Sigma Division

Chapter 5

The University of Virginia campus was generally considered to be one of the most attractive in the world, especially in the fall, but Gilmer Hall was kind of lackluster. Having been built in the 1960s, it was a nondescript brick structure that had been meant not to be an architectural marvel but rather intended as a serviceable research facility for the Biology and Psychology departments.

Harland Fry had his office on the second floor. As a young associate professor of 32, he was considered lucky to even have an office. Hell, he was lucky just to be a professor. College employment was more convoluted than politics in the middle ages. At the moment, he wished he had gone into the private sector instead.

He was bent over an opened drawer with his hands deep inside. He was in a hurry as he fiddled with the thing and his face was covered with sweat. He should have been done ten minutes ago. No amount of deep breathing was helping.

Without warning, the door opened and a grad student entered. “Professor, I got your mail.”

Fry just had time to push the drawer halfway in to conceal what he was doing. The girl had a bunch of documents in her arms and she dropped a stack of letters on the desk. She didn’t notice the copy of the New York Express-Ledger which was flipped to page 36.

“Uh, thanks. Thanks. I… Could,… could you hold my calls this afternoon? I’m gonna be busy, very busy.”

She creased her brow, not exactly getting it. “Sure.”

She was acting as a secretary basically for class credits and after two years she still couldn’t presume to understand the inner workings of the faculty. Professor Fry had always been kind of normal though. Now he was just plain weird. She shot him one last probing look and walked out, closing the door behind her.

The moment she was out, the guy reopened the drawer and made some final adjustments. He was sweating more than ever and ran a hand through his unkempt blond hair. He was pleasantly surprised at his handiwork.

He never thought that he would ever feel pride about a string of dynamite.

Frustration was still coursing through Spicer’s body even though he was back in the plushy leather seat of the Gulfstream jet. They were flying back to Washington, this time without the three-star general and his entourage.

He was starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake by taking this job. He had been working alone for so long that having to depend on others would take some getting used to. Maybe it wasn’t too late to go back to his former position? Come to think of it, maybe he could simply retire now and turn his back to this life forever.

The attractive Air Force Sergeant came down the aisle and stopped next to him.

“Sir, we’ve just received an urgent message for you. You have to call Dr. Michaels.” Spicer reached for his phone but she puts his hand on his, stopping him cold. “I’m sorry, I can’t allow you to use this. If you want, you can use the in-flight system up front. Or you can wait, we’ll be landing in just a few moments.”

“I’ll take it now if it’s all the same.”

She nodded and he was quickly out of his seat. The lady got him a phone from the galley and even though she urged him to strap himself in, he remained standing to make the call.

“Michaels?” he said once the man answered.

“Spicer, we have a goddamn problem.”

“What is it?”

In his office, Dr. Michaels turned to his television which displayed news coverage from the University of Virginia. Cops were running around, students were scampering away, SWAT teams were aiming at a brick building.

“It’s a clusterfuck,” he said before explaining the situation in more detail.

With his marching orders, Spicer hung up and pulled out a map book which was in a magazine compartment next to him. He flipped to the right page and rapidly located the University of Virginia. He snapped his fingers to get the flight attendant’s attention.

“Sarge, we need to divert this plane.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Forget Andrews, I need to go to Charlottesville. They have an airport.” He looked at the map again. “Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport. We need to get there now.”

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re already in final approach. We’re landing.”

“Let me talk to the pilot.”

Talking to the captain proved to be futile. The Navy Chief of Staff was already scheduled to use this aircraft in a few hours and they wouldn’t budge. Spicer walked back to his partner who by now was overtaken by curiosity.

“What’s going on?”

“Can you fly a chopper?” Spicer asked, recalling how he’d been told they could commandeer military aircraft.

Ned shrugged. “I’m qualified. It’s no Hornet but if it got an engine I can fly it.”

“Goody.”

Then he explained to him what was going on.

The UH-1N had been loaned by the 1st Helicopter Squadron. Spicer was curious to see what Ned could do behind the controls but the squadron was eager to provide a crew. Quick deployment to transport VIPs was their primary mission after all. They even kept the aircraft cocked, some switches fully set ahead of time to be able to leave at a moment’s notice.

It took an hour for the white and blue Huey to reach Charlottesville. They swooped over the campus but avoided Gilmer Hall where the situation was unfolding. Buses were parked outside the perimeter to evacuate students. It was incredible how dense the campus was. There were dozens of buildings, narrow streets, and vast wooded areas. They had to land in a park several blocks away.

Ned handled getting themselves accredited so they could walk into the police perimeter. It was chaos. There was a homogeneous blend of campus police, local police, and state troopers. Within moments they were directed to the man who was in charge. Wearing civilian clothes, he was standing behind a Virginia State Police command bus.

“You’re Captain Darrow?”

“That’s right,” the man replied, visibly annoyed by the visitors.

Spicer handed him a business card.

“We’re from The Anchises Foundation. We’re funding some damn important research going on in there and we’d like to know what the hell’s going on.”

The Anchises Foundation was a genuine Sigma Division front which made their operations smoother.

Darrow was the dubious at first but he obviously figured that anyone who could go this far into the perimeter had to be important. He handed the older visitor his binoculars. Spicer peeked through them.

“Second floor, on the left,” the grizzled, balding cop said.

Spicer found the window where Harland Fry was. The man was pacing, talking to himself. Totally hysterical.

“Associate professor Harland Fry, 32 years old. He’s been working there for the last five years. So far we’ve made out 21 sticks of dynamite strapped to his chest. Says he’s thinking about blowing up the whole Psych department.”

Spicer lowered the binoculars and turned to the cop. “Has he made any demands so far?”

“Nothing but incoherent babble.”

A young trooper in uniform approached them. “Sir, he’s opened the window again.”

Darrow stole his binoculars back and looked at what was going on. Even from his spot and with a naked eye, Spicer could see the suspect had his head out of the window.

Scott Stadium offered the best vantage point for the sniper team. The Chemistry building was closer but the angle was wrong. This said, the sniper had seen much worse in Afghanistan, having spent most of his career as part of Marine Force Recon going up against the Taliban. He’d had much more difficult target and way longer ranges.

However, that was the first time his target had 20 pounds of dynamite strapped to his chest in the town where his wife and daughter lived.

He had the subject in the crosshairs of his Leupold VX-R scope and he worked on controlling his breathing. Unlike in the military, he didn’t have the benefit of a spotter to guide him.

“I got a clear shot at the suspect,” he said into his microphone.

All he needed was a green light.