kitchen.

“Let’s take a seat,” Hamish insisted with a wave of his palm towards what appeared to be the most discreet bench. It was about two along to the left. Far enough away from the kitchen shutter but also far enough along from the main entrance that they could see who ever entered.

“Where are they then?” Sid said with a subtle quiver starting to fill his voice. “The two yanks.”

Hamish looked at his watch, it was five minutes to one. “Maybe they had trouble getting here. This canteen isn’t exactly their local.”

“Their local? The Hephaestus and the Hera are closer than the Medusa. They should have been here before you were.” Sid started to quiver, his tone was almost a manic ramble.

Hamish raised his left hand in a calming gesture. “Quiet,” he hushed with a sly glance towards the kitchens hatch. “They’ll get here.”

The clanging of plates and cutlery suddenly pierced from the kitchen. The chef had re-emerged with a trolley full. Enough for around a hundred workers Hamish calculated. They continued to screech and scrape as the chef then commenced to move them onto the serving mount.

“Should we get a bowl?” Sid blurted anxiously. “Or are we just going to sit here looking suspicious?”

“Patience,” Hamish said as a figure caught his peripheral vision. Both agents turned to look.

“What’s this then! You boys that hungry you just had to get here first?!” A voice howled from the canteens entrance. It was Tasper. The CIA agent had arrived and being discreet didn’t seem to be his priority as he paced forward towards the kitchen port. He was well kept, tall and lanky with distinctive short jet-black hair that was parted with a scar that reached from his left brow to the top of his head. His security overalls were marked with the distinguishable Hephaestus facilities red colors.

The chef remained quiet as he lent his head backwards, his narrow chin pointed directly at the loud over charismatic security officer. Sid’s eyes appeared widen with Hamish’s as they both sat frozen in disbelief at the other agents loud unprofessional manner.

“Nice to see maintenance hasn’t repaired the cameras in this community block yet!” Tasper said with a smirk. He then glanced over to Hamish.

Hamish found himself biting his tongue at Tasper’s indiscreet over confidants. “This block isn’t under my complexes parameters,” he forced himself to respond.

Tasper turned to face the chef as he moved over to the kitchen port and picked up a bowl. “Isn’t it a relief not to be watched over by your bosses all of the time? I envy your position.”

The chef showed a subtle grin. “Very little English” he replied as he picked up his ladle and poured the security officer a serving.

The American grabbed a spork and lent his back against the kitchen port. Each mouthful let out a gasp as he started to shovel the piping hot stew into his mouth.

Sid sprung to his feet and moved behind Tasper. “How’s, uh- security?” he asked while also grabbing a bowl of stew.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” Tasper blurted while winking at the chef.

The aged cook then became noticeably confused before once again receding back into the kitchen.

Hamish gripped the benches cold steel rim in an attempt to channel his frustration. “Perhaps you would like to join us for lunch? Did you watch the game last night?”

Tasper held onto his cheeky grin and paced towards the table. “The game? You must be talking about the Thunders against the Reds that happened two weeks ago.” The security guard then passed Hamish a folded note. “We got some new recruits in. A heads up on the results for the next big game if you and you’re pal want to have a wager with any of our other fellow employees.”

Sid retook his seat as Hamish opened the folded note to share what ever was written inside. First sin by cobra, it read out. Hamish then became puzzled. A quick glance towards Tasper only revealed the same annoying smirk still washed across his face. He already knew that the undercover CIA agent liked to play games, but this is taking the piss, Hamish thought. How is this our plan for an escape? He then snapped and grabbed the security guards collar. “Take a fucking seat!” he snarled while pulling Tasper down to their level.

Sid jolted to Hamish’s sudden outburst and spilled the contents of his bowl over the table. Tasper’s bowl dropped also and crashed onto the floor before bursting into an array of ceramic shrapnel across the cold black tiled flooring.

“What the fuck are you playing at?!” Hamish then exploded.

The chef then re-emerged while reaching for a radio. His glance over to Tasper was that of concern. “It’s alright,” Tasper then relayed while also reaching for his own radio. Hamish had then commenced to slowly let go of his grip of the security guards collar. “We’ll just have to make sure that the janitors do a better job next time. This floor’s slippy as shit,” Tasper then continued.

The chef nodded before then turning towards the entrance of the hall and reaching for his ladle, a clear sign that at any moment the canteen will be teeming with hungry workers.

But Hamish’s annoyance didn’t subside. He then moved closer and locked a livid stare at Tasper. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘first sin by cobra’?”

Tasper’s grin had been replaced with an equally annoyed expression. “If you would have waited for me to give Sid his note then it might make a bit more sense.”

“Go on then, give Sid the winning results,” Hamish responded with suppressed frustration at the grown mans toying of the situation.

The security guard reached into his pocket and removed another folded note. Hamish abruptly snatched it and commenced to have a look. It read the words, Berlins whole by candle light.

“For fucksake, Tasper,” Hamish grunted while handing Sid the note. “Do you care to share with us what you mean?”

Despite Sid’s unease he appeared to be thinking, his expression showed that of a man working.

“The notes were originally for myself, so I’d remember,” Tasper then revealed.

Hamish looked back at his note. “Cobra? You mean the Medusa complex? How is the Medusa suppose to help us escape this place?”

A playful grin started refill Tasper’s face. “Commit a sin, ” he whispered maliciously.

“You want me to murder using the nerve agent?”

Before Tasper could get another word in Sid interrupted. “Not necessarily, if the nerve gas containment is breached and released, it should be enough to put the whole project into a state of emergency. Therefore distracting security and allowing us to make our escape.” Sid then looked back at his note. “And you want a blow torch? To help us get through the wall?”

“Bingo,” Tasper responded.

Hamish had started to lose patience. “So how about you just elaborate the details of whole fucking plan, Tasper?”

“Fair enough,” Tasper concluded as he checked over his right shoulder at the chef who was gently tapping on the side of the stew pot. “Use your maintenance access to the Medusa and cause a containment breach. Everyone will be instructed to head to the assembly point. We’ll use that opportunity to get out of here”.

“And how is a blow torch going to help us breach an eighty foot concrete wall?” Sid added.

“I’ve walked the entire perimeter of that ridiculously over sized slab of concrete, there is a service ladder about one hundred and fifty metres west of the main gate. It has been sealed shut with torched steal, I say you can un-torch it.”

Hamish clicked to an obvious flaw in Tasper’s plan. “How exactly am I suppose to make it out of the Medusa once I’ve released the nerve agent?”

Tasper let out a subtle chuckle. “The bathroom along the corridor to the left. I’ve managed to bag you a hazmat suit,’’ he said before commencing to hold back a fit of hysterics. ‘‘Just use your finger nails to unlock the closed cubicle.’’

Hamish found himself struggling not snap at Tasper again. I can’t believe I’ve put my trust into this man, he thought. “What about other tools? Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to also get a sample of that nerve gas,’ he murmured while biting his teeth.

The three undercover agent’s conversation was cut short, the shuffling of footsteps towards the entrance spun all three men’s heads towards the imminent oncoming of workers ready to enjoy their lunch break. The chef let out a sigh as he picked up a bowl to fill in preparation for the line that will soon be forming.

“We should act now,” Sid insisted.

But Hamish had started to fill with worry, there was still one agent missing. “What about Laswald? Tasper, have you seen her?”

The security guard shook his head. “You haven’t made contact yet?”

Hamish went white with fear. It had been two weeks since his last communication with the CIA agent. They initially had a system where they would make contact every third evening by blinking lights across a stretch of the lagoon. She would relay information relating to the genetic engineering and cloning studies that she was witnessing at the Hera complex, where he would relay information relating to the Medusa. Later they had veered into discussing other things. Their personal life, their past and then their desires. He had assumed that their system had become to difficult to maintain in secret from her end, but now he was finding himself lost for words at where she could be. He was worried about her.

Sid looked to Tasper. “She’s your CIA partner. Where could she be?”

Tasper appeared impartial. “Maybe she’s been comprised?’’

“You’re security, if she was compromised wouldn’t you fucking know about it!?” Sid anxiously exclaimed.

The conversation was then suddenly cut short by the rambunctious noise of footsteps and voices emerging from the corridor. The workers were appearing in horde. Multiple races and ethnicity, cultures and languages had all started to pile into the hall.

“I need to go for a shit!” Tasper announced before standing and making his way towards the exit.

Sid nodded towards Hamish before moving to his feet and making haste to leave also.

“Sid!” Hamish hollered to grab the Englishman’s attention before he reached the exit.

“Jump to forty five minutes into the game!” Hamish screamed above the numerous workers that were now brushing past him on their way towards the kitchen port. Sid appeared to acknowledge with a second head nod and then disappeared behind the crowd into the corridor.

Hamish had managed to put himself into a moment of calmness despite Laswald being missing and the overwhelming requirements of the situation. Good, he thought while forcing himself to the exit, this is what I have trained for. Being embedded within the Project wasn’t the hard part. Or using the tools that he was provided with. It was going to be the retreat. It was now time to act, and if this didn’t play out the way it was suppose to, he’d be a dead man.

“Oi!” an Australian man shouted before he could reach the exit. His clothes were that of the janitorial department. “Do you want to clean up your own fucking mess? I’ll fucking dog you in for sneaking here early!”

Hamish only spared a single glance at the angry Aussie. “Oh fuck off,” he blurted before making his way into the corridor.

Sid was already gone, the crowd of hungry staff members making their way towards the canteen swamped the left side of the dull and run down passage. Their passing heads flickered against the markings on each of the hallways doors. Then Hamish found the first stop of his objective. The word lavatory was spelled out in five languages, English, Spanish, Chinese, Arabic and Russian. He then waited for the shuffling of bystanders to pass. Then a familiar face blocked his gaze.

“Hamley? The other maintenance man reminded of his cover name. It was Kyro, his colleague from the Medua complex. “Where did you disappear to?” he asked with his usual friendly expression.

Hamish’s mind froze only for a moment. “Doctor Rhyne had a faulty light switch he specifically wanted me to repair on his lunch hour.”

Kyro’s expression was that of confusion. “Ok? So you broke protocol and grabbed an early lunch?” he said as his expression shifted to that of someone with an inkling of suspicion.

Hamish’s stomach started to sink as he saw the angry Australian emerge from the canteen with two security guards. His mind started to race for a charismatic quib to disarm the situation Kyro had just trapped him in. “If it isn’t Rhyne, it’s what ever time,” he blurted while revealing a friendly smile.

Kyro let out a grin. “I better let you get to it then,’’ he said before proceeding towards his awaiting meal.

“But priorities first,” Hamish then remarked before barging through the passing workers and into the lavatory.

The toilet stalls ahead were the same shade of a depressing yellow you would find plastered around a hospital. They did very little to contrast the grime on the white tiles that encompassed the whole room. The mirrors accompanying each sink were blotched with spatters and streaks of an unknown residue.

Two of the stalls were occupied. Tasper’s head appeared from above the one on the right. “I was going to wait until the sub to tell you,” he said.

Hamish moved to the cubicle to the left. “Then you better be quick! Some of your friends are snooping around outside.”

“You might want to take a seat,” Tasper said before sinking back into his cubical.

Hamish’s fingers clicked the cubicle door unlocked. The door creaked open to reveal a rucksack perched on the closed toilet lid ahead. “Is agent Laswald alive?” he then asked while picking up the rucksack and swinging it over his shoulder.

“There’s a chief scientist in the Hephaestus called Doctor Morlam,” Tasper started to explain. “He took over the helm in the Hera about a month ago.”

Hamish became confused. “Why would a computer and robotics scientist be interested in the Hera? Never mind the clear breach in the compartmentalization protocol.”

Tasper then continued. “I can only guess. I did however eventually manage to gain his favor. He had me stationed in both facilities.”

“So you had direct contact with Laswald?”

“I did. But then shit got weird.” The American agent then started to hesitate.

“What do you mean, weird?”

Tasper paused, but only for a moment. ‘‘I’m telling you! It’s fucked up.’’

‘‘Just spit it out!’’ Hamish snapped.

“Ok! The man had a fucking fetish for taxidermy or some shit. They were cloning gators. The guy liked how hard the skin was.”

Hamish became unsettled, even slightly creeped out by the new information. “Taxidermy?”

“I don’t know how to describe it. Anyway, about twelve days ago I was checking in on Laswald. Doctor Morlam had requested a blue whale for further experiments. You know the biggest animal-”

Hamish snapped again. “I know what a fucking blue whale is!”

“So then Doctor Morlam turns up impatient, starts yelling at Laswald. She tells him that they could probably capture one, but considering the animals size it would be difficult to clone without any means to surrogate.”

“So what? He lost his temper and had her executed?”

“Close. After I realized she was gone I came up with some excuse and let myself into his personal lab. I just didn’t see dissected parts of animals that looked like they were being Frankenstein'd with cables and metal scraps. I saw Laswald. Or what was left of her.”

Hamish froze in disbelief as his thoughts went inwards as the disturbing revelation nearly poked a sputtering bit of sick up his throat. He was use to death, he was an MI6 operative after all. But he had grown fond of Laswald, he had even started to feel close to her. “Do you... have proof?” he asked the other agent in the cubicle next to him.

“Proof? Why? Are you wanting to see the pictures?”

‘‘No, no. Never.’’ Hamish replied.

“Then let’s get the fuck out of-” Tasper was then suddenly interrupted by the main lavatory door walloping open.

Hamish froze. It was the two security guards that were alerted by the Australian. He could partially see them through a crack in the cubicles door frame.

“Who’s in there!” The biggest of the two guards shouted.

His French accent seemed to move Tasper into motion. He swung his cubicle door open. “Sorry Phillippe, but if you wanted to hold my hand, I’m afraid Carlos bet you to the punch.”

Hamish held his breath, the adrenaline and fast thinking bounced of Tasper’s initiative. He tried his best broken English with a Spanish accent. “Maybe you use the woman’s next time, huh?”

Phillippe raised an eye. “Carlos?” he asked as he looked over Tasper’s shoulder towards the cubicle.

“You wouldn’t know him, patrols the Prometheus complex,” Tasper responded.

Hamish perked as he continued his gaze through a thin crack in the cubicle door. He knew there were other facilities within the Project but the Prometheus he hadn’t heard off. Clearly Tasper was withholding even more secrets or perhaps he had simply made it up to make himself seem bigger than the other two guards.

Phillippe’s fingers loosened from his pistol holster. The smaller security guard remained quiet as Tasper started to scrub his hands at the sink.

“We’re looking for a Scotsman, broke protocol,” the French guard said.

Tasper tugged a piece of paper towel from the dispenser and commenced to dry his hands. “A Scotsman? One of the maintenance guys right? Why didn’t you use your radios?”

“You know what Doctor Morlam’s orders were. Protocol breaches are to be kept off radio traffic and the suspect brought straight to him.”

Hamish withheld a gulp. He could feel his sweat starting to trickle down his back, each palm was starting to soak the rucksacks strap that he gripped over his right shoulder.

Tasper chuckled. “Then it looks like you just broke protocol. Carlos there isn’t in Doctor Morlam’s inner division,” he said as he scrunched up the paper towel and threw it over the cubicle onto Hamish’s lap.

“Very little English,” Hamish blurted in the broken Spanish accent.

“But it looks like you’re luck. I don’t think Carlos understood you,’’ Tasper then appeared to blackmail the two other security guards. ‘‘I heard he likes to go to the Hephaestus, that Scotsman’s not welcome there. Perhaps we should go and have a look?”

Hamish unwrapped the paper towel and uncovered another note nestled within. It was clearly meant for Laswald. Tasper had managed to slight of hand the message to him. It read the words: don’t ware crocs.

“Hey Carlos! Get your ass back to the Prometheus once you finally learn how to wipe it!” Tasper hollered as he lead the two other security guards out of the lavatory.

Finally, Hamish had a moment to process what had just happened. The note might have restored some trust in the other undercover agent but he only had an inkling of what it could mean. Don’t ware crocs, he thought to himself over and over. His feet were far from bare and the hazmat suit he had just acquired should have a set of compatible boots.

But now it was time to move, he had the plan and the coast was clear. He sprung to his feet and made haste out of the grotty toilets. The passage was now empty as the canteen further along the corridor echoed with the metallic tapping of cutlery as the now full mess hall ate. Each step towards the buildings exit turned into a sprint. Even if someone saw him on a security camera the job will be done before anyone could be sent to investigate. Then with an inertial brush with the left wall as he swing himself around the last corner the large black metal doors of the communal block were in reach. They shrieked with a piercing moan as he braced his built up momentum against it. The piecing light of the tropical sun reached through the widening gap. His arm moved to shade his eyes. The dull darkness within had only made the light blinding. He caught his breath while his gaze stayed low on the gravel and run down concrete beneath his feet. A shadow from another block within the Central square gave a break from the sunlight. He scanned for his transit van in the clutter of vehicles that had gathered for the lunch hour. It was a modest Ford with the word IGNIS printed in his facilities green distinctive colour. With the revelation from Tasper about a complex named the Prometheus, he couldn’t help but start to count the number of different colors brushed on each side of the vehicles parked waiting for their workers to return. Blue for the Quadriga, Red for the Hephaestus, Yellow for the Hera and Black for the Central. But then he realized. There’s a fucking orange, cyan and even a nothing? he thought to himself. A white? he continued to speculate as a blank vehicle came into view.

Climbing into his Ford, he inserted the key and hit the ignition. The van hummed to life. He shifted his head to have a final glance towards the Observation tower that loomed above everything else within the Central complex. It had a large eye shaped window that gave the illusion that you were constantly being watched. The Central complex itself almost appeared as if a Soviet had constructed a miniature Americanized settlement out of blocked cement and corrugated steal. The Observation tower being the town hall that would be expected at the very end of the road that cut straight through the towns middle. But it was a far cry from anywhere homely. The bunker looking structures on each side of the road and the square were bland, bleak, rotten and grey. The doors were all painted black, the windows narrow. There were kiosks and stores. Even apartments for the lower tier workman. This place alone could home thousands of people. Each other complex could house hundreds.

There were dozens of strangers and workers making their way around the street Hamish was about to drive out onto. Each of them would have received a letter. The same letter that MI6 intercepted and seized quietly from their legitimate candidates. An invitation to a time and a place where a phone call was waiting. An automated voice would then ask ten questions. Out of the seven letters that were intercepted by the British secret service, only Hamish and Sid accomplished their objective of obtaining a position. He could only assume it was the same process for Tasper and Laswald. The joint operation with the CIA was of interest for both nations as the shadowy organization didn’t seem to be associated with a nation of its own. But they didn’t anticipate the level of secrecy and compartmentalization that awaited them on these secluded islands. It was one thing to get here, but to leave here was also a mystery in itself. Hamish didn’t know how. It was never discussed. Only on the odd occasion did a fellow worker disappear with the assumption that they had finally completed their contract. But then newer revelation, the information about a Doctor Morlam had added a new layer of disturbing mystery within the confines of Project Ignis.

The Ford started to rumble as he moved forward. The loose gravel and dirt, spat and flickered as he hit the throttle. He shifted to second gear as he whipped onto the main stretch. There were no guards, Tasper must have rallied them to go and search each one of their designated facilities.

A gear was skipped as Hamish then fought to quiet the roaring engine. As the revs of the engine hit its resonance, the undercover agent then glanced at his wrist. His analogue watch read fifteen minutes past one, the clock was ticking.