James Acton 01 - The Protocol (29 page)

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. “So 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 remained seated in the Oval Office, 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. Removing 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.

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 Three to Bravo One.”

“Bravo One here, go ahead, Bravo Three.”

“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.

The White House, Washington, DC

Wheeler sat in Darbinger’s outer office, waiting for him to return. The staff kept nervously glancing at him and whispering amongst themselves. He didn’t care.
Yeah, that’s right. Look what your fucking boss has done.
The longer he sat the more pissed off he became.

It had only been a few minutes, but he could stand it no longer. He stood and strode out the door.

“Sir, you have to wait here!” called the surprised secretary as she pursued him. He rounded a corner and saw Darbinger at the end of the hallway, getting on an elevator.

“Darbinger!” he yelled. Darbinger stuck his head out the door of the elevator then ducked back inside. Wheeler ran toward the elevator. He could see Darbinger mashing on the
Close
button. The doors shut just as he reached the elevator. He slammed his fist against them. Behind him, the secretary screamed for security.

Laura Palmer’s Flat, London, England

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 window, 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 Scotland Yard and wait there.”

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

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

Acton pulled out his Blackberry and the card the nurse had given him. Laura looked at him. “Can’t that wait until later, James?”

“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 are 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.”

Laura grabbed her keys. “We’ll take my car, it’ll be faster.”

“Are you sure?” asked Reading.

“Trust me,” she said, smiling.

RAF Lakenheath, USAF 48
^th
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?”

“Yes. Looks like they’re heading to Coventry via the M1,” Niner replied. “Bravos Three and Six are not far from the M1. 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 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. “Bravo One to Control.”

He waited for Control to be notified that he was contacting them. A few minutes later the response came through. “Bravo One, this is Control, go ahead.”

“Control, this is Bravo One. We have located the targets and are preparing to engage.”

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

“Affirmative Control, Bravo One out.” He turned off the equipment and began putting his gear on.
This is going to get real messy.

Near Laura Palmer’s Flat

London, England

 “Not exactly designed for adults back here,” grumbled Reading as he surveyed the backseat of the silver Porsche 911 Carrera S. Laura was driving and Acton had educated him on the value of calling “shotgun” first when Americans were involved, leaving him stuck in the back.

“It was my brother’s.”

“I thought he was an archaeologist like you? How could he afford this?” asked Acton.

“Oh no, he just came on the digs with me sometimes for fun,” Laura replied. “He made a mint on the Internet before the bubble burst. He left me enough money to never have to work again, but that’s just not me. It does however let me fund my own digs when I can’t find anyone else to do it. I was going to sell the car, but he got me hooked on racing it at some of the local tracks so I decided to keep it after he was gone.”

“I’m surprised he raced Porsches. I thought you Brits liked Jags?” Acton ran his hand across the dash.

Laura laughed. “Do you want to get there or just look good broken down on the side of the motorway?”

Reading chuckled. “So, you know how to drive this thing?”

Laura looked back at him and smiled. They were waiting for a red light to turn when she said, “Hang on!” She turned off the traction control and lit up the tires when she floored it. The 355-horsepower engine nailed them to their seats, and the 295 pound-feet of torque ate up the road. Seconds later they were at the next red light. She came to a stop in a hail of screeching tires. The light changed and she again hammered on the gas, soon turning onto the main road that led to the M1. She raced down the near empty streets.

Reading leaned forward.

“Remember, just because I’m in the car doesn’t mean I won’t give you a bloody ticket!”

Laura and Acton laughed as she eased off the accelerator, but it was clear she had a lead foot. Acton, who loved the adrenaline rush, leaned back to enjoy the ride, a bit disappointed it was still too chilly to put the top down, but thankful his ordeal was almost over.

They soon sailed onto the M1 and sped toward Coventry. “We should be there in about one hour,” announced Laura. There were relatively few cars on the road, but a lot of transport traffic. Laura kept to the right and flashed anyone who got in her way.

Reading settled back in his seat, shaking his head.

The White House, Washington, DC

Darbinger pounded on the
Close
button. He didn’t have time to deal with the cop right now. He had a much more important thing to take care of. The doors slowly closed as he saw Wheeler running toward them. Much to his relief they shut before he got there. As the car descended he heard pounding on the doors above him.

 A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he neared his destination. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and had just wiped the sweat off when the doors opened three levels underground. Two marine guards snapped to attention as he exited. After swiping his pass, he walked down the short hallway. At the end were a large set of wooden doors flanked by two Marines who opened them for him as he approached. As he entered he saw his President and longtime friend sitting alone at the center of the conference table, watching a large video screen on the wall directly opposite. The doors closed behind him.

“Ah, there you are,” said his friend, smiling. “You got here just in time, it’s about to start.”

He looked at the video feed and saw an empty chopper still waiting for its crew to arrive. Slowly walking around the table, he stood in front of the screen, blocking his friend’s view.