James Acton 01 - The Protocol (8 page)

He was exhausted. He took another swig of his double cream, double sugar, coffee, the caffeine struggling to keep his systems going. As he shook his head to try and wake up, the intercom on his desk rang. Pushing aside the speech he was working on for the memorial service, he hit the button.

“Yes, Rita?”

“There’s a phone call for you, sir, they won’t say who it is,” was the reply over the speaker.

“Take a message, I’m busy.” Milton hit the intercom button to end the conversation. A minute later his Blackberry vibrated on his hip. He grabbed it and read the message:
Answer your phone Corky.

He gasped and almost dropped the Blackberry onto the floor. He was about to pick up his phone when the intercom buzzed again. “Sir, he’s really pers—”

“Put him through!” yelped Milton, grabbing for the phone.

“Yes, sir, line one.”

He hit the button. “This is Dean Milton.”

“Hi Greg, it’s me Donald.” Milton was confused. Only one person knew him as Corky, an old nickname from their college days together he’d rather forget. And that one person was not named Donald. It was James Acton.

“Donald?” asked Milton. He knew the voice was Acton’s but he decided he better play along. “Good to hear from you. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long my friend. I’d like to meet if you’ve got the time.”

“Are you in town?” His heart was pounding now. Something was definitely wrong. “Where can we meet?”

“Remember where we crammed for English Lit finals? Can you meet me there, say eight p.m. tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’ll see you there tomorrow.”

“Okay, good bye, old friend.”

“Good bye.” Milton hung up and sat back in his chair, confused.
He must have thought someone was listening.
He hit the intercom button. “Rita, cancel all of my appointments for the rest of today and tomorrow.” Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes as a big smile spread across his face.
Jim is alive!

In a telephone repair van parked just off the campus, Agent Lambert nodded. The screen in front of him flashed the confirmation.
98.3% positive match.
“It was Acton all right.”

Jasper smiled. “We’ve got him.”

A moment later, snoring rumbled through the speakers.

Somewhere along the Mexican Border

Acton sipped on a water bottle, trying to keep himself cool, as the car he had hired headed for Nogales in the scorching heat. He had used some of his remaining cash and his near perfect Spanish to take care of a few things including a ride to the border in a vehicle that redefined the term ‘beater’. He adjusted himself for the umpteenth time, trying to find comfort in the threadbare backseat, but finally gave up to the spring poking through the seat. Fortunately exhaustion won out, and he soon fell into a restless, nightmare filled sleep.

Acton jumped in his seat. “I’m sorry!”

“Sorry for what, señor?”

Acton looked around him, regaining his bearings. “Where are we?”

“Nogales. We have arrived, señor. The border is just ahead.” The driver pointed toward a long lineup of cars.

Acton frowned. He knew his passport would be on a watch list and couldn’t afford to have it scanned at the border crossing. Before he could open his mouth, his driver turned in his seat to face him. “Perhaps, señor doesn’t want to be seen crossing the border?”

How’d he guess?
Acton nodded.

“No problema, señor!” said the driver smiling broadly, revealing four beautiful teeth. “For a price, I can get you across, no problema!”

Acton sighed and pulled out his wallet.
Is it illegal to sneak back into your own country?

New York City, New York

“B.D?”

Dawson looked up from his laptop at Red. They were in a hotel room in New York, waiting for Acton. They knew from the phone conversation he had earlier that this was where he was heading; his friend Milton had booked a ticket to New York shortly after the call. They had arrived only a few hours ago as an advance team and had set up a base of operations in a hotel overlooking the airport. The remaining team members were being transported with their equipment by a C17 and would arrive within a couple of hours. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something, off the record?”

Dawson already didn’t like where this was headed, but Red and he had been through too much too many times to deny him at least the privilege of asking the question. It didn’t guarantee an answer however. “Go ahead.”

“Off the record,” Red said, then hesitated. “Shit, B.D, those were just kids!”

Dawson’s jaw steeled. “You don’t think I know that?” Red was about to say something else when Dawson raised his finger to stop him. “We had our orders and Control confirmed them over the comm during the mission. We follow orders, that’s what we do. We don’t know who those kids were or what they were doing, but Control must have had a reason.”

“I know but—”

“Remember Yemen?”

“What, when you got hoofed in the balls?”

Dawson allowed himself one chuckle. “Same mission, earlier in it. Who were the H.T.’s?”

Red nodded. “Kids. Teenagers.”

“Exactly. And they had no problem trying to kill us and we had no problem killing them. And remember nine-eleven? How old were those bastards? Mostly early-twenties? The world is a harsh place, my friend. It’s up to us to try to clean it up a little for Bryson.”

Red smiled at the mention of his kid. “I’m never letting him out of the country.”
His computer beeped at him, demanding his attention. “B.D., we have a hit in the airline reservation system.”

“What is it?” Dawson rose from the chair he was sitting on and walked over to a table where Red had several laptops set up.

Red spun one so Dawson could see the display. “Acton has just booked a flight from Phoenix to New York, leaving in an hour.”

“Using his own ID? That’s pretty bold. Can you hack the security system and get some eyes on him?”

“Just give me a minute.” Red’s fingers flew over the keyboard and several minutes later they were looking at the airport security cameras. After a few minutes of scanning Dawson leaned in and hit a couple of keys, backing up to a camera angle that had just flipped by.

“There he is,” said Dawson, pointing to the security check lineup. “Zoom in on him.”

Red highlighted the image of Acton to enlarge it. They watched him empty his pockets as he went through security. He set the alarm off and was scanned manually with the wand. Security had him remove his belt and go back through. After he cleared, he put his belt back on then picked up what appeared to be a wallet, watch, and keys. He then walked out of view of the camera.

“Did he check any luggage?” asked Dawson.

Red looked up the baggage claim info in the reservation system. “No, no luggage.”

“And he doesn’t have a carry-on,” said Dawson. “Where the hell is the package?” He began to pace the room. “Backtrack his movements through the airport, see if he handed it off to anyone.”

Red deftly manipulated the camera angles and archival footage to track Acton back from security to the bathroom, back out of the bathroom to the ticket counter and finally to the taxi drop off outside where he could be seen exiting a cab. He wasn’t carrying anything.

“Did he do a handoff to somebody before arriving?”

“Get the ID number off that cab. I want to know where he picked Acton up, if he was carrying anything when he did, and if they made any stops along the way.”

“Yes, Sergeant Major.”

Phoenix, Arizona

Acton breathed a sigh of relief as he boarded the plane. He was sure he had been watched, and no doubt they had flagged his ID, but the fact he hadn’t been intercepted told him whoever was after him wanted the skull.  After struggling overnight through the desert sand and bitter cold, he and his cadre of illegals had made it to a road where his companions hid behind a dune, waiting for a prearranged truck to arrive. Since he was an American, he decided to just hitch a ride and within minutes was picked up by a rig headed to Phoenix.

Once there, he had paid cash for a room at a motel, cleaned up and put on a fresh set of clothes purchased from a nearby thrift shop, then found a store with a FedEx drop-off where he put the riskiest part of his plan into motion, a plan he had developed while on the ship from Peru.

But will it work?

The flight took off and he fell asleep within minutes, exhausted.

Somewhere in U.S. Airspace

The men sat solemnly, the roar of the engines doing a poor job of drowning out their thoughts of Spaz. His flag-draped body was in the hold, watched over by his good friend Clint. Mickey finally broke the silence.

“How did he get the nickname Spaz anyway?”

Niner frowned.
That kid talks too much.
“Ever see ‘Revenge of the Nerds’?”

“Who hasn’t?” replied Mickey.

“When we get back to the unit I’ll show you the tape we made at the party celebrating his making the unit.”

“What happened?” Niner didn’t answer so Mickey looked at some of the others. A smile creased Smitty’s face. Mickey looked at him. “Well?”

Smitty, whose own nickname had come from his voracious appetite for pancakes, laughed. “Shit, that’s a night he always wanted to forget!” A few of the others chuckled. “Spaz got so pissed that he put Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’ on the player and then started to imitate the dance from ‘Revenge’. It was one of the funniest damned things I’ve ever seen!” The chuckles transformed into outright laughter. The nervous tension finally broken, the men reminisced about some of the other escapades they had enjoyed with Spaz.

“Bravo Command to Bravo Transport One.” Marco was catching some rack time when the communication came in over his headset, startling him awake. He glanced around. Most of the other men were laughing. Mickey winced between laughs, gripping his leg as Spock adjusted his medication.

“This is Bravo Transport One, go ahead, Bravo Command.”

“Bravo Transport One, we need you to land immediately. Bravo One wants a four-man team in civvies to head to Phoenix immediately. Further instructions once in position, over.”

“Roger that Bravo Command. Will find nearest strip and notify you. Bravo Transport One Out.”

Marco went to the cockpit and notified the pilots, then returned to the passenger area.

“Hey, Marco, where’d you get your name?” asked Mickey, his words slurred slightly from the Demerol.

“Someone found out I played polo,” he replied.

“No shit?” Mickey laughed. He turned to Spock who had just checked his dressing. “And you?” Spock cocked one eyebrow at him. Mickey roared in laughter then passed out.

Marco pointed to Smitty, Niner and Jimmy. “Gear up for a civvie street assignment, we’re going to Phoenix.”

The four of them started stripping out of their fatigues as the C17 banked sharply to the left and descended.

New York City, New York

“Maybe he ditched it somewhere?”

“Maybe,” replied Dawson. “The team will be there in about an hour so they can retrace his steps and find out.”
What would I do?
He wracked his brain until something finally clicked. “Can you check the shipping companies to see if they have any packages going from Phoenix using Acton’s name?”

“That’ll take some time,” replied Red. “Would he risk it, though? What if it got lost?”

“It’s what I would do if I were him,” said Dawson. “He’s got to know that we’re after the package and not him. By separating himself from the package he is betting that we won’t terminate him until he reacquires it.”
And he’s right.

“I’ll start with the major carriers and work my way down.” Red hacked each individual system then scanned the manifests for Acton’s name. The first time through he found nothing, but at Dawson’s suggestion he checked again, just in case there had been a delay in processing the package from a drop-off location.

Phoenix, Arizona

Marco pointed to Jimmy as their chartered jet came to a stop at the airline’s private terminal. “Get us some wheels. I’ll check in with Big Dog and see what the mission is.” Jimmy nodded and exited the aircraft as Marco contacted command. His comm beeped in his ear.

“This is Bravo Command. We’re sending you the data now. Find this cab driver. We need to know where he picked up the target, if he made any stops, and whether or not he ever had a package with him, over.”

Marco watched Niner tapping away on his laptop. He looked up and nodded. “Bravo Team Phoenix to Bravo Command, we have the data. Will contact you when target is acquired. Phoenix out.”

Niner hacked the cab company’s GPS tracking system and soon found the cab Acton had taken earlier. “He just left the airport, about ten minutes out.”

“Let’s go,” said Marco.

Niner closed up the laptop and they disembarked as Jimmy pulled up in an Escalade. Niner shook his head as they climbed in.

“What are we, fuckin’ pimps?” he asked Jimmy.

In his best rapper’s voice, Jimmy replied, “Yo mo fo, don’t you be dissin’ my ride or I’m gonna have to take you outside and serve up a can o’ whoop ass!”

Niner looked at him. “You’re so
white
.” The others started to piss themselves with laughter in the back seat. Marco activated his comm.

“Bravo Team Phoenix to Bravo Command, we’re in pursuit of the cab driver, ETA twenty minutes.”

Jimmy floored it, launching the men into the back of their seats.

Make that fifteen.

New York City, New York

“B.D., I’ve got it!” It had taken two hours, but Red finally had a hit.

Dawson finished up on his comm with Bravo Team Phoenix. He joined Red at the laptop. “A package just left a collection point for the Phoenix airport. It was sent by James Acton to Pedro Gonzalez, Professor of Archaeology in Madrid.”