The Old One's Rise

New Castle Penitentiary alarms rang in the middle of the night. Alarms at Scotland Yard went off simultaneously. The prison was preparing to move its longest-held prisoner as it forever closed its' doors. Only the warden, the highest-ranking staff members, and the tactical team knew about the prisoner.

The warden stood in the control center, watching the monitors as the tactical team and two majors approached the cell. The prison had only one prisoner left. They were moving prisoner X using the night to cover their movements.

The ten-man tactical unit was nearing the door to the cell when one of the control center operators asked the warden, "Why are we using so many guys to move one person? This one's been in solitary forever."

Warden Williams smirked. The control room operator's statement was ironically accurate. Prisoner X was there when the warden started. After nearly 30 years, he was astounded that they were moving him out of the cell and not dropping the building with the prisoner inside the cell.

"Do you know how many times we've tried to execute prisoner X?" asked the warden.

"Tried?"

"Yes, tried. Two years before I started, they tried to use the electric chair. The system has used gas, lethal injection, and the electric chair six times. Then, when they moved the body, sure that prisoner X was finally dead, the killing would start."

"Jesus Christ," the operator exclaimed.

The warden put his hand on the young operator's shoulder, "Son, the lord has nothing to do with this one."

The operator turned back to the screen, watching the door to the cell as the tactical team prepared to make the entrance. The first four went in with their guns at the ready. The second four followed them in, presumably after the first four cleared the room and had a bead on the prisoner.

In the bowels of the prison, Major Stockley and Major Johnson stood by as the men went through the cell. Prisoner X was to be prepped and moved out under armed escort. If all went well, they would have the prisoner secured into an army transport and taken across the country by noon tomorrow. Major Stockley was on edge. After reading the unredacted files on prisoner X, he feared that moving the prisoner anywhere was an ill-conceived idea.

"Relax, Johnathon. Everything is under control."

"I'll feel better when the damned thing is out of here and someone else's responsibility," Major Stockley replied.

A sudden scream startled them both. Gunshots followed the screaming as flashes erupted into the hall. One of the men's heads rolled out of the cell, prompting the two majors to push the cell door closed. John Stockley remembered the last time prisoner X got loose. He wouldn't let it happen again.

Watching the action play out on the screen, the warden hurried to an emergency alarm and slammed his elbow into the glass. He pushed a large red button that would gas the cell where prisoner X was held. He might not be able to kill him, but he could contain him. While Major Stockley looked on in horror, as the gas filled the room and slowed prisoner Xs movements, the bodies on the floor meant they were too late. Prisoner X had killed the entire tactical team.

Hours later, and across the Atlantic, teenagers were rushing to get to classes on a small college campus in a sleepy little midwestern town. It was early fall, and the leaves were turning bright colors of orange, amber, and yellow. The campus was bustling with activity as coeds started their day.

In lecture halls and classes, professors began their morning lectures and hoped the kids were there. It was too early in the school year to know them all by name. As the final doors closed and the halls of learning empty, everything seemed normal. Outside, a black Suburban with U.S. Government plates rolled up in front of Thompson hall, parking in the fire lane.

A millennia ago, there was a different world than the one we know today, and many of the legends of today were the truths of yesterday. Jace opened his lecture with that statement. As he looked out into the crowd of kids that barely paid attention during his morning lecture, he grimaced, thinking about the future of society. College kids were almost as scary as some of the myths, legends, and folklore he spent his life studying.

Clicking the controller in his hand, Jace put up a list of legends that spanned the known world. The list included some of the greats of history. There were famous legends, like the Lochness Monster, Bigfoot, and the Chupacabra. Then came the legends and myths that were from the fringes of society.

"Until the 16th century, there were places in eastern Europe that feared and almost worshiped the fabled legend of the vampire. People in the same regions also believed in the myth of werewolves. Even today, stories from that part of the world end up in small publications. Most recently, one about a girl possessed by a demon."

As Jace pointed at the different names of legends, the sound of the doors to the lecture hall caught his attention. He imagined students walking out of the room. When he turned to face the class, he saw two men in cheap suits with sunglasses hanging off their jackets. They were walking down the center aisle toward the front.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked.

The older of the two showed him a badge. It was a non-descript badge with the United States seal and read 'federal agent.' They were believable as federal agents. Both of them had neatly trimmed, boring haircuts. Neither looked like they had a sense of humor. Both of them were armed, judging by the bulges under their jackets.

"Are you Professor Jace Stone?" the older agent asked.

"That depends," replied Jace. "Who are you?"

"Agents Burke and Fuller, we need you to come with us, Professor Stone."

He was in the middle of a class and still felt like he didn't have much of an option but to accompany the two agents. Outside the building, he tried to ask them why they were taking him away, and they had nothing to tell him other than they were under orders. Jace got into a non-descript black Suburban with the two agents. Inside, a third agent was waiting in the back seat. The agent held a picture up next to Jace, then nodded at the other two.

"Put this on," the third agent instructed as he held up a black hood.

Looking at the hood, he knew who the two agents that brought him out of his class represented. Jace shrugged his shoulders and put the hood over his head. Jace was here before and had hoped not to be doing this again.

"You boys wake me when we arrive," said Jace, putting his head against the seat cushion.

Thirty minutes later, the agent in the back seat tapped him on his shoulder. Jace left the hood on. It was their procedure not to let a custodial escort remove the hood until they were at the destination and stopped. Feeling the angle of descent, they headed into a below-ground parking structure.

Once the Suburban came to a complete stop, Jace removed the hood and let his eyes adjust. They were in a parking area for government vehicles. There were armed guards at the entrance to the offices and a security station with two armed guards. Jace looked around and smiled. He knew it, O.G.A.

The back door opened, and Jace stepped out. Agent Burke and Fuller escorted him to the elevator. They were heading to the top floor.

Once on the elevator, Jace asked again, "What's this about?"

"I'm sorry, sir. We don't have the clearance you do," explained Agent Burke.

"Right," he replied, leaning against the elevator.

When the elevator opened, the man standing and waiting was familiar to him. Looking at the face of George Ramos, Jace told Agent Burke to 'just shoot me.'

"Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?" asked the graying-haired man in the thousand-dollar suit.

"We're friends now," said Jace sarcastically.

Jace stepped off the elevator and walked toward an office with George Ramos. They'd known each other but in a different life. Back then, George was Lieutenant Colonel George Ramos. Now, he was a fat cat director of an off-the-books government operation.

Jace followed him through the bullpen and into a swanky corner office that stretched half the length of the building. George closed the door behind them before asking him to have a seat. As Jace took a seat on one of the comfortable leather chairs, he watched George fixing them each a drink. George still carried the good stuff.

George brought the drinks over with a file marked classified. He set the file down and took a sip of the brown liquor over ice. He waited for Jace.

"So, Jace Stone, huh?"

"Yeah," sighed Jace.

"Why the alias?" asked George.

"It was that thing in Bosnia. Afterward, I needed to disappear."

George opened a file. Looking at it, he nodded at Jace. The Bosnian incursion was an on-file nightmare. It was also a part of their past life. George told him how sorry he was about Bosnia.

"I wish I'd been there," he said.

"No, you don't."

"You're right. From the looks of it, the job was impossible. There was no way you could beat those odds. So, what happened?"

"It was a setup. Someone inside gave us up," Jace explained.

"I see that," sighed George, "and the score?"

"Settled."

"Then it's time Jackson Cross comes back to the world."

George threw a second file at his friend, telling him to 'open it.' Sitting there, he watched Jace's face as he read the file. George knew he had his attention. What he put in front of Jace was something he knew would be too attractive for him to turn down.

"Is this real?" asked Jace.

"As real as it gets, we think," answered George. "And the British don't have anywhere secure enough to transfer the prisoner. That's why they've asked for our help."

"Why me?'

George chuckled. He took another sip of his drink and smiled across at his old friend. George knew that Jace, or Jackson Cross as he was once known, had a gift. He tried once before to recruit Jackson Cross into his unit. Jackson needed a quieter life, which was what led him to disappear. George knew where he was all these years. He kept apprised of his former assets' movements.

"What's the cover?" he asked.

"There's no cover story. You'll be reinstated and put in as a specialist. It'll be your job to supervise the prisoner's security and interrogation," explained George. "And, if you agree, you can have access to the prisoner for study purposes. Of course, any papers will have to leave out the location of the interviews, the name of the facility, and his origins."

There would be advantages to taking the job. Jackson could see that much. If he took the job, he could have his old life back. He wouldn't have to hide in anonymity anymore.

"And the past," he said, looking for reassurance.

"Fully exonerated," said George, "As long as you get answers."

"Always a catch, isn't there?" asked Jackson. Jackson knew being exonerated was a good offer. Considering the things he was hiding from and the crimes he committed, this was his chance to be able to stop looking over his back.

"Alright, you bastard. I'm in," announced Jackson.

"Great, that's great to hear. With your participation, I feel there's a real chance to get answers that nobody else has been able. We'll fly you out tomorrow."

Unfortunately, due to the sensitive nature of the job, Jackson soon found out that he was on lockdown until then. The agency had a few overnight accommodations, and George was already sending someone to gather some clothes and personal items from his apartment. It was arrogant that George presumed Jackson would take the assignment. He was correct in his presumption.

Jackson spent the rest of the day in a small apartment setup in the building, with a guard at his door and catered meals. He had some studying to do on the subject and the detention center they were using. It was going to be a long night.

In the morning, Jackson awoke to a pounding on the apartment door. Groggily answering it, the soldier at the door advised him it was time to get ready to fly out. They had retrieved his clothes and personal effects from his apartment.

"Let me get dressed. I'll be right out," Jackson replied.

"Before you get dressed, I'm supposed to ask which one of these you'll be using."

The young Sargent held up two identification cards. One of them read Jace Stone. The other read Jackson Cross. For the first time in years, he was reading his real name, seeing it on a document with his picture.

"I guess I'm back," Jackson announced, taking a card from the officer.

On another side of the planet, a transport chopper landed at a black site. The transport carried one prisoner and sixteen special forces troops. The lead trooper stepped off to meet the rig boss. Standing there waiting for him was a man in a suit flanked by a dozen security staff.

"I'm Jeffries," he announced, introducing himself.

"Is this the prisoner?" asked the head of the rig, looking at a hooded figure in heavy chains.

"That's your new guest. Are you ready to take over?" asked Jeffries.

"Containment is on the bottom floor, a thousand feet down. When you are on the lift, you'll experience some pressurization, similar to descending in a submarine," explained the rig boss.

"Great," said Jeffries, making a circular motion with his hand in the air. "Let's get this thing into containment. We pumped enough Thorazine into the beast to kill an elephant. It's hard to tell how long that will last."