The Protocol (A James Acton Thriller, Book #1)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Control Actual, Bravo One. Extreme prejudice, sir? Please clarify? Over.”

  “I want a message sent,” responded the voice. “I don’t want them just killed. I want them eliminated in a public way so that no member of this organization will ever sleep again with both eyes closed. Use one of those choppers if you have to.”

  The phrase had Dawson’s chest suddenly tighten, his breath held as he finally realized who Control Actual was. “They’ll never sleep again with both eyes closed.” He had heard it in enough speeches about terrorism to know who had just ordered him to kill two civilians, one a foreign national, in public, on foreign soil.

  The President of the United States.

  “Control Actual, Bravo One, please confirm! We are on a foreign ally’s soil, these are civilian targets. A public take-down could result in other civilian casualties.”

  “Carry out your orders, or your identities go public.”

  Anger surged through Dawson’s veins. Threaten me, fine. Threaten my family, or that of my men? Unacceptable! But he knew he had to be delicate. He had to try and figure out a way to placate this madman so he didn’t follow through on his threat.

  At least not until I can kill him myself.

  “Sir, what is this all about?” asked Dawson “I know the SAM project has nothing to do with this.”

  There was silence for a moment. “I’m looking at your file. You have a sister in Connecticut don’t you? And a godchild named Bryson?”

  Dawson remained silent as he pictured his sister and his niece as well as Red’s son.

  “If you want to see them again, follow your orders. Control out.”

  Dawson sat back in his chair and ripped off his head set, whipping it on the table.

  He’s lost it!

  Dawson sat for several minutes, calming his racing heart as adrenaline and fury did a number on his system. Sucking in several slow, deep breaths, he rose and made his way to the infirmary.

  “How ya doing?” he asked as he entered the room where Red was being looked after.

  Red smiled. “Not bad. The doc said I’ll be fine, hopefully operational within a few months. Now, what’s wrong?”

  “Control’s lost it.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned closer so no one else could hear. “He wants the targets eliminated publicly. Very publicly.”

  “Permission to speak freely?”

  “Granted.”

  “BD, this sounds like an illegal order to me,” said Red. “You don’t have to follow it.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I found out who Control is.”

  “Who?”

  “The President.”

  Red paled slightly as his heart rate monitor beeped slightly faster.

  “And he threatened Bryson and my sister, all of our families if I don’t. I have no choice. I’ll try to keep the civilian casualties to a minimum, but this one is going to be a Charlie Foxtrot.”

  Red’s heart monitor beeped even faster. “He threatened our families?”

  “Yes. Like I said, this is out of control. If we make it out of this, we’ll talk about what we’re going to do about it.” Dawson watched as the beep rate increased. He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of things. Nobody is going to hurt Bryson or your wife. After tonight, Control won’t be able to hide.”

  Red’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his friend. “Why, what are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, everything will be fine.” Dawson stood up and raised his voice. “You take it easy now and I’ll see you when I get back.” He strode out of the room before his friend could say anything else.

  I don’t know if I’ll be seeing you again, my friend.

  The White House, Washington, DC

  Darbinger listened in horror as his friend of many years turned off the communications gear and rose to face him.

  “What’s wrong?” Jackson asked. “This will end it, once and for all.”

  “You’ve gone too far!” said Darbinger. “You have to let this go! These are innocent people who have done nothing wrong. You’re risking an international incident with one of our greatest allies just to settle a grudge because you’re pissed you failed!”

  “Watch your tone with me!”

  “You had Billy killed, didn’t you?”

  “Who the hell is Billy?”

  “Guthrie’s kid,” said Darbinger. “He saw the file and you had him killed!”

  “I couldn’t risk him getting in the way of God’s plan,” replied Jackson.

  “God’s plan? God doesn’t want innocent kids killed!”

  “Enough!” screamed Jackson. “We may be friends, but don’t forget who got you where you are today!”

  Darbinger shook his head. “You’re not my friend. My friend wouldn’t be doing this. My friend would realize that this had to stop,” he pleaded. “Please, you have to let this go!”

  Jackson smiled and started toward the door. “This has only just begun. After I rid the world of that goddamned professor, I’m going to hunt down the Triarii until I possess all of the skulls. God put me here for a purpose, and this is it!”

  He opened the door and slammed it behind him.

  Darbinger stared at the closed door in disbelief.

  He’s gone mad!

  He remained seated in the Oval Office for several minutes, trying to think of what to do, when the door opened again. It was one of the Secret Service agents assigned to the room.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m just doing a routine sweep, I thought you had left,” he said politely. When there was no reply he closed the door behind him. “Sir, are you okay?”

  Darbinger finally acknowledged him. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Agent Sharpe,” replied the young man.

  “No, your first name.”

  Sharpe replied, “Peter.”

  “Peter, you’re sworn to protect the President with your life, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you’ve also sworn to uphold the constitution and protect this country, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What would you do if those conflicted?”

  “Sir? I’m not sure I understand,” replied Sharpe.

  Darbinger sighed, then slowly stood up. “Never mind, son. I hope you never have to make the choice.” He approached the front of the desk and with his back to the agent, picked up the heavy statue of a bald eagle and looked at the base of it. “I’m sorry, Peter,” he whispered. He swung around and hit the young Secret Service agent on the side of the head with the heavy statue. Sharpe fell to the floor unconscious, blood trickling out of a small wound on the side of his scalp.

  Darbinger checked his pulse to make sure he was okay, then reached under his suit and found the shoulder holster. He retrieved the gun and inspected it. Checking the safety, he hid the weapon in his pants.

  Straightening himself up, he calmly exited the office.

  Laura Palmer’s Flat, London, England

  Stucco stood watch as Casey picked the lock to Professor Palmer’s apartment. They were Mickey and Spaz’ replacements and weren’t surprised to be off on their own doing side missions while the rest of the team who had trained together for months were involved in the main action. Within seconds they were in the apartment. Stucco searched as Casey planted a couple of bugs. Near the doorway Stucco found a set of car keys. “She’s got a vehicle!” he called to Casey who had just finished planting the last bug in the master bedroom. “We’ll need to tag it.”

  “Do we know which car?” asked Casey as he entered the living room.

  Stucco tossed the keys to him. “Use the fob.”

  Casey went to the window and pressed the button to unlock the doors. Below on the street, lights flashed on a car parked in front of the building. He pressed another button to lock the car back up. “Got it!” he said as he tossed the keys back to Stucco.
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  Within a few minutes they had searched the apartment top to bottom, leaving no evidence they had been there. As they headed out, Stucco radioed in. “Bravo One, Bravo Three. Come in, over.”

  “Bravo Three, Bravo One. Go ahead, over,” replied Dawson almost immediately.

  “We’ve swept the location, no sign of the item. We’ve left some ears and are about to tag a vehicle. ETA to base, thirty minutes, over.”

  “Roger that, Bravo One out.”

  They exited the building and Stucco looked around.

  “Which car is it?” Stucco asked. Casey pointed. Stucco whistled in appreciation.

  Royal London Hospital, London

  Reading, Acton, and Laura stood by Chaney’s bedside as he regained consciousness. Reading looked at him and smiled.

  “Just like a junior copper to get shot in the back while running away!”

  Chaney smiled. “Good to see you too, guv.”

  Reading laughed and turned to the professors. “He’ll be okay.”

  “Professor Acton,” whispered Chaney weakly, “you must get the third skull to the Triarii.”

  “Yeah, I realize that now,” said Acton. “How do we find them?”

  Chaney smiled then passed out.

  “Great, what do we do now?” asked Acton.

  “You’ll need to leave now,” said a voice from the doorway. “Mr. Chaney needs his rest. You can come back tomorrow to see him.” She handed Acton a card. “Here are the visiting hours.”

  “Thanks,” he said, putting the card in his pocket. They filed out the door and headed for the elevator.

  “What now?” Laura asked.

  “Well, I guess we go get the skull from your apartment and then wait for the Triarii to contact us,” said Acton.

  “I’ll come with you,” said Reading as they entered the elevator. “You may need protection. And besides, I still have a few questions for you.” As they exited the hospital, Reading flagged a waiting squad car—the bullet-ridden Triarii SUV they had made their escape in having already been taken away as evidence.

  Minutes later they were at Laura’s apartment and Reading watched in amazement as the two professors opened the secret compartment in the tabletop. Acton removed the package, opened it and held it up for the inspector to see.

  “It’s beautiful,” he whispered in awe. “Can I hold it?”

  “Sure,” said Acton, handing it to him. Reading took it and cradled it carefully in his hands. He held it up to the lamp, gasping as the skull’s design collected the light and focused it through the eyes.

  “Absolutely unbelievable. Incredible that something so beautiful could be the cause of so much death and destruction.”

  “Indeed,” said Laura. “If you believe the Triarii, these things have been the cause of a lot more death than we saw today.”

  “I’m not sure whether I believe that stuff or not,” said Acton, “but I’ll tell you this. I don’t want to have anything to do with it anymore. Clearly someone believes the stories and is willing to kill us for it. The sooner that thing is out of our hands the better!”

  “Agreed,” said Reading. “Now, how do we contact the Triarii to give it to them?”

  Acton shrugged his shoulders and sat down. “I have no idea, but these guys seem to have a habit of showing up when you least expect them.”

  “Perhaps we should just wait?” suggested Laura.

  “Something tells me the men who are after you two can find out quite easily where you live,” said Reading. “I think we should leave immediately. We can go to The Yard and wait there.”

  “That didn’t help us before,” said Laura.

  “Security there will be tight, now. There’ll be no repeat of last night’s incident.”

  Acton pulled out his Blackberry and the card the nurse had given him, glancing at Reading’s raised eyebrows. “Sorry, old habit I guess,” said Acton sheepishly as he clicked away on the tiny keyboard. “Whenever I get a business card I put it in my Blackberry so I don’t have my pockets cluttered up with them.” He flipped the card over and a smile spread across his face. He held it up for the others to see. “Look familiar?”

  They both leaned in to look. The card had the Triarii logo embossed on one side.

  “The Triarii!” exclaimed Laura. “Where did you get that?”

  “The nurse in the hospital gave it to me. She said it had the hospital visiting hours on it.”

  “Let me see,” said Reading. Acton handed it over to him then clipped the Blackberry back on his belt. Reading examined the card. “There’s just a phone number on the other side then a series of three two-digit numbers under it. I wonder what those are?”

  Laura lifted the cordless phone off the table. “I guess we call and find out. Who wants to do the honors?”

  “Allow me,” said Acton. He took the phone and the card then dialed the number. The phone rang once then someone picked up. There was silence on the other end. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Again silence. “Listen, if someone is listening, this is Professor Acton. I have the skull. Someone gave me this card. I assumed I was supposed to call you to arrange for pickup.” Again silence. Acton turned to Reading. “Nobody seems to be on the other end.”

  “Try keying in the numbers, maybe it’s an automated system?” suggested Reading.

  Acton punched in the six numbers from the card. Still nothing. “But why would they be in groups of two if you’re meant to key them in?” he asked. “Wait a minute. Seventeen, Thirty-Four, Oh-Five,” he said, reading the numbers.

  “One moment please,” said a voice.

  “It worked!” said Acton, his hand covering the mouthpiece. “They’re putting me through.”

  A moment later a man’s deep voice came on the line. “Hello, Professor Acton,” it said. “This is the Proconsul of the Triarii.”

  “Ah, hello, sir. I have what you’re looking for. When can we meet?”

  “Do you have a vehicle available to you?”

  Acton covered the phone and whispered, “Do we have a car?” Laura nodded. “Yes,” said Acton, returning to the conversation.

  “Get to Coventry. You will be met at the train station.” The line went dead.

  “He said to go to Coventry and wait at the train station,” repeated Acton as he hung up the phone.

  “That’s about two hours from here,” said Laura.

  Acton stood up. “Then we better get going.”

  “It’s probably better if I call for a car,” said Reading, reaching for his phone.

  Laura shook her head, grabbing her keys. “No, we’ll take my car, it’ll be faster.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Reading.

  “Trust me,” she said, smiling.

  RAF Lakenheath, USAF 48th Fighter Wing

  “Sergeant Major!” Dawson turned in his chair to see Niner’s head poke through the door. “We’ve got movement on Palmer’s vehicle!” Dawson jumped up and ran to the communications room where the tracking equipment had been set up.

  “We have a fix on them?”

  “Yeah, the transmitter we placed on her car is working perfectly,” said Niner as he took his seat at the laptop.

  “Excellent. Any idea on where they’re headed?”

  “Yeah. Looks like they’re heading to Coventry via the M1,” Niner replied. “Stucco and Casey aren’t far from them. Should I have them follow?”

  “Yes, but at a safe distance, this is going to get messy.”

  “Roger that,” said Niner as he turned to radio the replacements. Dawson headed to the rec room and pointed at their master of all things aerial, Wings.

  “Wheels up in five.”

  Dawson returned to the communications room and sat down in front of the satellite gear, punching in his access code. “Control, Bravo One, requesting Control Actual, over.”

  He waited for Control Actual to be notified and a few minutes later the response came through. “Bravo One, Control Actual, go ahead.”

  “Control Actual, Bravo On
e. We have located the targets and are preparing to engage, over.”

  “Remember your orders, Bravo One. I want spectacular. I will be watching from here, out.”

  Dawson turned off the equipment and began putting his gear on. This is going to get real messy. He stepped out into the hallway and found Wings waiting for him. They drove in silence to the Humvee as Dawson weighed his options. It was clear to him now that this mission was off the rails. With it being under the personal control of the President—something that was unheard of—he knew it was also completely off the books.

  And now that he knew the DARPA project story was bullshit, it meant that nothing had been stolen from the US government. It also meant that those students and their professor were exactly what the newspapers said they were—students and their professor. No terror cell, no indoctrinated students, no stolen top secret military project.

  Innocents.

  And if the Professor was innocent, then so was his supposed contact he was ordered to torture. He most likely was indeed a poor French tourist who had the misfortune to meet the Professor.

  The terrorist headquarters they hit had him slightly confused. Those men were armed to the teeth, something you just didn’t see in England. Who were they? All the intel on them seemed to match up. Were they a terror cell? And if they were, and they had no connection to the Professor, then why not have the British deal with them? But if the Professor had nothing to do with them, why did he come to London?

  Dawson growled in frustration.

  “You okay, BD?” asked Wings.

  Dawson shook his head. “It’s this mission. Something’s not right.”

  “No shit,” agreed Wings. “I’m glad I’m not the only one thinking it.”

  Dawson pulled onto the tarmac, stopping fifty yards from the Apache they had shipped over. As Dawson climbed out he frowned, it appearing the ground crew were still prepping the gunship.

  “Status?” asked Dawson as he approached.

  “Just finishing up, sir,” said the crew chief who walked up to greet them.

  “What’s loaded?”

  “The cannons are fully armed and we’ve got half the Hellfire’s loaded,” he replied.