I crash through the door of Central Briefing, zipping my black combat fatigues up my chest.
"Ops Officer, I want a long range hovercraft prepped in the central hanger and ready to fly in exactly 30 minutes. Give me a full tactical load of weapons and ammo aboard. Enough food, water, and fuel for a four day extended operation. I also need a level 3 trauma kit as well; I don't know what kind of injuries I'll be facing when I hit the ground."
"Any preference on the pilot, Sir?" He asks.
"Roger that: me. I'm flying alone."
"Understood," he says running out toward the hanger bays.
I turn my attention toward my partner: the analyst who always accompanies me in my briefings, the one person in this room who always seemed to care. Somehow, when I felt I needed someone I could trust, her face popped into my head. I sent her a holofile of the silver album on the car ride over here.
"Alright, Amelia, tell me what you could find out." She freezes for a second as if she's amazed that I know her first name. "C'mon, Amelia, talk to me. We're burning time."
"Of course, Sir, she says coming to her senses. She enters a few keystrokes on the control panel, spinning the holographic globe to the Pacific Ocean. A flashing red dot indicates a location in open water over two thousand miles west of the coast of District 1. Amelia begins her brief, "The coordinates in the note to you are indicated above."
"What's the nearest land mass?"
"The Hawaiian Atoll."
"Well, they're not there," I say. Amelia nods in agreement. The island chain known as "Hawaii" was once considered a prime tourist getaway for the Capitol Elite before the Dark Days. Unfortunately, during the construction of the arena for the second Hunger Games, a botched attempt by a Gamemaker Construction team to make the ancient volcano, Kilauea, erupt on command created a chain reaction that buried the entire island chain under three feet of molten lava. The air turned to a toxic mixture of sulfur and carbon dioxide that would kill a person in minutes. The Capitol wanted to prevent word of the embarrassing gaff to spread back to mainland Panem, so they installed a naval and air blockade while the fires raged. The entire remaining population of the islands, over 300,000 people, perished.
"What's the nearest habitable land mass?" I continue.
"Midway Atoll," but there are thousands of tiny uninhabited islands spread over an area of ocean that could swallow Panem whole ten times over. They could be anywhere."
"Great."
"I completed a further analysis of the photos in the album. The flora does indicate that the location is somewhere in the Central Pacific Basin: climate consistent with tropical rainforest growing on top of volcanic basalt."
"What else. Give me something I can use."
"I did find something interesting in the photographs of the victims themselves." She punches the control again bringing up the fifteen photographs together. "Look at their left wrists." Amelia's right. I can't believe I missed it. Attached to every single one of the fifteen's arms is a black metal "tracelet," standard issue for prisoners detained in the UDP so that their movements can be tracked in the event of escape. "What I don't understand is how every single one of them could have escaped from captivity…" Amelia thinks out loud.
"They didn't escape," I interrupt as it all becomes clear to me. "The island is a damn game preserve."
"What?"
"This whole thing: It's a canned hunt."
"Sir, what's a canned hunt?" Amelia asks inquisitively.
"Back when the Capitol elite were in control, it was a fashionable way to relax by going on safari and bag rare and exotic animals, not for food but just for sport. However, most were too lazy to actually track an animal the old fashioned way over large distances so they started what was called "canned hunting." The animals would be raised in captivity and then released into a large, fenced-in area with a tracking device. That meant that all the hunter had to do was follow an arrow on a receiver until the animal was cornered and just finish the job however they saw fit. Those photos aren't some kind of warning to me, they're trophies."
"Oh my God," Amelia says covering her mouth with her hands.
"This isn't just revenge. Don't you see, the sixteen are the most rare and dangerous game of them all: the last remaining descendants of the Maneaters of Panem. But we were all raised in captivity so we're safe." I jump up from the table. "I've got to get to that hovercraft."
"The hell you do!" a voice booms from behind me. President Holmes and General Sturm have joined us. "The last time I checked, the only person who can authorize an overseas military operation according to the UDP Constitution is the President and that happens to be me."
"How much did you hear?" I ask her.
"Enough to listen to your outlandish theory and think that the pressure has finally caused one of my top officers to completely lose his mind!"
"Do you have a better theory, Madam President?" I reply not backing down.
"Regardless, I seem to remember ordering you to stand down from this case and let us take care of it."
"I think that the circumstances have changed on that front!" I yell back at her.
"Sit down, Colonel!" she commands as she and the general move to the table.
"Captain Flagg," President Holmes asks Amelia. "Does your analysis lend any credence to Colonel Snow's theory?"
"With all due respect, Ma'am," Amelia replies, "I've analyzed all the facts and Colonel Snow's theory is the only one that makes any sense to me right now."
"What about Special Defense? Have you shared any of this information with Mr. Ohm?"
"No, Ma'am. He is currently in District 2 overseeing a refit of his munitions factory."
"Forget that creepy troll!" I burst out. "He's nothing but a crackpot who's only made things worse from the start!"
"That's enough from you, Snow! Mr. Ohm has always provided me with the most consistent, impartial guidance of anyone in the country and is a national treasure that you have always seemed to undervalue. I could have you sedated and thrown in a holding cell right now for violating my orders. The only reason I haven't had you carried out of Central Briefing yet is the respect I have for your years of service. Captain Flagg, send your reports to Mr. Ohm immediately for his review. In the mean time, General Sturm, assemble a strike team of our best operators. We'll go to those coordinates and take care of this threat once and for all."
"That message said explicitly that I was to go alone and they can tell if I'm being tracked! If you do that, you're sentencing Lizzy to death! Our best operatives weren't able to protect her here. What makes you think they'll be able to when they're playing on the enemy's terms?"
"That's enough from you, Snow. Security, get him out of here and into a holding cell…"
"Madam President, wait…" Sturm says in the calmest voice I have ever heard him use. "Let him go."
"What?" President Holmes and I exclaim simultaneously in astonished voices.
"You told us that the reason that Colonel Snow required the security detail in the first place was that he was so valuable to this country. What value does he have to us if he's trapped in a prison cell? If anything, it just makes him an easier target for an enemy that has proven to be better than us at every single turn. He's right. Any transmission from this building or attempt to send a tactical strike team would no doubt be discovered and Mrs. Snow would probably be dead before they even took flight.
I didn't speak up when his sister disappeared because I was worried that my personal feelings were clouding my judgment just like his were, but now it's clear that personal feelings are what it's going to take to bring these bastards down. Every moment we waste pretending that's not the case is another one closer to defeat."
At that moment, General Sturm was reborn in my eyes. He was no longer a bitter relic, but a wise leader. Holmes is speechless. After a few moments considering this massive turn of events, she finally speaks.
"Just tell me one thing, Ares Snow. If I send you across the planet, by yourself, into a completely unknown environment fraught with the worst possible dangers that have already taken fifteen other lives and are about to take a sixteenth, can you possibly succeed?
"Madame President, It's what I was born for."
"Very well," she says standing up from the table. "Be at the Central Hangar in one hour. Everything you requested will be waiting for you then." All I can do to acknowledge her act is give a simple, but firm nod of appreciation. She walks toward the doors and General Sturm follows. As he passes me, his hand finds my shoulder and gives a supportive squeeze. Suddenly, I blurt out:
"Why are doing this? I thought you hated me, Sir." He leans over and whispers so that only I can hear.
"It's not for you. It's so that Lucia can finally rest in peace." He follows the president out. Then, it's just me and analyst Amelia.
"I just realized something," I say to her. "In all the time we've been working together, I don't think I've ever really thanked you. I think you might be the most decent person in this crazy place." Captain Amelia Flagg smiles back and walks over to me.
"Just be sure you come back to us, Sir." She leans over and gives me a quick peck on my cheek.
From Central Briefing, I walk straight to the armory. Very shortly, blood will flow: either mine or theirs. Meticulously, I strap on my equipment: armor, pistols, grenades, knives, extra magazines. Finally, when the time comes, I walk into the hangar carrying my helmet in one hand and my rifle in the other. I was expecting some kind of huge crowd to be waiting at the hovercraft. Instead, there is only one.
"Come to say goodbye, Madam President?" I ask flippantly.
"You always were a pain, Ares, but you were always sincere and I respect that."
"Well, Driva (I can tell the use of her first name perturbs her a bit), I always loved that same quality in you."
"Do you really think you'll be able to use all that stuff?" she asks pointing to my equipment.
"Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it."
"You're not worried about the kind of impression that will give to them?"
"The impression I give them will be the least of my worries. I have no intention of negotiating. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm expected elsewhere." I push past her and up the ramp of the hovercraft.
"Colonel Snow," she yells. I turn around as she throws an object into my arms. As soon as I catch it, I know exactly what it is: one of Ohm's cubes.
"Did he give you this to plant on me?"
"Yes, after Venus disappeared he said that I should emplace it as insurance against your loss."
"Then why didn't you? That would be the logical course of action."
"Because it seemed like something that you wouldn't want me to do."
"That's never stopped you before."
"Maybe there's hope for us both, Snow," is her only reply. I laugh as I throw the cube back down to her.
"Well, you were correct. If you haven't heard from me in three days, well….thank you for everything you have done for me, Ma'am." I turn again for the hovercraft.
"Snow!" Holmes shouts. I turn back. "May the odds be ever…" I sharply raise my hand.
"That's quite unnecessary, Ma'am."
"Well, how about this then? Good Luck, Ares."
"And to you." I turn back for the last time and head for the cockpit. As President Holmes watches, I raise the ramp, power up the engines, and fly out towards the setting western sun.