The Ajax Protocol (The Project)

by Lukeman, Alex

  "It's still there, isn't it?" Her voice was tight.

  Nick started to say something and thought better of it.

  "The whole thing stinks," she said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The file makes it look like dad was a traitor. He would never be a traitor. Not to his family or his country. Langley knew he was passing things to Moscow. Why didn't they stop him? You don't let someone give away secrets, once you know what they're doing. He had to be working with the blessing of the Director."

  "You think he was a double?"

  "Yes. I think Langley used him to pass disinformation to the Soviets."

  "Why wouldn't the file say that?" Nick asked.

  "I don't know. Maybe someone made a mistake and didn't want it known. Maybe there really was a traitor, someone who tipped off the Russians and covered it up by making my father look guilty. I may never know exactly what happened, but I know that the KGB killed him. If the person who did it is still alive, I want to make him pay. I want him to tell me what he knows."

  "Whoever killed him was a KGB assassin. How would you find him?"

  "I don't know, but I will."

  Looking at her, Nick was certain of one thing. If whoever killed her family was still alive, Selena would track him down. He suspected that once she found him, his days were numbered.

  "There's something I have to say," Nick said.

  "What?"

  "I need to know your judgment isn't being clouded by what you learned about your father."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's understandable that you'd be pissed at the Russians. I don't blame you, but we may have to work with Vysotsky."

  "He can't be trusted."

  "The people who killed your father aren't the people we're dealing with now. "

  "You don't know that," she said. "SVR is the successor to the old KGB. Some of the same people who worked for state security back then are still around. Vysotsky, for one."

  "Yeah, but Vysotsky has helped us in the past."

  "Are you done?" Her tone was cold.

  They entered the morass of downtown traffic.

  Nick felt himself getting angry. Maybe it was the sessions with the shrink. Things had been going a lot better with Selena since he'd started seeing someone to deal with his PTSD. The Afghanistan nightmare was coming less often but he still thrashed out during the night. It had made it hard to share the same bed. They'd been sleeping apart and the strain was taking its toll.

  The nightmare had started after he'd been wounded by a grenade in Afghanistan. A child had thrown the grenade, a boy no more than ten or eleven years old. Nick hadn't wanted to kill him. He'd hesitated, not wanting to shoot. The hesitation had almost cost him his life.

  The sessions seemed to stir up things that had nothing to do with what had happened in Afghanistan, things he didn't want to think about, like his childhood. Like thoughts about his father. His father had been a drunk, a womanizer and a bully. Carter Senior beat his wife and Nick with monotonous regularity, until the day Nick had been big enough to fight back. His sister had pulled him off before Nick killed him. His father had always left Shelley alone. She still defended him but she would never tell him why. It was one of the reasons Nick didn't get along with her.

  It felt like Selena was shutting him out because she didn't want to hear what he had to say, just like his sister. It pissed him off when she did that. He took a deep breath.

  "No, I'm not done. As long as I lead this team I have to know I can count 100 percent on everybody on it. If you can't separate out what happened to your father from what we have to do now, I have to worry about you. I know how you feel..."

  She interrupted him. "No, you don't." Her voice rose. "You have no idea how I feel. Don't you dare presume to know how I feel."

  They'd reached DuPont circle. She pulled to the curb and jammed on the brakes.

  "Get out," she said.

  He looked at her.

  "Get out," she said again.

  He started to say something and bit it back. He got out of the car and slammed the car door shut. She floored it and took off, tires smoking.

  Sometimes he wondered what the hell he was doing with her in the first place. He began the long walk back to his building.

  CHAPTER 11

  The haunting voice of Sarah McLachlan filled the elegant rooms of Selena's luxury condo. Her drink sat untouched on the end table beside the couch. She'd been staring out the windows for the best part of an hour, trying to make sense of the conflicting thoughts and feelings swirling through her mind.

  Selena's home was on the top floor of one of Washington's exclusive residential buildings. The wall of the living room was all windows from floor to ceiling. A wide, private balcony with an ornate, wrought iron fence ran outside the glass. The windows afforded a spectacular view of the Virginia countryside across the Potomac. Potted trees and a variety of colorful, flowering plants were spaced at random intervals along the balcony. It was the kind of city living space that inspired the covers of architectural magazines.

  Usually the impressive view calmed her and reassured her that there was stability and order in her world. Not today. Today the foundation of that order had crumbled.

  Her father was a traitor.

  The word traitor echoed in her mind. She remembered the last time she'd seen her father. She'd been 10 years old. Her mother, her father and her older brother were going to Big Sur for the weekend. She'd been looking forward to the trip. But she'd caught a cold and had a fever and couldn't go. Her father had come into the bedroom. She'd been sitting propped up against the pillows, playing with her favorite doll. She remembered he'd smelled of aftershave and cigarettes.

  "How's my girl feeling?"

  "I'm much better, daddy. Can I go?"

  "Not this time, pumpkin."

  "Joe." Her mother had called up the stairs. "We need to get going."

  "Uncle William will be here with you. We'll be back Sunday night, before you know it. You'll be all better by then. Next weekend we'll go to the beach."

  He bent over and kissed her on the forehead.

  "Bye, daddy."

  "Bye, pumpkin."

  He'd gone out the door. That was the last time she'd seen him.

  It had taken more than a year and a lot of love from her Uncle William to bring her out of her shell after the death of her family.

  The contents of the file Nick had given her had been a series of shocks, one after the other. The first shock was that her father had worked for the CIA. She'd never dreamed he was a spy. According to the file, he'd been under surveillance for almost 3 years before his death. That was a long time to let someone hand over important secrets. It reinforced her belief that the file was false, meant to cover somebody's tracks.

  The file contained dates of clandestine meetings with enemy agents. Records of suspicious deposits into his bank account. Old black-and-white photographs showing drop points and meetings in San Francisco and Washington. Records of phone calls. A damning chain of evidence that led to what seemed an inevitable conclusion, that her father had been selling classified material to the enemy.

  Langley knew her father was working with the Russians and had allowed him to continue. The only thing that made sense to her was that his involvement with the KGB was a sanctioned CIA operation. If that were the case, he wasn't a traitor, he was an unacknowledged hero. Just because the file accused Joseph Connor of treason didn't make it true.

  Nick had said the file was the only record of her father's activities. If that were so, there was no way to prove her father's innocence or guilt, one way or another. Worse, there was no one she could ask to look into it. Except Nick.

  Nick.

  Selena picked up her drink. The ice had melted. She stood and went to the kitchen sink and threw away the old drink, got some ice from the refrigerator door and poured herself an Irish whiskey. It was a taste she had acquired since she'd met Nick. She walked over to the windows and stared out over
the city and sipped from her glass.

  Nick had kept the file from her. She didn't know if she should be mad at him or grateful. How had she ended up in love with a man who seemed unable to make up his mind about what kind of relationship he wanted from her? She knew he loved her, she was certain of that. At least most of the time she was certain of it.

  She was in love with him, wasn't she? Maybe she should be asking herself what kind of relationship she wanted with him, rather than the other way around.

  Lately she'd found herself thinking about children. If she wanted to have children, time was running out. At 35, it was already a little late to be having kids. Not so much because of physical reasons but because of personal ones. She was used to doing things pretty much as she wanted. It wouldn't be exactly right to say she loved her work with the Project, but there was no denying she loved the excitement the unpredictability of it. How could she give that up? Children would change all of that. It would change her entire life, really.

  She had a hard time picturing Nick as a father. As far as that went, she could barely imagine herself as a mother. If she did decide to have children, it would mean leaving the Project. She wouldn't be able to accept the risk if she had a child to think about.

  Her thoughts turned back to the file.

  The KGB killed my family.

  Her hand tightened around the glass. It wasn't that long ago, she thought. If the people who did this are still alive, I'm going to find them.

  She downed the rest of her drink and poured another.

  CHAPTER 12

  The next morning Selena called Nick.

  "I'm sorry." She sounded tired over the phone. "I lost it, I shouldn't have gotten mad. I know you worry about all of us, about making sure we get in and get out alive when we go in the field."

  "Okay."

  "I'm angry, I want to see the bastards that killed my father get what's coming to them. But I'm not going to let any of that get in the way of what we have to do."

  "That's good enough for me. Maybe I could have been a little more diplomatic." He paused. "Sorry I slammed the door."

  "So, we're okay?" Her tone was light but Nick knew it was serious.

  "We're okay. Listen, Lamont is getting out of the hospital today. Let's have breakfast at that café near your place and then go pick him up. I'll call and let him know we're coming."

  "Deal."

  After breakfast, they headed for the hospital. Twice, Nick thought he saw a blue car following. He watched for it in the side mirror. When it didn't reappear, he relaxed. Sometimes a car was just a car.

  They found Lamont in his room, reading a back issue of Sports Illustrated and looking bored. He was dressed for the street. His face broke into a big smile as they came into the room.

  "The cavalry's here," Nick said. "Get your gear."

  Lamont held up a red gym bag. "Boy am I glad to see you two."

  "How you feeling, Shadow?"

  "Ready to get out of here. I was waiting for the doctor to show up and sign me out."

  "Let's go find him."

  Lamont had been a Navy Seal before Nick brought him into the Project. Lamont's mother had been a big fan of the Shadow radio show and named her son for the hero, Lamont Cranston. His Seal team had dropped the nickname of Shadow on him. It had stuck.

  There wasn't much of anything except muscle on Lamont's wiry frame. His skin was the color of fine coffee. He had unusual blue eyes, a gift from some forgotten Ethiopian ancestor. A thin ridge of pink tissue ran from over one eye down across his nose, a souvenir of Iraq.

  He picked up large pill container from the side table and put it in the gym bag.

  "You still on meds?" Nick said.

  "Antibiotics. Some new version. They mess up my guts, but the medicos say I have to keep taking them. I don't like them much." He zipped up the bag.

  They found the doctor. Ten minutes later they were in the hospital parking lot.

  Selena's car was a Mercedes CLS 550, a sleek 4 door product of German engineering with a turbocharged V6 engine and over 400 horsepower. Selena liked the Benz cars. She'd had a burgundy red coupe with more horses for a while, but it kept ending up at the dealership for repairs. She'd given up on it and traded for this one. Before that, she'd had a silver Benz she'd owned when she'd first met Nick. That one had ended up full of bullet holes and riding on the rims. This one was a beautiful metallic gray with an undertone of blue, a color somewhere between gunpowder and midnight.

  Lamont opened the rear door and tossed in his bag. At the edge of Nick's vision, something flashed. There are some things you never forget, like the reflection of light on a rifle scope aimed at you.

  Nick was standing between Selena and Lamont. Without thinking he ducked and pushed out and knocked them aside as the dulled sound of a silenced rifle came from somewhere in the rows of cars parked in the lot. Nick felt the round go by. The rear passenger window of the next car over shattered into a thousand pieces. They scrambled away from the Mercedes and ducked behind a white Ford truck in the next space.

  Lamont crouched down behind the rear tire. "Where is he?" he said.

  Before Nick could answer, a rapid burst from the shooter peppered the Ford, blowing out windows and striking the truck body with flat, metallic sounds. The tires on the side away from them blew out. The truck settled heavily onto the asphalt, listing to one side.

  Lamont began swearing. Nick risked a glance over the hood of the Ford. He caught a glimpse of the shooter behind a blue sedan.

  "He's on the left near the exit road," Nick said, "behind a blue Caddy. Lamont, are you armed?"

  "Nope. Hospital, remember?"

  "He can't keep this up, it's too public. Selena, you and Lamont stay here. I'll work across the lot and try and get behind him. If you can spot him, take a shot to keep him busy."

  Selena was about to answer when they heard the squeal of rubber on pavement. Nick looked in time to see the shooter's car speed away, headed out of the hospital parking complex. The car was moving fast, already beyond an easy shot. The angle was bad. Nick held the Sig in two hands and kept the white dots of his sights lined up on the driver's side window of the speeding vehicle. He let out half a breath and squeezed off three rounds. The big pistol rocked back in his hands.

  One. Two. Three.

  The window shattered. The car drifted to the right and crossed a curb at speed. It plowed into a row of parked cars with a sound as though someone had dropped ten tons of scrap metal from the sky. For a moment there was silence, then the gas tank exploded. Flame and black smoke billowed into the air over the parking lot.

  Lamont and Selena stood and gazed at the destruction.

  "Nice shooting," Lamont said.

  "I think I saw him behind us earlier, when Selena and I drove over here," Nick said.

  Selena raised an eyebrow. "You didn't say anything in the car."

  "I thought I was just being paranoid."

  Lamont gestured at the burning car. "Looks like you had a good reason."

  Nick took out his phone. "The cops will be here soon. I'll call Harker."

  CHAPTER 13

  The morning after the parking lot attack, Ronnie came back from his daily run. He showered and went into his bedroom and looked in the closet, deciding which shirt to wear. It was summer, which meant one of his Hawaiian shirts. With over a hundred to choose from, it wasn't an easy decision. Not very many people had a closet like his. He'd been accumulating the shirts for years, ever since the first time he'd been in the islands, stationed at the Marine Corps barracks on Oahu. It didn't fit anymore but he still had it, hung in the place of honor as the first one on the left.

  After some thought, he went for one with a scene of ukulele-strumming hula girls in grass skirts dancing beneath an unnaturally bright sky.

  He finished dressing and went into the kitchen and fired up the stove. He put a half dozen pieces of bacon into a pan, took two slices of bread out of the pantry and put it in the toaster. He got a couple of egg
s out of the refrigerator while the bacon was cooking. He threw some butter into the pan, turned up the flame and cracked the eggs in. He turned the bacon the couple of times, waiting for it to get dark enough so it would be crisp when he took it out. He flipped the eggs over. The toast popped up and he picked it out and put the pieces on his plate. He forked the bacon out of the pan onto a paper towel to drain the grease.

  Multitasking.

  Ronnie took the food over to a table and began eating. He lived in a one bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city, where he had a place to park his car, a black Hummer. Aside from the shirts, the Hummer was the only thing Ronnie owned that he cared about.

  He looked at his watch. It was time to head in for the morning briefing. He clipped the holster with his Sig onto his belt and let the shirt drape over it. He put on a pork pie hat and a pair of sunglasses and went out into the hall to the elevator.

  He scanned the parking garage as he stepped out of the elevator but there was nothing out of the ordinary. He got into his car and began the drive to work. Traffic was heavy. It was always heavy, except in the early morning hours. Not like the long, empty stretches of desert highway back home.

  It had been too long since he'd been home. His Auntie had done her best when she was bringing him up to pass on to him the traditions of the Diné, his people. She'd made him learn Diné bizaad, the Navajo language. She'd taught him respect for the healing ceremonies that traditional Navajos relied upon to restore their sense of harmony and oneness with the world.

  Somehow life always managed to shatter one's sense of harmony. At the moment, about the only thing Ronnie felt at one with was the steering wheel under his hands. Lately he'd felt like he was being stalked by the Chindi, the evil ghosts of the enemies he'd killed. It wasn't that he really believed in ghosts, but it wouldn't hurt to undergo a healing ceremony. He decided that when this new mission was finished he would go back to Arizona for a while. Maybe he could get Lamont and Nick to go with him. He wasn't the only one who could use a little help with his ghosts.