"Troy, you fool!" Charlie shouted at him while keeping pressure on my wound. My head was spinning. I could feel myself being dragged unconscious, and it became harder and harder to stay awake as I lost blood. People screamed and ran in all directions, and I heard more gunshots. Forcing myself to lift my head, I saw Troy run off past the South Tower entrance, blood pouring from a serious, but unlikely painful gunshot wound on his leg. The officer who had gotten the lucky shot ran over to us.
"I'm calling an ambulance. Keep pressure on the wound!" he told my farther. He ran back to his NYPD cruiser and spoke into the radio:
"I got a civilian down at World Trade Center plaza. Gunman's wounded and running!" He ran back to the scene and address the crowd, "Alright people, I need everyone to clear the area right now. Please clear the area!"
The crowd dispersed, but not before one man gave the officer his overcoat to cover my wound.
"Thank you," I rasped.
"Don't mention it," the stranger said before leaving. The cop lifted me up to place part of the coat under me, and then cover my front side. The blood flow stopped, and I felt a bit less dizzy as long as I stayed still.
"Are you alright?" the cop asked, kneeling down next to Charlie.
"I'll be alright," I replied groggily.
"Do you know who that man was?" the officer asked me.
"A friend of ours," Charlie lied quickly, "He's been a bit paranoid lately. Wouldn't let us take him to a doctor. I never thought he'd do something like this."
"Yeah, these kinds of people can be hard to spot," the cop replied, "Ah well. He won't get far. Officers probably got him before he left the area. Security got increased after '93."
An ambulance arrived, and paramedics ran towards us. I was placed on a stretcher and taken to a nearby hospital. I was knocked out with drugs before I got prepped for surgery, and when I woke up, I felt light-headed.
The first thing I noticed was that I wasn't in the hospital. Instead, I was in the same room I occupied after leaving L.A. Jones was once again standing over me., accompanied by Charlie and the rest of my team.
"How you feeling?" Jones asked me.
"Like shit," I groaned. Jones gave me a sad smile.
"You'll live. Troy was always a awful shot."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
"THe NYPD got him pretty quickly. They interrogated him, and..." Charlie trailed off.
"What is it?" I asked, but I could guess the answer.
"Troy spilled the beans on us," Ethan informed me finally, "Everything. The Assassins, Templars. And he had proof to show it."
"Fuck," I couldn't help but say, sounding like an angry old man.
"It could have been a lot worse," Dave added quickly, "The NYPD got in touch with us. They were going to send SWAT teams after us, but we convinced them to hold off until we explained things."
"They agreed to listen to us, and they don't take us for a threat. Washington's in chaos. The government's trying to sort it all out," Jones explained, "Even President Clinton is involved.
"What about the public?"
"They know nothing," Charlie reassured me, "The NYPD's kept it all quiet. We dodged a fatal bullet, that's for sure."
I was up on my feet in days. Jones and Miles flew off to Washington to meet the President. Someone had leaked information to the public. Not the whole truth, but enough to cause speculation. It all got linked back to the shooting at the World Trade Center. The media searched for me, but never came close to finding me. Jones and William flew back here from D.C, both looking relieved and a bit excited.
"He's coming!" Jones told me.
"Who?"
"The President!" Miles exclaimed, "Oh God. This is huge! We've got the support of the U.S Government!" He leaped around in victory, apparently forgetting that he was a fully grown adult.
"He'll be visiting you briefly when he arrives," Jones added, calming down, "He seems very supportive of our cause. Not surprising really. God, we just hit gold!"
Everyone had butterflies in preparation for Clinton's visit. The base was tidied up, and and security was added. Jones, William and I were to meet the President when he arrived at a private helicopter pad that the Assassins owned. We'd go by car to the base, where Clinton would take a tour and discuss our next move. I was nervous too. The closest I'd ever gotten to the President during a trip to D.C back in the 80's, and even then I got a feeling of being this close to the leader of my country.
On the day of Clinton's visit, the Assassin convoy waited at the helipad as the unmarked chopper landed. A single man in a suit stepped out and opened the side door. Out he stepped, his hair graying, and wearing a blue suit a tie.
"Mr President," Jones stepped forward and outstretched his hand.
"God seeing you again," Clinton replied, grasping it. William Miles stepped forward next.
"A great honor having you here, Mr President," he said, shaking hands with Clinton. I was next in line.
"A pleasure to meet you, sir," I said nervously, also shaking hands. Clinton smiled.
"Thank you. I'm deeply honored to meet you all," he told me.
"Well, Mr President," Jones said, "Shall we be on our way?"
We made our way down, accompanied by the President's guard, and stepped into the unmarked Limo waiting for us. The four guards sat in the two SUV's at the front or back of the car.
"It's very historic having you meet us, sir," Jones told Clinton, "You are the first American president to know of our cause."
"And it's a cause I intend to support," the President answered, "I take the freedom of everyone, not just those of this country seriously, as any good leader would. I hope I'll be able to see the day that we win this fight together."
We arrived at the building leading to the underground base. William knocked on the door, and said "William Miles, accompanied by the President of the United States."
The door opened. A guard inside said "The President has arrived," into a two-way radio. The staircase at the back of the building lead down to the HQ, and we descended the lit stairs and went through into the base.
The main control room was a huge room. The staircase led to a walkway that surrounded the room. Down below, A huge screen was mounted to one wall, and workstations sat in rows below.
"This our our main war room, sir," William said, "This is where the entire brotherhood is run. Any order from an Assassin leader is followed here."
"Impressive," Clinton said with genuine awe, "Clearly, you are a powerful force."
"Not as powerful as we once were," Jones said as we walked, "The Assassins have lost more and more ground since the Colonial era. And each day, we lose more and more good men and women." I heard the bitterness in his voice, and thought back to the L.A massacre.
"Perhaps we will be able to change that," Clinton replied hopefully. We reached the double doors opposite the screen.
"The complex is connected by a maze of hallways and corridors," Jones explained as they toured the base, "The complex includes a training area for recruits almost as big as the main base, a dining room for recruits and Assassins, a hospital, dorm rooms and bunkers in the event of an attack."
"Incredible," Clinton mused as they continued, "I've never seen a base like this."
"It's taken us many years to build this place," William informed the President, "Construction first began in 1945, and the technology and equipment has been updated since completion."
"Are their other bases such as this?"
"Yes. We have a complex in several countries including Australia, Japan, Germany, Russia, England, Canada and Italy. We also had a base in every U.S State until the California HQ was destroyed by Abstergo."
We toured the base and functions. Clinton was impressed by the size of our "operation" and said he looked forward to assisting our cause. We continued the meeting in a conference room near William's office.
"So, Mr President," he said, taking a seat, "Do you approve of our operation?"
"Very much," Clinton replied.
"Then is there anything else you would like to know?" Jones inquired.
"There are a few things," the President admitted, "How exactly does Abstergo plan to rise to power?"
Jones and William exchanged a look, at me.
"Should I leave?" I said, sighing.
"No, it's fine," William brushed off my concern, then addressed the President, "It's something only senior and leader Assassins are made aware of. The Templars have plans to use scraps of technology from a forerunner race used to control early humans as slaves."
The president's eyebrows shot up. "I see. And how do you know they exist?"
"We have one," William told him. Standing up, he walked over to a cabinet and withdrew a small box, which he set back down on the table. Using a key, he unlocked the box and lifted the lid.
A golden light filled the room, and everyone shielded their eyes from it. When everyone's eyes had adjusted, I looked into the box.
Inside was a small sphere slightly larger than a cricket ball, perhaps made of metal with strange markings carved into it. It seemed to vibrate slightly in it's box, as if it was alive.
William shut the box after the President had had a good look, and the glow disappeared.
"Are you convinced, Mr President?" he asked. Clinton looked at him, and stood up to his level.
"Mr Miles," he said, outstretching his hand, "You have my full support of your cause."