Chapter 10: National Security

Thompson stopped right before a curbside. The restaurant he was going to was only a few yards ahead of him. He was holding his phone, the screen only a few inches away from his face.

"Are you sure about this?" He said, turning to his phone again. On the screen before him was Jerome, an encouraging expression on his mildly pixelated face.

"Yes, Jerome. They have the best coffee. Are you trying to slink away from our conversation?"

Thompson took his eyes off his screen, staring at the restaurant again and headings straight towards it. At the very top of the restaurant, engraved in bright red was the word "Grounded."

"What conversation?"

"The one about therapy. Seriously. Don't play coy with me."

"Trust me, Jerome. I don't need therapy. All I need right now is to make sure I bring whoever's behind my wife's death to justice and bring my daughter home."

"Like I said, we should get more information from the forensics team in just a few days. Make sure you stay tuned.

Thompson stopped at the restaurant door, taking deep breaths before pushing the door open and and walking in. The smell of freshly baked pastries and grounded beans infiltrated his nostrils almost immediately, pleasantly calming his senses for some reason.

"No one needs therapy more than you right now, Tom. You know that. You spent five years in a way for the love of God. And then you had to come back again into unspeakable tragedy. At least let me give you a recommendation."

Thompson approached the counter and ordered a cup of coffee and some donuts.

"I promise, I'm fine. My feelings are in check and I'm compartmentalizing like hell."

"And what are you doing to compartmentalize?" Jerome asked as Thompson grabbed his cup and donuts and headed to one of the empty chairs in the restaurant's dining area.

"Uh, you know—just stuff."

Stuff of National Security. It was killing him day by day how he couldn't bring his friend into the Shadow Command. But considering the things they've managed to unveil just in the past few days, it might just be for the best. Jerome had his hands full already. The last thing he wanted to do was bother him.

"Stuff huh?" Jerome asked. "And how long are you going to keep that up?"

"Jerome. You don't have to worry about me. Look at this, I'm drinking coffee and eating donuts. I'm not drowning myself in vodka. Does this look like someone in immediate need of therapy?"

"This seat taken?" A feminine voice called before him, catching him almost immediately off guard. He looked up and standing before him, was a woman in a white shirt and dark pants. Her blonde hair had bright pink tips and she had the brightest smile on her face.

"Tom?" Jerome's voice was distant and almost echoey, even though Thompson's phone was only a few meters before him.

"I'm sorry, it's just the waiter over there said the other seats have been taken. It's fine if you don't want—"

"No." Thompson said, his voice almost rough. He gestured towards the empty chair across his table.

She nodded and pulled the chair backwards.

"I'll call you back." Thompson called, grabbing his phone.

"Wait, Tom—"

Thompson turned off the call and stashed the phone back in his pocket.

"Sorry, I'm just having one of those days." The lady before him mentioned, the smile still resting on his face.

Thompson studied her. She's calm, almost reserved and seemed to know her way around the table—and her food too. She had ordered what looked like Ramen noodles and Thompson watched as she slowly ate.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Lena." She said, stretching out her free hand to him. Thompson took it gently, still staring at her.

"And I'm guessing you're Tom?" Lena asked.

Thompson's eyes narrowed.

"I heard your friend call you that."

Thompson nodded. "Yeah. it's Thompson."

Lena had another helping of the noodles. "Well, it is nice to meet you, Thompson."

"You too, Lena."

Thompson studied her further. She had a tiny mole right above her left eyebrow and it seemed to move anytime her face did anything animated.

"So—you new to DC?" Lena asked, grabbing her coffee cup.

"No." His voice was firm, direct and clear. If anything, he was amused.

"Right. My friend recommended this place to me. It's my first time in here. You seem like the type of guy to come here everyday."

"Actually it's my first time here too." He responded. "I got the recommendation from a friend as well." Thompson responded, his voice precise and sharp.

"Huh." Lena noted. What are the odds.

Thompson nodded again. He was not in the mood for chitchat and he prayed to the gods of fate for something to take him away from this.

"You look tense Tom—can I call you Tom? It's easier."

Thompson nodded slowly. Why the hell not?

"I don't know. You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

His eyes narrowed. "And how do you figure?"

Lena pointed at his shoulders, almost like a sordid proof. "They're not straightened."

Right.

"That and also the fact that I have a PhD in human psychology."

"Yeah, that makes more sense." Thompson replied, watching Lena finish her noodles, almost in a rather comical fashion. Something about the way the food went up her mouth made him crack a slight smile.

"There we go." Lena said, gesturing towards his face with her chopsticks. "A smile."

As Thompson opened his mouth to reply, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out. It was Jacob Russel.

"Command Center. Now."

Thank God.

"I have to go, Lena." He said, almost in a whisper as he rose from his chair. Before Lena could give a reply, he was out of her sight and out of the restaurant. Soon, he made his way to the warehouse and into the command center, the cup of coffee still in his hand. Jacob is standing before the large monitor, an uneasy expression on his face.

"General. Glad you could join us." Jacob called, his eyes on him as Thompson walked into the room. Hera, Shane and Aaron were also seated on seperate chairs all facing the giant monitor.

"Really? Not even a heads up?" Thompson whispered, sitting beside Shane.

"Sorry." Shane whispered.

"What's this about?" Thompson finally said aloud. "Did you guys find something else from the computer in the shed?"

"No. That's still in progress. I need you guys on a new mission as soon as possible."

Thompson exchanged confused glances with the others and Jacob turned on the monitor, showing the overhead picture of a tall and well designed building.

"This is Blackridge prison. It's in Alaska." Jacob started, rotating the picture of the building for better view. "One of the CIA's best informant was captured three weeks ago after he tried to infiltrate a gathering relating to the operations of The Calvary."

"Wait, I thought we were the only ones working on that?" Hera asked, narrowing her eyes at the monitor.

Jacob turned to Hera, an amused expression on his face. "It's the CIA. You think we could hide this from them?"

"So what's the mission?" Shane asked, folding his hands.

"It's an exflitration. You have to get the informant out of there. He was able to gather some pretty crucial information before he got burned."

Thompson frowned. "If the CIA already knew about this, why aren't the doing the exfil themselves."

Jacob turned to Thompson, a mild smile on his face. "Well, they are. And we're going to help them."

"Wait, what?" Hera's alarm was visible in her voice.

"Working with other organizations wasn't on the job memo, boss." Aaron said.

"I'm sorry. I tried fighting it but the order was directly from the president. He didn't want the CIA taking any action on The Calvary without the knowledge of the Shadow Command." Jacob explained turning back to the monitor.

"And who is the informant?" Shane asked.

The picture of the building disappeared from the screen and in its place was a headshot of a man who looked to be in his early forties—a picture that sent Thompson into the varying degrees of shock.

"Oh my God." He whispered, still staring at the monitor.

Eyes from every part of the room turned to him, including Jacob's.

"Anything you want to share, General?" Jacob asked, folding his arms.

"That's—" Thompson started, the disbelief still running down his body. "That's Elias Novak."

"Yes, it is." Jacob explained, clicking the remote to display all the available information right below the picture on the screen—one of the pieces of information being the name. "And how do you know him?"

Thompson stared harder at the picture, the shock in him not subsiding any time soon. "We—we worked together

in the war."

He continued to stare at the screen. At Elias's picture and trying hard to push down the graphic flashbacks threatening to torment his mind.