The Milestone Protocol

by Ernest Dempsey

  “It didn’t take long for me to figure out that Dr. Clark was in charge of the dig. Except there’s another problem.”

  Tommy waited without interrupting.

  “Dr. Clark wasn’t there. He’s gone missing.”

  Tommy did his best to feign ignorance. He didn’t know exactly where Kevin was at that moment, but he hoped his friend had been able to intercept the archaeologist. “Any idea what happened to him?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be talking to you, Mr. Schultz.”

  He blushed, feeling stupid. “Good point.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe that Dr. Clark would do something like this?” Her question struck him as odd.

  Tommy suppressed the urge to scoff at the question, but it still came out in his tone. “Kevin? No, I don’t think so. And how many people are we talking about? I imagine a dig site like that probably had a dozen or more folks on the team.” The gravity of the number hit him like a sledgehammer. They were just archaeologists, people like him, maybe even a few who knew him. Now they were gone. Something deep down in Tommy’s gut burned with rage with every passing second.

  “We thought the same thing, though it’s possible he could have hired a team—perhaps based in Russia.”

  Tommy didn’t buy it, and he showed that with a disparaging twitch of his left cheek. “Look, it’s no secret that Kevin and I haven’t really agreed on much over the years. In fact, he doesn’t like me very much.”

  “Yes, I was going to address that, too, Mr. Schultz.”

  “Please, call me Tommy.”

  Magnus inched forward. “I’m sorry, but if you’re insinuating that Tommy might have had something to do with this, I must insist you tread carefully.”

  Tabitha’s eyes flicked to the blond man long enough for her to say, “I’m not suggesting Tommy is a suspect, Dr. Sorenson.” Then her eyes fell back to Tommy. “We know you were traveling to Stockholm, and before that you were in Atlanta. All our records, flight manifests from your private jet, everything shows you weren’t directly involved. Of course, you could have hired someone to do the job for you.” Her right eyebrow lifted slightly. “Tell me more about this…strained relationship with Kevin Clark.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” Tommy admitted. “He’s been outspoken in several historical and archaeological circles about the way we conduct our agency. He doesn’t agree with how we do things.”

  “Which means what, exactly?”

  Tommy crossed his arms over his chest and relaxed with a sigh. “He thinks we’re treasure hunters. Truth is, sometimes we take on that persona. But it’s never for profit. That’s the difference. And frankly, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with treasure hunters. If people spend the time and money to hunt for lost valuables or artifacts, they’re free to do so. And if they find something, good for them. We are primarily in the business of securing and transporting artifacts once they’re discovered. We offer research services in our state-of-the-art lab located in our Atlanta headquarters, if clients prefer. On occasion, we find ourselves in the midst of more adventurous jobs.”

  “Which is how you’ve gained notoriety so quickly.”

  “And it’s why my agents carry guns. Sean, Joe and Helen McElroy, and all the others do the same.”

  “Even in countries where firearms are not permitted?” She asked the question already knowing the answer.

  Tommy didn’t dodge the trap. He kicked it over. “Absolutely. There are criminals out there with guns, Agent Strong. People who would kill me or my agents without a second thought. We defend ourselves. That’s it. And most of the time, you would never know we’re armed.”

  “Except when you get in a shootout in a public place.”

  Magnus cut in again. “Agent Strong, are you going to arrest my friend?” he motioned to Tommy with a wave of his hand. “Or are you working on the case you brought up initially? Tommy has done nothing wrong. And I find it in poor taste that you would bring up subjects that are irrelevant to the case.”

  Her eyes didn’t wander from Tommy this time. “No,” she said reluctantly. “I’m not here to arrest him. And I don’t think he had anything to do with what happened in Russia. The risks you and your people run by carrying firearms around the world is on you. As long as there is no collateral damage, I personally don’t care. I have bigger fish to fry. I’m here to find out all I can about Kevin Clark and his operation.”

  “Thank you,” Tommy said, sincerely.

  “So, tell me, do you know of anyone who might have something against Dr. Clark?”

  Tommy pressed his lips together and considered the question. He bobbed his head from side to side. “Yeah, I mean, probably a few dozen people in the historical community. He doesn’t really do a good job of keeping his thoughts or emotions to himself.”

  “Self-righteous type. I know. I’ve seen his social media accounts. It seems he loves to attack pretty much everyone who does anything differently than him.”

  “That’s definitely correct,” Magnus agreed.

  Tommy was more diplomatic. “Kevin has his way of doing things, and he’s passionate about it. Maybe it comes off as self-righteous, but he’s entitled to his opinion. He’s earned it. The guy has a doctoral degree. He worked hard to get where he is.”

  “Sounds like you’re almost defending him,” Tabitha hedged.

  “Maybe. Look, I’m not going to say I want to go out for beers with the guy, or take him to a Braves game. We all have our own way of doing our jobs. Same goes for you or Dr. Sorenson here.” Tommy indicated the man with a tip of the head. “Whether I like Kevin or not is irrelevant. He’s a brilliant archaeologist, and he sticks to his ethics.”

  Tabitha assessed him for several seconds, eyeing him as she might a used-car salesman. “That’s very objective of you.”

  “I guess,” Tommy said with a roll of the shoulders. “I’d want people to treat me that way.”

  “Yes,” Magnus said, trying to lighten the conversation. “The golden rule is something I think the world could use a little more of.”

  Tommy felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He fished it out and checked the screen.

  “I’m sorry to take up so much of your time, Mr. Schultz,” Tabitha said. “I know you’re busy. But I do have one last question.”

  Tommy took his eyes away from the device and met her gaze. “It’s no problem. What?”

  “Do you have any idea where Dr. Clark may have gone? If he wasn’t abducted, I mean. If he weren’t involved in the attack on his site, it would stand to reason he’s been taken and is being held against his will. For what, I don’t know.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he’s being held against his will,” Tommy said with a fiendish smirk.

  “What do you mean? There something you not telling me?” She put her hands on her hips and kicked one out to the side as only a demanding woman can.

  Tommy had never seen a man use a gesture like that to such effect. He doubted he ever would. “I know where Kevin is, Agent Strong.”

  Her expression changed to one of confused surprise. “What? Where is he?”

  “He’s with my best operative.”

  11

  Atlanta

  Desmond sprinted as fast as his seventh-grade legs could carry him. The breeze felt good on his face in the chilly December air. Had he been walking, his entire body might have felt the cold wrapping around him, but while running he was almost hot in the overcoat and beanie.

  The overcast skies loomed overhead with thick, gray clouds seeming to hover permanently over the subdivisions of North Atlanta. Desmond knew it wasn’t going to snow, even though the forecast suggested the temperatures would be cold enough later that evening. These were the kinds of clouds he’d seen before, the kind that churn and roll through the sky but never release that white concoction kids his age loved to see on the ground and roads—especially the roads. If the roads were covered, that meant school would get cancelled.

  Down south, even
an inch of snow on the roads could result in cancellations, or at worst a later start time. Kids would often watch the forecast late into the night when there was a chance of frozen precipitation, but Desmond knew better. He didn’t let emotion or childish hopes get in the way of science, or his experience. Even at such a young age, he’d come to recognize the signs, and while these clouds might have looked like the kind that would dump several inches of fluffy snow onto the city, he could tell that wasn’t going to happen.

  He turned the corner and jogged up the street, passing two more driveways until he reached Corin and Diego’s house. Desmond slowed when he arrived at their driveway. His breath spewed from his mouth in big clouds as he hiked up the concrete then veered to the right on the sidewalk leading to the front door.

  Through the front windows he could see the lights on inside. He suspected Diego and Corin would be home. It was a Sunday morning, and his family usually had pancakes around this time, at least that was his take. He’d been invited over several times to share breakfast with their family, and it had been pancakes every single time so far.

  He tromped up the steps and stopped at the front door, pausing to catch his breath. When he’d composed himself from the run between his home and his friends’, he pressed on the doorbell and shuffled back a few inches.

  Inside, he heard the commotion of chairs scuffing on the floor and then a cheerful “I’ll get it” from Diego’s mother.

  Footsteps followed, and within thirty seconds, Desmond heard the door unlocking. The door opened, and Diego’s mother looked down at him with a surprised yet welcoming smile.

  “Hey there, Desmond. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Perez,” he said politely. “Are Diego and Corin home?”

  “Yeah, they’re upstairs playing video games. Come on in.”

  “Thank you.” He stepped inside the warm home and wiped his feet on the mat, then removed his shoes.

  She closed the door behind him and waited. “Chilly out there, huh? Did you just run from your house?”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Perez.”

  A chuckle escaped her lips. “You don’t have to call me that, Desmond.”

  “Sorry. Dr. Perez,” he corrected.

  Another laugh, this one louder, leaped from her mouth. She lowered her head, shaking it from side to side. “No, I meant you can call me Maria if you like.”

  “I wouldn’t feel right about that, Dr. Perez. My parents taught me that kids should call adults by mister or missus.” A puzzled look crossed his face, and he tilted his head to the side, as if analyzing her hairdo or makeup. “That does make me wonder, though. How come you go by Perez and your husband is Mr. Atkins? I mean, I understand why Corin and Diego kept their last names, but why didn’t you? I hope I’m not being rude.”

  Maria offered a grin as warm as the room itself. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you being rude, Desmond. You’re one of the nicest boys I’ve met. I hope some of that rubs off on our kids.” She glanced up the stairwell, then returned her gaze to Desmond. “I’m a professional,” she informed with a shrug. “I established myself as Dr. Maria Perez at the university a long time ago. Would be a huge hassle to change it over now. Rick understands, and he doesn’t seem to care.”

  Desmond nodded his understanding, sticking out his lower lip in approval. “That does make sense. I imagine getting new business cards alone would be a pain.”

  The woman burst out laughing again. “You are something else, Desmond. Go on upstairs. I’m sure Corin and Diego will be happy to see you. Would you like to stay for lunch?”

  He thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he said eagerly. “Unless it’s a bother.”

  “No bother at all, Desmond. I’ll make enough for everyone.”

  “Thank you.” He climbed the stairs, resisting the temptation to bound up them as he would in his own home.

  The smell of taco seasoning, onions, and beef filled the house. Desmond noticed it the second Mrs. Perez opened the front door. The odors had smacked him like a tennis racket to the nose. Even though he’d only eaten a couple of hours before, the scents emanating from the kitchen were enough to make his stomach growl and forget any previous meals he’d had that day.

  At the top of the stairs, he turned the corner and heard the sounds of the video game coming from the television. The right corner of his lips turned up, and he hurried down the hallway toward the bonus room.

  Desmond stepped through the open door and waited just inside, watching the big screen. His friends were playing a soccer game. The score was 2-0, and from the look of frustration on Diego’s face, it was his stepsister who was in the lead.

  Desmond had met the two when they were in sixth grade, just before summer vacation began at the end of the school year. They’d been fleeing from a bully and stumbled on Desmond’s secret hiding spot in the woods just outside their neighborhood.

  He invited Corin and Diego to his home, where they learned that Desmond’s parents were famous treasure hunters, though they insisted that wasn’t what they did. They were archaeologists, but Desmond preferred the fantastical notion that his parents were always on the hunt for treasure. Ironically, they didn’t need money. Their exploits had gained them a worldwide following, and the books they produced to educate the general public on history and lost cultures provided them with a steady income stream that was far above average. Desmond had never lacked for anything, though his parents weren’t extravagant, save for the international travel they so often embarked upon.

  It had been that fateful summer, when Desmond and his two new friends traveled to Italy, that they’d come across an ancient mystery involving the lost treasure of Julius Caesar. Since then, they’d embarked on other adventures, the latest of which being the reason for Desmond’s hurried visit.

  “Hey guys,” he said cheerfully.

  Neither of them took their eyes off the screen, though Corin’s head twisted ever so slightly.

  “Hey, Dez,” the brother and sister replied together.

  “Looks like you guys are in a pretty intense match right now.”

  “Yeah,” Diego said. “She’s kicking my butt right now. I won the last one, though.”

  “After you dropped three straight,” she reminded.

  “Don’t get overconfident,” Diego warned. His thumbs twitched quickly, and his striker fired a shot just wide of the goal. He let out a disappointed groan.

  The referee on the screen blew the whistle to signal halftime, and the siblings decided it was a good time to take a break. They set their controllers down on the tan leather sofa and gave their full attention to Desmond.

  “What’s up?” Corin asked. “You want the next game?”

  “Maybe,” Desmond said. He stepped farther into the room while fishing the phone out of his pocket. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

  The two looked at him with curious eyes but said nothing—expecting he would fill them in.

  “Did you hear what happened at the Brown Mountain site?”

  Desmond tapped something on his phone and then turned it around so Diego and Corin could see.

  Their curiosity turned to shock.

  “What happened?” Diego asked, concern in his voice. He stared at an article from a news website. The headline declared an accident had occurred on Brown Mountain that resulted in an explosion. He read down a few paragraphs until he’d reached the bottom of the screen, several seconds before Corin.

  She’d always been better at math and science, while he excelled in reading and language arts. Their educational interests merged with history.

  “The article says it’s unclear if anyone was there, and if there were people there, if there were any survivors.” Corin’s statement hung like a fog in the room.

  “Yeah, I know,” Desmond said.

  “But there were supposed to be lots of people working on that site,” Diego insisted. “Mr. Schultz told us they were going to send in a bunch
of archaeologists to study the place.”

  “That’s true,” Desmond said. “He did say that.”

  The collective mood in the room turned definitely more somber.

  “It seems like I overheard my parents talking about something up there, about a new group or team of researchers taking over. I only remember because they sounded annoyed about it, like someone with the government was kicking out the original team that was there and putting someone else in their place.”

  “Any idea who?”

  Desmond shook his head. “That’s all I got out of it.”

  Diego slipped off the couch and wandered over to a desk in the corner. His sister had one in the opposite corner. He removed a tablet from the surface and switched it on. “Where did you find that article?” he asked, returning from the corner.

  “I looked it up. Just do a Google search, and you should be able to find it.”

  Diego did as instructed, but none of the search results displayed an article from that source, and none of the others were even close. Everything he saw was from the discovery they’d made, and the follow-up information about how the IAA would continue the research efforts.

  “I’m not seeing it,” Diego said. He turned the screen toward his friend. Desmond scanned through the results and frowned. “No, it’s definitely not there. This one is from the newspaper in Asheville, North Carolina. Here.” He tapped on the URL and expanded it.

  Diego noted the web address and entered it in his tablet’s browser. A 404 page popped up, displaying an error message. It read, “Sorry, the page you’re looking for isn’t here.”

  Desmond’s frown deepened into a bewildered scowl. “Is something wrong with your tablet? Maybe it’s the internet.”

  Corin had evidently had enough of her brother’s ineptitude. She hopped off the couch and stood next to him. “Let me see it,” she said with a derisive sigh. Corin plucked the device from his loose grip despite his protesting “hey” and began scrolling through the previous search results.