The Milestone Protocol

by Ernest Dempsey

“Snub suppressors?”

  “Yes, in case we have to discharge our pistols in the house. We don’t want to go deaf. The family, either.”

  June acknowledged the information by reaching into her black trench coat and pulling out a 9mm with a small black box attached at the end. After showing Emily the pistol, she stuffed it back in the holster.

  “Good. So, we go to the back door first, take out those two, and then circle around front.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” June joked.

  Emily twisted her head and winked. Her playful side was something that very few people ever got the chance to see. With agents’ lives in her hands nearly every day and untold numbers of civilians depending on those agents’ success, the amount of stress Emily endured must have been overwhelming. She never complained, though, and carried her burden like a consummate professional.

  “Come on, June,” Emily said. “What’s the fun if it’s too easy?”

  June snorted a laugh as the director started down the sloped street toward the Ellerby house. June caught up and strolled next to Emily, just a couple of housewives out for a mid-evening stroll in the neighborhood.

  “Some game coming up this weekend, huh?” Emily said as they rounded the corner and continued past the Ellerby property.

  “Yeah, should be a good one,” June half agreed.

  “I don’t know if the Falcons have a good enough defense to stop the Packers. Their quarterback is so good.”

  June chuckled. “Yeah, I’d say it’s doubtful. Unfortunately. Tommy is a grouch when they lose, which is way too often.”

  When the front porch was out of view, they cut the conversation and muted their steps by walking on toes instead of heels. They turned onto the grass along the side of the house and quietly opened the gate to a black aluminum fence that wrapped around the front and back yards.

  Emily held the gate open until June had passed through and then eased it shut. Thankfully, the hinges were well oiled and didn’t make the slightest squeak. June sauntered to the corner and then peeked around. She immediately pulled back. Emily looked at her with the question June knew she would ask.

  June held up two fingers, confirming what they’d seen on the thermal screen just minutes before.

  Then she mouthed, “Thirty feet away.”

  Emily grimaced at that last bit of information. They couldn’t approach the two guards without being noticed, and going in guns blazing wasn’t an option.

  June breathed into the cold air, her misty breath evaporating within seconds. Emily saw it when the idea popped into June’s head.

  “Drunk girls,” June hissed.

  Emily’s lips creased, then she nodded.

  Arms over shoulders, the two stumbled around the corner, blabbering loudly about a disagreement from the bar they’d just left.

  “You’re crazy, girl,” June said. “That guy was totally into you.”

  “I’m too old for him,” Emily drawled. “Come on.”

  “You’re only…what, thirty-two?”

  They stopped midway across the lawn, hanging their heads low to keep from being recognized. It was a slim chance, especially for June, but it was always prudent to be careful.

  The two guards looked over at the sudden commotion, both reaching for weapons initially, then easing their stances as they realized it was two drunk women who’d accidentally stumbled their way into the backyard.

  Emily looked into June’s eyes. “You are so sweet, girl. You know that? That’s why I love you.” She slurred the words as if she’d been on a nine-hour bender.

  “I love you, too,” June said drunkenly. They wrapped their arms around each other in a firm embrace just as the two guards approached.

  The closest guard stopped a few feet short of the huddle. The second guard halted next to him, watching with amusement. The two men could have been related, both sporting the same black hair cut at similar lengths. Of the few differences between them, height was the most pronounced. The guard on the right was easily three inches taller than the one on the left.

  “You two can’t be here,” the first guard groused. “Get out of here, you drunks.”

  “Take it easy,” the second guard cautioned. “Let’s see where this goes?”

  The guard on the right turned this head to the other and rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

  “What’s seriously?” June asked, turning toward them as if just realizing they were being spied on.

  “You two need to leave the premises right now,” the guard on the right ordered. “We are conducting a secure investigation.”

  “Oooh,” June cooed, letting go of her friend, who pretended to fall down on all fours. June sashayed forward toward the guard on the left, while Emily crawled like a drunken fool. “An investigation? What kind of investigation? Because I think I’ve been a bad girl.”

  June held out her wrists together, offering to have them cuffed.

  “Not that kind of investigation. I’m going to need you to leave the premises immediately.”

  These guys weren’t real cops or real federal agents. At least those types would have had the courtesy to call her ma’am. But June and Emily knew they weren’t legit agents. Dangerous? Probably. But they weren’t trained American assets. Not now, anyway.

  “What kind of investigation is it, Officer?” June stammered while Emily continued to crawl forward, stopping short of the left guard’s feet.

  Of the two, he was the one being swayed by their belligerent antics. June even caught him trying to take a peek through one of the loose buttons of her shirt just above the top trench coat button.

  Some men were so easy, she thought.

  June touched the top button of her shirt, and it magically came undone, revealing a little more skin at the base of her neck. “Oh, it’s chilly out here,” she said seductively. “Shame you boys have to be out in such cold weather.”

  “Yes,” Emily said, giggling. She stopped at the left guard’s foot and grabbed his shin to brace herself.

  The man resisted at first, but when she grasped his other leg in an effort to balance, he reached down to shake her free. Emily abruptly sprang upward, driving the top of her skull into his nose. He shrieked momentarily, but any sound he could make was cut off by a knife blade she jammed through his throat.

  Confused and horrified, the other guard turned to avenge the killing, but he didn’t get a full step in before June stabbed him through the ear with her own blade. His eyes blinked once and then went blank. The body crumpled to the ground next to the other.

  June and Emily knelt next to the guards, wiping their knives on the men’s clothing.

  “You’re sure they weren’t real feds, right?” June asked, half kidding.

  “Definitely,” Emily said, noting something on the left guard’s neck. She pulled back the collar of his jacket and revealed a tattoo. “Interesting,” she said, pointing to the other guard.

  June took the cue and tugged on the second man’s collar. He, too, bore the same ink on his neck.

  “Unlikely a couple of FBI guys would go out and get matching tattoos,” Emily mused.

  “True.”

  The two concealed their weapons again and hurried back around to the gate, then skirted the interior of the fence until they reached the front corner.

  “Drunk girl again?” June whispered as they stood in the shadow of the house, just out of sight of the two men standing guard.

  “No,” Emily said. “Let’s go with damsel in distress. We probably need to use the pistols this time. We can work faster, and if someone inside hears any kind of commotion, they’ll come check the front door.”

  “That could put the hostages in danger,” June offered.

  “Which is why the second we drop those two, you go around back and enter through the rear door.”

  “What if it’s locked?” June wore concern on her face.

  “It won’t be. They stationed two guards there. If they needed to get inside for something, it would be a p
ain to have to knock.” Emily sounded convincing, but half of that was to convince herself. If the back door were locked and June couldn’t sneak in from behind the targets, Emily would be on her own against four gunmen.

  June accepted the explanation with a nod and drew her gun. Emily also removed hers from her jacket and slipped it into the right-front pocket. The subcompact pistol was just small enough to conceal in the deep pouch.

  “Wait at the back door until you hear the commotion. Then flank them.”

  “I don’t want to catch you in the crossfire,” June said, worry evident in her tone and mirrored in her eyes.

  “Me either,” Emily admitted. “Will be risky. But it’s our best chance.”

  With both agreeing to the plan, they slipped back through the gate and onto the sidewalk, then strolled around the corner and turned left in front of the Ellerby home.

  “Oh, hey, look,” Emily said, careful not to shout but also loud enough so the two guards on the front porch could hear. “There are a couple of strong guys who could help us.”

  Emily waved at them with her left hand, keeping her right hand in her pocket with a finger on the pistol’s trigger. The two women stepped onto the walkway leading to the front steps, both keeping a steady, determined pace. With every stride, they closed in on the targets to an increasingly lethal distance.

  The two men turned and scowled at the women.

  The one on the left motioned for them to go away. “Sorry, but we’re going to have to ask you to leave. Investigation going on right now.”

  Emily frowned and kept pushing forward. “Investigation? Oh no. Is everyone all right?”

  They were thirty feet away now, and still closing.

  “We’re not allowed to discuss it, but you two need to step away now.” His voice escalated, and Emily knew that if he got much louder, people inside the house were going to hear. Another gunman would come to check on the commotion, and then their chances of getting the Ellerbys out safely would dwindle.

  “I’m so sorry,” Emily said. “Now,” she hissed under her breath. “Our car broke down and—”

  The two women drew their pistols and fired. Each unleashed three shots. From that distance, they could have fired blindfolded and still hit two out of three. With their eyes open, they didn’t miss with a single round.

  The two guards fell to the ground simultaneously. The one who’d done the talking tumbled forward down the steps. The other dropped onto his knees, then over onto his side.

  “Go, now,” Emily ordered.

  June didn’t have to be told twice. She sprinted back around the corner of the house and disappeared while Emily continued to the front door. The suppressors on their pistols muted most of the sound from the gunfire, but it was still possible someone inside had heard it.

  She glided up the steps, past the bodies, and stopped at the door. Emily counted in her head as she listened for signs from inside the house that the abductors had heard the gunshots outside. The suppressors silenced the sounds of gunfire to little more than clicks and pops.

  Relieved that no one was rushing to the front, she reached out and depressed the button on the latch, then eased the door open. Emily said a silent, wishful prayer that the hinges wouldn’t squeak. Whether it was the prayer or just good fortune, the door swung open with ease.

  From the foyer, she heard the sounds of voices in the next room. A man was pleading with someone else to get out of their home. A woman replied, telling him that this was official government business, and that their children would be in a lot of trouble if they didn’t come home soon. “More trouble,” the female reiterated, “than they are already in.”

  Emily padded to the left where an archway opened into a dining room. A quick check verified it to be vacant. She returned to the staircase and looked down the corridor, past an open bathroom door, and into the living room.

  The right side of a leather couch stuck out into her view, but she couldn’t see anyone. They were in there—that much she knew—but they must have been grouped to the left and just out of sight.

  She tiptoed down the hall with her pistol leveled at shoulder height. The first gunman came into view, standing with his back toward her. Emily caught sight of Mr. Ellerby, then his wife. Another gunman was standing next to the first, behind the couch. Both of them would be easy pickings, though with the Ellerbys just beyond them, the shots would be tight.

  Beyond the couch, a third gunman stood with a pistol in his hand and his other arm crossed over his chest, holding the gun arm. The fourth member of the abductors was a female, and it was someone Emily recognized.

  Darcy Friedman had popped up dozens of times on Emily’s computer as a name and face suspected of a litany of crimes. Nothing had ever been pinned on her, and Emily was certain the woman had no less than half a dozen false identities in her back pocket should she ever need to disappear.

  Emily’s surprise vanished. Darcy had been named in several killings over the years, and one recent report suggested an eyewitness placed her near the scene of the recent murder/suicide involving billionaire businessman Valentin Svoboda.

  The other men behind the couch were holding the guns in the same way as the male henchman in front. Emily was at a crossroads. If she were to announce her arrival and tell the gunmen to drop their weapons, they would more likely turn and fire at her—or worse, execute the hostages.

  She couldn’t abide either.

  “Darcy Friedman!” Emily shouted as her finger tensed on the trigger. The muzzle popped, sending the bullet through the upper chest of the gunman next to Darcy. The round drilled through the skin just below the man’s neck, and he stumbled back into the curtains next to a huge flatscreen television.

  The other two gunmen reacted immediately, turning and raising their weapons. Emily took out the one on the right first, zipping a round through the corner of his head before he could fire. The second took aim, but his forehead erupted in pink mist as June appeared through the back door.

  The last two gunmen hadn’t even hit the floor when Darcy drew a pistol from her jacket, clearly intent on taking out the hostages.

  As she raised the pistol, Mr. Ellerby rolled over on top of his wife to shield her.

  He winced as a cacophony of muted pops filled the house.

  Mr. Ellerby waited, gripping his wife with every ounce of strength he could muster, knowing that he was about to die.

  But the sting of the bullets never came. The gunfire ceased. In the surreal peace of the moment, bitter, billowing smoke hung in the air, swaying back and forth.

  When Mr. Ellerby realized the worst was over, he opened his eyes and let go of his wife. He turned over and found the woman who’d been holding them hostage lying on the floor, her unblinking eyes staring up at the ceiling. Her body was riddled with bullet holes, including a crater on the top of her head.

  Ellerby’s eyes shifted to the back door where a blonde woman stood holding a pistol amid a fog of gun smoke. He rounded on the woman who’d come through the front and saw Emily standing there with her pistol likewise extended.

  “Are you two okay?” Emily asked. “Are you hit?”

  Ellerby shook his head, checked his wife, who also acknowledged she was okay, and said, “We’re…okay.”

  “Good,” Emily said. She ejected the magazine from the gun well and replaced it with a second from inside the folds of her jacket. “Any others?”

  “No,” Mrs. Ellerby said. “Just the ones outside.”

  “They’re taken care of,” June announced. “I’ll check the rest of the house to make sure.”

  Emily bobbed her head in approval, and June disappeared around the corner into the kitchen.

  Mr. Ellerby stood reluctantly, mortified at the bloodbath that had taken place in his home. “Did…you just kill FBI agents?”

  “They aren’t FBI agents,” Emily said as she holstered her weapon. She walked around the edge of the couch and stopped over the body of Darcy Friedman. Emily bent down and peeled back th
e collar of the dead woman’s shirt. Again, the ankh tattoo appeared just below the ear. “They are something else altogether.”

  30

  Cartersville

  Dak saw the danger coming from a mile away. Maybe not a literal mile, but it might as well have been.

  He’d arrived at the McElroys’ property exactly fifty-three minutes after the text from Alex and Tara. He’d sensed the urgency in the message, and prepared for the worst.

  He made it to the cabin without being detected, which included by those within the confines of the cabin. From what he could tell, whatever threat Alex had been afraid of hadn’t arrived yet. Dak didn’t know how much time he had, but he assumed it to be virtually none. If the two lab rats from IAA were afraid of someone following them, their pursuers would have either been close behind the targets or amassing their forces to launch an all-out assault.

  Dak left his truck in the woods just up the road, within view of the driveway but far enough away that it wouldn’t arouse suspicion. He slung his pack over his shoulders, holstered two pistols, and marched into the woods with an AR15 carbine held high and tight to his chest. The carbine-length barrel was a happy medium between the pistol and rifle lengths and would give him more options if the battle to come changed distances or terrain.

  The weight of the bags and extra magazines on his belt and legs only slowed him down slightly. Dak was in his prime, and a small part of him relished the rigorous nature of a mission like this. That’s what it was—to him, anyway. He couldn’t look at it like anything else. People’s lives hung in the balance, people he knew and cared about.

  His time with Tara and Alex had been limited thus far, but he’d grown to like the two and, more importantly, to trust them. He knew they were capable of defending themselves, but based on another text from Alex, they had three middle-school kids with them, and the last thing Dak wanted was for a bunch of kids to be the targets of some hit squad. Even if they survived, the mental torment of enduring a gun battle was something no child should have to go through.

  He’d seen it with some of his comrades from the battles they’d fought in the Middle East, from the missile attacks that hit the barracks in the dead of night, or from waking to the sounds of gunfire in the early hours of dawn. Those men he called friends and brothers had faced a much tougher adversary after the battles ended. PTSD was a very real and powerful enemy, and it wasn’t one that could simply be dispatched with a gun.