Milwaukee Deep

Harry Bell walked up to the dais in the White House Press Room and cleared his throat. The press gallery that had sat waiting for President Stoker to arrive were not waiting any longer.

“What’s happened at the wreckage site – have they uncovered the body of the pilot?” one reporter called out.

“Why won’t anyone tell us the name of the airline involved in this disaster?” called out another.

“Where’s the President, Harry – why send his aide?”

Harry Bell stared at the woman who had asked the last question.

“The President has been detained,” he replied with icy civility, “He has asked me personally to come here and answer any questions you may have.”

“So will you tell us what airline was involved in the hijacking?”

“At this moment we have not completed our investigation. Until such time as we do, we will not be releasing that information.”

“What are you hiding, Mr Bell?”

Bell took a deep breath.

“I am not, nor is this administration, hiding anything. At this stage we will not be releasing any information until our investigation is complete,” he stated calmly.

Another reporter stood up.

“Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?”

“There has been an indication as to who is responsible, but as yet we will not be releasing that information until we can confirm.”

“Has the weapon been analysed to gain an understanding as to why it did not detonate?” asked a male reporter in the front row.

“No, not as yet. Our first and foremost concern was to remove the trigger from the weapon to ensure that detonation would not occur at a later date. We have done that and the FBI is now examining the weapon.”

“Is America under attack, Mr Bell?”

Bell looked directly at the middle aged man in the front row.

“No,” he said sternly.

“What about the four dead left in the building – will their names be released soon?” asked another reporter in the middle section of the gallery

“After we identify them and notify their next of kin,” replied Bell.

“Do we have an estimate on how many have passengers were on board the plane before it crashed?” second row, third from the left.

“Until we recover the wreckage and have a better understanding of what actually happened, I cannot comment on the number of deaths.”

“Two questions, Harry - will the President address the nation, and if yes, will he declare a state of emergency?”

Bell took a moment to answer the question.

“I’ll say this, Rachel, the President will address the nation, but only when he has enough information to make a decision on what our response will be. At the moment, however, given that we do not have all the necessary data, we are going to have to be patient. All I will say, however, is this – once the President does address the nation, our response will be swift and it will be precise. Now if will excuse me – further statements will be issued at a later time.”

“But what about the families that are yet to know about their loved ones!”

“When will the President address the nation?!”

Bell stepped away from the dais and exited the room.

Sam entered the front office of the CIA research facility in New Jersey. His supervisor, Anthony Perks lounged in a leather armchair smoking a cigarette.

“How’s our boy doing?” Perks asked Sam as he made his way inside.

“As could be expected - he’s depressed, lost and now he’s stuck in a small glass chamber being examined by robotic physicians.”

“And you left him there alone?”

“I’m not that heartless,” Sam replied, “They’ve sedated him – he’s sleeping now.”

“And Jensen?”

“Working - I think he’s looking into Michael’s blood.”

“Good,” Perks said, “Well if you’re not too busy, join me. Do you want a drink?”

“What have we got?”

“Well, surprisingly, the CIA has a wide selection in the cabinet to the left of you – I’ve poured myself some twenty one year old scotch.”

Sam made his way over to the cabinet and opened the door. He rummaged through the many liquor bottles and found Perks’ scotch and poured himself a glass. He walked over to the armchair opposite his supervisor and fell into it.

“Tough day, huh?” remarked Perks

“Tough week,” Sam replied, “And it’s more than likely only going to get worse.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Because the people who have been trying to kill Michael are now literally in the room next to him.”

“So you still don’t trust Harding, do you?”

Sam took a sip of his drink.

“No I don’t. Both Harding and this Doctor Stevens are not doing this for the same reasons we are.”

“Then we’ve got to watch them closely,” replied Perks

Sam gulped down the rest of his drink and stood up.

“Want another?” he asked.

“That was quick.”

“I told you, it’s been a tough week,” and he walked over to the cabinet.

Perks reached forward and butted out his cigarette.

“Sam,” he said as he sipped his drink, “what do you make of this story they’re feeding us about Michael and Ganton - that somehow they both escaped from a ship that sits on the bottom of the deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean?”

Sam poured his drink and walked back to his seat.

“What do I make of it? I think it’s a load of bullshit if you ask me.”

Perks nodded his head.

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“They’re hiding something, Anthony, I’m sure of it - it’s in their nature. The only person who we can trust in telling us what really happened is Michael.”

“And they want him dead,” Perks added.

“Exactly.”

“Well, we need to talk to Michael, Sam, we need to find out how he got out, and we need to do that now before they try to silence him, because for the life of me I can’t see how it’s possible to even survive at that depth, let alone swim up from it.”

“You know we’ve already used hypnosis on him - I can’t see why we can’t do it again.”

“Did it work?”

“Well it helped us uncover his secret in his first session.”

“Can you arrange for it again?” asked Perks

“Definitely,” replied Sam.

“Good, make the call.”