Professor Acton is mine.
He parked, not looking forward to what he was about to do. He strode up to the party and noticed a couple of burgers still warming on the grill. Red walked up to him.
“Hey, BD, burger?” he asked as he put one together. Red, nicknamed for the red hair he shaved off with a bowie knife whenever a hint of it showed, was the second highest ranking member of Delta Team Bravo, Dawson’s second-in-command, and his best friend of almost a decade. He had been named godfather to Red’s son Bryson and spent many a holiday dinner at the Belme household as part of their family.
Which meant Red knew his friend too well. His eyebrows narrowed as he handed over the burger. “What’s up?”
Dawson took a monster bite, suddenly realizing how hungry he was. “We’ve got a mission,” he finally managed after swallowing enough to talk without revealing the ongoing mastication process.
“When do we leave?” asked Red, turning toward the group now in the third inning of a softball game.
“Now.”
“Okay, I’ll break the news.”
Dawson stopped his friend. “No, I’ll do it. Let the kids blame me and not Bryson’s dad.” Red smiled gratefully but stayed by Dawson’s side as he walked into the group of operators, better halves and children.
“Hate to break up the party, folks, but we’ve been called up.” A string of “aws” came from the kids, this not being the first time they had been disappointed. He hated it whenever this happened, which in today’s insane world was too often. His men gave hugs to their families and loved ones, then headed into The Unit to be briefed.
Somewhere Over the Pacific Coast
The Chinook MH-47E helicopter raced toward the Peruvian coastline, its two Textrom Lycoming engines pumping out four thousand shaft-horsepower and propelling it at over 180 miles per hour as Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson, mission-designate Bravo One, took a knee amidst his men. He inhaled deeply through his nose, breathing in the intoxicating smell of the fumes, a smell he would never tire of. His men leaned in, each cocking an ear for their final briefing.
“This is the primary target,” Dawson bellowed over the thunder of the rotors and the rattling of the hold. He held out a photo labeled ‘Professor James Acton’. “He must be captured alive so we can recover the item. Eliminate the guards and any other resistance.”
“What’s the item, Sergeant Major?” asked Mickey.
“Need to know, Bravo Six!”
“Yes, Sergeant Major!” Mickey flushed a little, Dawson eyeballing him for a brief second. Mickey had hesitated to carry out an order on the last mission and an enemy combatant had got the drop on one of the guys. He had taken a round in the vest and survived, but three inches higher he would have been dead. It hadn’t been necessary to chew Mickey out, he had learned his lesson. Dawson knew he’d never hesitate or question orders again.
“The primary objective is to capture the target alive and recover the item. Video will be sent to Control and they’ll determine if the remaining targets are on the Termination List. Intel has them as members of a domestic terrorist cell. This Professor Acton is their leader. Apparently he’s convinced these students to join him in his cause. Remember, just because the hostiles are young doesn’t mean they’re innocent. The only difference from any other mission is this time they’re American, but no less a risk than any other Islamic fundamentalist cell we’ve taken out before. These people hate their country and our way of life. They mean to destroy it from within, and we’re here to stop that. If they’re on the Termination List they’ll be eliminated. According to UAV overflights, the camp is lightly guarded at night. They are to be eliminated first by Overseer who will be dropped off one mile from the camp. Understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant Major!” they answered in unison.
“Five minutes to Overseer drop,” the pilot announced over the comm.
Dawson activated his tactical throat microphone. “Acknowledged.” Looking at his watch, he rose, ending the briefing. “Five minutes to the drop. Check your gear!”
Andes Mountains, Peru
Professor James Acton entered his cabin, followed by Robbie Andrews. Though austere, the cabin was the only bit of luxury in the camp. Its plywood walls had narrow gaps between each board that let the cold Andes wind whistle through during the night, his kerosene heater merely taking the edge off. Acton walked over to the only cabinet with a lock in the entire camp, his heart already beginning to race. What they had found was remarkable. He had of course heard of the crystal skulls, the most famous of which, the Mitchell-Hedges skull, was on display at the Smithsonian.
And as far as he knew they were all fake.
Testing had shown they were carved by nineteenth century European craftsmen, then sold off as Aztec, Incan or Mayan relics to unsuspecting collectors. There were rumors of testing at Hewlett Packard that had confirmed at least one to be of unknown method of manufacture, but he had never taken the time to determine whether or not that story was true.
Frankly he never cared. They were sculptures made by modern man.
But their discovery here turned everything on its head.
This carving was found in a temple dug out of the side of a mountain, trapped for most likely five hundred years minimum, centuries before any European craftsman could have fathomed to create it.
If it weren’t for the original discovery that had made this entire dig unique, protected under a tarp nearby until they could arrange for its return to the university, he might immediately jump to the conclusion that this crystal sculpture was indeed carved by the ancient Incans. Which had him wondering if the Hewlett-Packard story was true, and how many of the skulls discovered over the years were actually genuine relics.
Taking out the key, he unlocked the cabinet and carefully pulled out a case from the bottom shelf. Placing it on a table, he sat down at the lone chair and opened the case. Inside was a package carefully wrapped in cloth. He gently unwrapped it, revealing the translucent life-size crystal skull. Holding it up to the light, he gently caressed the smooth cranium.
“It’s beautiful,” gushed Robbie. He had returned earlier in the day and this was the first chance he had had to see the skull since its discovery. Acton had sworn him to secrecy so he wasn’t even allowed to talk about it with the other students on the dig. After the evening campfire had broken up, where they ritually collected together and discussed the day’s discoveries, he had pretended to need to talk to the professor about something so as not to raise suspicions. Acton saw through his intentions immediately, but decided to indulge his young protégé.
“Yes, it is.” Acton rotated the skull, the light from the gas lantern reflecting off the crystal, casting a breathtaking display of ever changing colors and iridescent shapes on the plywood walls.
“Can I hold it?” asked Robbie. Acton nodded and handed it to him. Robbie carefully took the skull with both hands and held it up to the light. Brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow resembling a stunning sunset collected in the eyes, the design of the crystal making it appear as if it were staring directly at him. Robbie shuddered. He handed it back to the professor, slightly shaken.
“Are you okay?”
Robbie nodded unconvincingly. “Yeah, just a little creeped out, that’s all. I can see why Garcia flipped out when he first saw it.”
Acton nodded. “Yes, it can be very unsettling in the right light. It was probably used by ancient priests to instill fear in their subjects.” He carefully placed it back in the case then locked it in his cabinet.
“I have no doubt it worked,” said Robbie as he rose. “I’m going to go relieve Paul at the cave.”
“Okay, if Sandy doesn’t relieve you in two hours go get him,” said Acton. “You know he’s got a habit of sleeping through his alarm.”
Robbie smiled. “After seeing that thing, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a while.” He opened the door and stepped outside. “Good night, Professor.”
&nb
sp; “Good night, Robbie.” Acton closed the door behind him and lay down on his cot. He didn’t think he’d be able to get any sleep, either. As he tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable but really trying to settle his jumbled mind, he became increasingly frustrated. He couldn’t stop thinking about their two discoveries and what they meant. The first turned modern thinking of ancient Incan contact on its ear, the other was an interesting curiosity, which would set the conspiracy theorists aflutter as they speculated how primitive Incans could carve something apparently not possible back then.
This is why I became an archeologist!
He sat up, realizing there was no way he was getting to sleep while his mind refused to relax. He reached over to his Coleman lamp and turned up the gas. The cabin flooded with light, his belongings casting eerie shadows on the plywood walls. He climbed out of his sleeping bag, shook out his boots to rid them of unwanted visitors that might have crawled in, then put them on. He unlocked the cabinet, removing the case. He’d just lifted the lid when a noise outside made him pause. Carefully closing the case, he turned down the light and went to the door.
About one mile away, Niner, designated Overseer, and his spotter, Gerry “Jimmy” Hudson, had been dropped off by the Chinook and were already double-timing it into position. Jimmy earned his nickname when the team found out he had been editor of his school newspaper. Red started calling him Jimmy Olson and the name stuck. Jimmy wished they could have chosen another Superman character, but when Spaz joined The Unit, he thanked his lucky stars.
The sniper team wore heavy Ghillie suits designed to make them nearly undetectable to the enemy. Each was customized by the operator to their own liking. Since there was the potential of spending hours or days in these outfits, someone else’s idea of a one-size-fits-all suit just didn’t cut it. When they neared the top of the hill they hit the ground and crawled the rest of the way, the extra canvas in the front of the suits protecting them from the hard rock and dried brush underneath.
Niner quickly set up his weapon while Jimmy checked the camp below and completed his range card. In less than a minute, they were ready.
“Overseer in position,” Niner said over the comm as they surveyed the camp, Niner through the scope on his rifle, Jimmy through his finder. They were far enough from the camp that any shot would reverberate through the valley below, making them almost impossible to locate. Several cabins were clumped together not far from a ring of tents. A dig site was cordoned off about three hundred feet south that had Jimmy a bit confused as to its purpose.
Are they looking for something?
Jimmy filled the details in on his range card and picked the first target, putting his curiosity aside for the moment. A burst of static through the comm was followed by the go ahead from Dawson. “Overseer, Bravo One, proceed, over.”
“Roger that, Bravo One, Overseer beginning to oversee!” Niner flashed a grin at Jimmy then they both looked through their scopes, readying for the first target.
“Two targets, Target One, Sector A from TRP I right fifty add forty!” said Jimmy rapidly in a harsh whisper as he looked through his finder. Niner shifted slightly, the ground racing by in his scope as he searched for the target.
“Roger, Sector A, from TRP I right fifty add forty.”
“Single target, dark fatigues, smoking cigarette carrying AK.”
“Roger, single target, dark fatigues, smoking cigarette, carrying AK,” repeated Niner as he looked for the target through the scope of his M24A2 SWS Sniper Weapon System. He located the target just as the man stamped out the cigarette. “Target One identified! I have two mils crotch to head, confirm.”
“Roger, two mils crotch to head, dial five-hundred on the gun.”
Niner adjusted his weapon. “Roger, five-hundred on the gun, indexed!”
“Wind left to right, three mph, hold one-eighth mil left.”
“Roger, wind left to right, three mph, hold one-eighth mil left,” he repeated as he dialed the final setting. He gently squeezed the trigger, the recoil hammering into his shoulder. Jimmy could feel the ground vibrate from the shot. He loved that feeling. The target collapsed in a heap as they both smiled. “Broke one-eighth mil left.”
“Center hit, stand by,” replied Jimmy.
“Roger, center hit, standing by,” acknowledged Niner as he waited for the next target from his spotter.
“Target two, Sector B, from TRP I left sixty add twenty.”
Acton peered out the door to see what it was that had drawn his attention. He scanned the camp and didn’t see anything out of order except one of the damned guards asleep on the job. Giggling emanated from one of the tents, clearly some extra-curricular activity going on in the shadow of the Andes. Several fires from earlier in the evening were now smoldering embers, wisps of smoke rising into the night sky. He looked to the other end of the camp where he knew a guard should be stationed. At first he didn’t see him, but a moment later spotted him walking along the perimeter, smoking a cigarette. Acton breathed a sigh of relief and was about to go wake up the other guard when the one he was looking at dropped to the ground in a heap.
Then he heard the rotors of a chopper.
Looking at the night sky he spotted the silhouette of the helicopter clear a rise to the south, it obviously coming in for a landing. He opened his mouth to shout a warning to his students, but stopped himself, realizing all he would do is create a panic. His National Guard training and Gulf War I experience told him the guards had been eliminated by a sniper, which meant they were under observation right now. Screaming kids running around the camp were likely to get shot, but if they were rounded up peacefully from their tents, they might just survive the night.
And there was one last hope.
If he could draw their attackers after him, his students might just be ignored.
He knew there was only one reason they had come—the skull. He also knew that between the corrupt police and the various rebel factions who were nothing more than gangs, there were plenty who would stop at nothing, including killing, to get their hands on something of value. That was why he had given the strict orders to his team to tell no one about their discovery.
Someone had obviously not followed his orders.
So he ran, skull in hand, hoping the sniper might spot his escape and direct their comrades after him. He might then be able to bluff his way out of the situation, bribing them with the petty cash and the promise of more back in Lima, while his students still slept in their tents. He could care less what happened to him, all he cared about were the students who had come with him, who had trusted him to keep them safe.
The students he knew deep down he was about to fail.
As he sprinted away from his cabin, he figured the best place to lead them was the cave where the skull had been found. Behind the hole Garcia had dug had been a small chamber that led into a much larger one. If he lead them in there they might have a chance. He took the long way to the entrance, a winding path shielded from the camp by brush and scattered trees. Running from tree to tree, he crouched between each. Looking down at the camp he saw the attackers setting up a perimeter as four of them raced to his cabin.
As he approached the cave he saw Robbie and cursed, having forgotten he had sent the boy to guard the entrance. He was sitting on the ground, leaning against a rock, sound asleep. Won’t be able to sleep for a while, eh? Acton had wanted one of his own he could trust to make sure no one else, especially one of the hired guards, went in the cave looking for more valuables. Now he wished the boy was asleep in his tent below, but it was too late. He bent over and shook Robbie’s shoulder, his presence changing things.
Now I need to try and protect him.
Robbie nearly jumped out of his skin. “Professor, what’s wrong?” he asked as he removed his iPod ear buds. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
“I thought you were asleep.” Acton helped Robbie to his feet.
Robbie shook his head. “You know me, Professor, I can’t live
without my tunes!”
Acton cut him off. “Listen, the guards are dead and a chopper just landed in the camp. I think they’re here for the skull. Come with me.” They ran inside the cave and once far enough in that he felt safe the flashlights wouldn’t be seen from outside he turned his on and Robbie did as well.
“A chopper? Do you mean military? Whose?” asked Robbie as he ran behind Acton, his flashlight bouncing off the walls.
“I don’t know. Rebels, Peruvian police. Definitely professional and well-equipped.” Acton stepped through the hole and into the first chamber. It was perfectly cubic, ten by ten by ten feet. The walls as well as the floor and ceiling were made of one-square-foot tiles. Some of the ceiling tiles that had fallen centuries before lay broken on the floor. In the center was a tall, narrow altar on top of which the skull had been discovered.
“Why don’t we just hide the skull and go back out? They’ll never think to look in here.”
“Because if they don’t get what they want, they’ll probably kill us. We need to stall for time and have them focus on us.”
Robbie stopped. “Kill us?” he stammered. Then he apparently caught up to the conversation. “Focus on us? Are you nuts?”
“I’m hoping they spotted us coming in here. Maybe they’ll ignore the camp and just follow us, that way nobody else are witnesses.” Acton shook his head, realizing how ridiculous his plan was as he said it aloud. We’re all dead. “They’ve already killed the guards and we’ve seen before where camps have been wiped out just so that no witnesses are left,” added Acton as he turned around and grabbed Robbie by the shirt to get him moving again. “That’s why I gave strict orders to tell no one about this. It’s too dangerous.” Acton watched Robbie’s face turn gray as if he were about to vomit. “What’s wrong?”
Robbie hesitated. “It’s my fault. I told my brother, John. He must have told someone.”
The Protocol (A James Acton Thriller, Book #1) Page 4