Chapter 2

HQ 5225

In Manassas, VA, stands an anonymous building with just a number: 5225. It stands on Wellington Drive between two other anonymous buildings, across the street from a businessman's lunch restaurant. Occupying this innocuous building is an organization that doesn't exist. It's not a corporation, or an LLP, or any other state created entity. Most of the employees think it's a lobbying enterprise and there are people in suits who make appointments with people in D.C. There are two dozen employees of the front 5225, the real business is manned by a much smaller team. Unlike lobbyists, those people gather information, instead of spreading it. They collect tidbits of data concerning the real threat to the United States. And then 5225 acts on them.

5225, as it calls itself, is run by a woman named Melody A, a 53 year old woman with three computers (only one of which is connected to the internet), a multi line phone, four pens, and a yellow legal pad on her desk. The 'A' is for Armstrong. The other ten or so people who are at HQ (everything is paramilitary there) also have initials instead of last names, and Melody A. is the only one who knows what the initials stand for. Her conceit was that this improved Operational Security. 5225 came into being in the panicked days after September 11, 2001, founded and funded by a reclusive multi-millionaire named H. Worthington Armstrong. Yes, the same Armstrong. His very large fortune was passed down to his loving wife, Melody, on the probate of his will. He died from an overdose of potassium administered by his wife; as he had a heart condition, was considerably overweight, and was well over 80, his doctors didn't question the heart attack he apparently had. His much younger wife was inconsolable – publicly vowing to continue Worth's 'public endeavors.'

Mrs. A was some forty years younger than her husband but could not be considered a mindless trophy wife by any means. It was she who convinced old HW to start the 5225 project: What else could the childless couple leave behind, after all, that would really MEAN something? So she got the money, continued to provide the monetary support for 5225, and set about to collect a 'necessary' mercenary force, all without the tedious meddling influence of H. Worthington Armstrong.

Today, in the first floor apartment that she called an office, she punched up the buttons to return her 'source' to resting state, clicked off the monitors that watched over her 'source' and fired up her internet computer. It was not on the same network as her other computers. That WAS operational security. She sent an email.

TO: Team Alpha Actual
FROM: HQ 5225
RE: Asset acquisition

Target is a male, aged approx. 35. He will be at a Motel 6 in Shreveport, LA, near a WalMart. No other information. Acquire and retrieve. Target is not to be harmed. Repeat: NOT to be harmed. Priority Gold.

This message fell into one of Io's message traps, on the way to its intended destination. It never occurred to Melody A that using the internet with a message like that would alert the police. Rather, it DID occur to her, but she needed to communicate with her team and the phones were riskier than the internet – so she thought. Io grabbed the message. She shielded it from the FBI's email screening program but allowed it to be forwarded it to its recipient. She estimated that there was only a 30% chance it had anything to do with Zeus, but left an urgent message for him in the private message channel of the Dungeon ConQuest chat area.

The recipient of the email, it turned out, was in Atlanta, a solid 10 hours away from the Motel 6 in Shreveport. It was two in the afternoon when he got the message. He immediately sent a reply that the team would arrive about 1 a.m.

Melody buzzed for El L. Her little joke: Elroy Langston – officially Elroy L. El was young, a former Marine until he was booted out. He was a tad over zealous in killing Iraqis for the Marines. How the fuck can you be too efficient in killing the enemy, Melody wondered for the thousandth time. He would never be officer material, but he was an efficient assistant, so long as I let him out to play from time to time.

"El," she said, "there is one threat but we haven't isolated the target yet. One of the domestic Disney properties, or one of the Six Flag properties. We don't have enough to track them all. Why don't you go through the traffic and see if you can narrow it down."

El had come to attention while she was speaking. Now he complained, "Fuckin' paper. Ain't gonna let me get anywhere."