Armen Gharabegian - Protocol 7

Andrew put the device in his pocket and then bent over the body one last time. Together, the three men carefully dragged Jonathan’s corpse to the edge of the water and rolled him in until it was entirely, if only slightly, submerged. Then they weighed the body down with a few large stones and a concrete block, gathered from the trash-strewn shoreline.

The wind and rain were beginning to pick up again as the last of the light drained away. Ryan had never felt so miserable.

“Won’t stay hidden forever,” Andrew said shortly. “But long enough. And the crap in the water, along with fish and vermin, should destroy any forensic evidence.”

Ryan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood there for a moment.

They were dumping a person’s body. Dumping it, as if they were the cold-blooded murderers. Ryan was speechless, rendered mute by all he had just seen.

Andrew was the first to turn away. Ryan followed him almost gratefully. Simon stood alone over the body for a moment longer, saying nothing, revealing nothing.

Finally, he turned away and trudged back to the Rover.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.

They drove away from the polluted pond. No one spoke for a long time.

* * *

They drove to a working tube station.

“I can’t bloody believe this is happening,” Ryan muttered as Andrew pulled to a stop.

“It isn’t,” Samantha said dully. It was the first thing she had said in more than an hour. “None of it is.”

Andrew popped the door so suddenly it sounded like a gunshot. “I’ll be right back.”

He hopped out of the car, carrying the small silver device in his right hand. Without looking back he crossed four lanes of traffic, dodging expertly between the oncoming cars. When he reached the far curb, he turned on a dime, scanned the vehicles, and raised an arm.

“Taxi!” he said. “Taxi, here!”

One of the semi-automated electrics that scoured the city pulled up almost immediately. The cabby was an older man-semi-retired, Andrew guessed-with chubby cheeks and a bright red drinker’s nose.

The back door opened automatically, and Andrew jumped in.

“Where to?” the cabby said, already abysmally bored. The car would do all the work: plot the course to the destination, avoid traffic problems, and calculate the fare. His presence was more a matter of union politics and public jobs programs than necessity.

“Heathrow Airport!” Andrew crowed with absurd enthusiasm.

The door started to close as the cabby punched the destination into his console…and Andrew stuck his foot half-out of the cab, so it couldn’t close.

“Oh!” he said in the same giddy tone. “Silly me! Forgot my luggage, forgot my wallet, and forgot I’m not leaving ‘til tomorrow. Never mind!”

He hopped back out of the cab and walked briskly away, leaving the old cab driver gaping at him.

“Bloody drunkards,” the driver said and veered back into traffic, returning to the never-ending quest for passengers while carrying the ULF locational tracker with him, wedged between the cushions of the cab’s back seat.

“Take that, you bastards,” Andrew said between clenched teeth. “The Invisible Man strikes again!”

Three minutes later, he was back behind the wheel, guiding the Rover and the rest of the team toward their destination. He almost managed a smile when the familiar black helicopter, still flying far too low to the ground, passed overhead, going in entirely the wrong direction.

* * *

They stopped at a nearly deserted pub, miles from the estate and the pond. As they ate, Andrew took each of them to the restroom-even Samantha-and used his handheld scanner to check for implants. At the same time, Ryan began to make phone calls-half a dozen of them, all very quiet, all very intense. As the rest of them lingered over bad coffee and lukewarm tea, he excused himself from the table, drove off in the Rover, and returned in less than fifteen minutes.

Ryan and Andrew both returned to the table almost at the same moment, from different directions. Andrew broke the silence with a ghostly imitation of his old chirpiness. “Finished!” he reported. “I think we’re clean.”

“Good,” Simon said, feeling a bit better about the entire journey.

Ryan cleared his throat politely, all business. “I have something for you all.” He began to pass out packets to each of them, dealing them across the filthy table as if they were oversized playing cards. “Made the calls, cashed in a few favors, greased a few palms, and hacked a few databases.”

The packets contained old-fashioned paper airline tickets and shiny new passports for each of them: Hayden, Andrew, Simon, and Samantha. He shoved his own into the pocket of his sports coat. “Different airlines, different times-for most of us-and names you won’t recognize and will never see again. These are temporary identities. They’ll last for seventy-two hours or so and then poof, dissolve into thin air.”

Andrew smiled-his first genuine grin since he could remember. “Very nice,” he said, examining the documents closely.

Ryan laughed. “I’m flattered. And I am now officially out of the forgery business.”

He turned to Simon with a very serious expression. “I think you should go with Sam. I set you up as brother and sister, traveling together. I hope that’s okay.”

Simon glanced briefly at Sam. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. “A good idea.” He was frankly unsure if she could have made it out of the country on her own-not in her current state. She didn’t look back at him. She didn’t even bother to push the hair out of her eyes.

“Okay, then,” Simon told them all, “I think we’re set. Andrew, why don’t you drive us all to the nearest hotel. We can catch individual cabs or busses or shuttle from there-split up and fade away. You can just leave the car in extended parking. It’ll be weeks before they notice something odd.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Andrew said.

Simon looked up at the rest of them. He knew that they would all meet again in Corsica. He had to go. He had to find out more about his father’s travels. Oliver’s private hideaway nestled in the remote mountains of Corsica would give them the perfect place to be undetected while he searched for more clues.

“And so it begins,” Hayden said grimly and looked at the door.

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Andrew added.

Simon’s eyes moved from face to face, as if he was memorizing each of them. As if this was the last time they would be together.

“Thank you again,” he said. “I’ll see you in Corsica.”

Ryan's Estate

Sabrina stood on the porch and waited for the rain to stop. She stared at her car, glistening in the downpour.

She wanted Ryan to come back. She wanted to confront him one last time. She wanted to know, to understand, why he was doing this-why he was disappearing with his friends without so much as a word of explanation.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t like Ryan at all.

And she knew deep down, there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop him.

But it was too late now. He was gone, disappeared into the night and the storm. He wasn’t even answering his mobile. He wasn’t-

— a hand snaked around from behind her and slapped something on the side of her neck.

Sabrina tried to scream, but the hand darted forward and clamped over her mouth, blocking her voice completely. She tried to struggle, but her attacker’s other arm slipped around her waist and lifted her off the ground before she could jump or kick.

She felt her body break as she was slammed against the side of the building. For one instant, she saw the face of her attacker quite clearly. She was beautiful. Very tall, very thin, wearing a camelhair coat, and absolutely without expression. So perfect she didn’t seem human at all…