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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “No Hellfire II’s?”

  “Sorry, sir, those are all in theater. We’ve got a shortage. You’re lucky to get these.”

  Dawson cursed. The Hellfire II’s would have made this a lot simpler. “Okay, what kind of Hellfires?”

  “K’s.”

  “Are you kidding me? I didn’t know they even made those anymore!”

  “Sorry, sir, like I said, everything’s in theater.”

  “Fine, that will have to do.” Dawson opened the cockpit canopy and stowed the bag containing the skull. “Clear the area.”

  This mission just got a whole lot harder.

  Wings was about to climb in when Dawson stopped him, having come to a decision. “I’m going on this one alone, report back to the unit.” He shut the canopy leaving a confused Wings walking back to the Humvee.

  Dawson knew what was about to happen, and he didn’t want Wings to have to be associated with it.

  If one of us gets blamed, it’s going to be me.

  Near Laura Palmer’s Flat

  London, England

  “Not exactly designed for adults back here,” grumbled Reading as he surveyed the backseat of the silver Porsche 911 Carrera S. Laura was driving and Acton had educated him on the value of calling “shotgun” first when Americans were involved, leaving him stuck in the back.

  “It was my brother’s.”

  “I thought he was an archeologist like you? How could he afford this?” asked Acton.

  “Oh no, he just came on the digs with me sometimes for fun,” Laura replied. “He made a mint on the Internet before the bubble burst. He left me enough money to never have to work again, but that’s just not me. It does however let me fund my own digs when I can’t find anyone else to do it. I was going to sell the car, but he got me hooked on racing it at some of the local tracks so I decided to keep it after he was gone.”

  “I’m surprised he raced Porsches. I thought you Brits liked Jags?” Acton ran his hand across the dash.

  Laura laughed. “Do you want to get there or just look good broken down on the side of the motorway?”

  Reading chuckled. “So, you know how to drive this thing?”

  Laura looked back at him and smiled. They were waiting for a red light to turn when she said, “Hang on!” She turned off the traction control and lit up the tires when she floored it. The 355-horsepower engine nailed them to their seats and the 295 pound-feet of torque ate up the road. Seconds later they were at the next red light. She came to a stop in a hail of screeching tires. The light changed and she again hammered on the gas, soon turning onto the main road that led to the motorway. She raced down the near empty streets.

  Reading leaned forward.

  “Remember, just because I’m in the car doesn’t mean I won’t give you a bloody ticket!”

  Laura and Acton laughed as she eased off the accelerator, but it was clear she had a lead foot. Acton, who loved the adrenaline rush, leaned back to enjoy the ride, a bit disappointed it was still too chilly to put the top down, but thankful his ordeal was almost over.

  They soon sailed onto the motorway and sped toward Coventry. “We should be there in about one hour,” announced Laura. There were relatively few cars on the road, but a lot of transport traffic. Laura kept to the right and flashed anyone who got in her way.

  Reading settled back in his seat, shaking his head.

  The White House, Washington, DC

  Wheeler sat in Darbinger’s outer office, waiting for him to return. The staff kept nervously glancing at him and whispering amongst themselves. He didn’t care. Yeah, that’s right. Look what your boss has done. The longer he sat the more pissed off he became.

  He could stand it no longer. He stood and strode out the door.

  “Sir, you have to wait here!” called the surprised secretary as she pursued him. He rounded a corner and saw Darbinger at the end of the hallway, getting on an elevator.

  “Darbinger!” he yelled. Darbinger stuck his head out the door of the elevator then ducked back inside as Wheeler charged toward the elevator. He could see Darbinger mashing on the Close button, the doors shutting just as he reached the elevator. He slammed his fist against them as the secretary screamed for security.

  Darbinger pounded on the Close button. He didn’t have time to deal with the cop right now. He had a much more important thing to take care of. The doors slowly closed as he saw Wheeler running toward them. Much to his relief they shut before he got there. As the car descended he heard pounding on the doors above him.

  A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he neared his destination. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and had just wiped the sweat off when the doors opened three levels underground. Two Marine guards snapped to attention as he exited. After swiping his pass, he walked down the short hallway. At the end were a large set of wooden doors flanked by two Marines who opened them for him as he approached. As he entered he saw his President and longtime friend sitting alone at the center of the conference table, watching a large video screen on the wall directly opposite. The doors closed behind him.

  “Ah, there you are,” said his friend, smiling. “You got here just in time, it’s about to start.”

  He looked at the video feed and saw a helicopter just taking off. Slowly walking around the table, he stood in front of the screen, blocking his friend’s view.

  “Sit down, you’re in the way!” said Jackson in an annoyed voice.

  “I must ask you to stop this operation immediately.”

  Jackson had been trying to lean over to see around him, but now straightened and made eye contact. “Are we back to this?”

  “We never left it,” Darbinger replied, sweat beading again on his forehead. “If you don’t stop this operation, harm could come to the United States. You have authorized illegal military operations without the knowledge of Congress on the foreign soil of an ally. It must end now!”

  His friend stood up and placed both hands, now balled up into fists, on the table in front of him. He leaned forward and scowled. “I thought you were with me on this. You and I have wanted the same thing for the past twenty years—to bring together these skulls and reveal their true meaning.”

  “No, I never wanted that,” Darbinger confessed. “You were my friend long before you recruited me into the Triarii. I hadn’t even heard about the skulls, but when you told me about them it never occurred to me that you would have killed for them.”

  “I’m on a mission from God,” said his friend. “These skulls were left by Him to enlighten us. Look at the Bible, my friend, it’s written there. ‘And he bearing his cross went forth into a place called the place of a skull, where they crucified him, and two other with him, on either side one, and Jesus in the midst.’ Don’t you see, “The Place of a Skull” is where these came from. The original skull was discovered near the place Jesus was crucified. The three skulls together unleash the power of God! Jesus was crucified with two others. There were three of them when the power of God was unleashed!”

  Darbinger shook his head. “You’ve gone mad. Your obsession has clouded your judgment and you must stop.”

  “But you hate the Triarii as much as I do!” yelled Jackson. “We left them together, ten years ago!”

  “Stewart, I never left.”

  Jackson stared at his friend, looking dumbfounded.

  “What do you mean you never left?”

  “I’ve been working for them all along,” replied Darbinger, “hoping that one day you would confide in me where you had hidden the Smithsonian Skull.”

  “But you helped me!” Jackson’s voice cracked, revealing the depth of betrayal he felt at his life-long friend and confidant’s admission.

  “No, Stewart, I didn’t. When you came to me about leaving I informed the council immediately. They assigned me to watch you, to gain your trust by pretending to go along. But you initiated the theft before we could have the skull moved, so I was ordered to stick as close to you as possible in hopes of
one day retrieving it.”

  “It’s been ten years!”

  “Yes,” agreed Darbinger. “Ten long years of lying to you, lying to my wife, lying to everyone. But the Triarii have been around for two thousand years. If it takes another thousand we will eventually retrieve the skull you stole.”

  “I’ll never tell you,” said Jackson defiantly. “I’ll go to my grave before I reveal it to anyone.”

  “So be it. We are if anything patient, which is why we let you continue the way we did. But now you’ve gone too far. You’re hurting my country. You know me, Stewart. I’ve always been a patriot first, even as a member of the Triarii. I could never betray my country, nor can I just stand by while you destroy it.”

  Jackson shook his head, his shoulders slumped in disappointment. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” His disappointment turned to anger and he straightened to face his betrayer. “I intend to finish my mission. I cannot be stopped!”

  “I’m sorry my friend, but you must be.” Darbinger reached behind his back and drew the gun.

  Jackson stepped backward and raised his hands. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m ending this now, before anyone else gets hurt. Before our country gets hurt,” said Darbinger, taking aim at his friend. “I’m so sorry,” he said as tears welled up in his eyes. “I never thought it would come to this.”

  Jackson slowly brought his hands together and with his right hand twisted the face of his watch on his left wrist. Immediately a distress signal was sent to the guards outside. The doors burst open, the two Marines entering as they drew their weapons.

  Darbinger, startled, looked over at the guards for a split second. They pointed their weapons at him and fired just as he fired his own gun. He felt the searing pain as two bullets hit him in the chest and stomach. His legs gave out and as he collapsed to the floor, he caught a glimpse of his friend’s face frozen with shock. He couldn’t tell if he had hit his target, all he could see was a pool of his own blood rapidly expanding on the floor, draining the remaining life out of him, the voices of the guards shouting, “Mr. President!” slowly fading away.

  Two Secret Service agents watched Wheeler while he waited in Darbinger’s office. He glared at the floor when several agents sped past the door. Both agents touched their earpieces at once.

  “Did he say shots fired?” asked one of the agents of his partner.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. I’ll go check it out, you stay with him.”

  Wheeler was now looking at the remaining guard. “Has someone been shot?”

  There was no reply.

  “Look, I’m a cop, I can help!” he said as he rose to his feet.

  “Sit down, sir,” said the agent as he put out his hand, motioning him to get back in his seat. “You have no jurisdiction here.”

  He heard someone yelling from the general office area. “He’s been shot!” Two medical personnel pushing a gurney rushed past the door.

  Wheeler jumped up and ran after them, the Secret Service agent’s footsteps pounding behind him.

  Somewhere Over London

  The morning sun had not yet broken over the horizon so Dawson would have decent cover from prying eyes on the ground. Traffic would be fairly light on the freeways so casualties would probably be kept to a minimum even though that’s not what the President wanted. With the light traffic he should be able to send the spectacular message required while hopefully avoiding civilian deaths.

  He rapidly approached the red dot on his navigation screen, barely skimming the ground to avoid being picked up on radar, London’s famous Ring of Steel not extended skyward as some residents thought. Soon his target would appear on his Heads-Up Display System then it would be the beginning of the end.

  His HUDS beeped and the three dimensional display in front of him indicated his target had been acquired. He pushed the stick forward and accelerated, watching the transport trucks and thin civilian traffic through the infrared. Within seconds he was about 1000 yards behind his target. He dropped to the deck, only about thirty feet off the ground as he neared the vehicle.

  They appeared to have no idea he was there. A lull in the traffic provided him the perfect opportunity to play with them a little, giving the President his light show without hopefully killing anyone.

  You want spectacular, I’ll give you spectacular.

  Reading was about to complain again about the lack of room in the backseat when he heard something behind them. He twisted around and looked through the small rear window but couldn’t see anything. Then he noticed the stars were blocked by something and when his eyes focused he realized what it was. Before he could say anything a burst of flame erupted from the front of the object.

  “Look out!” he warned, ducking. If the other two occupants of the vehicle hadn’t known what he was yelling about, the burst of gunfire and the six-inch holes left in the ground in front of them clued them in pretty fast. Laura slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a halt as the gunship overshot them. It turned around for another run.

  “Get us out of here!” yelled Acton. Laura dropped the car into first and floored it. Within seconds they were speeding under the helicopter just as it opened fire. The bullets flew harmlessly over them but struck a large semi-trailer behind them. The driver locked up his air brakes and jackknifed the truck, blocking three lanes of the highway before coming to rest.

  Reading looked out the tiny window again, trying to spot the helicopter. “Here he comes!”

  Another burst of gunfire. This time Reading watched the tracers instead of ducking, knowing full well if one of those bullets hit them they were done for anyway. He could see they were coming down on the left side of the vehicle.

  “Brake right!”

  Laura swerved the Porsche to the right and the bullets missed by several lanes. The next burst seemed to be coming directly down at them.

  “Left!” he cried.

  Laura again swerved. Not only did she have to contend with the bullets, but she was also weaving in and out of the traffic that had thickened as daybreak approached.

  “Acton, I need you to spot for me! I have to call for help!”

  Acton squirmed in his seat. “I can’t see a damned thing!”

  “We need to get this top down!” yelled Reading.

  “Are you crazy!” exclaimed Laura. “That’s the only thing between us and those bullets!”

  “Professor, those bullets can penetrate the armor on a tank! This roof isn’t going to do a damned thing!”

  “How long does it take to go down?” asked Acton.

  “About twenty seconds.”

  “Okay, the next big overpass stop under it and put it down!” said Acton. Laura floored the car, tumbling Reading in the back seat, who cursed and tried to regain his view out the tiny window.

  “Left!” he yelled as another burst of gunfire came from the attacking helicopter. Laura swung the vehicle again and saw a large six lane overpass ahead. As they came up to it she locked up the four disc vented brakes and they screeched to a stop, sending Reading headlong into the front seat.

  Laura was already pushing the button for the roof to go down. It slowly opened and folded itself into the trunk in what seemed like an eternity. “Faster! Faster!” Laura yelled as she watched the lid close. Reading was already dialing his cellphone as he strapped himself into the back seat.

  Acton whipped his head around at the whooshing of blades in front of them. The chopper had passed over the ramp and turned to face them. Acton was about to yell to Laura when a small beep indicated the roof retraction was complete. Laura was already revving the engine at about seven thousand RPM when she popped the clutch. The car burst forward, directly toward the helicopter now about twenty feet off the ground and belching gunfire.

  Laura shifted into second and the tires squealed again as the powerful V8 engine launched them past sixty miles per hour in under five seconds. As they surged under the chopper, gunfire tore through the
air above them, this time hitting a fuel tanker as it merged onto the highway. It burst into flames and lit the night sky. Acton looked back and saw the helicopter silhouetted by the flames. Are those missiles?

  Reading was on his phone, yelling at someone on the other end. “This is Detective Chief Inspector Reading of Scotland Yard, we’re under attack by an armed helicopter and need assistance!” Acton watched him as he listened to someone on the other end who was clearly saying something Reading wasn’t pleased with. “Listen, put your guvnor on now!” he roared. A moment later he identified himself again.

  “Right!” Acton yelled as more gunfire erupted from the cannons on the helicopter. This time a Mini was hit as Laura swerved to avoid the bullets.

  “No!” Reading yelled. “A police helicopter is not going to cut it! This is a military helicopter that is attacking us and blowing the shite out of everything in sight!”

  Laura was now doing over one hundred miles per hour as she tried to outrun the chopper to no avail. The chopper kept firing as they swerved left and right.

  Suddenly Acton realized the pilot wasn’t trying to hit them. He’s toying with us!

  Dawson shook his head as he squeezed the trigger again and sent another volley of deadly lead to one side of the Porsche. It swerved in the opposite direction. Do they really think I’m trying to hit them? He watched as the Porsche went up the side of the highway then cut across two lanes and surged ahead of a rig. She’s a damned good driver, though! He flipped a toggle on his stick and switched from his guns to his Hellfire missiles. Enough fun. The President has his ‘spectacular’.

  “Goddammit, what do you need to hear?” yelled Reading. Then it dawned on him. “We are under attack by terrorists! Did you hear me? Terrorists! We need one of those goddammed Tornado fighters that have been circling the city since nine eleven here now!”

  There was a moment’s pause then Reading said, “We are northbound on the M1 heading toward Coventry. Just have him follow the path of burning vehicles!”

  There was another pause then Reading hung up. “We should have help in a few minutes!” he said, leaning forward to be heard.