“Yeah, one or two.” Red nodded. “Want me to make some calls?”
“Discretely, on secure lines.”
Red got up and headed to the communications room.
Dawson sipped on a bottle of water, watching the men play pool, continually reviewing the events of the past week, his mind no longer at ease after the events in London. Everything that had happened before arriving here he could reconcile. A terror cell in Peru with a stolen DARPA project. These same terrorists on the Termination List. A charismatic Professor who had led these kids astray, escapes, kills and wounds his own government’s soldiers in the process, taking the stolen item with him. He sends a decoy package, elicits help from friends, evades capture in London, while an accomplice is found within the White House.
But now they had a crystal sculpture in their possession and find that this terrorist cell is but a tiny cog of a bigger, international organization that Control Actual seems to actually be toying with, setting off the bombs outside their headquarters.
Killing police.
Control Actual had assured him that an anonymous tip would be phoned in so that the vehicles would be dealt with by the bomb squad, but obviously that call had never been made.
And now the blood of those innocent British policemen were on his hands.
And that was unacceptable.
The door to the rec room opened and Red walked over, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “I made those calls, it will take some time.” Dawson nodded as Red rose up and raised his voice. “You’ve got a call in the communications center, Sergeant Major.”
Dawson stood and headed over to the room where they had set up their secure satellite communications equipment. “Bravo One here,” he said into the microphone.
“Bravo One, Control Actual. A Professor Palmer is being held at Scotland Yard. Details are being sent now. Retrieve her, alive. She may know where the item is. If not she can be used as bait for Professor Acton. Keep casualties to a minimum, zero if possible, and make it look gang related, out.”
Dawson never had a chance to reply, never had a chance to demand to know why the phone call about the booby trapped trucks hadn’t been made. Instead he was left to question yet another set of orders that seemed to be progressively getting more outrageous.
Attack Scotland Yard? This is getting ridiculous! And how the hell are we supposed to keep casualties to a minimum?
Control was setting mission parameters that were putting his men at risk. Rigging the escape vehicles to explode after taking down the terrorist cell’s van was one thing. Control didn’t seem concerned about police casualties then! But to have them position the vehicles on either side of the terrorist’s known headquarters was ridiculous and he had said so when the orders were given. They’ll know we’re on to them! Control hadn’t cared, spewing venomous nonsense about striking the fear of God into them.
And now they were supposed to attack the equivalent of FBI Headquarters.
Somebody’s going to get court martialed, and it better not be my team!
He left the communications center and returned to the rec area. His team stopped what they were doing and looked at their commander.
“Gear up gentlemen, gangland cover, briefing in five.”
Beijing, China
Huang looked at the text message he had received on his Chinese built Samsung phone and frowned. One of these days China will be designing, not just building, the products the world uses! As a Vice-Chairperson of the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress, he was a stone’s throw from leading his glorious country. He had been a General in the People’s Liberation Army then used that power and influence to become rich in the newly opened economy. This had given him even more influence and he had been appointed to his current position. If he played his cards right, he would soon be President.
But not today. Today, he had to fulfill his primary duty in life. Rising from his desk, he unlocked a cabinet on the far wall of his office. He entered a code on the safe inside and it hissed open. Removing a case it contained, he closed the safe and walked down the long corridor of his office building in the Zhongnanhai complex.
As he approached the President’s office, the two soldiers guarding the entrance snapped their heels in respect, one opening the door. He entered the outer office and bowed slightly to the secretary as she rose. She bowed deeply to her superior.
“I am sorry, sir, but the President is not in, he is away on business in Shanghai,” she said meekly, avoiding eye contact.
“Do you not think that I am fully aware of that?” His sarcastic tone was intended to belittle her. “I have a package for him that I must personally deliver to the safety of his office.”
“Of course, sir, you may leave it with me and I will make certain that he receives it,” she answered.
“Absolutely not. I am under strict orders from the Chairman himself to put this file in his office personally.” With that, he walked past her, opened the door to the inner office and closed it behind him, leaving the flabbergasted secretary wondering what to do.
Swiftly walking to a side table, he opened his case and removed a velvet wrapped package from inside. He unwrapped it to reveal a crystal skull. Walking over to a pedestal in the corner that contained the real skull, his charge of many years, he switched the two, placing the real skull in his case, again carefully wrapped. He locked the case, looked about the office, and strode out purposefully, ignoring the secretary.
Triarii Headquarters, London, England
The Proconsul was pleased. Very pleased. All of the plans had been executed like clockwork. All over the world the skulls were being moved into secret locations known only to the individual members in this room and one backup each. No one in the room knew the backup location of more than one skull except for him. He knew where the original two were.
“Now that we have protected our charge we must now consider relocating, at least temporarily,” he said. “We have a rogue element with unknown intentions that has just detonated a bomb on the street above who clearly knows our location and has the capabilities to reach it.” There were nods of ascent from around the room. “Very well, we will move immediately to our Beta Site. Is there any other business that must be concluded before we adjourn?”
The British Museum member spoke up. “Sir, I have just learned that Professor Palmer has been taken into custody for questioning. As well, our operative is currently with Professor Acton. One or both of them definitely knows where the third skull is. We should try to bring them both in for their protection.”
“Agreed,” said the Proconsul. “Make it happen.” He stood, ending the meeting, and headed toward his office with a heavy heart. He had served as Proconsul for over ten years, ever since the last Proconsul, his uncle, had died of cancer. As he headed down the long stone corridor he passed the offices of the other members, some of whom were already inside packing their personal items in boxes and destroying papers. He looked fondly at the British Museum member’s office as he passed. It had been his for almost twenty years.
He entered his office and closed the door, locking it behind him. Walking over to the large bookcase on the left, he pulled open two panels in the middle revealing an assortment of liquors and glasses. Selecting a 1968 Macallan scotch, he poured a double shot into a glass, held it up and shrugged his shoulders. I won’t be taking it with me. He added a bit more then went to a large, comfortable chair sitting in the far left corner of the room.
Gentle ambient lighting gave the illusion of being above ground making it easy to forget just how isolated he was down here. Sitting in his chair, he put his feet up on the ottoman and closed his eyes, the drink balancing in his right hand on the arm of the chair.
Don’t worry. Once this crisis is over, we’ll be back. You won’t lose the council’s home of four hundred years on your watch.
Montague Place, London, England
“I can’t believe that he’s involved!” exclaimed Acton. He shivered at
the thought of it. Or is it this damned alley? “And what do you mean by former member?”
“He was a member of the Triarii until about ten years ago. He was actually a member of our senior council. He began to push the view that mankind was ready to unite the skulls and see what their true power was. He felt technology had reached the point where they could be controlled. The council, of course, disagreed. He stole the skull he was responsible for from the Smithsonian. As with many of our members, he was already quite wealthy and powerful. He used this wealth and power to get into the position he now occupies. Since then he’s been searching for the skull that you found. It was he who launched the operation that killed your people.”
“How are you going to stop him?”
Rodney smiled. “We have our ways, but remember, he needs three skulls. As of tonight he has two and we’re already taking steps to have the other skulls placed into safekeeping.”
“What happened tonight? You said there was a robbery?”
“We had a team enter the museum and switch the real skull for a fake.”
“Laura was right!”
“Yes, we did this once before when it was going to be examined for a BBC documentary. It was unfortunate that Professor Palmer was so embarrassed by that incident, however she seems to have recovered from it, since she is now the head of the department.”
“Yes, but something went wrong this time?”
“Our team was ambushed and killed. They managed to switch the skulls, but when they left they were attacked and the real skull was taken. I don’t know more than that. I’ll know more when we go in.”
“You keep saying ‘we’,” said Acton. “Why do you think I would go in with you? Just because you told some long elaborate story doesn’t mean I trust you or even necessarily believe you. It all seems a bit fantastic to me.”
Rodney’s cellphone rang. He flipped it open and listened, then hung up and looked at Acton. “Professor Palmer has been nicked. We’re going to retrieve her. It would be beneficial if you were at the Triarii headquarters to meet her upon her arrival.”
“Why are you taking her?” asked Acton, suddenly feeling very protective of a woman he had only met earlier that day. “Why not leave her there? Surely she’s safe in a police station?”
“The men we are dealing with have all of the resources of the United States government at their disposal. And clearly no qualms about killing. Do you really believe they didn’t intercept the radio call telling the station that they were bringing her in, and why?”
Acton thought for a moment. “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “Assuming you’re telling me the truth,” he added. Man, I hope he is.
“You’ll just have to trust me. Now come with me, we’ll go to the council chambers and wait for her arrival.”
Acton nodded and followed Rodney out of the alley. He shivered, chilled to the bone after having spent so much time in the cold. A police car cruised by, the officers inside looking at the two men closely, then continuing on as another car pulled up in front of them, Rodney opening the door.
“After you.”
Acton climbed into the car, suddenly unsure if he had made the right decision.
New Scotland Yard
Laura sat in the interrogation room, staring at the mirror then the acoustic tiles in the ceiling. She yawned and started to count the holes. I hope James is okay. She looked back at the mirror. She knew it was definitely one of those two-way mirrors, and someone was probably on the other side observing her. The WPC assigned to watch her so she didn’t “hurt” herself stood by the door, staring at the floor. Sipping the tea Reading had brought her earlier, she waited.
She hadn’t waited long before the lights went out, emergency lighting immediately kicking in, dimly illuminating the room. “What’s going on?”
“Wait here,” said the constable. She opened the door and looked into the hallway.
Reading heard snoring on the other side of his office door. He looked through the glass and saw his two American guests, who had been waiting for hours, sound asleep in their chairs. He slapped Chaney on the chest and pointed. Chaney smiled as Reading threw open the door, loudly hitting the doorstop and rattling the glass.
“Good evening, gentlemen, or rather good morning I should say,” said Reading in an overly loud voice. Jasper and Lambert scrambled up in their chairs, jarred awake. “How can I help our American allies today? Tea?”
“Coffee if you’ve got it,” said Jasper, straightening himself up. He looked at his watch and frowned.
“Same,” said Lambert, rubbing his eyes. Reading nodded to Chaney who left the room to find a PC to fill the order.
“So, how may I be of service?”
“We’re looking for this man,” said Jasper, leaning forward and handing a file folder to Reading. “His name is Professor James Acton. We were told you were looking for him as well.”
“Yes, he’s wanted in connection with several investigations.” Reading opened the folder, which only contained a photo. He handed it back. “Why, may I ask, are you looking for him?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” replied Lambert.
Jasper looked at his underling with a slightly exasperated expression. “We’re looking for him in connection to an investigation we’re working on—the slaughter of his entire archeological team in Peru. He was the only survivor and has stayed in hiding.”
“Professor Acton seems to be a very popular man. And busy,” said Reading to Chaney as he re-entered the room. “Our colleagues here are looking for him in connection to killings in Peru.”
Chaney raised his eyebrows in surprise. “He certainly does get around. Is he suspected of being involved?”
Jasper shook his head. “Right now he’s just a person of interest. We’ve been tasked to bring him back to the United States for questioning.”
“Why didn’t the State Department just contact our Home Office? Why the personal visit?” asked Reading.
“Our orders come from the highest authority.” Jasper leaned in and lowered his voice. “Look, we nearly had him in New York, but lost him. Basically my career is on the line here. I was told to come back with him or not come back at all.”
Reading nodded. “Well, I’ll certainly keep you informed if we find him. He’s not suspected in any of the murders so after questioning we will probably be able to release him into your custody.”
“That would be acceptable.”
There was a knock at the door. Chaney opened it and a PC entered with a tray containing a tea service and two coffees. As he walked toward the desk, balancing the shaking tray like a waiter on his first day, the lights went out, and he lost any equilibrium he may have had. In the dark there was a yelp and a crashing sound as scalding hot coffee and tea splattered across the floor. When the emergency lights kicked in, Lambert stood, covered in coffee and tea, trying desperately to get the hot liquid off his hands and lap.
Ooh, that’ll boil the bollocks.
“Constable, show the Agent to the loo so he can clean up,” said Reading, who then looked at Chaney. “Find out what’s going on.”
Chaney nodded and left the room, dodging a bow legged Lambert as he gingerly walked his boys toward the bathroom, a grinning Police Constable directing him from behind.
Dawson activated his comm from the SUV’s passenger seat.
“Bravo Team, Bravo One. Remember, these are our allies. Keep casualties to a minimum, non-lethal force wherever possible. We don’t need an international incident here. Out.” They waited at the side prisoner transfer entrance of New Scotland Yard, it the closest to the interrogation rooms where Professor Palmer was probably being held. Red was at the main entrance waiting to create a diversion and Marco was in an underground access point, ready to cut the entire power grid for New Scotland Yard and the surrounding area. “Bravo Nine in position,” he signaled.
“Bravo Nine, proceed on my mark in three, two, one, mark.” The power went out all around them. It was
the middle of the night and it was now pitch black except for a few emergency lights on the outside of the building. “Bravo teams proceed.”
Dawson pulled the ski mask down over his face and the rest of his team followed. A few seconds later the alarm rang inside the building and explosions and gunfire erupted from the front entrance. Dawson’s team exited the vehicle and they raced to the prisoner transfer door. Dawson tried the handle. It was locked. He pointed at it and Niner immediately placed a small C4 charge on it. They turned their heads away and he hit the remote detonator. The small explosion made quick work of the locking mechanism. Dawson pulled the door open and two of his men took up position on either side of the entrance as the rest of the team rushed in.
Chaos reigned. Most of the reduced nightshift staff had run to the front of the building to see what was happening. One lone desk officer was left and when he saw the heavily armed men enter he ran for cover. Dawson tasered him in the leg and motioned for his team to bind him. They blew the inner door, then Dawson and Smitty entered the next corridor, leaving the final two team members to guard their escape route. As they jogged down the corridor looking through the windows, half way down the hall a lone constable stuck her head out a door.
“What is it?” asked Laura.
“I don’t know,” replied the Constable. “There seems to be—oh my God!” She fell backward into a heap on the floor, shaking from the electric shock of a Taser that had just hit her. Laura jumped out of her chair as two men wearing ski-masks entered the room.
“Come with us, Professor Palmer,” the bigger of the two said. She shook her head and started to move toward the back of the room. He raised his weapon and pointed it directly at her. “Now, Professor Palmer.”
The smaller one, who was by no means small, approached her and grabbed her by the arm. She immediately kicked him in the groin and kneed him in the face as he doubled over.
Reading jumped from his desk and ran out into the hallway when he heard the explosions, telling his guests to wait.
The Protocol (A James Acton Thriller, Book #1) Page 21