“However, we didn’t need to choose. The Thai Sanctuary kept their assassin alive, and because their Prime Master took him to Bangkok, it worked in our favour,” said Caleb and smirked.
Pavel nodded. “After the FSB espionage department who tracked the assassins, told me it was the Thai Tinju Sanctuary that captured and kept one alive. I had my department research the Tinju.” Pavel grinned. “They were perfect, especially with the story about their Prime Master in the Thai news about their run-in with Sheik Mohammed Del Alaz’s, and with him in Bangkok, it made our task of getting to them easier.”
Pavel smiled, nodded at Caleb, and said. “After we dismantled the Tusen operation, I went to play my role as the Warlord’s Prime Master, Chuck Johnson, along with Master Sedgly.”
Caleb frowned. “It was tough training with the Thai and Cambodian Warriors. Even with our years of Krav Maga training; we must have appeared like amateur boxers, so they took it easy on us.”
The Prezident saw a look of admiration in the Colonels eyes when he said. “They are an indomitable force.”
Pavel nodded, “They were, but easily motivated,” he said. “They soon sprang into action when Captain Popov, or should I say, Master Brown, called me and said that everyone at our Monastery had been murdered. Otherwise, we would have waited weeks, and the longer we prolonged it, the more chance of something going wrong.”
“So tell me Pavel, were you not concerned about Fahed finding out that you duped him, and when he found out there was no army to wipe out the Buddhists, he would tell the militants?” asked the Prezident looking curious.
Pavel shook his head and smirked, “No sir, Fahed Del Alaz was already dead, I had him killed after his militants were killed and Caleb told me one still lived. We kept his body on ice until the time was right and then we dumped it in the house in Kabul. Our Agent Ho Ming Sung tipped off the Bravo Company Commander and the CNN Afghan based reporter of its location and Sung claimed his Buddhists committed the murder for revenge. That was the spark that ignited the fires. However, we still needed Fahed for the next part of our back up plan.”
The Prezident looked confused. “But I don’t understand. If Fahed was already dead, how could he have been killed again?
Pavel took two photographs from his pocket, placed them on the coffee table, and pointed to one, “Sheik Fahed Del Alaz,” he said and then pointed to the other. “Gurga Pipinich, unemployed Croatian-Muslim actor.”
The Prezident frowned, picked up the photographs, and compared the two bearded Arabs, wearing Sheiks’ headdresses. “The resemblance looked uncanny,” he said trying to distinguish between the two.
Vladimir put down the photographs as Pavel continued. “My FSB team found Gurga Pipinich, who, with a little make up, looked like Fahed. We had Pipinich believe that he was playing a role in a movie as a villain. We took him to Fahed’s mansion in Pakistan, and after disposing of Fahed’s staff, we told Pipinich it was a movie set. He thought he was being paid handsomely just to shoot the first monk that entered with a blank firing pistol, and charge at the others yelling and shouting.” Pavel smirked, “I was told by our agents posing as the film crew that Pipinich was a lousy actor, but according to Caleb, he had a real look of surprise on his face before he stabbed him in the heart.”
“An encore-worthy performance,” said Caleb and grinned.
Pavel and the Prezident smirked and Pavel continued. “They also made me a discrete blood pack and our *CGI department made a convincing American President and team of intelligence directors, which not only convinced Pipinich further when we filmed the Presidential scenes from our Oval Office. Everything was set up for when we arrived at Fahed’s.”
Pavel sounded smug as he said, “After Caleb and I played our role and killed Pipinich, I had our agents at Fahed’s wearing Tusen body suits kill a few monks to make them panic. In the confusion, it gave Caleb time to text our little corrupt General Mahatmacote with the signal for him to send in our disguised American Bravo Company GI’s, who cleared the area of any evidence.”
“It also gave me enough time to convince the Thai Prime Master of CIA involvement in case our interview didn’t convince the world. That way, if any nation doubted the information we released or if the Americans found any proof to discredit the interview, we could point the media at the testimony of a humble Buddhist monk who witnessed Fahed’s killing, along with the murder of his Buddhist monks by the CIA in Tusen suits,” said Caleb and smiled.
“But our plan worked, so we didn’t need him,” said Pavel.
“No,” said the Prezident, “but perhaps we can still use him to discredit the Americans later should they uncover evidence,” he smirked, “although this would be unlikely now because you have convinced the world of the deception by the American government intelligence agencies. It didn’t take long before most countries around the world revolted against the American government, as did their own people. Not only have we gone ignored, but we may also get a new U.S President who will be more forthcoming toward Russia.” The Prezident picked up the photocopied manuscripts of the thick Puravuttanta’s and Operation Hoodwink folder from the coffee table. “Is this the only evidence remaining,” he asked.
“Yes sir,” said Pavel, “we cremated Pipinich along with everything else at the Gulags in Siberia’s furnaces. The original Puravuttanta we set ablaze after photocopying them and adding our CIA evidence with the ashes scattered around the Rockies.
The President called over a guard and gave him instructions. The guard snapped to attention and left the room.
The Prezident asked.
“Your timing to convince the world of the cover-up was impeccable, so how did you manage that?”
Caleb smiled and told him. “We needed to get the news of a deception out as soon as the clashes between the religions began while both sides were angry, but before tensions spilled too far.”
Pavel nodded. “We knew that along with religious leaders, every government who had Muslin and Buddhist citizens would feel vulnerable.
We knew they would be desperate to find a way out of the tense situation, so convincing them of an American deception would be simple,” he said and pointed at the Operation Hoodwink folder with the USB taped to the front. “We already filmed everything we needed at Fahed’s, so after we filmed the Presidential scenes and Fahed scenes, we produced ‘Operation Hoodwink.’
We released the information to media outlets and governments worldwide along with uploading images of dead Muslim guerrillas and Buddhist monks, including us, to the US social media pages.” said Pavel and smirked as the Prezident chuckled. “You both look fit and healthy for dead monks.”
The guard returned and marched over to the three carrying a large vented container. He placed the rectangular box at the side of the coffee table and opened the lid. Vladimir placed everything inside and closed the lid. He looked at a gauge reading charged and pushed a button. The machine hummed and a wisp of smoke escaped from the vents. Several seconds later, the machine pinged, and the Prezident opened the lid and saw a fine layer of thin ash covering the bottom of the machine.
“Thank you Corporal,” said Vladimir, and the guard picked up the microwave incinerator and left the room.
The Prezident looked at his watch and beckoned over the other guard who brought the vodka to the men.
“Caleb, Pavel, please excuse me. I will go call the Latvian Prezident and then we can eat and you can tell me more before we discuss your date for receiving the *Hero of the Russian Federation medal.”
“Thank you sir, it was an honour to have played a part in forging the future of the Motherland and the new Russian Federation,” said Pavel with a beaming smile.
The Prezident smiled and motioned for the guard to refill Caleb and Pavel’s vodka glasses and clear the tea tray off the table. He walked out of the room smiling, leaving the two happy comrades talking about receiving their nation’s most prestigious honour.
—Epilogue —
“Special Age
nt Pendle, please come and look at this sir.”
Pendle sighed and looked at his watch. “As of now, it’s Mr Pendle, Agent Briggs, I’ve just retired. Besides, what are you still doing using the computers?” said Pendle sounding concerned as he walked over to Brigg’s booth, “It should be unplugged and ready to be inspected,” he said and furrowed his brow as he looked at Brigg’s scrren. “What programme’s that you’re using?”
“It’s one I have been developing for some time sir,” said Briggs looking up at his old boss.
Pendle furrowed his brow and sounding concerned said, “Wipe it off Briggs. If the new Presidents security team found that, we will be arrested under the new criminalising Intel collection law.”
“Yes sir, I realised that, but I have been working on this since the damming evidence blaming the US was released. I pieced together the evidence before we disconnected from NSA’s database earlier.”
Pendle pondered. He felt scared with many CIA, NSA agents, and top brass arrested and jailed by the new, and now the only, international US security force led by Edward Snowden.
His curiosity then got the better of him and he still felt angry with his superiors blaming him for mishandling the Montana monk’s massacre.
The FBI Director had to brush that mess under the carpet because of the tense situation in the US and they’d diverted all their resources to survive the public outcry, with Pendle forced into early retirement.
“Okay,” said Pendle bending over and looking at the screen, “show me what you’ve got.”
Briggs tapped his keyboard and two squares came up on screen. “Sir, I took a section from that interview and tried to find out who the two people on it were.”
Pendle furrowed his brow. “That’s already been tried many times by all the security services computer boffins. They couldn’t find anything about the interviewer or the man claiming to be an Agent because of the facial pixilation, darkness on the background, and dubbed voices.”
“Yes sir, I know, but I have been running it through and developing my programme for months. With each square of pixilation there was an algorithm, so I isolated one square and my programme found the original algorithm. It took time, but my programme then reset all the other pixelated squares based on that original algorithm until I got still images of the two faces.”
Briggs tapped at the keyboard and pointed at the screen as two dark blurred images came into the boxes on the screen.
Pendle looked confused. “I can’t make out anyone,” he said as Briggs tapped more instructions, and two clearer faces splattered with blood replaced the blurred images.
“Yes sir, I realised that, but there was enough detail for facial topography software to pick out relevant points and produced a facial profile.”
Pendle furrowed his brow, looking confused. “So who are they, they look dead?”
“Yes sir… apparently they are.”
Pendle looked confused as Briggs said. “Although the facial recognition programme gave me a profile image, when I ran it through our criminal data base it came up with nothing.”
Briggs tapped on the keyboard and said, “I was about to give up when I thought about the images from the social media. I ran the images from Facebook, Instagram and others from the time when the interview aired. Most of the images were repeated on all sites and our facial recognition programme came up with those two,” he said pointing at the screen, “with a 98% match of two dead Buddhist monks allegedly murdered by Muslims.”
“So the programme was wrong,” said Pendle looking more bemused.
Briggs shook his head. “No sir, although that’s what I thought at first, so I asked my friend at the NSA to run it through their database. I sent him the details, but he called me back straight away and said there was no need to run it through the database as he recognised one man. He told me that he was very much alive.”
Briggs pointed to one picture and brought up a file on First Deputy Director of the FSB, Pavel Snitzkin.
Pendle gasped and looked taken aback as Briggs told him.
“The other man he didn’t know, so he ran it through their database. I received this earlier before they disconnected us from the NSA.”
Briggs brought up the file of Colonel Caleb Brezkov of Spetsnaz Special Forces 611.
Mr Pendle, looked, sighed, and rubbed his face. “611, they are the same as our seal team six and the UK’s SAS, and rumoured to have sleeper cells active in the US.”
“Yes sir and it not only proved the rumours were true, but there was Russian involvement,” said Briggs furrowing his brow.
Pendle knew that they could not send the data anywhere as all information leaving the FBI was monitored and blocked. He realised they had to delete all that information because the new Homeland Security was checking hard drives for evidence of cover-ups and deception. He knew this evidence would be perceived as yet another hoax to deceive the world that America was innocent.
With the new President already admitting the previous administration’s guilt, and promising the world he would stop this kind of thing happing again, Pendle felt scared. He knew he and Briggs faced a long prison term if caught.
“Sir, perhaps we can sneak a USB through the security checks.”
Pendle stood back and shook his head. “No Briggs, that’s too risky with the scanners they search us with when we leave. Besides, what do we do with it if we get it out?”
Pendle then froze when he saw three men in suits walking into his department and he ducked down behind the thin partitioned wall of Briggs compartment.
“Sir,” whispered Briggs trembling and looking nervous. “What do we do?”
THE END
Thank you for taking time to read Protector. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and I will be extremely grateful and might share my chocolate with you… only might.
In the unlikely event that you did not enjoy Protector, please write bad reviews under my pen name, Charles Dickens… he won’t mind.
—Appendix —
The Wai, is the greeting used in Thailand and other Asian countries. It consists of a slight bow, with the palms pressed together in a prayer-like fashion. The higher the hands are held in relation to the face and the lower the bow, the more respect or reverence the giver of the wai is showing. The wai is traditionally observed upon entering formally a house. The wai is also common as a way to express gratitude or to apologise.
Buddha, means the ‘enlightened one; or the ‘awakened one,’ with Siddhartha Gautama, in most Buddhist traditions regarded as the Supreme Buddha
Prince Kshatriva Gautama born about 566-7 BCE, in what is now known as Lubini, Nepal. Although there is only speculation about his date of birth with his death believed to have been 483 BC and he was thought to have lived for 80 years.
His father, King Suddhodana, Gautama was leader of a large clan called the Shakya. His mother, Queen Maya, died shortly after his birth.
When Prince Kshatriva was a few days old, a holy man prophesied the Prince would be either a great military conqueror or a great spiritual teacher. King Suddhodana preferred the first choice and prepared his son accordingly. He raised the young Prince in luxury and shielded him from knowledge of religion and human suffering. The Prince reached the age of 29 with little experience of the world outside the walls of his opulent palaces.
One day, overcome with curiosity, Prince Kshatriva asked a charioteer to take him on a series of rides through the countryside. On these journeys, the sight of an aged man, then a sick man, and then a corpse shocked him. The stark realities of old age, disease, and death seized and sickened the Prince.
Finally, he saw a wandering ascetic. The charioteer explained that the ascetic was one who had renounced the world and sought release from fear of death and suffering.
For a time the Prince returned to palace life, but he took no pleasure in it. Even the news that his wife Yasodhara had given birth
to a son did not please him. The child was called Rahula, which means, "fetter."
One night he wandered the palace alone. The luxuries that had once pleased him now seemed grotesque. Musicians and dancing girls had fallen asleep and were sprawled about, snoring and sputtering. Prince Kshatriva reflected on the old age, disease, and death that would overtake them all and turn their bodies to dust.
He realised then that he could no longer be content living the life of a prince. That very night he left the palace, shaved his head, and changed his prince's clothes for a beggar's robe. Then he began his quest for enlightenment.
Kshatriva began by seeking out renowned teachers, who taught him about the many religious philosophies of his day as well as how to meditate. However, after he had learned all they had to teach, his doubts, and questions remained. He and five disciples left to find enlightenment by themselves.
The six companions attempted to find release from suffering through physical discipline--enduring pain, holding their breath, fasting nearly to starvation. Yet Kshatriva was still unsatisfied. It occurred to him that in renouncing pleasure he had grasped pleasure's opposite--pain and self-mortification. Now Kshatriva considered a Middle Way between those two extremes.
He remembered an experience from his childhood, when his mind had settled into a state of deep peace. The path of liberation was through discipline of mind. He realized that instead of starvation, he needed nourishment to build up his strength for the effort. But when he accepted a bowl of rice milk from a young girl, his companions assumed he had given up the quest and abandoned him. He now became known as Siddhartha, ‘He who has found meaning.’
Siddhartha sat beneath a fig tree known as the Bodhi Tree, and settled into meditation.
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