James Acton 01 - The Protocol (17 page)

“Do you have cameras in the loos?” asked Chaney.

“Of course not, that would violate privacy laws,” replied Pleasance as he tapped a code into his keyboard. A view of the bathroom popped up. He reversed the tape and the two men could be seen talking before the Frenchman headed backward toward a stall. The other man waited at the sinks for a couple of minutes, then backed into a stall himself.

There was a tap on the door.

“Enter!” roared Pleasance. Chaney jumped in his chair.

Tilson entered with a tray holding a tea service for the three men. “Ahh, thank you, Jeffrey.” Tilson put the tray on the Chief’s desk and exited the room. After serving his guests, Pleasance turned back to the monitor.

The Frenchman entered the bathroom after their John Doe who then exited his stall backward. “Wait,” said Chaney. “He’s wearing different clothes and carrying some sort of large bag there. The later footage shows him with three shopping bags and definitely wearing different clothes.”

“You’re right.” Pleasance reversed the footage further and switched the view back to the entrance of the bathroom.

“Can you track him back to which flight he got off of?” asked Reading.

“Yes.” Pleasance smiled. “Watch this.” He hit a few keys and the system zoomed in on the face. It plotted the required facial recognition points, then the software followed the subject back through the various camera angles, through the main concourses, security, the baggage claims area, the arrivals area and finally right to the gate he first appeared at.

Reading gave out a low whistle. “Impressive. Now what can you tell me about that flight?”

Pleasance switched to another computer and entered the time and gate number. “It was a British Airways flight from New York,” he replied. “One moment and I’ll pull up the manifest information.” A few more keys and the list appeared on his screen. He scrolled through the names then shook his head. “Savard was not on this flight.”

Reading frowned. “No, we have him arriving on an Air France flight around the same time. And judging by the footage we saw and the witness statements we’ve taken, I don’t think he knew this man at all.”

“Wait a minute. You were also looking for someone named Acton?”

Reading nodded.

“Here he is. James Acton, US citizen.”

Reading slapped Chaney on the shoulder. “Now there’s a break!” He turned to Pleasance. “What more can you tell us?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid. That’s all we’re given by the airlines. It will take a court order to get the rest. You guys can run him through Interpol probably quicker.”

Chaney looked back at the screen, disappointment evident on his face. “He’s obviously trying to hide from somebody,” he said. “He changed his clothes and bag.”

“Yes, I agree.” Reading rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “Now, if you were following me, and I went into a bathroom and never came out, what would you do?”

“I’d go in to see if you were still there,” replied Chaney.

Reading turned to Pleasance who was already tapping away at his keyboard. “Way ahead of you.” A few more keystrokes and he looked up at the display. The video moved forward, showing the Frenchman and the New York passenger leaving together as if they were best friends. A few more passengers came and went then another approached, looked around as if to see if he were being watched, then tentatively pushed open the door. Pleasance switched the view and they could see the man search the stalls then run out of the bathroom. Pleasance flipped the view again and they saw the man exit the bathroom and put his wrist up to his mouth, his eyes wide and lips moving quickly.

“He’s being followed!” exclaimed Chaney.

“Yes,” agreed Reading, “and since he’s talking to someone, by more than one person. Can you get me a picture of his face, please, and email it to my DI’s mobile?”

Chaney handed Pleasance a card with his number.

“Wait a minute, who’s that?” asked Chaney, pointing to the screen. Another man came out of the same bathroom and activated a comm.

“Someone else was following him!” exclaimed Pleasance. “What the hell makes this guy so popular?”

“I don’t know, but one of these groups found Monsieur Savard,” said Reading.

“But how?” asked Chaney.

“Just a second,” said Pleasance as he furiously typed away at his keyboard. When he found what he was looking for he leaned back in his chair as his eyes widened in shock. “Someone broke into the surveillance system.”

“Well that explains how they found Monsieur Savard. Can you trace it?” asked Reading.

“No, and that’s not the only thing,” said Pleasance. “It was hacked by two different people within minutes of each other.”

“Then the question is—” began Reading.

“Who found him first?” finished Chaney.

Professor Palmer’s Office, University College London, Gordon Square, London

Acton sat back in his chair, flabbergasted. “Three hundred years!”

Laura smiled. “Amazing isn’t it, James?”

“I’ll say,” he replied. “So, basically what you’re telling me is that either some ancient civilization had a method more advanced than lasers to create these things, or each was created over ten generations?”

“Or aliens brought them.”

“Haw haw.”

“Some people believe that. Some even believe the skulls are millions of years old, left over from some ancient precursor civilization that we’ve yet to find a trace of,” said Laura. “Still others believe they were sent by God to test our faith.”

“So, essentially, nobody really knows,” said Acton. “What do you believe?”

Laura paused for a moment, then answered carefully. “Over the years I’ve come to believe that some things are not meant to be understood until we’re ready. As a scientist I’m not much of a believer in religion, the church, and the Bible, but part of me believes there is something out there that is greater than us. Whether these skulls were put here by a so-called god or were created by people from Atlantis, I don’t know. I do know that we have no idea why they are here or why they were created, but maybe someday we will reach a level of technology or evolution where we will know. When that day comes, all will be revealed.”

Acton looked at her, expressionless. She stared back at him, waiting for a response.
Does he think I’m off my rocker?

Acton took in a long, deep breath and adjusted his position in his chair. “Well, Laura, I’ve only been around this thing for a week and all
I
know is that I want to get as far away from it as I can. It has cost me the life of my best friend, the life of over a half-dozen of my students and helpers and almost my own life. Either someone wants this thing at all costs, or they want it and me at all costs, I don’t know. But until I do know, I can’t risk losing it because it could be my only bargaining chip for staying alive.”

Laura nodded. “And you have no idea who it could be?”

“No. In Peru they definitely seemed to be American Special Forces of some type. My friend Greg said that agents from the State Department had been in his office. We know he was followed to New York because he’s now dead. I can only assume that I’m being followed, but the fact that I’m sitting here alive, talking to you, tells me that for the moment they don’t know where I am.”

“For the moment,” repeated Laura. It sent chills down her spine. She knew that associating with Acton could put her own life at risk, but at the same time she was drawn irresistibly to either him, or the skull sitting on her desk.
Or both.
He reminded her of her brother, someone she trusted without question. “What about going to the authorities here? You’re far from the States now, maybe they can help you?”

“What am I supposed to say? That I think the United States government is trying to kill me and everyone I know because I found a skull that came from outer space? They’d help me all right, straight into the loony bin!” He shook his head in frustration.

Laura looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, I just thought….”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blow up,” he said in a soft voice, leaning toward her. “You’re the first person I’ve been able to really sit and talk to about this and all of my emotions are starting to come out. I’ve needed to vent and ask questions and yell and cry and everything else that someone should do in this situation and instead I’ve been running for my life for almost a week now.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “I understand, I guess I forgot what you’ve been going through and why. You’re right of course. The police wouldn’t believe you for a second. We need to try and find out who is after you.”

Acton let out a deep breath. “God, I’m so exhausted. I haven’t slept properly in a week. I’ve only showered twice, I think, and you know what? I don’t think I’ve eaten in three days! Wait, there was that rubber thing that they called chicken on the flight, but eating some type of petroleum byproduct doesn’t count, does it?”

Laura laughed and stood. “No, it doesn’t. We need to get you cleaned up and rested. Let’s go back to my flat and we’ll figure out what to do from there. First, let me grab a couple of books for research.”

“Are you sure you want to get involved any further than you already are?”

“Absolutely.” Laura grabbed several books off the shelf and turned to him. “I want to find out who killed those poor kids and why these skulls that I’ve spent my career studying are worth killing for if they’re supposedly fake.”

London Morgue

“Extensive bruising over most of his body, knees, elbows, nose, all broken as well as almost every bone in both hands and feet,” explained the coroner to Reading and Chaney who stood on the opposite side of the autopsy table containing the body of the Frenchman. “But, most interestingly, the bones were broken one at a time. See?” He moved toward an X-ray of the hands and feet. “You can see that the bones are broken in different places. If they had been broken together there would be some pattern, a line if you will, that the breaks would follow. In this case, however, the breaks are all over the place, as if someone wanted to cause the most amount of pain possible, and knew exactly how to do it.”

“A professional?” asked Chaney.

“Definitely someone who has been trained in torture techniques or had enough medical knowledge to do this,” agreed the coroner. “Now, the bruising and broken bones aren’t all.” He pointed toward cuts made on the chest, arms, legs and scrotum. “These were made deliberately shallow enough to cause pain when the nerves were hit and to bleed slowly so he wouldn’t die quickly. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”

“Cause of death was loss of blood?”

The coroner nodded. “Yes, which is sort of puzzling, if you think about it. You torture somebody for what I believe was three hours, you obviously have the expertise to do this without killing him, why do you leave him alive? I mean, they obviously knew how to kill him. We may have been able to save him if we had gotten to him a little earlier. Why would the person who did this risk having him survive?”

“Sadistic whacko maybe?” offered Chaney. “He’s a nutter who doesn’t care if he’s caught or doesn’t think that he can be?”

“Maybe,” said the coroner. “But here’s the strange part. I detected morphine in his system.”

“You’re joking!”

“I don’t joke.”

“Why would he torture someone for so long then put them out of their misery?” asked Chaney.

“Almost as if he began to feel some compassion for his victim,” replied Reading.

“But the torture,” said Chaney. “You’d have to be off your nut to do something like that!”

Reading shook his head. “No, you’re ignoring the fact that we know the man he was with earlier in the day was being followed by more than one person.” Reading pulled the photo out and pointed to it. “He was talking to someone. That means there are two people or more involved which suggests this is not some psychopath working alone. These are professionals. This level of torture is professional, military. They didn’t care if he survived because they knew there was no way in hell we could ever trace them. The morphine suggests that they were doing a job, it wasn’t personal. When they had what they wanted, they ended his suffering.”

“Can I see that?” asked the coroner, pointing to the photo. Reading handed it to him. The coroner looked at it for a moment. “Follow me, you’re not going to believe this.”

He pulled off his latex gloves and tossed them into a garbage can as he headed out the double swinging doors. Reading and Chaney followed him. They walked down the hallway and entered the crypt, shivering at the cold. Inside there were seven bodies still bagged.

“What the hell happened tonight?” asked Chaney.

“You guys haven’t heard? There was some sort of gang massacre. All seven of these guys were ambushed and shot in their van.” The coroner went to the fourth body and unzipped the bag, revealing the face. “Look.”

Reading and Chaney approached the body and looked down at the face. The coroner held the photo up to it. It was the same man.

Laura Palmer’s Flat, London, England

“I don’t think anyone followed us,” said Acton as he looked down on the street below Laura Palmer’s apartment. Located within walking distance of the university, it had only taken fifteen minutes to arrive, with only a single umbrella to shield them from the rain. Acton closed the blinds and returned to the entrance. Laura flipped on the light as Acton stepped out into the hallway and took one last look down the stairwell.

“Good! Then maybe they don’t know where you are right now.”

“For now at least,” he said, removing his shoes and jacket.

“Tea?”

“Sure.”

Laura headed to the kitchen leaving Acton to survey his surroundings. It was a small, two-bedroom apartment, kept very neat and nicely decorated with artifacts and furniture from around the world. The couch looked incredibly inviting.

Laura entered the living room where Acton had sat down. Smiling, she took a seat beside him, curling her leg up so she could face him. “You look exhausted. The shower is over there,” she said, pointing toward the bathroom. “Why don’t you freshen up, change your clothes and I’ll order us some Chinese.”