The Milestone Protocol
A Sean Wyatt Adventure
Ernest Dempsey
138 Publishing
In memory of my friend Heather Belles. You were so radiant you made the sun blink.
Contents
Join the Adventure
Primary Characters
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Thank You
Fact Vs Fiction
Other Books By Ernest Dempsey
Acknowledgments
Hidden Chapter
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Primary Characters
Sean Wyatt: International Archaeological Agency field agent. Adriana Villa’s husband.
Tommy Schultz: Founder of the International Archaeological Agency specializing in discovery, recovery, and securing ancient artifacts for preservation and study. Husband to June Holiday.
Adriana Villa: Master thief specializing in the recovery of lost or stolen masterpieces from World War II. Wife of Sean Wyatt.
Diego Villa: Adriana Villa’s father and private intelligence consultant.
Tara Watson: IAA field agent and c0-lead investigator of the Paranormal Archaeology Division at IAA. Wife of Alex Simms.
Alex Simms: IAA field agent and c0-lead investigator of the Paranormal Archaeology Division at IAA. Husband of Tara Watson.
Corin, Diego, and Desmond: Founders of The Adventure Guild, a middle school historical and archaeological sleuthing club.
Dak Harper: Relic runner/treasure hunter for professional video gamer Boston McClaren. Former Delta Force.
Emily Starks: Director of The Axis Agency.
June Holiday: Axis field agent and wife to Tommy Schultz.
Joe and Helen McElroy: Axis field agents.
OTHER CHARACTERS
Gwen McCarthy: President of the United States
Daniel and Carolyn Ellerby: Archaeologists and parents of Desmond Ellerby.
Maria Perez and Rick Atkins: Parents of Diego Perez and Corin Atkins.
Preface
"They who seek to establish systems of government based on the regimentation of all human beings by a handful of individual rulers…call this a new order. It is not new, and it is not order."
-Franklin Delano Roosevelt
Prologue
Crimea, 1346
The Khan sat in silent contemplation upon the throne. He rested his chin on a forefinger and stared at the dirt floor. The tent walls flapped in a gentle breeze. One of the servants stoked the fire in the center of the room to keep the confines warm.
Jani Beg may have been gazing aimlessly at the floor, but his focus remained discreetly on the servant. The man stoking the fire knew this and did everything he could to stay calm as he performed his tasks, knowing that the slightest cough or stumble could result in his execution.
When the flames in the pit flickered vibrantly, Jani Beg Khan ordered the servant to leave.
The man gave a curt nod and immediately exited through the yurt's only door. As he stepped through the opening, the man pulled his tunic up over his mouth to cover his nose and mouth before shutting the door.
The leader of the Golden Horde continued to stew as the minutes passed. A range of emotions boiled and frothed inside him, fighting a war none could win. What should have been a relatively easy military victory had turned into a disaster.
While the city of Kaffa had solid defensive capabilities—primarily in the form of concentric walls—Jani Beg didn't fear the Genoese merchants who ran things. They were traders, not soldiers. They still had access to the main ports, which Jani Beg couldn't efficiently blockade, but getting their supplies and reinforcements via the ocean took time, an asset he had on his side.
Until the sickness struck.
A few perimeter guards took ill first. They complained about feeling warm and chilly all over. Their other symptoms were less discreet. The retching and coughing spread rapidly throughout the camp, along with several other disturbing symptoms.
Jani Beg had been unable to sleep in recent nights, so loud had grown the sounds of the sickened men. Some moaned in the darkness, adding to the misery.
Then they began to die, a few at first, then dozens as the sickness ran like wildfire through the encampment until half the Khan's forces were dead.
He'd done everything he could to contain the disease, taken measures to prevent more of his men from falling ill, but nothing seemed to work. It was as if his entire army had been cursed with a plague.
How had it all come to this? He wondered at the thought, considering every step of the offensive up to this point.
With his forces decimated, he would have no choice but to withdraw and retreat back to his homeland to recover and regroup. He loathed the notion of retreating, especially from a city of merchants who'd literally done nothing but sit there and wait to die.
A groan of agony came from somewhere nearby, too close for the Khan's comfort. He'd done everything he could to distance himself from the sick, but he didn't know how the disease spread. It was anyone's guess whether or not his measures would be effective.
Every time he caught a tickle in his throat or felt a twinge of pain in his stomach, paranoia rushed in to greet him and bring prophecies of his demise—another victim to the illness that had destroyed his campaign.
Jani Beg had resigned himself to defeat. That lingering certainty was unshakeable at this point. Perhaps in the future, he could return with a new army and raze Kaffa to the ground, expelling all the infidels within. The vision of the Genoese filth fleeing on their ships gave him the only moments of satisfaction he'd been able to find in the last month.
The fabric walls of the yurt trembled under the pressure of a gust that rolled in
from the sea. The barrier to the outside world did its job and kept out the cold, as if protecting the warmth of the fire.
Ordinary soldiers weren't the only victims to fall to the strange illness. Two of the Khan's advisers had succumbed to the same plague, dying in misery in their beds.
Nearly a year after laying siege to Kaffa, Jani Beg was going to have to retreat again.
At least the first time he'd been confronted by a real enemy, one he could see and strategize against. The Italian relief force had lifted the previous siege and killed many of the Khan's men.
He'd vowed to return, though, and take what he believed to be rightfully his. After all, his family had ceded the city's land to the merchants prior to his rule. He was simply taking it back.
Not so simple after all.
He heard the door shift, and then it opened.
A figure in a hooded black cloak stepped into the darkened tent and closed the door behind.
"Who are you?" the Khan demanded. He'd been sitting in the same position for several minutes, and at the sight of a stranger he stiffened. His battle instincts kicked in, and he reached for the sword leaning against the throne.
"There is no need for that, great Khan," the voice hissed from within the shadowy folds of the robe's hood. "I mean you no harm."
"Said every assassin in the history of the world,” he huffed, suspicion slathering his words.
The figure paused ten feet inside the room and waited.
Jani Beg could see the whites of the interloper’s eyes, but nothing else. Their nose, face, jaw, and neck were covered by a scarf the same color as the cloak.
In those eyes, though, the Khan saw something terrifying—the personification of death.
"Very true," the intruder said.
"Guards!" Jani Beg shouted, his face darkening with anger.
"They will not come, great Khan. Your men are already dead. More die by the hour. If you stay here, all of them will perish, and you along with them."
"Who are you?" the Khan demanded. He stood from his throne and gripped the sword, though he kept it pointing down until he knew more about this mysterious stranger. "Speak your business, or I will strike you down myself."
"I bring you good tidings, oh great and mighty Khan."
"Tidings? What tidings? You just said my men are dying." Jani Beg's face reflected his doubts.
"Tidings of victory."
Jani Beg huffed. "Victory? Again, you contradict yourself, assassin. Now, be gone before I cut off your head and post it as a warning to others who might trespass."
The creature cocked its head to the right, eyes analyzing the ruler as they might an exotic animal.
"There is still a way you can drive the Genoese rats from their holes," the voice hissed just above a whisper.
The Khan found himself staring at the figure, attempting to assess whether it was a man or a woman. The flowing robes covering the visitor's body made it difficult to gauge the threat. They were thin and of average height, that the Khan could see, but beyond that the intruder kept to the shadows. Firelight and the light of candles along the yurt's curved walls danced around the visitor's hood but never touched their face.
"You still haven't told me who you are," Jani Beg pressed. "A visitor to the Khan should always be introduced."
"I see no herald to give my name and position. It matters not, great Khan. You may either hear my counsel, or not. That is up to you. If you do not, perhaps the Genoese would hear it. I'm certain they would be interested in the strategy I propose. Under their use, the pitiful remains of your tattered army would be crushed within weeks. I daresay none of you would survive."
The Khan inclined his head. He stroked his goatee with the thumb of his free hand. To an observer, it would have been impossible to tell whether the man was considering the offer or quarreling over whether or not to cut down this brigand and have them strung up for all to see.
"No one threatens me," Jani Beg said. His tone was even but carried venom. "Speak your mind, witch, or be gone."
A sigh escaped the lips of the visitor—as yet, the only sign of any emotion to come from the figure.
"I am no witch," they confessed. "But I can see why you would think that." The robes fluttered as the visitor glided forward.
Jani Beg hefted the sword and extended it as he turned his body into a defensive position. The years as ruler had made him soft, especially around the midsection. He'd seen it happen to most of the Khans before him, turned to pudding by years of inaction. Jani Beg had been more disciplined than some of his predecessors, but the toll of leadership could not be avoided. Despite the rust in his joints and the aches in his muscles, the Khan was still a formidable opponent, and could still fight.
"Halt, unless you want your head to be on a pike this night," the Khan warned.
The robed figure tilted their head to the side, and for a flashing moment, Jani Beg thought he caught the smooth glow of a woman's cheek. It was gone as soon as it came, and he dispelled the concern. He didn't care if this was a woman or a man, though his carnal instincts begged curiosity for the former. It had been months since he'd indulged in a woman's touch, but his fear of the sickness pushed aside any desires he might entertain.
"That would, of course, not be in my interest," the raspy voice replied. "Would you hear my plan or not?"
The Khan stared at the visitor. He breathed heavily and felt more fatigued than usual. He'd been afraid to eat his usual meals for fear that the food on his plate might carry the plague. Thus far, none of his stewards had succumbed to the illness, a fact that brought him only the slightest comfort.
"Speak. But I must know who dares enter my chamber uninvited."
The intruder studied him, accompanied by the moans of the sick and dying in the tents surrounding the royal yurt. The fire in the pit flickered, already waning from the attendant's earlier service.
The apparition shifted and moved to a stack of wood along the far wall. Two gloved hands picked two split pieces, and the stranger brought them over to the fire, setting them atop a cluster of red-hot coals. Within a minute, the dried wood sparked to life and radiated warmth throughout the tent.
"My name is of no consequence. You likely would have never heard it and probably never will until the end of your days."
"A ghost, then?" He was only half joking, uncertain as to the intruder’s true nature.
"Of the spirit world, I am not."
"Then why should I trust you?" the Khan grumbled.
“You and I have a common enemy."
"The Genoese?"
"They are only part of a bigger problem, my Khan. To destroy a weed, you must first kill the roots. Then the rest will die."
He lowered his weapon but kept a firm grip on the handle in case the visitor tried to surprise him.
"Go on."
"You've been burying your dead," the visitor stated.
"Of course. Outside the camp. The graves became so numerous, we started burying the dead together in larger holes."
"What if I offered you a better solution, one that would both help you rid the land of the Genoese scourge and cleanse your camp of the diseased bodies?"
The great warrior cocked his head to the side, assessing the visitor anew. "How do you propose we do that?"
The robed interloper shrugged. "It is not a new practice. There have been others before you to use it.”
Jani Beg stepped forward, risking the safety of proximity to hear what this stranger had to offer.
"What do you want?"
"Ah, there is a rational change of subject. I wondered when you would get to that."
"Well?"
"As I said before," the visitor explained, “you and I have a common enemy. This strategy is a gift, great Khan. No exchange of value is necessary. By ridding Kaffa of the Genoese, you will aide us greatly."
“Us? What kingdom seeks an alliance with me?” Jani Beg's face tightened, and his right eyebrow twitched with suspicion.
“I serve no
kingdom. Only a purpose.”
Very little of this conversation made sense to the Khan, but what was he to do? At the very least, he had to listen to this stranger's idea. He was, essentially, a captive audience in his own chambers, but the speaking in riddles was getting on his nerves.
"Speak. And do it quickly. My patience has worn thin this last year."
"Understandable, my Khan." The visitor shifted, turning their body with every movement to avoid the light from revealing any fragment of their identity. "Your siege engines are still functional, yes?"
"They are."
"Perhaps it's time for you to try a different projectile."
"What do you mean? We've used everything available to us. Still, the infidel fortress stands."
"You haven't used everything, great Khan."
There was something sinister about the visitor's words. They were an insinuation, veiled in pure evil, or at the very least, malicious intentions.
"We have tried—"
"You haven't tried this," the visitor interrupted. The robed figure meandered around the fire to the wall at Jani Beg's right. The stranger analyzed the fabric walls, brushing the surface with the back of a long, bony finger. "Load your siege engines with the dead."
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