“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No, nothing, I’m just feeling poorly. Maybe something I ate.” With that, he left the control room and headed for the bathrooms.
Clive chuckled and looked back at the monitors, watching Paul escort the police to the control room. A murder? He rubbed his chest where the Liverpool flag had hit him and was surprised at how much it still hurt. How hard did he hit me with that thing?
Rodney ran to the bathroom and entered a stall where he knew there were no cameras. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed. When the line picked up there was silence. His heart was beating so fast he tried to calm his nerves.
He knew the system would only allow him two attempts to get the code right before it would block his number from ever calling again. As calmly as he could, he said, “Seventy-Four Sixty-Two Oh One.” There was a pause then ringing as the call was directed elsewhere. He breathed a sigh of relief. The next pickup had a human at the other end.
“Yes,” was all they said.
“I need guidance, something has gone wrong.”
“One moment.” Again, the call was redirected.
“Yes?” said the new voice.
“The police are here, something about a murder. They want to review the tapes,” said Rodney.
“Have you had time to erase them?”
“No, not yet. The plan was to erase them over the rest of the shift, but Clive hasn’t left his post yet.”
“Very well,” said the voice. “Our team was eliminated by outside forces after they left.”
“Eliminated?” asked Rodney in shock. “As in topped?”
“Yes,” replied the coldly calm voice. “There is nothing more you can do there. I want you to leave immediately.”
“Yes, miss.” The line went dead and he put the phone back in his pocket. Now I need to get Clive to open the rear entrance so I can get out of here. He returned to the control room and as he entered he saw the two policemen and Clive looking at the monitors.
“Oh, hi, Rodney. Feeling better?”
He nodded.
Clive motioned to the two guests. “This is DCI Reading and DI—. Sorry, I’m terrible with names.”
“Chaney.”
Rodney shook the proffered hands. “Rodney Underwood.”
“Apparently a truck left the museum tonight and was attacked,” Clive said to Rodney. “I told the detectives that they must be mistaken as we haven’t had any deliveries or pickups tonight. Here’s the footage for the loading dock.” The tape raced backward, the time code in the bottom of the screen counting down.
“Stop!” said Chaney. “Back it up a bit.” Clive let the tape play forward a little more slowly and they could see a cube van exit the loading dock. “There it is.”
“I’ll be—” Clive looked at the time code. That was when I was out cold! He rubbed his chest and glanced at Rodney, who looked nervous. What is going on here?
“Let’s see the rest of the footage,” said Reading. “I want to know what they were doing here.”
“Yes, sir.” Clive turned back to the monitors. He brought up the footage and they all watched as it played out in reverse.
“What room is that?” asked Chaney as they watched the men disappear for several minutes inside a room. “Are there any cameras in there?”
Clive shook his head. “No, sir, it’s a storage room for the archeology department. The only way in or out is that door so we have no cameras in there.”
“Show me that room,” said Reading.
“Rodney, you show them the room. I have to call the Archeology Head to let them know so they can come down here to see if anything is missing.”
“Yes, okay.” Rodney realized he wouldn’t be getting out of this situation anytime soon. “This way, gentlemen.” Reading and Chaney followed Rodney out of the room as Clive grabbed a binder of emergency numbers and found the home number for the Archeology Head. He was relieved Rodney was out of the room and with the police. Something isn’t right here. He had to have let them in. Again he felt the pain in his chest.
He found the number and dialed. He was surprised when the phone picked up right away and the person sounded wide-awake. “Sorry to disturb you at this hour. This is Clive Obrock, I’m security chief for the night-watch at the Museum. It appears there has been a break-in at the archeology storage room and we’d like you to come down here, right away. The police are already here.” He listened to the response on the other end. “Okay, we’ll see you in fifteen minutes, Professor Palmer.”
Paris, France
It was a beautiful, quiet night on the Seine in Paris. The restaurant hummed with quiet dignity, no loud drunken conversations ruining the evening. A string quartet played in the corner, loud enough to be heard, but low enough to not be intrusive. The lighting was just right for an evening of romance, which is exactly what Henri was hoping for. He looked across the table at his beautiful date, not believing his luck. Having blown his entire week’s pay on this, he was going to enjoy it.
Henri was sipping his wine when his phone rang. “Pardonnez moi,” he said to his companion. He fished it out of his pocket and took the call. “Allo?”
“Thirty-two. Sixteen. Oh Seven. Execute Red,” was all he heard.
“I’m so-ree baht you must av de wrong numbare,” he said then hung up.
His heart sunk. It was a call he had never expected to come, not in his lifetime, but now that it had, he was torn between duty and booty. The woman across the table from him was gorgeous and way out of his league. The only reason she sat there was because she was a friend of a friend, and he had talked him up to be some bigwig at the museum.
If she only knew I was a janitor.
He sighed, knowing duty had to win, absentmindedly scratching the tattoo under his watch. He forced a smile across the table. “Désolé, je dois y aller.” I’m sorry, I must go.
He rose and headed for the door, stepping outside and taking one last look at his date as she stared at him through the window, clearly stunned at these turn of events. He himself couldn’t believe what he had just given up, his hopes for a steamy evening suddenly shut down by something his grandfather’s grandfather had gotten the family mixed up in.
He climbed in his car and pulled out into traffic, smiling as he saw his date rushing out the front door, hailing a cab as a waiter could be seen at their table through the window, shouting most likely about the bill not being paid.
A quick drive and he was soon at the Museé du Quay Branly parking lot. He gunned his two stroke Citroën up the small ramp and parked it on an angle, taking up two spots. Grabbing a bag from the backseat, he slung it over his shoulder, approached the employee entrance and waved his badge at the guard. The guard, his head buried in a newspaper, didn’t even look up as he reached to push the buzzer.
“Bonjour, Henri!” said the guard.
Henri smiled. “Bonjour, Jacques! How did you know it was me?”
“That piece of merde you drive can be heard a kilometer away!” Jacques replied as he flipped a page and refolded the paper.
Henri smiled. “Sorry, mon ami, but it is all I can afford on this meager janitor’s salary!”
“If you’d stop turning down the promotions maybe I’d have some sympathy for you!” retorted Jacques as he shook the paper.
Henri laughed and headed to the employee locker room. When he arrived he opened his locker, put his overalls on, then went to the janitor’s storage and retrieved his cart. Emptying garbage cans and ashtrays along the way, he eventually made it to one of the antiquities storage rooms. He ran his pass through the swipe lock and it opened. Pushing his cart inside, he closed the door then lifted the bag out of the cart and strode to a row in the far back. He opened a cardboard box on the bottom shelf and moved the packing material aside. A grinning skull looked up at him.
He shivered.
He opened the bag, revealing another skull. He swiftly switched them then put his bag, with the genuine
skull in it, in the garbage bag on his cart. He left the room, whistling and finished his rounds, thinking of the beautiful woman he had left on the Seine.
I wonder if I called her would she meet me for a late coffee? The poor girl must be so disappointed.
Laura Palmer’s Flat, London, England
Laura hung up the phone and turned to Acton. “There’s been a break-in at the museum. I have to go down and identify what’s missing.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Acton, getting up off the couch.
“Are you sure that’s wise? What if someone sees you?”
“If they knew where I was they’d have been here by now, and I don’t think it’s safe to stay in one place for too long. But we do need to hide this somewhere,” said Acton, holding up the bag containing the skull.
Laura nodded and smiled. “I have just the place.” She walked to the living room table and knelt down beside it. “Press those two corners in,” she said, pointing to the corners at the end nearest Acton. They were of a different color wood, but didn’t look like they should be able to move. Acton pressed on them. They didn’t move. Laura pressed on the two at her end and with a click all four corners came free. He pushed them down as far as he could at the same time Laura did. This turned out to be about two inches. Laura then grasped two sides of the tabletop and twisted clockwise ninety degrees.
“Grab this side and pull up and toward you when I do,” she said as she moved to the left and grasped the side of the table opposite Acton. “Ready?”
Acton nodded.
“Now!” They both lifted and the tabletop split in the middle as it rose, then came outward toward them.
Acton stood, amazed at the sight of the two-foot square hole in the center of the solid block of wood that made up the body of the table. “Incredible!”
Laura smiled. “It’s ancient Chinese. The wood is thick enough that it won’t sound hollow, but you can hide a fair amount of stuff inside like important scrolls, jewels, or in this case,” she paused as she held up the artifact, “one crystal skull.”
Acton smiled as she put the skull into the cavity. They reversed the procedure and returned the table to normal.
“Nobody will find it in there,” she said. “Now let’s get to the museum. I’ll be able to show you the other one as well.”
The Himalayas, Nepal
The only noise in the monastery was the heavy breathing of the sleeping monks. Eight in a room, they had a simple wooden bed with a blanket to keep the cold at bay. A small stove near the far wall provided welcome warmth. Chen was lying on his bedroll when a sudden vibration coursing through his body woke him. It was as if his entire skeleton was pulsing from the spine outward. It took him a moment to realize what it was. He glanced around to see if anyone could see him. All clear. He reached under his bedroll and removed the satellite phone hidden there. He unfolded the antenna and hit the Talk button.
“Forty-four. Sixteen. Oh Three. Execute Red.”
Chen’s heart pounded in his chest as he hung up and hid the phone among his robes. He had known this day might come, but had never expected it to. Standing, he walked down the long passageway leading from the sleeping quarters to the main temple. Inside, he found the Lama kneeling in front of a large golden statue of Buddha. He walked up and knelt beside him, clasping his hands, giving reverence to that which had guided him for so many years.
“Father, I am so sorry to interrupt, but I must.”
The revered monk beside him remained facing forward. “What is it, my son?”
“I cannot explain why, but I must take the Crystal Oracle. It is for your protection and its preservation.”
“I understand my son,” said the Lama. “If this is your destiny, then you must fulfill it. Go in peace, with my blessing.”
Chen nodded and rose. He entered one of the side chambers and approached the Crystal Oracle, it sitting on a pedestal, surrounded by candles. Taking a burlap bag from under his robes, he placed the sculpture inside, then walked directly out of the temple and began the long trek down the mountain, unsure when, or if, he’d ever return.
British Museum, London
Rodney waved to the camera when they reached the storage room door and a buzzer sounded as Clive let them in. The three men entered and looked around. “Doesn’t look like they took anything,” said Rodney.
Reading and Chaney continued to look, apparently unconvinced.
“Maybe it was a security drill?” he suggested. “In the morning they’ll fire us all for having failed?” He laughed nervously.
The only response was a grunt from Reading. They walked up and down the aisles and saw nothing out of place. As they made their way back to the entrance, Reading stopped and pointed to the floor by the rolling ladder. “Look.”
“What is it?” asked Chaney.
“The marks on the floor look fresh, like someone forgot to take the brake off.” He knelt down and picked up some of the shavings from the concrete floor, rubbing them between his fingers. “How often is this room cleaned?” asked Reading.
Rodney looked at the floor. “I’m not sure, once a week maybe?” Reading stared back at him. “I’ll find out.” He turned away and called Clive on his radio.
“How’s it look in there?” asked Clive.
“Everything looks fine. They want to know how often the floors are cleaned.”
“Every week, you know that! You let them in last night.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot, sorry. I’ll let them know.”
“Okay, and tell them Professor Palmer will be here any minute to check over the inventory.”
“What?” Rodney almost shouted into the radio. He looked over uneasily at the detectives.
“Is there a problem?” asked Chaney.
“N-no, just nerves, I guess,” said Rodney who turned back to his radio and whispered. “Why did you call her?”
“Procedure. I’ll have Paul bring her to you.”
“No!” said Rodney in a loud whisper.
“What?”
“No, I’ll go get her, I’m not that far from the entrance,” he said, trying to calm his voice. Then he raised it a little more for the benefit of everyone in the room. “I think we can trust the police alone in the room for a couple of minutes.” He glanced at them with a forced smile. Chaney nodded back at him.
“Fine, but you better hurry. Looks like she’s here,” said Clive followed by a pause. “That’s strange, she seems to have brought someone. Just a min—”
Rodney cut him off. “I’m on my way!” He headed to the door and glanced at Reading and Chaney as he fumbled with the handle. “I’ll be back in five minutes.” He closed the door behind him then sprinted toward the security entrance.
Laura and Acton approached the security entrance and pressed the buzzer. The rain had let up but a heavy mist still dampened the night air. A moment later a voice came over the intercom. “Security.”
“This is Professor Palmer. Apparently there was a robbery?”
“Yes, Professor,” replied the voice. “Who is with you?”
“A colleague from the United States.”
“Name please.”
She looked at Acton and whispered, her head turned away from the camera, “They can’t possibly be looking for you here.” He nodded. She turned back to the intercom. “Professor Acton.”
“Very well, your escort will be there momentarily. Please wait.” The connection fell silent. They only had to wait a moment before they heard a buzzing sound then the door burst open causing them both to jump back.
Rodney almost flew into the two people standing at the door.
“Sorry, Professor Palmer,” he stammered. “Just a little excited you know, what with the police here and all.” His hand shook as he offered it. “I’m Rodney.” She shook his hand and before she could introduce the other man he cut her off. “Nothing seems to be missing, I’m not sure if you’re even needed.” He noticed the man standing beside her. “Pro
fessor Acton! What are you doing here?”
The two professors looked at each other. “How do you know who I am?”
Rodney realized he had made a terrible blunder, but it was too late now. “I, um, I must have seen your face…shite, just a minute.” He walked away from them and dialed his cellphone. His radio crackled.
“Rodney, what’s going on down there?” asked Clive. “Why aren’t you bringing them in?” Rodney reached down and turned off his radio.
“Yes?” said the voice.
“Acton is here!” whispered Rodney.
“What?” exclaimed the other voice, the first time Rodney had ever heard it carry emotion. “Are the police still there?”
“Yes. What do I do?”
“The police are looking for the professor in connection with a murder. You must warn him and see if he’ll come in,” instructed the voice.
“Okay, I’ll try.” The line went dead.
He turned back to the two professors. “I’m sorry about that.”
“How do you know who I am?” demanded Acton.
“That doesn’t matter.” Rodney approached them and lowered his voice. “The police are inside. They believe you have something to do with a murder.”
Laura’s eyes shot wide open. “A murder? Whose?”
“I don’t know, but at least seven people are dead tonight in connection with this place.” He could tell by their expressions they knew nothing about it. “Professor Acton, I suggest you come with me.”
“Bullshit!” said Acton. “Why would I go with you?” Laura took his arm and drew him closer to her.
“Because we can protect you.”
“Who’s we? And how can you protect me? People have been dying all around me for a week now. How do I know your ‘we’ aren’t the ones doing it?”
“Because we are the Triarii,” replied Rodney, moving his watchband and showing his tattoo.
“Triarii!” exclaimed Acton.
“Yes. We are the final line of defense to protect the world from the potential disaster that could occur if the skulls are brought together.” The stunned expressions on their faces told him they knew what he was talking about.
The Protocol (A James Acton Thriller, Book #1) Page 18
