The Milestone Protocol Ernest Dempsey (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖

next to the first. All around the property, pilot flames attached to the sprinkler heads ignited.

When the enemy reached the markers, Diego would press the button.

He leaned forward, keeping his eyes locked on the screen nearest him. The seconds ticked by like a sledgehammer on an anvil—slow, rhythmic, foreboding.

The first of the attackers passed beyond the line of markers on the east side of the building. Miyamoto saw it but said nothing. Diego knew what to do. He had to wait until all the men were beyond the boundary.

The next group passed the line of markers on the north and west sides about the same time. If those to the south didn’t cross soon, Diego would have to hit the button anyway and face the consequences after the fact. If he couldn’t get all of Odin’s assault team, he’d have to settle for most.

His palm hovered over the button as he watched. The second he saw one of the attackers pass a marker on the southern border, Diego pressed his hand down.

Within seconds, the sprinklers spewed liquid flames in dramatic arcs out from a circle surrounding the manor. It looked like a ring of fiery death.

The attackers saw the flames spraying toward them, but there was nothing they could do to avoid the rain of fire.

The burning liquid shot eighty feet down the gentle slope, cutting off the assailant’s escape. Men screamed as the fuel splattered on them from above. Some of them were instantly covered by the concoction, and no matter how much they rolled around on the ground, they couldn’t extinguish the flames. Even if they had, it wouldn’t have made a difference. The fuel continued to spray.

Some were only struck by small droplets at first, but they had it just as bad as the others, if not worse. They were exposed to a finer mist that covered their skin with searing droplets that seemed to melt their flesh.

The brave few who figured their only path to safety was rushing toward the house were cut down immediately as the erratic and overlapping streams shot north from the makeshift flamethrowers.

Within one minute of the fiery attack, only a scant few from the assault team remained, though even they dropped one by one as they inhaled the toxic fumes from the burning mixture. Flames on the lawn caught up to those trying to crawl to safety. Once the grass ignited, they couldn’t stop the fire from setting their clothes ablaze.

The haunting screams of the men climbed into the sky amid the black smoke soaring upward. Then, with every dying breath, an eerie calm swelled over the property.

Staring at the screens, neither Miyamoto nor Diego could find any survivors from the assault team.

Diego flipped the two switches, and the flaming streams stopped, though the fires in the grass continued.

The two men surveyed every inch of the grounds, but none of the attackers moved. Hundreds of charred bodies littered the property. Miyamoto couldn’t tear his eyes from the grisly sight.

“Terrible way to go,” he commented reverently.

“It was them or us,” Diego countered.

“I know. And I don’t feel sorry for them. They served the forces of evil, those who seek to enslave humanity, and murder billions. They got what they deserved.”

Diego flipped another switch and pressed a blue button next to it. The sprinklers resumed spraying again, though this time it was a whitish-blue liquid that spewed from the nozzles. The second concoction extinguished the flames rapidly, and forty-five seconds later there was no sign of fire anywhere. Only the destruction and death it had caused.

As he gazed at the horrors on the monitors, Diego quoted a verse from the Bible he recalled reading many times. “And the smoke of their torment ascends forever and ever.”

“Yes,” Miyamoto said. “I just hope Adriana succeeds. Otherwise, we could all suffer a similar fate.”

42

Russia

Magnus looked over at his driver and scowled. The man was bleeding from his side and weaving left and right on the highway.

“Is he okay?” Kevin asked from the back seat. He didn’t care about the man’s well-being, only his own, but their two fates were woven together as long as the bleeding man was behind the wheel.

The driver didn’t answer, and Magnus didn’t have one either, though he suspected the worst.

“Pull over,” he ordered.

The delirious bodyguard did as instructed and swerved off the road and onto the shoulder. They were minutes outside the city limits of Moscow, close enough that Magnus could see the skyline in the distance.

He looked over at his driver, inspecting the wound. The man’s shirt and coat were soaked with blood. Magnus swore under his breath at the sight. Then he turned to Kevin. “You drive,” he commanded.

“What? Me? Why me?”

Magnus raised a pistol and pointed it at Kevin’s face. “Because you work for me and you do what I say.” He cocked his head sideways, brandishing the gun. “And because if you don’t, I’ll blow a hole through your face.”

Kevin swallowed hard at the threat and nodded. “Good enough for me.”

He stepped out, then opened the front door and assisted the wounded man into the back seat. After he closed the door, he looked into the driver’s seat at the blood smeared on the leather.

Magnus sensed his hesitation and rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of Asgard,” he spat. “Get one of the bags in the trunk and set it on the seat if it bothers you so much. But hurry.”

Kevin shuffled around to the back of the car and retrieved an empty duffle bag from the interior. He placed it over the blood on the driver’s seat, climbed back in, and guided the car onto the highway.

After five minutes of continually looking into the rearview mirror to check both for someone tailing them and on the injured man, he spoke up. “He needs medical attention,” Kevin said. “I know you’re not planning on taking him to a hospital.”

The man in the back groaned something unintelligible.

“Yes, I know,” Magnus said without elaborating. “And you’re