The Darwin Protocol: A Thriller (The Last Peak Book 1)

by William Oday

  They didn’t know where he lived. Maybe it was nothing. Then again, Venice wasn’t that big. The car took a right at the end of the street and disappeared.

  His pocket buzzed with an incoming call. He dug out the phone. Max came back with the sodden ball and dropped it at Mason’s feet. He gave it his best soccer kick and swiped the screen to answer Miro’s call.

  “Miro.”

  “Sarge!”

  “What do you have for me?”

  “Got her location. Iridia is staying at The Standard, in downtown LA.”

  Mason knew the spot. He’d once gone for drinks at the bar on the roof. Typical swanky, hipster watering hole. The place was an operational nightmare. A bunch of drunks jammed into a small space with minimal points of egress and twenty floors of stairs if the elevators went kaput. Fortunately, he hadn’t been working on his one and only visit. However, he would be working this time around and he was determined to avoid that particular logistical trap.

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “Her father is frantic. I mean loony bin crazy to get her on that flight out of Santa Monica.”

  The loud voice of what was presumably said father boomed in the background. Then the sounds of shuffling and his voice blasted from the little speaker.

  “You must get her to the airport! Immediately! Promise me! Promise me you’ll save her! My dearest Iridia…”

  “Calm down, sir,” Mason replied, “I—“

  “Save my daughter!”

  Great. If her dad was this crazy, his supermodel wannabe actress daughter was sure to be worse. If it was anybody other than Miro asking, he’d tell them where to stick this cursed job.

  “You have nothing to worry about, Mr.—“

  “Don’t fail me!”

  Mason was about to respond when he heard the phone shuffle hands again. The volume of the father’s hysterics faded.

  “Hey, Sarge,” Miro said in a quiet voice, “I got a funny feeling about this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not sure. Don’t have all the intel. But something big’s going down. Been escorting this guy around the last few days. He’s way inside the beltway. Been making the rounds all over DC. Visiting some serious big shots, POTUS included.”

  The President of the United States? This operation just got better and better. Mason sighed, wishing he could back out. He couldn’t.

  “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll notify you when we arrive at the airport.”

  “Thank you, sir. And,” Miro paused, “can you get an autograph for me?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Maybe a pic showing some skin too?”

  “Don’t get greedy.”

  “Thanks, Sarge. Corporal Pike out!”

  The phone went silent and Mason noticed Max in a sit in front of him. Patiently waiting for the last few minutes of ball to play out. Next to him, Mr. Piddles howled. Definitely not patient for dinner.

  “Play time for you, and a meal for you. Looks like I got the short end of this stick.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The tools of his trade lay spread out on the bedroom dresser. Preparing for close protection work was as much a ritual as gearing up for an op back in Iraq. Only it happened in his bedroom now instead of on the hood of a humvee.

  Everything had its place and was addressed in sequence. The sequence was meditative in a way. It also ensured that nothing was forgotten.

  In his experience, the thing you forgot was always the single thing you ended up needing most.

  He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Half passed six. After the call from Miro, he’d fixed a quick dinner for Theresa and Holly, and then rushed through a shower and shave.

  He surveyed the spread, satisfied that everything occupied its proper place. He picked up the 9mm Glock 19 and checked the chamber. Empty as expected. He slammed a fifteen round magazine in and racked the slide. He inched the slide back to verify a round was chambered. It was. Next, he slipped it into the Tuk holster and then slipped that inside the waistband of his suit pants.

  Downtown Los Angeles wasn’t a war zone last he checked. You didn’t walk around brandishing weapons. That invited more trouble than it solved.

  Next, he clipped an extra ten-round magazine to his belt. Then came the 9mm Glock 26. He slipped the subcompact pistol into an ankle holster on his right leg. Next came the Bonowi 26” collapsible baton attached to his hip. In less than a second, he could have it off his hip and snapped into business mode. A big stick was often all the encouragement a situation required.

  And it didn’t make local law enforcement jumpy like wielding a firearm did. The last thing Mason needed was some probie mistaking him for a bad guy and letting loose an itchy trigger finger.

  Next came the Cold Steel Recon one-handed tactical knife. After clipping it to his belt, he attached four pairs of disposable handcuffs at the small of his back. Close protection officers used them because while you might want to collar a bad guy, you didn’t usually want to wait around for the boys in blue to return your cuffs.

  His brain clicked off the list as he continued the ritual and ended with slipping on the suit jacket. He straightened the black tie over the sky blue shirt. He inspected himself in the mirror. His belly grumbled, confirming it didn’t care what he looked like, only that he’d skipped dinner.

  At least he’d been able to make it for Theresa. How many more times would she happily sit down to a meal he prepared? She was growing up so fast. Too fast.

  Before he was ready, she’d be heading off to college and a life of her own choosing. Away from him. Away from the meals he provided.

  Just away.

  As difficult as the days sometimes were, these were the final precious moments of her living in his house. Being his daughter every day.

  Mason pushed the thought away. Morose introspection wasn’t useful. The assignment had him in a bad mood.

  He gave himself a final look and nodded. He’d grab a couple of Clif bars on the way out.

  “Hey Dad, Mom’s on the phone,” Theresa said as she pranced into the room and handed him her phone.

  “Mason?”

  “Hey, honey,” he said as he immediately felt the turmoil in her voice. It took no more than that. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Jane. There’s been an accident and she’s in critical condition. Sorry I haven’t called sooner. We’ve got her stabilized, but it’s touch and go.”

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t talk about it right now. I’m just calling to let you know I’ll be home late tonight. I have to call Mom and Dad about this weekend.”

  “No need. I already did. Your Dad was relieved, laughed about LA being wrapped up tighter than a Christmas present.”

  “What?”

  “Have you seen the news today? Things are crazy.”

  “No. I’ve been busy.”

  “I’m sure you have. Well, do what you need to do. Everything’s fine here. Holly’s spending the night, and I’ll be back before long. ”

  “Thanks, honey. I’ll call when I know more.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Theresa rolled her eyes as Mason returned her phone. She dropped it into her pocket and cast a discerning gaze at his tie. She dug her fingers into the knot, making adjustments only she and her mother could see. She finished the improvements with practiced ease and smiled.

  “There. What did Mom say?”

  Mason’s stomach clenched. Theresa loved Jane like a family member. She’d be devastated if something happened to her. He wasn’t going to say anything until he knew something more definitive. It was a bit of a cop out. But it was his daughter’s heart, and he’d bend a few rules to save it.

  “Mom just said she’s staying late tonight. I’m sorry our weekend plans didn’t work out.”

  “It’s okay. I’m getting used to the disappointment. Maybe next weekend.”

  She was taki
ng it pretty well. Better than expected.

  Holly popped into the open door.

  “Looks like you’re queens of the house for the evening,” Mason said.

  “You’re looking like royalty yourself, Mr. West,” she said. “Have big plans tonight with the Mrs.?”

  “If only. I’m working tonight.”

  “Do you have your acceptance speech ready?”

  “What?”

  “For the Oscars. You look dressed up fine enough to be attending a Hollywood glam fest.”

  Theresa pushed her shoulder.

  “What?”

  If Mason didn’t know better, he’d think his daughter’s best friend was flirting. What would Beth do if she heard the interchange? Would she think it was nothing, or ban Holly from their household forever?

  “You two have plans for the evening?”

  “You know, Dad, we’re going to get smashed and go stroll Sunset Boulevard looking for trouble.”

  “Very funny. Ground rules—“

  “Kidding! Holly is insisting we watch Life Before Death. To honor the wounded. Did you hear what happened at Whole Foods today?”

  He wished it had been something he’d just heard about. He’d seen a man die today and another greivously wounded, and he’d been involved, if not at fault. Even that wasn’t clear in his head yet.

  “Yeah, I heard about it.”

  Mason remembered the lowrider cruising down their street. Was it something to be concerned about? Was it nothing? He wished he could call Miro and dump the job, but he couldn’t. Some debts required everything you could give.

  Some required more.

  “Ground rules are simple. No leaving the house. There’s plenty of food in the fridge. No blaring music so loud I get a call from Oscar tomorrow. And don’t blame it on Holly. You’re the host.”

  He leveled a look at Holly.

  “Besides, I know Holly wouldn’t do that.”

  Holly smiled so sweetly you’d think angels sprouted from her eyes.

  “Don’t worry about us, Mr. West. I’ll make sure the troublemaker here tows the line.”

  “Great. I should be home in a few hours.”

  “You sure? You’re heading into prime time rush hour traffic.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Life on the west side of Los Angeles was enjoyable, so long as you steered clear of any freeway travel. Once life forced you onto the clogged veins and arteries of the city’s circulatory system, death became a preferable outcome.

  Mason checked his tie in the mirror. His knots really were inferior to both Beth’s and Theresa’s. He caught Holly’s gaze in the mirror.

  “Mr. West, do you know you could be a real life James Bond?”

  “Holly, do you know you could be a real life Eddie Haskell?”

  His joke met with a blank stare.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Never mind.”

  He turned back to them.

  “Girls, keep the doors locked, and stay out of trouble.”

  His daughter traced her finger in a circle above her head.

  “You know me.”

  He did know her. She was an angel. The lifting light of his life. Her heart was generous in ways Mason couldn’t fathom. She got it from her mother. She was a good kid. A great kid.

  Max trotted in with a slobbery tendril jiggling from his lips. He lay down on the floor in the middle of them and stared at Mason as if he didn’t have anything better to do in the world.

  Mason’s heart caught in his chest. His heart swelled with a too-often unspoken appreciation for his family. He was truly blessed, even if his brain didn’t always let him believe it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Traffic was a snarled mess all the way over. The road closures to the north and east turned the freeways into constricted arteries where the blood didn’t flow fast enough to keep the greater organism going. Mason had taken a few side street dodges to avoid having an aneurism.

  There were few things in life more frustrating than navigating rush hour traffic in a city that was at once both an enormous urban zone and also a city in love with the automobile. Public transportation never caught on like it did in New York, San Francisco, and other more reasonable cities.

  The solution to traffic in LA was always and forever to add more lanes. In places on the ten, it got ludicrous. Eight lanes each way and you’d still end up crawling along because there were always more cars than space.

  Driving the freeways was akin to Russian Roulette. There were guaranteed hours that traffic would kill you. But any random time could land you in a miles-long centipede, crawling along until enough bits of the body peeled off that the highway once again delivered on the speeds it requested you not exceed.

  Mason stood at the hotel room door and pounded on the door for the fifth time. He closed his eyes in frustration. “Hello? Is anyone in there?”

  He’d been standing at the door for the past few minutes trying to calm his heart rate as it inevitably spiked higher. His muscles ached to kick the damn door down. He knew someone was in there, presumably Iridia, because he heard the shower running.

  He was intent on delivering Iridia as quickly as possible, both because it would get him back home faster and because it would mean minimal time with the supermodel client.

  He lifted his hand to bang on the door again when the lock clicked from the inside.

  A muffled voice drifted out. “Just in the shower. Come in, come in.”

  Her accent put her in Eastern Europe. Ukraine maybe.

  Mason pushed open the door and hitched a fraction mid-stride as a tall, leggy woman glided across plush cream carpet. It wasn’t her height that surprised him.

  It was her total lack of clothing.

  A bright green, coiled-up towel perched on top of her head. That was the only stitch of cloth to be found. Her firm backside swayed as she walked back down an entry hall that opened into a large living area.

  “Put it on the table,” she said with a lazy wave of her hand.

  Mason followed her in, doing his best to keep his eyes glued anywhere but her shapely rear.

  “Excuse me?”

  She looked back over her shoulder and a crinkle formed in her perfectly plucked brows.

  “Where’s the champagne?”

  “What?”

  “I ordered champagne. Did you forget it?”

  She thought he was room service. Lord Jesus, she was clueless. He should leave now. Before this got truly horrible.

  “My name is Mr. West. I’m here to take you to the Santa Monica airport. A chartered jet awaits you there.”

  “Oh, you’re the chauffeur.”

  “No, I’m Mr. West, your close protection officer, ma’am.”

  She turned and approached him. Also completely naked on the front side.

  Lord in heaven above, did beautiful people have to flaunt themselves at every opportunity?

  She stopped in front of him, her gaze daring his to drop lower. There was no way he was going to let that happen. These first moments with a client established so much about the working relationship. He wasn’t going to go there.

  Besides, his peripheral vision provided more than enough detail.

  “A bodyguard? My father is so paranoid. I mean really.”

  She touched his tie as her chin dipped and head tilted seductively to the side.

  “But you are handsome.”

  She ran the tips of her fingers over her small, firm breasts and down her slim torso, resting them on her hips with practiced ease. Her pale skin gleamed with moisture.

  Mason steeled his gaze, willing them to remain level with her own. Long, dark lashes blinked over crystal green eyes. Like splashes of the ocean caught in the mid-day sun. It wasn’t difficult to understand why she made it big in modeling.

  He reflected on the situation. Beth would be pissed. Not because he’d ever do anything. Just because she wouldn’t like another woman flashing her goods at him. Miro’d be pissed
too. Because he missed out.

  “You’re too handsome to be a bodyguard.”

  “Would you mind putting some clothes on? As far as I’m aware, TSA security hasn’t gone so far as to require nudity before boarding a plane.”

  She bit her lip and batted her lashes.

  “Would you like to strip search me?” She pulled the towel on her head free and sandy-blonde hair cascaded down creamy shoulders. She rolled the towel and twined it around her wrists. His handcuffs would have worked better, but he wasn’t about to suggest it.

  If only Miro could see this. His head would explode.

  She licked her lips. “I’m a bad girl.”

  Of that, he had no doubt.

  He pointed to the silver band on the ring finger of his left hand.

  “I’m here to see that you get to the airport in a safe and timely fashion, ma’am. I’d appreciate it if we could focus on that.”

  She dropped the towel and retreated into the living room. She picked up an open champagne bottle and emptied the dregs into a tall crystal flute. With a single gulp, she finished it.

  The faster this was over, the better.

  “Are you packed, ma’am?”

  “Packed?”

  “For the airport.”

  “Oh no, we can’t go to the airport.”

  Great. Already with the bullshit.

  “That’s why I’m here, ma’am.”

  “Yes, well, that’s Daddy’s plan. It’s not my plan.”

  Mason ground his teeth.

  Never models, much less supermodels. He lived by that rule and business had been far smoother for it.

  “What’s your plan, ma’am?”

  “Stop calling me ‘Ma’am’. Makes me feel like a mummy. Do I look like a mummy?”

  “No, you look nothing like a mummy.”

  “Then call me Iridia.”

  “Okay, Iridia.”

  “What’s should I call you? Mr. West is so stuffy.”

  “Mr. West is fine.”

  “Do you really want to make this difficult? I can be very difficult if I want to be.”

  That was the last thing he wanted. But it wasn’t looking like he’d get his wish.

  “Mason.”