The Milestone Protocol by Ernest Dempsey (best books to read in your 20s txt) 📕

“Sir, please. We need you to leave the building immediately.”

Sean relented hesitantly and made his way toward the exit.

When he stepped out into the cold early evening air once more, he was guided across the street to where a cluster of other hotel customers huddled near a streetlight. The police outside busily stretched out a line of tape around the area to keep others from entering the building.

Sean watched casually but flicked a glance to the left in the direction the two goons had escaped. He saw two black Range Rovers parked end to end along the sidewalk one block away. With one last scan of the street and hotel entrance, he turned and skimmed along the sidewalk, making sure he walked with oblivious disinterest in whatever was happening at the hotel.

Other pedestrians began gathering around the police line to see what was going on, which made his escape easier.

At the next crosswalk, Sean hustled across the street and over to one of the SUVs. Through the tinted windows he could see the vehicles were empty, but wondered if the hit squad had left any of them unlocked.

He pulled the latch on the second SUV. It opened easily, to Sean’s surprise, and he leaned in to see if the keys were in the ignition.

No such luck. On top of that, the keys were the new electronic kind that required no actual insertion of the key, instead using a wireless technology that allowed the driver to keep the key fob in a pocket while the engine remained running.

Sean closed the door without slamming it and moved on to the first Range Rover. He tried the driver's side door as he had with the other vehicle and found it, surprisingly, to be unlocked as well. This one, however, still had the wireless key fob sitting in a cup holder between the two front seats.

The driver must have gotten out in a hurry, which made sense now that he thought about it.

Sean glanced back toward the hotel one more time and then got into the driver’s seat and pressed the ignition button. The motor roared to life. He closed the door, shifted the transmission, and drove off while slipping the seatbelt on.

With his impeccable memory, Sean recalled Magnus Sorenson’s address, and once he was around the corner and out of sight from the unfolding siege at the hotel, entered the information into the navigation panel in the dashboard.

The directions appeared a few seconds later.

Sorenson’s place was twenty minutes away.

As he guided the SUV through the streets of Stockholm, Sean’s mind raced with the memory of the last man on the rooftop just before he poisoned himself. He wouldn’t give up the name of the cult’s leader, but the man had acknowledged what Sean suspected—that the cult did exist, and that they were definitely making a big move.

22

Atlanta

Darcy Friedman stared unflinching into the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Ellerby. Mrs. Ellerby wore a look of contempt on her face, while Mr. Ellerby was less reserved, allowing pure unadulterated rage to flare his nostrils. If he could have consumed the woman with fireballs from his eyes, he would have.

“My son and his friends have done nothing illegal,” Mr. Ellerby insisted. “They’re in the seventh grade, for crying out loud.”

“Age has nothing to do with crime, Mr. Ellerby,” Friedman said. She never wavered from his glowering stare. “Only with the punishment.” She shifted her gaze to Mrs. Ellerby. “I can understand your concern. You need to realize that we are not charging Desmond or his friends with any crime. We just need to ask them some questions.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Ellerby said with several dramatic nods. “You mentioned that. But you won’t tell us what kinds of questions. And you’ve been real vague about what is going on, other than to say it’s a matter of national security.”

The Ellerbys were well-established pillars in the historical and archaeological communities. Their exploits of discovery, adventure, and travel had sparked a newfound interest in history throughout the black communities of Atlanta.

On top of that, the Ellerbys had made a fortune in their work. As such, they kept well-paid attorneys on retainer just in case the need ever came up.

“And because it is a matter of national security,” Friedman went on, “I’m not permitted to give you any details other than that I’m afraid your child and his two friends could be in grave danger.”

“What kind of danger?” Mrs. Ellerby asked, cocking her head to the side as her right eyebrow lifted.

“It’s nothing they’ve done,” Friedman declared in her bland American accent. “It’s regarding an incident with their discovery in North Carolina.”

The Ellerbys turned to each other, their righteous indignation replaced by genuine concern.

“Do I have your attention now?” the woman asked. “I’m not at liberty to release any information, but off the record we believe that Tommy Schultz may have information that could lead us to find answers regarding a recent attack on a research site. We know that Schultz and his team at the IAA have been influential with your son and his friends.” Friedman switched gears. “How much time would you say Desmond spends with Tommy Schultz?” She tried to use a disarming tone, one that conveyed genuine concern over the boy’s well-being.

Mr. Ellerby frowned. “I don’t know. They’ve been down to the headquarters a few times. Took a tour once. Other than that, they haven’t really spent much time with him. After their discovery in Italy and then again in North Carolina, Tommy took an interest in them. I imagine he probably thinks they would make good additions to the agency someday, if that’s the direction they want to go.”

The Ellerbys had considered that possibility, but the kids were still young. They would have years before anything like that would come to fruition. Both of them sensed something amiss with this FBI agent, though. Her accent was the first thing they’d noticed. It was almost as if the