Qatar

Mark Mardon didn’t enjoy prison.  He didn’t like the constant threats from fellow inmates.  He didn’t like forcing down the garbage that the guards called food.  And he definitely didn’t like the solitude of spending twenty hours a day in a cell alone with nothing to do but reminisce on past failures.  Yet, despite his distain of the slammer, Mardon tended to find himself returned behind bars when he thought he was done serving his time.

Mardon blamed the likes of the Flash and his Justice League buddies for his misfortunes, when in reality it was Mardon’s inability to hang up his Weather Wizard tights and Weather Rod.  He had had the opportunity several times to try something new with his life, but each time Mardon had opted to return to what was familiar.  He was an eccentric individual; one that a nine to five, forty hour a week desk job could never appease.  Mardon longed for the thrill of causing anarchy.

Mark Mardon hated prison but found he was unable to stay out of it.  It was a conundrum he didn’t know how to solve.

So when Amanda Waller had traveled to Iron Heights and offered Mardon the opportunity to get out of jail and raise hell, he had jumped at the chance.

Less than a day later, Mardon, in full Weather Wizard garb, found himself standing in the middle of Qatar, or Bum Fuck Egypt as Mardon had taken to calling it.  He stood on the rooftop of a building overlooking the marketplace in the capital city of Qatar.  The marketplace boasted dozens of tents, selling everything from food to small trinkets.  The area was filled with men, women, and children as far as the eye could see.  And located just down the road from the marketplace was the royal palace where the target currently resided.

The target was Adnan Al-Ansari, the self-proclaimed ruler of Qatar.  He was a man with a secret.  According to Waller, Al-Ansari was an experienced telepath who had been using his power tyrannically to ensure his control of the throne.  The man was no Martian Manhunter but he had enough skill to influence a few feeble minds. 

And now Adnan Al-Ansari had to die.  Mardon didn’t ask why the man had been targeted, nor did he truly care about the answer.  All that mattered was that he was not sitting in his cell at Iron Heights.

Mardon’s gaze fell upon the palace and he imagined he could see his associates working to accomplish their parts of the assassination plot.  The plan had been created and laid out by Deadshot, the unofficial leader of the new Suicide Squad, and its success relied on each team member and their distinctive skills and abilities.  Mardon’s task was simple: create a distraction.  Keep the public distracted and draw attention away from what was happening inside the palace.

There was a beep from the wrist watch that he wore, signaling the time was now 4 PM in Qatar.  It was time to begin.  If the assassination went according to plan, Al-Ansari would be dead in approximately thirty minutes.

Fingering his Weather Rod, Mardon raised it above his head and watched as the clouds began to swirl and darken.  His face broke out into a smile as the rain started coming down in sheets.  Lightning cracked and lit up the sky while thunder shook the ground.  The first of the numerous funnel clouds in the sky touched down.  Panic filled the streets and people went running in all directions, seeking asylum from the elements.

Weather Wizard’s laughter could just barely be heard above the booming thunder.

This was going to be one hell of a distraction.

XXX

Waller America's Personal Meta-Team...


:Division of Checkmate

“Suicidal”

Part 2 of 2
Task Force X #13 - December, Year Five by Matt Hrubey


XXX

Had he not known better, the sudden shift in weather would have frightened Werner Vertigo.  One minute, the sky was clear and the sun was beating down relentlessly on the city.  The next, dark storm clouds had covered the sun entirely and rain had begun hammering the marketplace.  Within seconds, Vertigo’s clothes were matted against his body, causing him to shiver despite the immense humidity of the area.

From there, a thunderstorm the likes of which Vertigo had never seen commenced, filling the air with dazzling displays of lightning.  The citizens of Qatar unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time were running for cover anywhere they could find it.

Vertigo took a deep breath, preparing himself for what came next.  He didn’t understand the need for his involvement in this operation, but the last thing he was going to do was argue with Waller or Lawton.  That would have ended with him either taking a bullet to the head or disappearing under “mysterious circumstances.”

People were running all around him, a variable stampede forming in the marketplace.  Now was as good a time as any.

Taking one more deep breath, Vertigo let loose with the power at his disposal.  Ordinarily, he fixated his Vertigo Effect on a single individual or a small group.  What Lawton had asked of him was something he had never tried before.  The disorienting effect of Vertigo’s ability started out localized, causing the men and women in his immediate vicinity to pitch over clumsily or hang onto a stationary object as their perceptions went haywire.

From there, the effect spread outward with Vertigo at the epicenter.  The Vertigo Effect spread from one end of the marketplace to the other, affecting every individual caught in the middle.  Screams of panic and fear filled the air, playing like music to Count Vertigo’s ears.

Werner smiled as his mission of creating mass hysteria quickly came to fruition.

Now, it was up to the others.
XXX

Chicago, Illinois

“I want an update, Preston,” the Director said over the phone.  “Has the situation been handled yet?”

Preston Varner, regional director of the Strong Arm of Humanity, made sure to mask the sound of his sigh from the receiver.  “No, sir.  The intrusion has not been responded to as of yet.”

“And why not?”

“Whoever is responsible is very good at what they do.  Forensics has gone over the area several times and found nothing to trace back to an assailant.”

“That is…unfortunate.”  Preston could tell the Director was angry, but the man would never come out and say so.

“Despite the setbacks, however,” Preston interjected, “we’re working around the clock, sir.”

“Preston, all the work in the world means nothing unless you have something to show for it at the end of the day.”

“Sir, I promise you that we’ll find out who—”

“How are things going on the next op?” the Director interjected, making it perfectly clear the previous topic was being dropped indefinitely.  “It’s been too long since I’ve seen movement out of your region.”

Preston took a deep, calming breath before speaking again.  “Tactical has been sidetracked since the department head was murdered in the raid.  They’re just now starting to get back on their feet with various operations.”

“Fix that.  Find a replacement.  Do whatever you have to.”  Preston could almost see the Director’s sneer through the phone.  “Oh, and Preston, don’t make me regret promoting you to regional director.  Find the party responsible for murdering our people and make them pay.”

With that, the call ended abruptly.

Varner slammed down the phone.  His cheeks were red with anger at the Director’s assertion of control.  The worst part was that Preston had to do as told.  There really was no other option than to obey.

There was a knock at the door and a head popped into Preston’s office.  “Sir, are you available?”

“Not now, Drew.”

“Sir,” Drew MacKenzie responded, not getting the subtle hint that Preston wanted to be left alone.  “I really think you’re going to want to see this.”
XXX

Qatar

Adnan Al-Ansari had been drifting off in his office when the events outside the palace took place.  He rose to his feet as the screams of his panicked people reached his ears.  Pushing aside the drapes that covered the large bay windows of the room, Al-Ansari gazed out upon the marketplace.  Lightning lit up the sky, temporarily blinding him as the flashes went off one on top of another.  In his native language, he muttered a prayer for protection.

The crowd below was in hysterics; running around as if they didn’t know which way was up and down.  Many were vomiting on the dirty ground of the city.  It was then that Al-Ansari realized whatever was happening was not taking place by chance.  His city was under attack once more.

Al-Ansari slammed the drapes closed, hoping to avoid any wayward eyes that would spot his location.  He sat back down in his chair, his mind running through potential plans to counter the attack.  He had labored for too long for his rule and his city to be demolished now.  Whoever was attacking had raised the ante with their tactics.  It was only fair that Al-Ansari did the same.

He closed his eyes and let his telepathy spread outward from the room.  He immediately regretted his decision.

The fear and alarm felt by the men and women in the marketplace broke through his self-taught psi-defenses, overwhelming his senses.  Al-Ansari fell from his chair, striking his head on the desk as he fell.  Between the throbbing in his head and the psychic screams from the crowd outside the palace, Al-Ansari couldn’t work up the concentration needed to reestablish the telepathic barriers in his mind.

He screamed.

Whoever had attacked the marketplace was coming for him.  He didn’t need to read minds to know that.  Adnan had been the focus of too many attacks to think this was a simple terrorist attack on Qatar.  He reached up, his hand grasping the edge of the desk.  With gritted teeth and fierce determination, Al-Ansari pulled himself up to his knees.

If he had any hope of protecting himself, he needed to push out the thoughts of those that called him leader.  More lightning crashed as Adnan screamed in pain once more.

“<Get out of my head!>”

And then it was silent in the office.  Adnan’s chest was heaving as he struggled to regain his bearings.  He rose to his feet, shaky at first.

Adnan slammed his fist down on his desk in frustration.  His nation was under attack by the very elements themselves.  Whoever was responsible had power on their side.  His citizens were already compromised.  Adnan would inevitably be the next target.

Just when Adnan thought the situation couldn’t get worse, an explosion ripped through the palace.  His office shook violently, throwing Al-Ansari back down the floor.  He crawled underneath his desk to protect himself from falling debris that never came. 

Adnan growled.  “<What now?>”
XXX

Bette San Souci looked about ready to orgasm as the explosion of her own creation ripped through the royal palace of Qatar.  She rubbed her palms up and down her body as a satisfied giggle escaped her lips.  A thick cloud of smoke went up from the targeted area of the palace where Bette had set the charges. 

Floyd Lawton, standing at her side, found himself staring at Plastique’s reaction rather than the explosion.  She was an attractive woman, hotter than most he had ever hooked up with, but they were in the middle of a mission.  There would be plenty of time for victory sex after Adnan Al-Ansari had a bullet in his head.

So far the mission was going according to plan.  Mardon was making the sky sing.  The thunderstorm was sufficient to throw the crowd of the marketplace into a panic.  Beyond the city, Lawton could spot tornadoes forming.  He smiled.  Mardon was just showing off now.  Vertigo was also in the marketplace below causing his own brand of mayhem.

If this didn’t distract Al-Ansari and his wandering mind, Lawton couldn’t figure out what would.

“I think now’s as good a time as any,” Deadshot said to Plastique.  He slapped her ass, eliciting an angry growl.  “You did good, Bette.  The rest is up to me now.”

He tried to move past Plastique but her hand on his shoulder stopped him.  He turned and found the woman right in his face.  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Plastique said.  “I’m going with you.”

Lawton shook his head.  “No, you’re not.  You’ll compromise the mission.”

“Bullshit,” she shot back.  “I was deemed talented enough to handle the Themyscira mission with you.  You’re not leaving me out of this.  I want to see the look on that Arab fuck’s face when you blow his brains out.”

Deadshot looked the woman up and down.  It would have been easy enough to put a bullet in her brain and end the argument.  Instead, he nudged her hand off his shoulder.  “Fine,” he said, “but if you get caught, I won’t hesitate to leave you behind.”

Plastique rolled her eyes.  “What a gentleman.”

“Fuck that,” Deadshot muttered.  He began to walk the path that would take him inside the palace.  “And fuck you too.”

Plastique giggled as she followed in his wake.  “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
XXX

Chicago, Illinois

“What is so important, Drew?” Preston asked upon exiting his office.

“We have a positive ID, sir.”

Preston’s face lit up like a youngster on Christmas morning.  “On the assailant?”

“No,” Drew replied and Preston frowned.  He pointed to a computer screen in front of which sat a middle-aged woman with a receding hairline and wrinkles from too many cigarettes.  “On the assailant’s accomplices.”

The computer showed a freeze frame of the rooftop across the street.  There were two men total, looking at the street below, toward the deli most likely.  One man was unidentifiable due to the light of a nearby street lamp reflecting off his body.  The other man, though partially obscured by his partner, was easy enough to identify by anyone who watched the news or read a newspaper.

He was Doctor Polaris, a villain with magnetic gifts that was usually seen running up against Superman.

“Where is the footage from?” Preston asked.  His face was so close to the computer screen, his nose almost touched the monitor.

“Security footage from the liquor store two doors down,” Drew answered.

“How did we get it?”

“That would be Elaine here, sir,” Drew replied, patting the older woman on the shoulder.  “She is an M.I.T. graduate and recent addition on our team.  She hacked the liquor store’s operating systems and accessed their security cameras.”

“I could kiss you,” Preston said as he studied the freeze frame.  Elaine blushed.  “Can we track down Doctor Polaris?”

“Already done, sir,” Elaine responded, bringing up another screen on the monitor.  It displayed a PDF copy of a document with a Blackgate Penitentiary heading.  “I managed to break through the firewalls surrounding Blackgate Penitentiary’s inmate files.  Doctor Polaris was last accounted for as serving time for one of his many cockamamie super-terrorist plots.”

“And now?”

Elaine shrugged.  “His sentence was suddenly and inexplicably dismissed and he was released from prison.”

Varner cocked an eyebrow.  “Really?  On whose authority?”

“A. Waller.  That’s all it says.”

“Did you run the name through a name recognition database?”

“Google actually,” Elaine said.  “The first hit was for a profile of Amanda Waller, current Director of Meta-Human Affairs for the President.”

Preston was pacing now, back and forth like a pendulum.  “That would make sense.  To get a hardened criminal like Doctor Polaris out of jail, you would have to have some clout.  Presidential authority would be perfect.  But then that would mean—”

“The White House is involved with the freeing of super-criminals,” Drew finished.

“This just got a lot more interesting,” Preston muttered.  He straightened up then.  “I need the two of you to track down Ms. Waller.  I have to call the Director immediately.”

Preston almost laughed as he moved back into his office.  This would show the Director he wasn’t incompetent.  The Director would eat the harsh words he had spouted only ten minutes prior.

The day was suddenly looking up.
XXX

Qatar

Adnan Al-Ansari was still suffering from a splitting headache when the door to his office was kicked from its hinges.  When Adnan looked up, he was staring down the barrel of a wrist-mounted gun.  The gun owner’s face was masked.

“Hello, your highness,” Plastique said from behind Deadshot.  She was giggling.  “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Who…are you?” Adnan asked in rough English.  He rose to his feet, the gun barrel following his forehead.

“We represent some people who want you dead,” Deadshot responded.  “We’re just here to deliver.”

“Congratulations,” Adnan responded.  He stood stock-still, afraid that the slightest movement would prompt Deadshot to fire his weapon.  “Not many…attempts on my life…get this far.”

Deadshot tapped his forehead.  “Don’t bother trying to read our minds,” he said, causing Adnan’s eyebrows to shoot up.  “We know all about your powers.  We came prepared.”

Adnan snared.  “Then kill me.  I’m def-defenseless.”

No more words were exchanged before Deadshot did as requested.  The bullet escaped the wrist pistol and streaked toward its final destination in Adnan’s forehead.  The bullet only got halfway through its journey before it halted to a stop.

Plastique’s jaw dropped.  Deadshot, though his mask hid facial expressions, sported a similar look of shock and surprise.  “What?” he asked.  “How did you—?”

“Maybe you not know…all about me,” Adnan replied with the smile of a Cheshire cat.

The bullet suddenly shot off across its path, this time in reverse.  Deadshot, taken by surprise, managed to move only an inch before the bullet drilled into his chest and sent him careening to the ground of Adnan’s office.

Plastique, never having seen Deadshot manhandled in such a manner, made no attempt to protect herself.  She felt her body gripped by invisible fingers and thrown backward.  She struck the wall next to the broken down doors.  Bette’s head whip lashed, cracking against the wall and leaving behind a few small specks of blood.  She collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Adnan smiled in satisfaction.  Telekinesis was a useful tool.

With a thought, Deadshot’s mask was ripped from his head.  As Deadshot began to stir, Adnan easily found the psi-dampener situated in the assassin’s ear.  Finding a similar device in Plastique’s ear, Adnan removed them and felt their minds open like a book before him.

Usually, Adnan simply murdered his opposition.  These two, however, had orchestrated quite a plot that had nearly ended in his death.  That kind of ambition and forethought could not be wasted.  Adnan was going to keep these two as toys.

Sparing a glance outside, Adnan could see the skies were starting to clear.

He had survived another day.

XXX

In Washington, D.C., Amanda Waller received a confidential phone call on her secured cell phone.  “What is it?” she asked.

“The mission failed,” Weather Wizard stated, getting straight to the point.  “He has Deadshot and Plastique.”

“Shit,” Waller replied.  She could already visualize the problems this compromised mission could cause.  “Stay put,” she told Mardon.  “Mission parameters have just changed.  This is now a search and rescue operation in addition to an assassination.  I’m sending you and C.V. help.  He’ll make contact with you.”

“And until then?” Weather Wizard asked.

“Try not dying or getting captured,” Waller suggested before hanging up.  She threw her cell phone across the room in frustration.

Of course, she had prepared for the possibility that the Suicide Squad would fail, but under Deadshot’s supervision, she had not expected it.  It was time to initiate Plan B.

If only Doctor Polaris would go for it.

XXX


NEXT ISSUE:  Fire arrives at the Citadel just in time to witness the catfight of all catfights: Black Canary versus Cheshire!  Plus, the Strong Arm of Humanity targets Amanda and Doctor Polaris as Waller approaches Emerson to save the Suicide Squad and its mission in Qatar.

Story © 2009 Matt Hrubey and may not be reproduced without permission.