Spy Thriller: The Fourteenth Protocol: A Story of Espionage and Counter-terrorism (The Special Agent Jana Baker Book Series 1)

by Nathan Goodman

  104

  . . . and if no one’s Uncle John is out in the wood lot west of town banging away at quail or pheasant; if the only sound is the slow beat of your heart, you can hear another sound, and that is the sound of life winding down to its cyclic close, waiting for the first winter snow to perform last rites.

  —Stephen King, Salem’s Lot

  The low pulse of a digital monitor beeped with each heartbeat. Jana felt like she was in a dream. Yet, an unbelievable feeling of calm ushered into her core. There was no pain. It felt simply like all the worry in the world had vanished. At first, she didn’t want to open her eyes, but after a few minutes, she realized she couldn’t open them. She couldn’t move either, for that matter. Yet the feeling of calm so permeated her, she saw no need for worry. Instead, she lay listening to the faint sound of music playing somewhere in the distance.

  Little visions appeared to her. Beautiful light shimmering off old glass bottles, soft crinkly skin on a smiling face so reminiscent of her grandfather, running through a crowd of people, and lastly, she saw her head slamming into the ground as everything went black. Then, she heard faint voices that seemed to be in the room with her, muffled as though they were speaking into a thick paper bag.

  “. . . she’s got a fighting chance. That’s what you need to hold onto, son,” said the voice.

  “Doctor, come on,” said another person. “I’ve been in love with this girl from the moment I laid eyes on her. We’ve just been through the most terrifying events of our lives. I owe my life to her. Level with me. Look me in the eye and tell me the truth.”

  The doctor removed the hospital-green surgeon’s cap but couldn’t loosen his gaze off his shoes.

  “Her chances are not good,” said the doctor. “We’ve done everything we can for her. It’s not in my hands any longer. All we can do is wait. Stay with her, son. Stay with her and pray. She may be in a coma, but sometimes patients respond to the presence of loved ones.”

  The doctor put his hand on Cade’s shoulder.

  “Pray for her, son. I’m just a doctor. I don’t make the big decisions. Pray to the man upstairs. He’s deciding if he needs her more here, or up there. Pray to him.”

  Jana drifted in and out of what she thought of as consciousness. But as some of the haze lifted, she came to understand she was in a hospital. She couldn’t move anything. The word coma hung in the forefront of her mind. Things came to her in clips and bits—muffled conversations, the occasional nurse taking vital signs, and voices, familiar, yet hard to place.

  Director Latent stood in the doorway and could just overhear Cade’s conversation with the physician. As the physician left, Latent eased into the room and put his hand on Cade’s shoulder.

  “How’s our patient?” he said to Cade.

  Cade looked despondent. “Not good,” he said, “not good.”

  “When’s the last time you ate something?”

  Cade’s gaze drifted out the window. “I knew her, you know.”

  Latent looked at Jana. “Jana? You knew Jana? I know the two of you were close . . .”

  “No, not Jana. I knew her, the other victim, the other victim at the shooting. Alyssa”—Cade let out a long exhale—“her name was Alyssa McTee.” Latent stared at him until the name registered in his mind. “We met at a restaurant just outside of Quantico right before Kyle’s graduation. It was a fluke thing, I guess.”

  Latent shook his head in disbelief. “Cade, I know this has been an emotional rollercoaster for you. It’s been that way for all of us.” Latent drew in a deep breath of his own and held it.

  “You look like you’ve got something to tell me,” said Cade.

  “I do.” The director crossed his arms, then he too looked out the hospital room’s window to the tree line in the distance, searching for the right words.

  “Mr. Director,” said Cade, but then he was cut off.

  “Steve, please. Call me Steve.”

  “Okay,” said Cade. “Steve, look, whatever it is, you may as well just say it. I’m not sure things can get much worse.” Cade looked over at Jana.

  “You’ll have to understand, there’s been a lot of security concerns. We didn’t want anyone to know. It’s about . . . it’s about Kyle. There’s more you should know about Kyle. But now’s not the time. There are more important things at the moment,” he said, looking down at Jana.

  “What about Kyle?” said Cade. “What, you mean like something about the way he died?”

  Latent exhaled, lost in thought. After a few moments, he said, “Yeah, something like that.”

  The director put his hand to his mouth.

  “That night. The night Kyle died, there was another team . . .”

  “Director?” said an agent in the doorway with a thick voice. “I’m sorry to interrupt. There’s someone here to see Agent Baker. This is Mr. Herbert Deere. He says he was with Agent Baker just before the shooting. He’d like to visit with her, if it’s all right. I’ve confirmed his identity and that he made an earlier statement to our team.”

  Latent looked genuinely glad for the interruption. Cade, however, wanted to hear more.

  “Mr. Deere. Yes, sir. Yes, thank you, Agent McDaniel, I’ll take it from here. I’m very glad you’re here, sir,” said Latent.

  The old man looked uncomfortable, as if he had dropped his Bible during church services and everyone turned to stare. The man’s eyes darted back and forth between Cade and Latent while his lower lip quivered, a straw hat rotating in his hands.

  “How’s young missy a’doin? She don’ look so good,” he said, choking back his emotions. “She don’ look so good a’tall.” He nodded in respect to Cade.

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Deere, I’ll level with you. In this past week, I’ve read all statements taken from the scene. I read your statement . . . as well as the details of the background check we ran on you.”

  Herbert looked at Latent from the corner of his eye.

  “Yes, sir, I’m sorry about that,” said Latent. “We do that kind of thing. We had to be thorough.”

  “Yessir. I s’pose you do.”

  “Your background said you served during the battle of Iwo Jima? I want to thank you for your service to the United States. I mention that because if you’ve been there, and stood on that ground, you’ve seen some of the worst things imaginable. I think you deserve to know the truth. Agent Baker is not doing well.” He glanced at Cade. “She’s not expected to survive, Mr. Deere. It’s all we can do to just sit here with her and pray.”

  Herbert’s head nodded up and down, but he didn’t say a word; the hat being crushed in his rotating hands spoke volumes.

  “Like to sit with her a spell, if’n you don’ mind none.”

  “She’d like that, sir,” said Latent. “She’d like that very much. Cade? Would you mind if Mr. Deere came in for a bit?”

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Cade wiped his eye on his shirt sleeve and said, “No, not at all. I’ll just step out. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  “Thank ye, son.”

  The two men left, and the only sounds in the room were that of the heart monitor and Herbert’s breathing. As the door swung closed, the old man looked at all the machines and tubes attached to Jana. He shuffled forward, afraid to make any noise, then looked back over his shoulder. He took Jana’s soft hand in his and stood, rocking back and forth. A teardrop landed on the back of his hand and he whispered, “You jes hang in there, little missy. You jes hang in there. I tol’ cha. This is America, and it’s a place would’n’ be the same without you in it. Jes, jes hang in there, little missy.”

  Herbert looked up at the heart monitor. Its beeping had slowed and changed in tone. A red light on the device started flashing. Moments later, a nurse burst through door.

  “Step back please, sir,” said the nurse, rushing to check Jana’s vitals. The beeping slowed further, and then, the heart monitor’s piercing alarm sounded in one, long, continuous shrieking cry.

  The old man
shuffled back against the wall.

  “Oh Lordy, oh Lordy,” was all Herbert could muster from underneath his breath.

  The nurse ripped a phone receiver from the wall.

  “Code blue, 2117. Crash cart, 2117. Code blue.” She was calm, but her tone urgent.

  The heart monitor painted a flat green line. Herbert averted his eyes and pulled open the door, holding it for the approaching medical team running down the pristine white hallway. A physician and four nurses bolted in with a medical cart, and the yelling began.

  In the hallway, Stephen Latent held Cade by the shoulders.

  “Let them work, son. Let them work.”

  Jana couldn’t tell if she was hearing people around her or if she was dreaming again, but the distant sound of music, coming from somewhere, increased; it was familiar and intoxicating. She sat straight up and looked around. A hazy fog clouded her vision; everything glowed around the edges. But as things came into focus, she could see she was back on her grandpa’s farm.

  The smell of scrambled eggs, just fried in the morning’s bacon grease, wafted through the screen door and was strong enough to almost touch. The sun was huge and low on the horizon, yet didn’t hurt to stare at. In fact, it was the most comfortable, beautiful light she had ever seen. Thick dew glistened on hundreds of rows of baby corn. A burnt umber hue emanated from the horizon, which seemed to stretch on forever across the farm’s rolling flatlands. Her grandfather sat on the porch in his old rocking chair. As Jana traversed the three creaking porch steps, he set aside the tall glass of iced tea and rose. His smile was as big as the morning sun was wide. The two embraced.

  “I’ve been sittin’ here a spell, just waitin’ to see if you’d come,” he said. “I got your music on. Got breakfast inside.”

  Jana looked in through the screen door, past the sitting room, and into the kitchen beyond. It was exactly as she remembered it.

  “Grandpa? Is this heaven?”

  His smile was approving and warm.

  “I’m so proud of you, sweet pea. So proud.”

  Jana stared into the house; the music was coming from somewhere inside.

  Can you take me with you? said the song’s lyrics.

  She looked back into his eyes and saw something that looked like an outline around the baby blue. It was like a gateway to the edges of his soul. The outline represented purity; it was clean, it was white, and it was unending. She glanced back at the sun.

  “I tried so hard, Grandpa. Tried so hard. I just wanted you to be proud of me, that’s all. Proud of my life.”

  The music continued, and Jana struggled against its pull.

  To the place where lame men walk.

  “I never wanted you to feel like you had to live up to somethin’,” he said. “But you did. There’s never been a grampa more proud, ever.”

  Can you take me with you?

  “I think I understand the words to the song now, Grandpa. It’s about heaven, isn’t it? They’re singing about heaven.”

  To the place with gold-lined streets.

  “Yes, sweet pea. It is.”

  “Is it my time now, Grandpa?” Jana turned and faced the sun, and this time, could not avert her eyes. “Is it my time? Do I get to choose?”

  “Everybody out of the way! Set three hundred,” yelled the doctor, shock paddles in hand.

  “Three hundred,” yelled a nurse.

  The doctor applied the paddles to Jana’s chest.

  “CLEAR!”

  Jana’s body rocketed upward. Everyone held their breath and looked over at the heart monitor.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  From the author:

  The ending was abrupt, wasn’t it? When I originally wrote the ending, that is where I left it, with Jana clinging to life. I didn’t know if I would ever write a sequel. That literally means I as the author didn’t know if Jana survived. I wanted you, the reader, to decide her fate for yourself. I had mixed reviews about the abrupt ending. Many readers said, “Wow! What an ending!” But others were disappointed, mad actually. And I kept getting emails asking, “What happened at the end? Did Jana survive? What was FBI Director Stephen Latent trying to tell Cade about Agent Kyle MacKerron?” So finally, I wrote a free follow-up novella to answer all those questions. I’m not trying to extort money from you (the postquel is free) just to read what some would consider to be ‘the ending.’ After all, you already read the ending. You read the full novel. That was it; it ended with Jana clinging to life. However, if you’d like, you can download the follow up novella free. To do so, I must forewarn you, I need your email address so that I can email the novella to you. If you don’t want any more emails from me, ever, that’s perfectly fine. I wouldn’t want to email you again if you don’t want it. In the mean time, please enjoy the postquel novella.

  Download the post-quel novella, free: Click here to download, or copy paste this into your browser: http://bit.ly/1hsvPP2

  If you have any trouble, or have comments for me, just email Nathan@NathanAGoodman.com. I’ll see if I can help.

  Happy reading,

  Nathan A. Goodman, Author

  An excerpt from the sequel, Protocol 15

  Click here to read the full-length novel, Protocol 15

  1

  I AM BECOME DEATH

  Somewhere in Pakistan. June 3.

  The coal-black of Waseem Jarrah’s hair was distinguishable only by a chiseled patch of white that tore through one side. Jarrah, the most wanted terrorist in the world, put his hands on the trembling nineteen-year-old’s shoulders.

  “Khalid Kunde, your time is near,” he said. “You are a soldier of Allah, and Allah’s rewards will be grand. Remember, what you go to do now is but the first step.”

  A tear welled in the young man’s eye, yet did not fall.

  “I will not fail you,” the apprentice replied.

  “You are the younger brother of Shakey Kunde. His name is legend. His efforts to detonate a nuclear device on American soil were valiant, his sacrifice noble. But he failed in his ultimate mission. Nevertheless, he sits at the right hand of Allah, as will you. Do you know the words?”

  The young man knew Jarrah wanted him to quote the words of Robert Oppenheimer, the original inventor of the atomic bomb.

  Khaild nodded his head in affirmation, stared at the floor, then choked out, “The words are, I am become death.”

  Jarrah’s eyes widened as he basked in the glow of his new apprentice. He replied, “The destroyer of worlds.”

  2

  A SLEEPING ISLAND

  NATO Listening Post, Kosrae Island, Micronesia. The Solomon Sea, 1379 nautical miles north-northeast of Papau New Guinea. June 19, 11:33 p.m. local time (8:33 a.m. EST)

  “You hear the chatter last night about the spy plane, that Air Force RC-135?”

  “The Cobra Ball? Yeah. I think they were just flying around monitoring a Russki thing though.”

  “Which Russian thing?”

  “Same old thing. Naval maneuvers. A pretty boring night, as usual.”

  “The Cobra Ball flying that same figure-eight pattern they normally do?”

  “From what we could tell by watching on radar, yeah. But, they were way the hell out there, on the edge of our radar cup. We were only able to . . .” His attention diverted to a computer monitor in front of him. “Wait, did you see that? What the hell?”

  A radar alarm blared on speakers mounted overhead and the two men scrambled to place headphones over their ears.

  “Holy shit, that’s a missile launch!” one said.

  The other keyed his headset then spoke into the mic. “NATO COMSAT, NATO COMSAT, this is Listening Post Kosrae one niner two. We’ve just detected a missile launch. Currently tracking an inbound hostile from North Korean airspace. Can you confirm?”

  A crackle from his headset replied. “LP Kosrae one niner two, this is COMSAT. Roger that, Kosrae. We see the launch, but we’ve got no track. You are our eyes.”

  “Understood, COM
SAT. We see the inbound from central North Korean airspace, pushing through six thousand feet. Banking, banking now, turning due west. The heat signature of the missile registers as a Taepodong or Taepodong-2 class ICBM. This is the real thing. Repeat, this is not a drill. Given attitude, altitude, and direction, this could be a North Korean attack on Japan, sir. The hostile is headed right for them.”

  “Roger that, Kosrae. All stations have just been issued the alert command.”

  “The bird is increasing in altitude. The computer is recalculating the flight path. Hold on . . . I don’t think its target is Japan, sir. At that altitude, the hostile will fly right over.”

  “What else is directly along that trajectory?” the other man said. “I don’t care how far away it is. We’ve got to know what they’re shooting at.”

  The operator traced his finger across the map on the computer monitor. “Let’s see, there’s the Midway Islands, but there’s nothing there. After that . . . oh shit.” The two operators looked at each other. “Hawaii.”