Project Mentor by Anthony Carpiniello
My two sentence pitch line.
Austin McAllister really wants to believe he’s normal. He wrestles through odd obsessions, blackouts, and a propensity for violence daily. Yet the truth he denies is: he’s the most dangerous man in the world.
Half Page Synopsis
Austin McAllister really wants to believe he’s normal. He wrestles through odd obsessions, blackouts, and a propensity for violence daily. Yet the truth he hides from, his friend knows, the love of his life knows, and a secret organization within the government knows: he’s the most dangerous man in the world.
He finds an obscure computer coded message, and decoding it turns his life upside down. His girlfriend disappears, his home is raided, and he is accused of murder. He’s left to rely on the obscure and violent instincts he’d suppressed his whole life.
At the National Security Agency, deputy director Robert Contel discovers a sensitive file, Project Mentor, is missing. His search uncovers dead employees, a circle of power, and a scheme to control the entire government by psychologically manipulating one man: Austin McAllister.
Running for their lives, Robert and Austin unite discovering that Austin is the long lost guinea pig of Project Mentor, a covert government operation to create the perfect spy. Just when they believe the project has been long dead, they come to realize that Austin was just a prototype.
Author Bio
I’m currently working on another manuscript and several short stories for submission.
Part 1
The only normal people are the ones you don't know very well.
The year: 2024
Agent Green pulled the trigger on his blowgun. The dart blazed through the air and struck with force, tearing through the fibers of his target’s tactical vest, sinking into flesh. The man spun back and stumbled down the stairs. The flashlight attachment to his AK-47 skittered wildly across the stairwell, as if dancing in approval to the hysteria.
“Terrorist one down,” Agent Green spoke into his radio. He was a Federal Agent in the FBI’s Evasive Action Unit, part of the Counter Terrorism Division. He’d stormed the building from the roof and was responsible for ending a hostage situation within the building.
“Very good, Agent Green. One point for the blowgun,” the voice sounded through his earpiece. Green was his codename. Austin McAllister was his real name.
Austin glanced at his blowgun with the blowmatic attachment. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
“I would,” the man on the radio replied, “except I don’t believe in putting my life in the hands of a toy. You’re breaking a law, you know, Thou shalt use lethal force.”
“Come on, it’s quieter than a silencer and safe around hostages.” Austin started down the stairwell, approaching the downed man.
“Sounds great. Except, that’s not the reason you’re using it, is it?”
“I really don’t need you prodding my conscience.” Austin looked over the body and saw a leg strap holster loaded with a .45 ACP semi-automatic with two cartridges.
“Silly boy, I am your conscience. You just don’t know it yet.”
Austin ignored the rhetoric. “Our man here was carrying an AK-47, and a .45 ACP semi as back up.” Austin unhooked the retention strap on the holster.
“The AK is sloppy. Pick up the .45. Trust me, under fire you’re going want something more than blow darts.”
Austin pulled the .45 from the holster. He stared at the weapon’s sturdy large frame and focused on the trigger. “Okay…but I’m not using it.”
“The police negotiator made contact with the terrorist leader. They call themselves Blue Moon. Ever hear of ‘em?”
“Nope. But let’s hope that’s how often they’re successful.”
“Listen, Green, there’s something else I got to tell you. He told the negotiator he’s waiting for you.”
“Me, me?”
“He said, ‘tell Green I’m waiting for him. You think it’s personal?”
“It always is.” Austin continued searching the body.
“When you get the lowlife in your sights, don’t hesitate to pull the trigger. And for heaven’s sake use the .45. Don’t take a chance.”
“Anything else, Dad?”
“Yeah. Word from above is, there’s a hostage down there that’s real important. We’re under pressure to make sure she comes out okay.”
“Who is she?” Austin was curious.
“I don’t know.”
“Then how will I identify her?”
“She’s young, attractive, and from what I’m told all decked out in a red dress. In fact, that’s what we’ll call her, lady in red.”
“Lady in red, it is.” Austin noticed something hinged to the terrorist’s belt. He pulled up the man’s vest and revealed a small black box with a plastic lid and an unlabeled button. “I got something strange here. Looks like a remote. I’m guessing…an explosive.”
“If that’s a bomb switch this don’t sound like a one-man show. I’m pulling you out an--”
“Hold up.” Austin smiled. He liked knowing the odds were against him. It justified a means to an end. “Out of all the logical things you could do, the best would be an illogical one.” Austin stood up and headed for the stairwell exit.
“And your reasoning is?”
“You say this guy knows me, he’s obviously smart, and already knows we’re inside. He’s going to predict our next move. Our best defense, then, is doing the unpredictable. Make him start questioning his own logic. I believe you’d also call that a law, confusion is a weapon.”
“Then it’s your move, Partner,” the radio rattled.
“What’s the enemy’s position now?” Austin quietly set off down the dimly lit hall.
“Heat signatures are showing the group sitting on the eleventh floor. You’re currently on the east side of the building. They’re closer to the west in a conference room not far from an elevator shaft.”
“That’s all I need to know.” Austin took off. His moves were instinctual and brisk. He stormed down the hall, turned the last corner, and approached the metallic elevator doors on the west side of the building. He pressed the button to go down and waited, drumming his fingers on the .45 semi-automatic. Looking into his metallic reflection, he felt alienated from himself. He saw an animal with cold grey eyes. The door’s slight dent made his head appear deformed and sinister. The shy and awkward man he knew was missing. What he looked at was a soldier, a tool for destruction, a machine.
The door opened, retracting into the walls, revealing the inside of its empty cabin. The machine stepped in. While holding the doors open, he pressed the emergency bell button. The bell sound rippled through the elevator shaft, flowing like water into the halls and ears of everyone in the building.
# # #
Alamad, leader of the terrorist group, slung his submachine gun over his shoulder, and massaged his temples through his black ski mask. He started pacing the largeconference room, lost in thought. Before him a donut-shaped table with leather chairs dominated the room, but no one sat at the table. His hostages were bound and lying on the floor, their faces streaked with tears.
Alamad closed his eyes and immediately flicked them back open at the sound of a noise. He could hear the echo of a bell ringing in the corridor.
He spun around to face one of his minions. “What’s that noise?”
The man looked around. “Some kind of...alarm?”
Alamad wasn’t satisfied. “No, an alarm would be ringing throughout the building. That noise is coming from a specific location.”
The man nodded. “The elevator.”
“Why the elevator?” Alamad shrugged. “Perhaps it’s a message.”
“You think he got to--”
“I can’t spare another man,” Alamad huffed. “You two,” he barked, pointing toward the two remaining men. “Watch the room till I come back.”
“You’re going by yourself?” one man asked.
“No.” The game was twisting and bending out of shape. It was hard to discern what the infiltrators would choose to do next.
Alamad looked the hostages over. A woman huddled on the floor, her face pressed up against the wall, took his interest. All dressed in red, her pale face with dried tears stood out. Her fright had subsided, but was still evident on her face. She was brave enough to do what she was told, and scared enough to avoid trying anything else. He looked over to his men and pointed to the woman.
The two men escorted the woman toward Alamad. “You will do as we ask. I expect no trouble,” Alamad spoke gracefully.
“Is this what it comes down to? How many people have to die?” the woman asked, showing a sign of bravery.
“Are you looking for a number or a reason? An eye for an eye.”
“Which one of you killed my father? He didn’t kill anyone! He didn’t deserve to die!”
“What difference does it make? Your father was a part of the system. The system rules with power, control, and corruption. The system forms us, shapes us, and creates us. And at times that creation lashes back! It’s retribution, not revenge. Perhaps you fail to acknowledge it, but you and I are much alike. Sure, I’m a little more dramatic, but we are in this world and we both open our arms desiring for them to accept us. How much more of the system’s abuse shall I tolerate? No more! No longer will they use me as a pawn. One day you will understand that, but as for now you are just another slave to the system, and today you are my slave.” He waved to the others to take charge while he escorted the woman outside the room.
“But--” she spoke up.
“But nothing! Out!” Alamad yelled back.
She started to resist him, but he grabbed her arm firmly. “Don’t give me a reason to kill you!”
She started crying. “What do you want from me?”
“It’s simple. The elevator alarm is ringing down the hall. Go to it, press the call button, and see what is inside. Keep in mind you are being watched and will be shot the moment you move outside of those orders.” He kept his voice calm and soothing.
She looked down the hall toward the elevator.
“Go ahead, slowly. Remember you are being watched.”
She wiped her face of tears, and took a large breath. He was sure her breath was thick with tension. As she moved her steps became more fluid, and seemingly confident with distance.
She reached the elevator. It was slightly out of Alamad’s view. He shifted his viewpoint from one side of the hall keeping his back to the wall which allowed him to see both ends. “Good. Now press the button. Do it slowly. Remember my gun is still on you!” His smooth voice slipped into a yell. His control was loosening with every step of distance between them, and he needed to instill fear.
She pressed the button. The ringing stopped, and the last note spurred down the hall in a fierce echo. The door opened. Alamad tensed, trying to see past the woman. The elevator was empty, except for a small item on the floor. The woman turned back. “There is something on the floor,” she said in her frail voice.
“What is it?” he asked. He focused now solely on the woman. What was the item’s significance? What was Green doing? Green’s approach was maddening to figure out. He felt the presence of a trap, the subtle messages and lack of action stirred his bewilderment.
“It looks like a small black box with a button on it, like a car keychain with an unlock button.”
Alamad knew, for he too had one inside his belt pocket. What was the message? Did Green find the bomb, or was this another layer of fog to cloud my vision?
“What should I do?” the woman called out.
Alamad’s mind raced to catch up with his enemy. I can feel him near.
Ignoring the woman, he jumped for the conference room door. Vaulting into the room, he yelled, “Quickly!” He turned toward his startled men. “Go out there! I know he’s there in the shadows, I can feel him!”
# # #
Coming up the back end, Austin, the machine had his arm up, extending the blowgun. His right hand rested on the .45 semi-automatic. He slipped past the floor’s small entrance, and clung to the wall along the rows of thick-framed pictures of government facilities. The shadows shrouded him in darkness. He saw a woman at the end of the hall. Her dress was red; she was the one, lady in red. Then instantly the conference room door burst open and two men with submachine guns raised, poured out.
Without hesitation Austin pulled the trigger and let the blowmatic attachment spin releasing three darts. The first dart swung right into one man’s neck, the second pitched into the wall. The third punctured the handle of a knife strapped to the man’s left tricep muscle. The men let out a scream, turning their necks to locate their perpetrator. They caught a quick glimpse of the haunting machine dressed in black, running full speed in their direction. Struck in the neck, the first man collapsed. The other dove for cover, struggling to aim his gun. Austin fired a second round, piercing the man’s stomach and thigh. The two terrorists were out.
The lady in red at the end of the hall hesitated to run. She flashed Austin a nervous smile, relieved by his presence. “Be careful! He’s still in there!”
“Who?” Austin called out.
“The leader,” she replied.
Austin watched her face glistening with hope as she turned away and fled the scene. Pulling from the shadows, he fast approached the two men lying on the floor. The door they’d fallen in front of was his final destination. He dashed past two flag poles, one bearing an American flag, the other emblazoned with an eagle with a key in its clutches. He had only seconds to make his final motions.
Austin faced the final door. It was a dark wooden door labeled, 2B8020, Conference Room.Before he could touch the knob it swung open, revealing the last known terrorist standing in the doorway, submachine gun in hand. Realizing he’d lost his chance to reload the dart gun, Austin swiftly drew the .45.
“It ends here!” Austin hollered.
The man replied, “More than you’ll ever know.” And before he could react, Austin pulled the trigger on the .45. Mission accomplished.
As the bullet left the barrel, Austin’s eyes burst open. He was lying in his bed with his covers partially thrown to the side. He had woken from another dream, a dream where his lonely reality as an office worker didn’t exist.
