James Acton 01 - The Protocol (7 page)

“Thank you, sir,” said Billy, “I will.”

Somewhere on the Pacific

Acton awoke with a start. He glanced around, looking for what had woken him, but he was alone. It was dawn of the third day. The ship would be arriving in Mexico that afternoon if they were on schedule. He could see the ocean from his vantage point and could tell they were in a heavy fog, yet the Captain kept the engines at full steam, sounding the horn repeatedly.
Moron.

He checked his supplies only to reconfirm what he already knew. He was out of water and had been since early yesterday. The salt air was making him thirsty and he had finished his water in half the time he had expected. He knew he needed fresh water, especially since he would need to be at his peak when trying to get off the ship.

Rising from where he had lain, he stretched the kinks out as best he could. He slung his bag containing the case with the skull over his shoulder and cautiously headed toward the crew tower at the stern of the ship. It took him quite some time, moving from container to container, being careful to not be seen. The chance of any crew being amongst the containers was slim, but he also had to make sure he wasn’t seen from above.

Eventually, he reached the final row of containers. He could see a tap against the wall he had seen men drink from earlier in the trip. It was tantalizingly close, but also completely in the open. Opening his bag, he removed two of the empty water bottles. He unscrewed their caps and shoved them into his pocket. With one last glance around he raced across the open space between the containers and the tap.

He reached the wall without being seen and turned the tap on, placing the first bottle under the stream. The tap seemed impossibly slow, but it was probably just his imagination. His heart hammered in his chest as he swapped the second bottle for the first and started to drink down the first bottle.

His thirst quenched for the moment, he refilled the first bottle and turned to leave when a fist slammed him directly on the nose. His eyes watered from the searing pain. He tumbled backward, striking his head on the hard metal deck. Darkness overtook him.

The White House, Washington, DC

“William,” said Sheila, the Chief of Staff’s secretary. “I need you to take this envelope to the President’s secretary. Hand it to her personally and have her sign the receipt.”

“Yes, ma’am, right away!” Billy jumped out of his chair, grabbed the manila envelope, and rushed down the hallway. Turning a corner, he ran headlong into Rachel. He dropped the envelope and, much to his horror, the cup of Starbucks Café Latte with low-fat skim milk she was carrying landed right on top of it, spilling its contents.

“You loser!” she yelled. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” She picked up the coffee cup and headed to the nearby bathroom to wash herself off. He picked up the envelope and headed to the men’s room to try and dry it off. Many paper towels later and several minutes under the hand dryer were of no use. It was obvious something had spilt on the envelope. He had to do something.
I can’t bring the file like this to the President’s office!
He put the file under his sport coat and headed to the supply room. Finding a matching envelope and looking around, he untied the red string that held his now stained envelope. Inside was a document with several photos clipped to the front. He pulled it out and was about to put it in the new envelope when he stopped.

“What the hell is this?” he asked aloud, then quickly looked around to make sure no one had heard him. He flipped through the photographs, each of a different person.
They’re dead!
His stomach churned. He steadied himself and looked closer. Most had a bullet hole through the head and all had
Terminated
written across the bottom except the last photo. It showed a man with
Target Status Unknown
written on the bottom. He looked at the name.
Professor James Acton.
He hurriedly stuffed the photos in the new envelope, realizing he was probably not supposed to have seen them. His heart raced.
God, please don’t let them find out I saw these!

Darbinger sat on the couch in the Oval Office, talking to his old friend, who sat across from him. “It would be nice, though.”

“What?” asked Jackson.

“To not have to be watching over our shoulders constantly.”

Jackson nodded. “Yes, ten years of hiding in the open. I’m afraid that if this doesn’t get resolved before my term is up, they won’t hesitate to remove us. They wouldn’t dare while I’m in office, though.”

“No, you they wouldn’t,” agreed Darbinger. “Me on the other hand….”

Jackson leaned toward his friend. “Don’t worry, your position protects you, as well. We’re too visible to eliminate. Besides, this will soon all be over.”

Darbinger nodded. “You know, when you first approached me about stealing the Smithsonian skull I thought you were mad.”

Jackson chuckled. “Yes, but you came around soon enough. You knew it was the right thing to do. The only way to accomplish our goal is to take control of at least three of the skulls.” He leaned back and stretched his arms across the back of the couch. “We know from our own history the power of the skulls when brought together. The fire of 1212 was a cleansing fire brought by God. He wants the skulls brought together, and he has chosen us to be his servants.”

“Amen,” nodded Darbinger, hiding his discomfort at his friend’s increasingly fervent religious beliefs. They had both attended the same church for years, but over the past ten, his friend had let his religion intensely dominate his life. He had taken to praying for guidance on major issues, much to the chagrin of those around him. Darbinger flipped through the folders sitting beside him, looking for the mission report from Peru. It wasn’t there. “Shit, I must have left the report on my desk. I’ll go get it; you’ll want to read it.”

“I’ll be here,” said Jackson as he rose and returned to his desk. Darbinger headed to his office. He looked where he thought the file should be but didn’t see it. He started to search his office with more fervor and came up empty.

“Sheila!” he yelled. His assistant poked her head into his office. “There was a file on my desk, where did it go?”

“I had it brought to the Oval Office just a couple of minutes ago,” she replied. “I figured you wanted it so I had Billy bring it.” Darbinger frowned. “You didn’t get it?”

“No.”

“That’s odd, he should have been there by now. Do you want me to find him?”

“No, I’ll take care of it.”

Somewhere on the Pacific

Someone yelled at him then smacked him across the cheek. Acton opened his eyes, the world a blur around him. He tried to touch the aching spot on his head, but discovered his hands bound to the arms of a flimsy chair.

“You know what we do with stowaways?” yelled the man who had just hit him. Acton looked about as his vision cleared. It was a storage room.
More like a garbage room.
Some supplies were haphazardly stacked in one corner, but the rest of the room was littered with various pieces of wood and machine parts. It probably hadn’t been swept in years.
Martha’d be pissed.

He recognized his assailant as one of the Filipinos he’d seen earlier. His friend was in the corner staring at the skull. “What is that?” said the first one, pointing to the skull. “How much it worth?”

“Nothing,” muttered Acton, reading the unmistakable greed in their eyes. “It’s just a trinket.”

“He’s lying,” said the second. He placed the skull on a nearby table and pulled out a long machete. “Now I show him what we do with
lying
stowaways.” His partner laughed and turned his head to look at the skull. Acton knew he had to act fast. Raising his feet off the floor, he kicked the man in both knees, the kneecaps snapping with the blow. The man collapsed, screaming in agony. His partner looked in shock as Acton rose as far as he could in the chair and propelled himself backward. He smashed the wooden chair against the wall hard enough that it broke into several pieces, freeing his arms.

Acton picked himself up off the floor just as the second man came at him with the machete. He ducked to avoid the first swing and punched the man in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. As he doubled over Acton kneed him in the face then pushed him to the ground. Grabbing him by the shirt, he punched the man in the nose.

Acton swiftly bound the now unconscious man and stuffed a rag into his mouth. The other writhed on the floor. He tied his hands and gagged him, as well, before grabbing his case and placing the skull inside. With the case back in his bag, he listened at the door. Hearing nothing, he cautiously opened it.

17
^th
Street, Washington, DC

Billy had been trying to forget the events of earlier. He sat on his couch, staring at the television without really watching it, for hours, until he finally realized he had to eat. He ordered pizza and waited, his feet up on his table, a privilege his mother never allowed him at home, as he watched CNN. Seeing the nightly news was a habit his father had drummed into him years ago that he hadn’t been able to break, and since he worked at the White House, he felt it his duty to keep up on world events.

His stomach rumbled. He patted it and looked at his watch.
Forty minutes.
Yes, he could have ordered from a thirty minute pizza place, but quality took time, and a Chicago-style deep-dish pizza was worth the wait.
But forty minutes?
The doorbell rang. He flew at the door then gathered himself, trying not to appear too excited. Checking the peephole, he saw the deliveryman tapping his foot and eyeing his watch. He counted to three then opened the door.

“Hello, sir,” said the teenager as he handed over the box. “That’ll be twelve-fifty.” Billy handed him fifteen bucks.

“Keep the change,” he said, feeling good about the decent tip, the events of earlier rapidly disappearing from his mind, replaced by the aroma of Italian sausage and onions. The kid smiled and took off down the hallway toward the elevator. Billy closed the door and sat down on the couch in front of the television, his stomach growling in anticipation. He grabbed the remote to un-mute the television. His jaw dropped. On the screen was a picture of the same man he had seen in the file.

“
–developing story. CNN has been able to confirm that Professor James Acton was not among those found dead in Peru. A State Department source is quoted as saying that Acton was not among the bodies found and his whereabouts are currently unknown. We will keep you posted–”

He paused the TiVo, the image of the man staring back at him. His face blanched, his pizza forgotten.

Somewhere on the Pacific

Acton made his way along the dark hallway, toward what looked like natural light coming from a stairwell at the end. He reached the steps and looked up, seeing a door open to the outside and nobody around. As he reached the top of the stairs an announcement came over the PA system that they would be docking in half an hour. He gingerly touched his head and winced. He knew he would have to evade the crew as his assailants would surely be discovered soon. Racing across the deck, he again hid amongst the containers. He went as far into the maze as he could and sat down to rest.

He closed his eyes for a moment, but fell asleep, exhaustion and the mild concussion taking over. He awoke to the sound of the ship’s horn as it was towed into dock by the relatively tiny tugboats. He looked around to make sure he was still alone, then took up a position where he could monitor the gangplank for a chance to escape unseen. It took almost half an hour to dock, but once the all-clear sounded, the crew departed quickly, probably heading directly to the nearest whorehouse to catch or spread some new disease. His two attackers were nowhere to be seen.
They must still be tied up.
He took one last look around then, as calmly as he could, walked off the boat with no one questioning him.

On every dig he always placed his passport, credit cards and a stash of cash in a local safety deposit box for safekeeping. This time had been no different. When he had first arrived in Lima after leaving the camp he had immediately retrieved his belongings from the bank. Now safely in Mexico, he drowned himself in as much bottled water as he could stand at a local Internet café, then began Googling the skulls. He soon found who he was looking for.
I guess I’m going to England.

St. Paul’s University, Maryland

“You really think he’s going to be dumb enough to call?” asked Lambert, leaning back in his chair with his feet up. Jasper, who was doing the same, opened his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t he? This is his school, his best friend from all accounts, and if he’s innocent, he’s got nothing to hide.”

“
If
he’s innocent,” emphasized Lambert. “Are we sure of that?”

“I hardly think a university professor is going to kill his entire team with multiple AK-47s, leave dozens of different foot prints, and steal his own vehicles,” said Jasper.

“Maybe he was in on it, though?”

Jasper realized his underling desperately wanted Acton to be involved in some way and that this conversation would never end unless he threw him a bone. “Perhaps.”

Lambert smiled smugly and clasped his hands behind his head. “I thought so.”

Jasper sighed and closed his eyes again.

Milton was still in shock from the news of several days before. The phone calls he had made had been the most grueling of his life. He wished he could have notified the families in person, but most of the students who had been killed were from out of state. The nightmares he had experienced the first night had convinced him to not even try sleeping the next two. Every time he shut his eyes he kept seeing his friend of so many years being killed.
I never should have let him go!