Project Apollo

Chapter 27

Theodore Roosevelt Island

11AM

Porter Nash jogged across the long footbridge stretching over the Potomac to connect to the eighty-eight and half acre expanse of Theodore Roosevelt Island. Maintained by the National Park Service, the island serves as another hidden in plain sight gem of DC and its surrounding areas. Its natural beauty provides a haven for Northern Virginian residents from the busy commotion of highway living.

The stormy clouds in the afternoon sky had begun to brew overhead. The breeze had picked up off the Potomac's current, as Porter proceeded down the footbridge further and further. Reaching the bridge's end, he stepped on the fresh dirt of the pathway, leading inland. The tree leaves had surrendered to the oranges and reds of autumn and speckled the trail like a painter's palette.

The journalist's pace slowed as he searched the trees of the thinning landscape for any sign of a contact. He had met contacts before but none under such cryptic circumstances. He had been working around the clock, hunting down the big story that could put him on a news desk. He knew he was on the brink of the biggest story of the year – he could smell it. He was Bob Woodward and he was meeting Deepthroat.

This contact has something on the four scientists and judging by how I was contacted it's got to be big. Stay sharp and bold.

He checked his surroundings over and over again, feeling the weight of the moment. His head then fell to his pacing feet as he questioned the meet all together.

Am I really doing this? What if this guy is a mass-murderer?

His eyes lifted to a large grove where a seventeen-foot statue stood of the 26th President of the United States for whom the island was named. Surveying the courtyard, only a few distant tourist families were scattered about.

Witnesses... in case this guy slits my throat.

Porter seated himself down on a stone bench next to the statue. With his knees touching, he huddled over himself, guarding his vulnerable self. A rustle in the trees sounded behind him, he spun to his back-side, fully alert. His eyes roamed the brush until they located the source of the noise – a squirrel.

Porter exhaled the tension building in his gut. As soon as he paused in a moment of relief, a hooded figure approached from one of the side trails, leading further inland.

The figure's hood hung low over his eyes. Judging by his chin – the informant was Caucasian but that was all he could tell. His hands were down in his pockets.

Porter froze as he watched the anonymous man approach closer. Paralyzed by fear, he waited for the hooded man to make the first move. He did so by sitting on the opposite side of the bench. Facing in the other direction, the meet was on.

Out of the corner of his eye, Porter could see the informant's mouth begin to move.

"I know that you have been investigating the four missing scientists for the last three months. But I have something for you that is much more pressing." The informant's words sent a chill through Porter's spine.

"Like what?"

"There is a terrorist attack underway right now in the city. The White House has been targeted and it is now in lockdown. They are fully aware that more targets in the city will be hit today, but they are covering it up. The organization I represent is not behind these attacks. We are always watching though. We have intercepted this Intel and believe that the public must be warned," the informant spoke like a concerned citizen.