The Protocol (A James Acton Thriller, Book #1)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Looks like they weren’t so innocent,” commented Chaney. “Were they on their way to a hit and got hit themselves?”

  “Like I said before, the blokes in the four-by-fours were pros. You can tell by the way they took up their positions. It was done with military precision. The victims were equipped as well as any military unit I’ve ever seen so I don’t know what the hell is going on,” explained Nelson. “And look at this,” he said, picking up one of the guns. He removed the magazine, ejected one of the bullets and handed it to Reading.

  “What’s this?” asked Reading as he held up the bullet that looked more like a needle.

  “Tranquilizer dart. All of them were armed with these; they had no live rounds on them. These blokes weren’t killers.”

  “Their enemies certainly were.” Reading handed the dart back to Nelson who returned it to the table. “Any gangland tats or other markings on the victims?”

  “They all had this tattoo on their inner left wrist,” replied Nelson, handing them a photo of a tattoo on one of the victim’s hands. “It’s actually very small, about half an inch wide.” The tattoo was two horizontal short lines with a thicker, slightly wider third line, curving upward.

  Reading looked at the photo. I’ve seen this somewhere before.

  “Have you run it through the database?” asked Chaney.

  “Yes, nothing.”

  “Any ID?”

  “We’re running their faces through all of our databases, hopefully have something by the end of the day,” said Nelson. “Oh, that reminds me. Upstairs asked me to give this to you.” He reached into his stack of folders and pulled one with Reading’s name on it. “They were delivering it to the morgue the same time I got there so I said I’d give it to you.” He handed the file over to Reading. “Apparently there’s two Yanks here who want to talk to you about him as well. They waited for the Chief for several hours and now he’s handed them off to you.”

  When Reading flipped it open, he found the complete Interpol file on one Professor James Edward Acton. Reading smiled.

  Now I know who you are.

  “Professor James Edward Acton,” announced Reading. He handed the folder over to Chaney. “He had to register in Oman for an archeological dig six years ago which means his face made it into Interpol’s database. We know who he is, the questions now are, why is he here, who is following him and why was Monsieur Savard tortured and killed?”

  “And how does the ambush of the van fit in?” added Chaney.

  Reading nodded. “Nelson, I want you to find out where that van came from and where—”

  “Sir!” yelled one of the men manning the Yard’s central communications system. “They’ve just found the first getaway vehicle!”

  “Send armed response units immediately,” ordered Reading. “Surround them, but wait until we get there.”

  “Yes, sir!” The man returned to his station and plugged back into the network, relaying the orders.

  Reading was already heading toward the door, Chaney following him. Nelson stood there, not sure what to do. Reading, without looking back, called, “Coming, Nelson?”

  Nelson smiled. “Yes, sir!”

 

  Laura Palmer’s Flat, London, England

  Acton woke with a start to find himself half lying, half sitting on the couch, covered by a blanket. He looked at his watch and was surprised at how early it was until he realized he had forgotten to set it to local time. He looked for a clock. 12:45 a.m.

  “Have a good sleep?” Laura sat on a chair across from him, reading one of her books, a single lamp on an end-table providing the only light.

  Acton stretched and nodded. “Yeah, thanks. How long was I out?”

  “Just a few hours. You really should take the spare bedroom and get some rest. This will wait until morning.”

  Acton shook his head. “No, I’m fine, and besides, I don’t think they’re waiting.”

  She nodded. “I think I may know who they are.”

  Acton leaned forward, suddenly fully alert. “What have you found?”

  “I’ve been going through these books. I knew there was something in one of them that I just couldn’t remember and it was driving me nuts. And I think I’ve found it.” She opened one of the books to a page she had marked and handed it to Acton. “Last paragraph on the left.”

  Acton read the passage:

  Many ancient relics that were deemed to have power handed down by God or a pagan god have had groups organize as a result that either worshipped the item or swore to protect it. One obvious example is the Holy Grail, apparently protected by the Knights Templar. The Crystal Skulls were no different. It has been documented that over two thousand years ago, Emperor Nero assigned a legion of his best troops to protect what was described as the Oracle of Jupiter. Discovered in what is now modern day Israel, it was delivered to the Emperor as a gift. Nero became obsessed with the skull and believed it was communicating with him. He was convinced it was the voice of the most powerful Roman god, Jupiter. Nero ordered the Thirteenth Legion to take the skull as far away from Rome as possible and to guard it with their lives. It is thought this Thirteenth Legion fought its way north, trying to reach modern day England, the farthest the Empire’s domain had reached. During this struggle, most of the front line and second line troops were lost. The third and most experienced line, the Triarii, is said to have disappeared, never to be seen again. Rumors of their existence persist to this day however, with some believing they did reach their ultimate destination and settled anonymously in England, their descendants now fulfilling their ancient promise.

  Acton closed the book and sat back in his chair, in fascinated disbelief.

  “Do you really think that the people after me today could be descendants of a two-thousand-year-old Roman legion?”

  “I know it sounds fantastic, but think about it. How long have the Masons been around, the Knights Templar, the Illuminati, the Catholic Church for that matter? All are organizations created around a central theme that have sustained them for centuries if not millennia.

  “This skull was believed to be handed down from the gods. Just the belief that something has divine powers is an extreme motivator. If a grilled cheese sandwich that looks like the Virgin Mary can sell for $34,000 on eBay, then imagine the influence a crystal skull that your Emperor has told you spoke to him, could have.

  “Then imagine that more started to show up over the generations. As each one appeared, it would only serve to renew your faith. Even here in England to this day there are Druids and others that worship pagan gods. Monotheistic religion has not taken complete control.”

  Acton let out a deep breath, trying to fathom what Laura was saying. “It’s incredible to think that people could worship something for so long, but then again, we’ve seen it time and again throughout history, especially among primitive societies. I guess it’s not that much of a stretch for people of two thousand years ago to believe that this was sent by God and then to indoctrinate their descendants with the same beliefs.”

  “Yes, and if they are indeed here, today, their original mission of protecting the Oracle of Jupiter may have expanded to include all of the skulls,” continued Laura. “They must think that you are some kind of threat to them because you found a skull that appears to have been missing for over seven hundred years.”

  “I don’t understand, though, why so many people have to die because of it,” said Acton, thinking of the last text message from his friend. “So many have died that someone has to pay. Two-thousand-year-old cult or not, they need to be brought down before others get hurt.”

  Laura’s face grew concerned. “How do you think you can single-handedly take down an organization that has lasted over sixty generations? It could be huge.”

  “Every snake has a head,” said Acton. “Cut off the head, and the body dies. If I remember my Roman history, the Triarii were the third and final line of defense in a legion. They were the most seasoned, experienced tro
ops, and there were only a small number of them. If they’ve kept the same structure, there may only be a dozen or so of them at the top, with the rest just underlings with no real power or knowledge. Wipe out the Triarii and everything stops.”

  “How would you ever find them?” asked Laura, looking very worried about where this was heading.

  Acton held up the skull. “I have bait.” He looked at Laura for a reaction. Her expression wasn’t what he had expected. She almost looks…horrified! Acton couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want to take down an organization that had killed so many innocent people.

  “How are you going to ‘wipe them out’?”

  “I’m not sure, but first we need to identify them,” said Acton, “and then try and get them on tape, I guess, admitting their guilt. After that, we could take the tape to the authorities and let them take action.” The more Acton explained his plan the more ridiculous it sounded. There’s no way in hell they’ll admit what they did on tape! “Okay, maybe we need a better plan.”

  “We?”

  “Well, I guess I just sort of assumed….”

  “Of course I’m in,” said Laura. “Not necessarily for the same reasons you have, but for a more selfish reason.”

  “What’s that?” asked Acton.

  “Self-preservation. People around you have a nasty habit of turning up dead, and I don’t intend to be one of them.”

  Fleet Street, London

  “Is everyone in position?” asked Reading as he exited his car and approached the mobile command set up just out of sight of the discovered SUV.

  “Yes, sir,” replied the Armed Response Unit commander. “Just waiting for your orders, sir.”

  Reading could hear the disdain in the man’s voice. He didn’t blame him. God knows there’s enough glorified DCI’s about that have never even shot a gun.

  “Do we know if anyone is in the vehicle?” asked Chaney.

  “Can’t tell, sir. Cameras showed people exiting the vehicle, but the windows are all blacked out so there could still be someone inside.”

  “And the other team?” asked Reading. En route, word had come of the location of the second SUV.

  “They are in position as well, awaiting your orders, sir.”

  Reading chose to ignore the attitude. For now. “Proceed, Commander.”

  The ARU Commander spoke into his mike. “All units, stand by, proceed in five… four… three… two… one… Execute!” From down the street yelling erupted and ARU agents raced out from around the corners of buildings, surrounding the SUV.

  “Occupants of the vehicle, armed police! Open the doors and come out with your hands in the air!” ordered one of the men over a megaphone. There was no response. “This is your final warning, come out with your hands raised immediately!” Again, no response.

  He motioned to one of his men who approached the driver’s side door at a crouch, all the while aiming his weapon at the window. When he reached the side of the vehicle he used a small mirror on an extendable pole to check to see if the door was wired. Satisfied, he put the mirror away and with his back pressed against the vehicle, reached up with one hand to grasp the door handle and pulled.

  The blast blew him into several pieces. The ARU officers surrounding the van were thrown backward as if tugged by ropes attached to their backs. The three closest on the sidewalk side hit the brick building with full force, breaking most of the bones in their bodies. They died instantly. Those on the other side landed across the street on the sidewalk, their body armor having protected them for the most part.

  “Team Two, abort! I say again, abort!” The ARU Commander shouted into his mike. There was no response. “Team Two, this is Team Leader, what is your status?”

  There was still no answer then a burst of static followed by, “Team Leader, this is Two, some sort of detonation has occurred. My men are down! I repeat, my men are down!”

  Reading was already on his phone calling for medical support to both sites and a bomb disposal unit while Chaney and Nelson ran toward the downed men.

  “Be careful of secondary explosions!” yelled Reading after them. He turned to the ARU Commander. “Commander, set up a perimeter, half a mile in all directions. Nobody gets in or out without being spoken to.” The commander nodded, showing a bit more respect. Reading saw the change in attitude and smiled. “Falklands War,” explained Reading. “I’ve been around guns since you were popping pimples.”

  “Yes, sir,” stammered the Commander. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Execute your orders.”

  “Yes, sir!” he snapped to attention and ran off to organize the arriving backup units.

  Reading strode toward the flaming wreckage that was the SUV.

  How many more have to die and why?

  The Triarii chamber was rocked by what felt like a sudden earthquake, sending a momentary panic through the room until the noise died down and they realized they were still intact. The Proconsul looked up at the ceiling with an eye to seeing if it were about to come down on them. Plaster dust filled the air, small cracks evidence of the stress the structure had just been put under, but nothing else seemed to suggest impending doom.

  He looked to the man on his left. “Find out what happened!”

  The man jumped to his feet and ran to the chamber doors. As he left, the phone rang, echoing through the now silent chamber, all eyes turning toward the device as it rang. Something that never happened. The Proconsul looked at his display confused.

  Who would have this number?

  He hit the intercom button to put the call on speaker.

  “Did you get the message?” a disembodied, electronically altered voice said on the other end.

  “What message?” asked the Proconsul.

  “I think you know what I’m talking about. I wanted to remind you that I know where you are.”

  The phone went dead.

  He pressed the button, cutting off the dial tone as everyone looked at each other in stunned silence, several lips trembling in fear, his own chest tight with the implications.

  At that moment the doors to the chamber flew open and the previously dispatched member ran back in. “There were two car bombs, one across the road, the other a half mile away,” said the breathless man as he returned to his seat. “Apparently there are a lot of dead police.”

  The Proconsul frowned then pursed his lips as he let out a heavy breath. “I believe we have a bigger problem than we thought,” he said. “It is obvious now that we must take immediate action.” His eyes travelled the room as he made certain every single one of the council realized the importance of the words he was about to say.

  “Implement The Protocol without delay.”

  All of the members stood and bowed to him, then left. Remaining seated, he contemplated the situation, and wasn’t pleased. He had lost one skull under his watch tonight. He couldn’t risk any more. They had to be taken into safekeeping for now, until this crisis could be resolved.

  He feared, though, what that might involve.

  Six more dead. Reading clenched his jaw, anger seething inside him as he watched the ambulance personnel loading the injured men onto gurneys. We need to find Acton!

  “Guv,” said Chaney behind him. Reading turned. Chaney was covered in blood having saved one man by sticking his fingers in a wound and pinching a ruptured artery, then when ambulance personnel had taken over, immediately moving on to the next wounded person he could find.

  Sometimes Reading forgot Chaney had once gone to medical school then dropped out. After seeing so many bodies come through the ER he’d decided he wanted to be out on the street trying to prevent the crimes that sent the victims to the doctors.

  “Nelson just got a call. They found out where the box van came from.”

  “Where?”

  “The British Museum. We have footage of the vehicle leaving there ten minutes before they were hit. We’re still backtracking where they originally came from.”

  “Oka
y, you and I will go to the museum and see what they were doing there,” said Reading. “Nelson! You take command of the situation here and keep me posted!”

  “Yes, sir!” acknowledged Nelson from down the street where he was examining the wreckage of the SUV.

  Chaney popped the trunk to their car and fished out a change of clothes. Quickly donning a fresh shirt and tie, he ducked into an alley to change his blood soaked pants. Not having a new suit jacket, he’d have to go without until he made it back to The Yard. He climbed into the car, Reading already waiting for him.

  British Museum, London

  “Look.” Clive pointed to the monitor showing a car pull up and two men exiting the vehicle. They watched the younger one approach the glass doors and peer through, knocking on the glass as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a warrant card. He held it up to the nearby camera.

  Rodney pressed a hand to his stomach. “Coppers!”

  Clive glanced at his friend. What’s eating him? He leaned into the intercom system. “Who’s closest to the Great Russell Street entrance?”

  There was a crackle then a voice responded. “Paul here, I’m about fifty feet away. What’s the problem?”

  “There’s two coppers at the door. See what they want.”

  “Roger, I’ll check it out.”

  A few moments later Clive and Rodney watched Paul jogging toward the doors. He inspected the cards through the window and lifted his radio. “They’re coppers, all right, and they want in.”

  “Okay, just a moment.” Clive hit a few keys on the keyboard and they watched Paul open the door. The two men entered and Paul closed the door behind them. Clive reactivated the locks as he and Rodney watched the three men. They spoke for a few seconds then Paul lifted his radio again.

  “They said there was some sort of murder tonight that involves the museum and they want to review the tapes. I’ll bring them up to the control room.”

  Rodney turned pale as he watched the three men disappear from the view of the camera. Clive noticed.