The Ajax Protocol (The Project)

by Lukeman, Alex

  "Roger that." That was Lamont.

  Nick said, "Ronnie, Lamont, get out of there. Work your way toward the stage and then up the aisle on the left. I'll meet you there. Selena, you too. This isn't working. Let's find Wigland."

  The aisle on the left ran up from the arena floor past the stage, below the end of the horseshoe tier of seats were Nick stood. From the first two or three rows, the drop from the seating to the aisle wasn't far.

  Nick started down toward the arena floor. Then something caught his eye, something that didn't fit. At first he couldn't put his finger on exactly what he had seen. What was it? He'd been looking at the aisle, the seats, estimating the distance to the floor. What did I see? He scanned the rows of concert goers. They were excited, smiling, rocking in rhythm to the music. There was movement everywhere.

  Except for one man, sitting in the second row, three seats away from the railing at the end of the tier.

  The man stared down at the stage. He looked worried. He wasn't tapping his feet. He wore a blue shirt and had a camera bag slung over his shoulder.

  Who sits still at a rock concert?

  "I've got him." Nick spoke into his microphone. "Second row up, three seats in. Over the left-hand aisle by the stage. Blue shirt, camera bag."

  "I see him," Selena said.

  "Roger," Ronnie said. "On my way."

  Nick began to work his way toward the man with the bag. People complained as he brushed past their feet and bumped their legs.

  "Oy," one man said in a loud voice. "Where d'ya think you're going?"

  "Sorry." Nick pushed past him. Blue Shirt looked over and saw Nick coming. Nick was still a few seats away when Blue Shirt stood up, forced his way past a large man sitting next to him and climbed up on the railing over the aisle.

  "Stop him," Nick yelled.

  Blue Shirt went over the railing and dropped out of sight. Heads turned as Nick pushed past and leapt over the railing. He landed on his feet. The shock from the floor sent electric shocks up his spine. His back had bothered him ever since the jump injury he'd picked up in the Himalayas.

  Blue Shirt should have turned to his left, toward the area backstage, or into the crowd in front. Instead he made for the stage itself. He knocked aside a security man and leapt up onto the stage. Nick scrambled up after him.

  The band had just finished a number and the blond singer stood center stage, holding his guitar in one hand and a microphone in the other. He turned to look at the two men who had climbed onto his stage. On the floor, the crowd clapped and cheered at this new twist. The noise was deafening.

  "Stop him!" Nick yelled.

  Blondie's eyes widened. Blue Shirt ran straight toward him. Blondie dropped the microphone, grabbed the neck of his guitar with both hands and swung it like a baseball bat. The flat of the guitar caught Blue Shirt square in the chest. A discordant crash came through the amplifiers as the neck broke away from the body of the guitar and the strings came loose.

  It was like being hit by a truck. Blue Shirt went down, hard. The audience screamed in excitement.

  Nick reached the center of the stage. He looked down at the man lying dazed at his feet.

  "Nice work," Nick said. He looked at the guitar. The body dangled from the broken neck, hanging by the strings. Nick gestured at it.

  "Kind of messed up your guitar."

  "Yeh, well." The singer didn't seem bothered by what had happened. He vibrated with nervous energy. The pupils of his eyes were black and wide. He looked at Nick. "I break these up as part of the show but I never thought I'd hit someone with one. I've got three more backstage. Who are you?"

  "I can't tell you that. But you solved a big problem." He looked out at the audience. They were yelling and jumping up and down, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

  "Maybe you should take an intermission," Nick said.

  "Nah." He gestured at the shouting audience. "They think it's part of the show. But can you get this bloke out of the way?"

  "No problem," Nick said.

  He grabbed Blue Shirt by his legs and dragged him away. The crowd cheered.

  One of the singer's crew ran on stage with another guitar and handed it to him. Blondie turned to his audience. "All right!" he yelled. He launched into the next number.

  Wigland was waiting for him in the wings. "I told you to stay out of this," he said. "What do you think you're doing? You're under arrest."

  "On what charge?"

  "You assaulted a British citizen."

  "Actually, I didn't. It was the guy with the guitar who did that."

  "Because you chased this poor man onto the stage."

  The rest of the team joined them. Lamont was breathing hard. The man in the blue shirt lay on the floor, groaning. He coughed and blood trickled from his mouth. Out front, the concert was going full blast.

  "Before you start feeling too sorry for him, you might want to check that bag he's carrying," Nick said. He hoped there was more inside it than a camera. He had acted on instinct and intuition. He was about to find out if he had been right.

  One of Wigland's men opened the bag. "Sir, you'd better look at this." He eased a rectangular aluminum box from the camera bag onto the floor. A red LED blinked on the top of it.

  "Doesn't look much like a camera," Ronnie said.

  Wigland looked angry and surprised.

  Nick's earpiece sounded. It was Harker. "Nick, there's been an explosion near Parliament. There can't be much time before they activate that weapon."

  "Wigland," Nick said, "it's starting. Someone set off a bomb by your Parliament building. This thing is the next piece of it. You have to destroy it."

  Wigland said, "It's evidence, and besides it could be a bomb. I'm calling in the explosives squad."

  "It's not a bomb, it's a receiver and amplifier."

  "You don't know that, Carter. Leave this to someone who knows what he's doing. I'm calling in the squad. "

  "Damn it," Nick said. "I've had enough of your bullshit. There's no time for this."

  Before Wigland could stop him, Nick turned and stomped on the box as hard as he could. The thin aluminum crumpled under the blow. The seams came apart. Sparks and a wisp of smoke shot out. The red LED stopped flashing.

  Harker's voice sounded in his earpiece. "Nick, what's happening?"

  "We found the device. It's been destroyed." He looked at Wigland. "I need you to call MI5 and clear us out of here," he said. "We've been getting flak from one of their people. His name is Wigland."

  "I'll handle it," Harker said. "Good work. Come home." Nick heard her break the connection.

  Nick turned to Wigland. "We're leaving now. We're going to our hotel and then we're going home tomorrow. I can't say it's been a pleasure working with you."

  Wigland looked like he was ready to have a stroke. "You bloody Yank. You're not going anywhere..." His phone signaled a call. He picked it up and listened.

  "Yes, sir," he said. His back straightened. He looked at Nick. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I understand."

  Wigland put his phone away. He looked like he was choking. "I've been told to give you my full cooperation." His face was red. "I've also been told to offer you an apology."

  Nick decided he didn't want to make it easy. He waited.

  "I apologize for any problems I may have caused you," Wigland said. He sounded like he was strangling on something as he said it.

  "Accepted," Nick said.

  "One of my men will drive you back to your hotel."

  "That would be appreciated."

  As they headed back through the city, they could see a thick column of black smoke rising into the air where the bomb had exploded. A convoy of fire trucks and ambulances roared by. But there were no trucks full of soldiers, no police in riot gear.

  "We were lucky," Selena said.

  "Yeah." Nick looked out the window at the smoke. "Not so lucky for whoever was there when that bomb went off."

  "Can you imagine what would have happened if that thin
g had gone off in there?" she said. "All those people."

  "It didn't, that's what counts."

  "They'll try again," Ronnie said.

  Nick tugged on his ear. "That's a safe bet."

  CHAPTER 31

  The call from the White House caught Elizabeth by surprise.

  "I've been summoned to the White House," she said to Stephanie. "Edmonds has something on his mind."

  "What do you think he wants?"

  "I have no idea, but I doubt that it's good news. The man has never liked me."

  "I wonder if it has anything to do with Alaska?" Stephanie said.

  "Only one way to find out."

  An hour later Elizabeth was at the White House. A Secret Service agent escorted her to the Vice President's office. Edmonds was behind his desk, reading something. He didn't bother standing when she came into the room.

  "Mister Vice President," she said.

  "Take a seat, Director." Edmonds didn't look at her. He gestured at a chair in front of the desk.

  She sat down and noticed that the chair seemed slightly lower than normal. It had the effect of putting anyone who sat in it lower than the desk. Already a small woman, Elizabeth was forced to look up toward Edmonds behind his desk.

  So it's going to be like that, is it? Elizabeth thought. She controlled her anger. What a cheap trick. That son of a bitch put this chair here on purpose.

  Edmonds continued reading for another minute. He set the document down and looked at her for the first time.

  "I'll get right to the point, Harker. It's come to my attention that you have been interfering in a classified military operation code-named Ajax."

  Elizabeth's expression revealed nothing. Without meaning to, Edmonds had told her something she hadn't known. Now that she had the name of the program, she'd be able to find out everything about it. She would get Stephanie on it as soon as she got back to Virginia.

  "I'm not sure that I follow you, sir," Elizabeth said.

  "Oh, I think you do. The President has seen fit to overlook your indiscretions in the past. This meeting is to clear up any misconceptions you may have about the way I view your unit and your methods of operation."

  "I'm sure your observations will be helpful, sir."

  "Are you trying to be funny, Director?"

  "Of course not, sir." Asshole.

  "Your meddling may have seriously compromised our security. I cannot allow you to continue. The undisciplined way in which you and your team approach issues affecting our nation's well being is unacceptable. As of this moment, you will immediately cease any activity associated with Ajax. I'm putting a hold on your unrestricted security clearance pending review."

  "With all due respect, Mister Vice President, only President Rice has the authority to do that."

  "Well, Harker, President Rice isn't here right now. You're on notice. Any more interference and there will be serious consequences."

  Elizabeth wanted to throw something at him.

  "That's all," Edmonds said. "You know the way out."

  Sometimes when she felt stressed or angry, Elizabeth would remember something her father had said. A memory surfaced now.

  Judge Harker had been sitting in his favorite green chair, a glass of aged Kentucky bourbon in his hand. A crackling fire balanced the cold of a Colorado winter outside the windows of his den. Elizabeth had been 20 years old, home on a winter break from college. They'd been talking about the cultural gender gap.

  "There will always be men who don't respect women," her father had said. "You can't change them, but you don't have to put up with it. Sometimes you can walk away. Sometimes you have to demand respect."

  Looking at this pompous man sitting across from her, Elizabeth knew she should keep quiet, but this was one of those times when her personal sense of integrity demanded more than walking away. She stood.

  "Mister Vice President, you have no conception of what my unit does or how it acts to safeguard our nation's security. I find your implications insulting. I don't know who has been feeding you misinformation, but I'll find out. When I do, I will take whatever steps I feel are necessary to protect the national interest. In the meantime, I will continue to act with the authority of the President."

  Edmonds pursed his lips and frowned. He looked as if he had eaten something unpleasant. Elizabeth looked down at the chair she'd been sitting in and back up at Edmonds.

  "By the way," she said, "you might want to get a carpenter in here to fix this chair."

  She turned her back on him and walked away.

  CHAPTER 32

  Stephanie's fingers sped over her keyboard, entering commands. She was hacking into the main server at the Pentagon. Elizabeth had come back from the White House, told her what Edmonds had said and set her on a search for anything about Ajax.

  Stephanie entered a final command and the screen cleared. She was in, with full access to the Pentagon's servers.

  The SATWEP substation in Alaska was a military asset. Stephanie decided to start there. Once she had isolated the proper location, the first thing she found was a damage report on the aftermath of the team's action. There was nothing in the report about any kind of unusual equipment or installation, much less a planned attack on Riyadh. The raid was being treated by the Pentagon as a domestic terrorist attack by an unknown group, possibly carried out by eco-terrorists.

  Stephanie entered a new search using Ajax as a keyword, along with the facility location. A warning screen appeared with the seal of the Pentagon and a security level Steph had never encountered before. It requested a password.

  Interesting, she thought. What's this? She activated a program she'd written to unravel encrypted and password-protected files. A progress bar appeared on the screen and began to fill with a solid blue stripe. She sat back in her chair and waited.

  As she waited, Steph thought about Lucas. A few years ago, she never would have dreamed that she would be in a relationship with a rising star in the CIA. Langley and the Project had often been at odds in the past, although now that Clarence Hood was director things were good between the two organizations. Sometimes she felt uncomfortable with Lucas and she knew he felt the same. There were things they simply could not tell each other.

  Elizabeth had been wonderful. She'd never given so much as a hint that she thought the cross agency relationship was inappropriate, or that Stephanie might somehow compromise a Project operation because she was so intimately linked to Langley. As for Lucas, he had appeared like a rescuing angel at the worst moment of her life. Since then, the two of them had been skirting the edges of deeper commitment. Now they were about to take the next step.

  Stephanie smiled to herself. She reached up and absently touched a gold hoop earring dangling from her right ear.

  The computer beeped and the screen cleared. Stephanie saw a neat row of icons that represented file folders. She opened one at random. It was an inventory of small arms pistol and rifle ammunition being stored by the Department of Homeland Security. Why is this here? she thought.

  Steph looked at the total. DHS had stockpiled over 500 million rounds in .40 Smith and Wesson. It was the cartridge of choice for the pistols and MP5s favored by SWAT and military units. Another 900 million rifle and machine gun rounds were listed.

  That's a lot of ammunition. Why does homeland security need so much ammo?

  Steph opened another file. This one detailed supply logistics for the FEMA center near Oklahoma City. What's any of this doing in the Pentagon computers? she thought. FEMA is Homeland Security's turf.

  A third folder discussed the advantages and performance of specialist AFVs in an urban environment. AFV's were Armored Fighting Vehicles equipped with active protection systems and composite armor. They were designed to resist landmines, IEDs and attacks by rifle and machine gun fire. It took serious firepower to stop one. The Department of Homeland Security had contracted for a large number of new AFVs and had begun taking delivery the year before. Thousands of military versions had been
brought back from Iraq and Afghanistan and classified as surplus. Those were in the process of being delivered to police departments all over the country. Why was this discussion here, in this encrypted file?

  The fourth folder contained a memorandum. There was nothing to indicate who had composed it or how it had been distributed. It contained directives to be followed under something called the Ajax Protocol. The document was divided into sections. Stephanie started reading.

  The Protocol began with a general discussion of legal issues surrounding enforcement of the plan presented in the memorandum. It noted that various Executive Orders already on the books permitted enforcement of the Protocol under direction of the White House.

  Section 1 was an overview of the current media climate regarding terrorism. It discussed the American public's perception of how the government should respond in the event of a terrorist attack. It proposed several possible critical incident scenarios which would provide an excuse for implementation of the protocol. They all involved events taking place on a nationwide scale.

  Section 2 presented a brief overview of detention facilities located throughout the country. These included existing federal and state prisons and the numerous FEMA centers that had been built since the disaster of Hurricane Katrina. All of those centers were currently empty. Steph remembered seeing pictures of them.

  Most were located next to railroad tracks, many laid down to service a particular installation. The centers had state-of-the-art controlled entries manned by guard stations. Each center was surrounded by a high, chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Steph had been struck by the fact that the wire on top was angled inward, as if to keep anyone inside the fence from climbing out. It had seemed to her that it should be the other way around, if you were going to have barbed wire at all.

  Section 3 provided guidelines and listed available resources to help senior officers prepare their subordinates and troops for the psychological impact of armed resistance from their own countrymen. It acknowledged that deadly force would be required to suppress resistance and that there would be psychological consequences as a result of civilian casualties.