James Acton 01 - The Protocol (27 page)

The bullets sprayed over his head. They were firing at the doorway, not him. He crawled toward one of the desks that had been turned on its side and was now being used as cover. As he neared it a powerful hand grabbed him by the back of his body armor and pulled him to safety.

“Watch the main entrance!” ordered the man who was firing at the doorway. “I think those blokes belong to you, don’t they?”

Reading looked toward the main entrance and recognized the flashing blue lights outside the forced open doors.

“This is your final warning, come out with your hands up or we will open fire!” he heard Nelson yelling over a megaphone.

He launched himself toward a desk closer to the main entrance and rolled just as gunfire opened up the tile floor behind him. Another Triarii member pulled him behind the desk then returned fire.

“Hello, Inspector,” said the man. Reading was about to thank him when he saw who it was. It was Rodney.

The gunfire had reached the lobby.

“Okay, men, on my signal we go in,” said Nelson, putting down the megaphone. The ARU members quickly double-checked their weapons and tensed up their bodies, ready to begin the assault.

“Nelson!”

Nelson looked around to see who was calling him.

“It’s coming from inside, sir,” said one of the ARU members. Nelson cocked his ear toward the door.

“Nelson! It’s DCI Reading, hold your fire!”

Reading?
“Sir, what the hell is going on in there!”

“Too long a story! This building is held by friendlies, but is under attack by the same men who attacked The Yard earlier. We need your assistance!”

Nelson looked at the skeptical ARU members around him. He wasn’t sure what to believe. “Sir, I’m not—”

“Provide assistance, Detective Inspector!” boomed Reading. “That’s an order!”

“Yes, sir!” Nelson looked at the ARU team. “You heard the DCI! Let’s get in there!”

Two members rapidly approached the doorway with large bullet resistant shields as the rest of the team huddled behind them. They entered the building and heard gunfire from the West stairwell. They made their way to the apparently friendly position returning fire, the occupants, who had been pointing their weapons at them, now turned their attention to the two stairwell doors at either end of the lobby, no doubt relieved they would not have to fight on another front.

“This is it.” Acton kicked open the door to the second sub-level. As he came through the door, he was knocked down from behind and a boot pressed into his spine.

“He’s with me,” said Chaney as he and Laura came through the door. The foot lifted off, then hands pulled him to his feet.

“Sorry, sir,” said the man who had knocked him down.

“They’re right behind us, coming down the stairs,” said Chaney. “Shoot whatever comes through that door.”

“Yes, sir!” The man moved back down the hall to take cover. Laura and Acton ran after Chaney down the long corridor. Now underground, there was no natural light and the dampness of the old walls in combination with the dim emergency lighting was almost claustrophobic. The musty smell of hundreds of years of history reminded Acton of several of his digs.

Early seventeenth century?

He couldn’t believe he was actually trying to determine when this part of the structure had been built.
Leave it alone, Jim!

As they rounded a corner at the end of the corridor, they all turned as a brilliant flash and ear-piercing explosion erupted at the other end.

“Come on!” urged Chaney. “We’re almost there!”

Dawson tossed a flash grenade through the door. Two of his men exited the stairwell, hugging the walls on either side, trying to clear the doorway as quickly as possible. The hallway was thick with smoke, but their opponents answered the grenade with a hail of gunfire. One of his team immediately went down, the other dove out of the way and returned fire, finding cover in a doorway. He stuck his hand out with his machine gun and fired down the hallway providing cover fire for those still in the stairwell.

Two more of Dawson's men exited the stairwell crouching and firing at the same time, and managed to reach the cover of a corridor entrance. Dawson drew his handgun and, using the infrared goggles, knelt down then shifted his body into the open so he could take aim. As his men provided cover, forcing most of their opponents to fire blindly, he was able to take careful aim. As each enemy poked their head up to fire, he started to pick them off, one by one.

Nelson, Reading, the ARU members and the Triarii were now directing heavy fire toward the stairwell the attackers were holding. Reading grabbed Rodney by the shoulder to get his attention.

“Is there any way to outflank them?”

“That’s the only way in, sir!” Rodney responded, then began firing again.

“What about the other stairwell?”

Rodney thought for a moment while he was firing. “That’s right, sir! You can go through that stairwell then up one flight of stairs. At the end of the hallway is the stairwell they are in!”

Reading turned to Nelson. “You stay here, I’m going with the armed unit to that stairwell!”

“Yes, sir!” yelled Nelson.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” said Reading, hitting the ARU members on their backs. The entire group, still behind shielding, backed toward the other stairwell entrance. Once there they went through the door and proceeded up the stairs.

Reading opened the door slowly and peered down the hallway. He could see one man at the end of the hallway guarding the entrance to the other stairwell. He appeared distracted by the gunfire below, and kept looking down the stairwell while holding the door open.

Reading turned back to the ARU team. “Who’s the best shot?”

“Clayton is, sir,” said one of the men.

“Okay, Clayton, get up here. There’s a target at the end of the hallway that I need you to take out.” Clayton, who was taking up the rear, maneuvered himself up the stairwell around the ARU team’s body shields. When he arrived at the top of the stairs his expression was all business. Reading was shocked at how young he was until he thought back at his own life.
I was probably his age when I was in the Falklands.

“Okay, Clayton, at the end of this hallway is one of the hostiles. I need you to take him out fast and quiet. I don’t want him getting a shot off to warn his mates down below.”

“No problem, sir,” Clayton said, then pulled his sniper rifle out of its case and set it up. Less than sixty seconds later he was ready and lying prone on the floor of the stairwell landing.

He peered down the scope of the rifle and nodded to Reading. Reading slowly opened the door a couple of inches so Clayton could acquire his target. As the door swung out of the way Clayton saw it exit his field of vision then suddenly he was looking at the end of the hallway’s ceiling. He raised the butt of the rifle a little higher and the angle came down, revealing his target, who had just spotted him. The target was reaching for his radio when Clayton put a bullet in his head, sending him to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Reading stuck his head out the door and gave a pleased grunt. “Good work, Clayton,” he said, slapping him on his back as Clayton got up off the floor. He turned to the other ARU members. “Let’s go!”

They immediately exited the stairwell, rushing down the corridor.

 
“Stage Two Evacuation Complete, Proceed with Stage Three Evacuation, I repeat, Proceed with Stage Three Evacuation.”

Acton, Laura and Chaney had just reached the final evacuation staging area when the announcement came over the PA system. There was a loud cheer from the dozens of people left who then jumped into assorted vehicles and raced down various long tunnels that, judging by the materials used to construct them, had probably been there for hundreds of years.

“Where do these tunnels lead?” asked Acton.

Chaney herded them toward an idling SUV. “Each will come out at a different part of the city,” explained Chaney as he opened the passenger side door for the professors. “Multiple points of egress mean a greater chance of at least some members escaping.”

Acton climbed in the back seat and Chaney ran around the vehicle to the driver’s side door.

Dawson had just finished eliminating the last target when the announcement was made over the PA system. He charged down the hallway toward
the only corridor being protected
.
His men followed. As they rounded the corner, they saw several guards as they headed out a door at the end of the corridor.

The Bravo team ran down the hallway toward the door. Dawson opened it as Spock and Niner took a knee and set up opposing fields of fire. They could see the evacuation area and dozens of people getting into vehicles as some already loaded vehicles left at high speed down various tunnels.

Dawson entered and saw one of the policemen from the Scotland Yard raid about to get into a nearby SUV. He raised his weapon and fired.

Reading heard the announcement as they reached the body of the lookout. They entered the stairwell, careful not to alert their enemy below. Reading looked down and saw three men taking turns firing through the doorway. They were not looking up.

Reading turned to one of the ARU members. “Two flash-bangs, down there,” he whispered. The man nodded and motioned to his partner. They both removed a grenade from their belts and pulled the pins at the same time. They mouthed silently “One, two, three,” then tossed the grenades down the stairwell. Everyone turned and covered their ears and closed their eyes.

The explosion was deafening and immediately incapacitated the men below. One fell forward out of the doorway and was immediately shot by the Triarii guards below. The other two fell backward into the stairwell. Reading and his team ran down the stairs to apprehend them before they had a chance to recover.

As they approached, one of the wounded attackers raised his weapon. Reading put two bullets in his chest as another, now on his knees, spun around. On the landing above, Clayton fired, taking the man out with a shot between the eyes.

Reading slowly opened the stairwell door to let the Triarii guards know everything was now secure. “It’s the police, we’ve secured the door!” he bellowed. There was no response. He peered out the door and saw why. The Triarii were gone. Nelson stood in the middle of the lobby, looked at Reading and shrugged his shoulders.

“As soon as the tossers heard Stage Three they legged it out the bloomin’ door!”

Chaney fell into the driver’s seat face down. Neither Laura nor Acton knew what had happened, but Chaney was gasping for breath. Acton noticed the hole in Chaney’s vest and blood slowly seeping out.

“Leave me,” Chaney wheezed.

“To hell with that!” said Acton as he reached forward and hauled Chaney into the back seat. As soon as Chaney’s feet were clear Laura jumped into the driver’s seat and put the idling vehicle into gear. As she reached out to close the door beside her someone grabbed her arm. She screamed as she looked at the figure of a tall man, dressed in black with body armor, guns, grenades, knives, a face mask, and some type of goggles on his forehead.

“Not so fast, Professor,” he said. Laura tried to wrench her arm away from him but couldn’t. In her panic she popped the clutch and the car lurched forward. The door swung inward and hit the man squarely on the back, knocking the wind out of him. His grasp momentarily loosened, Laura gave one final tug of her arm then hit the gas. The SUV launched itself toward one of the tunnel exits under a hail of gunfire. The armor plating and bullet resistant glass took a beating, but held until Laura was able to guide the SUV into the tunnel.

“Is he okay?” she asked, looking in the rearview mirror at Chaney.

“I’m not sure,” replied Acton. “We better get him to a hospital!”

Dawson picked himself up off the ground, cursing. He couldn’t believe he had failed twice in a row, both times with his target literally in his grasp. He looked around and saw several empty vehicles. By now the rest of the complex was empty and these were waiting for people he and his team had already killed.

He and his two remaining men climbed into a nearby van. “Bravo One to Bravo Two,” he said over his radio. There was no answer.
Could be the tunnels.

His radio crackled and a voice came through he didn’t recognize. “This is DCI Reading. Your men are dead or captured. I suggest you give yourselves up before anyone else gets hurt.”

Dawson clenched his teeth.
The balls on these Brit cops.
He gunned the engine and followed the same tunnel his target had used.

The White House, Washington, DC

Darbinger hung up the phone as one of his aides poked his head into his office. “Did you hear? There’s been a bombing at former Speaker Guthrie’s house. Wasn’t that Billy’s dad?”

“What? Was anyone hurt?” Darbinger reached for his remote control and turned on the television mounted to his wall. CNN came on, about the only channel he ever watched these days. It showed an aerial view of a large house with the smoking ruins of a car in front.

“A cop was killed. Do you think that’s why Billy was killed? Maybe they’re after Speaker Guthrie?”

Darbinger shook his head. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

As he sat watching the limited coverage, another aide entered. “Sir, a Detective Wheeler is at the front desk demanding to see you.”

Darbinger sank back in his chair as a close-up of a gurney with a body bag being loaded into an emergency vehicle played on the screen.
This has gone too far.
He rose from his desk and headed out the door. “Have Mr. Wheeler meet me here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He headed toward his old friend’s office.

London, England

The tunnel wasn’t long, maybe a block. At the end it ramped up and garage doors automatically opened as they approached. They emerged in an alleyway and were soon on a street. Laura turned right and blended in with the thin nighttime traffic while she got her bearings.