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

woman was trying to sound American. It was so generic they found it impossible to zero in on a region from which she may have originated. Usually, in their extensive experience, everyone had some kind of accent—save, perhaps, for the northwestern United States. Perhaps she was from there. Mrs. Ellerby was the first to put her to the test.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she offered. “I was just about to brew a pot.”

“No, thank you. It’s too late in the afternoon.”

Mrs. Ellerby stood and walked into the kitchen. She began preparing the coffeepot while she spoke. “Where are you from? You have an unusual accent.”

Friedman glanced at the other three agents in the room before answering. “Nebraska,” she said. “Omaha.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Ellerby said. “Heartland of America.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” She folded her hands in front of her waist. “Do you know when your son will be home? It looks like it’s getting dark outside. Shouldn’t he be home for dinner soon?”

Mrs. Ellerby passed a dismissive smile. “He might be having supper with friends tonight.”

“Can you call him?”

Mr. Ellerby’s spine stiffened at the pressure the woman applied. “Sure,” he said. “I could, but I’m not certain I should.”

For the first time since arriving, the woman’s frozen expression flinched in confusion. “And why is that?”

“Because we don’t know you. And despite your credentials,” he said the word with derision, “I have an issue with you coming here into our home, wanting to ask our son questions about something so serious.”

“I can understand your apprehension,” Friedman sympathized. “But if you don’t help us with this, you know what that’s called? Obstruction of justice.”

“Now, there’s no reason to get legal about all this,” Mrs. Ellerby interrupted as she finished turning on the coffeepot. “I’m sure our friend Director Starks can help clear the air on this. Let me just give her a call real quick.”

Friedman’s face didn’t betray much, but it was enough. The slightest twitch in her right cheek told Mrs. Ellerby everything. Whoever this woman was, she didn’t know Emily Starks. That didn’t mean the woman wasn’t a legitimate agent, but it didn’t help either.

“Fine,” Friedman surrendered. “Call whoever that is and confirm why we are here. I’m sure he will be happy to inform you of our reason for being here. You have twenty-four hours. After that, you will be arrested for hindering a federal investigation.”

The two Ellerbys exchanged a concerned glance, but it wasn’t from the threat. Whoever this woman was had just called Director Starks a man, which meant she had no clue who Emily was.

Friedman spun on her heels and exited the front door with the other three agents. She stopped just on the other side of the threshold and rounded on the couple. “We will be posting an agent here around the clock until this time tomorrow. If your son isn’t back by then, you know what will happen.”

The last of the agents closed the door behind them as they left the house.

Mr. and Mrs. Ellerby exhaled together.

“I don’t think she was with the FBI,” Mr. Ellerby said.

“Pretty obvious,” his wife agreed. “Whoever they are, we’re going to need some help. I don’t know what they’re really after, but we can’t let them get to Desmond and his friends.”

“I’m on it.” He raised his phone, called Desmond, and held the device to his ear. It went straight to voicemail after the first ring. Mr. Ellerby frowned and left a quick message instructing his son to call him back as soon as he could. Then he entered a different number and held the phone to his ear again.

“Well, hello there,” the woman answered. Her voice was sharp. “What do I owe the honor of a call from the esteemed Ellerbys?”

“Hey, Emily. I was wondering if you could help us out with something.”

“Sure. I’ll try. What’s up?”

Mr. Ellerby looked at his wife as she tried to listen in on the conversation. “We just had someone here claiming to be FBI. They said they wanted to talk to Desmond.”

“And they weren’t FBI?”

“How did you know?”

Emily let out a hum. “Well, first of all, I can’t imagine why the FBI would need to come to your home unannounced. Second, you wouldn’t be calling me about it if you believed they were really with the bureau. You’d probably just cooperate. Lastly, what could they possibly want with a seventh-grader?”

“True.”

“I take it they’re gone?”

“No,” Mr. Ellerby corrected. “The woman left, but she posted a guard outside the house.”

“I see.” There was no hiding the concern in Emily’s voice. “I’ll send one of my assets over right away. Is your son there?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t call him. Don’t text him. They may try to track his phone.”

“They can do that?” Mr. Ellerby looked shocked.

“Of course. My agent will be there right away. We’re just lucky she’s in town. The rest are out on assignments, all deep undercover.”

“Who is she? Do we know her?”

“You know her husband,” Emily said. “Not sure if you’ve met her. Depending on what she’s doing, it could be a few hours before she arrives. Just keep an eye out. Her name is June Holiday. And just in case, I’m going to be there too. I want to handle this personally.”

23

Stockholm

Sean stopped the car at the iron gate between two sandstone columns. The black metal fence stretched around the estate and disappeared out of view behind the hills surrounding Magnus Sorenson’s mansion.

Rolling down the window, Sean reached out his hand and pressed the call button on the entry panel.

The phone rang twice before Magnus answered. “Took you long enough,” the Swede joked. A second later, the gate started to swing open.

“Ran into some traffic,” Sean lied with a smug laugh. He stepped on the gas and drove the vehicle up the winding hill to the top where the eighteenth-century manor sat on its perch overlooking the vast property.

Sean knew a little about the history of this place, as shared by Magnus on at least two occasions. Lights shone on the