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

winked wickedly at Tabitha, whose gaze remained fixed on him. He knew why she was looking at him like that. He’d dismantled an entire assault team with ease, or so it must have seemed to her.

Still, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Something had felt different. Sean wondered if the sudden burst of energy and clarity he’d felt was from seeing his unarmed friends being attacked. He’d been invigorated with a sort of rage-fueled adrenaline. That was the only way he could describe it. He tried to think back on other times over the years when he’d been compelled to use lethal force on enemies. In recent memory, Sean had done his best not to kill— whenever possible. It required a conscious effort, he realized, which concerned him about his own psychological issues—issues he’d been working through since he first realized they were there.

Sean had been a weapon for the government, a precision tool called upon to take care of the most difficult problems. Little did he realize at the time that his actions as an Axis agent were turning him into something he never imagined.

In times like these, though, he was glad for it. Sean needed that feral beast inside of him to take over and defend himself and those he cared about. He leaned on that wild animal for salvation when it seemed hope could not be found.

“Were you able to get any information out of them?” Magnus asked, hopeful.

“Unfortunately, no,” Sean said. “The last one—he killed himself with a pill. Initially, I thought it was sodium cyanide, but it could have been curare based on how quickly the man died.”

Sean wandered over to the bar, took a glass, and dropped a couple of pieces of ice in it. Then he removed the top from a decanter and poured an amber liquid into the glass, letting it slowly spill over the ice.

“I did get a few other tidbits from the guy,” Sean went on. “That hit squad, and probably all the others who work for the cult, get paid directly to new accounts. At first, the man told me they were paid in cash, but after a little extra interrogation, he came clean about how it really works. They’re given an account—I assume, by the cult—and money is sent to it upon completion of missions or assignments. He said they don’t know who sends the money, but he did mention the leader of the group was a man.”

“That narrows it down,” Tommy said sarcastically.

Sean snorted at the comment since he’d made the exact same observation. “Yes, and unfortunately I couldn’t get much else out of him except for his vain threats. He said there are fates worse than death and some other cliché stuff before he bit into a pill in the back of his mouth.”

“Like the Nazis did at the end of World War Two,” Kevin acknowledged. “But you got nothing about the tablet?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean we can’t figure it out ourselves.” Sean replaced the decanter and picked up his drink. He ambled over to the coffee table near the hearth and looked down at the strange tablet. The Mongolian style of writing was beautiful, he thought, and filled with mystery. “Tell me the riddle again.”

Kevin shifted around the coffee table so he could be in a better position to read the script without making any mistakes. Translating Mongolian to English was, it seemed, a complicated pursuit. He began reading from the beginning of the inscription, but Sean stopped him.

“Wait. Just the part about the rose stone. What was it again?”

“That old photographic memory failing you a little, buddy?” Tommy asked.

Sean passed him an annoyed glance. “It’s eidetic, first of all. Secondly, I just want to make sure I’m remembering it correctly. Okay, Shultzie?”

Tommy flashed a grin. “Just making sure.”

Kevin, having ignored the barbs flying between the two friends, read the passage out loud. “The saint guards the rose stone. But be warned. The power of the gods can it unleash, for those who mean to rule.”

Magnus looked at Tommy, then Sean, expecting an answer right away. Fortunately, Tommy had a good direction.

“Who is this saint the clue refers to?” Tommy asked the group. “The biggest hurdle in finding an answer is that Jani Beg was a Muslim. They don’t really use that term to refer to great masters of Islam.”

“Which means that Jani Beg must have either converted or befriended someone who was later sainted,” Sean offered. “Do you know if that happened?” He turned back to Kevin.

“I don’t believe he ever converted from Islam,” Kevin answered. “There are rumors about his abandoning the religion, but not joining another. There is, however, one story that involves Jani Beg with an important Christian.” His eyes widened. “Wait. That has to be it.”

Kevin took out his phone and entered a search phrase. Several articles filled the screen, and he chose the first one. He bobbed his head in confirmation as he read through the paragraphs.

“What?” Tommy asked. “What is it?”

“Saint Alexius,” Kevin said, turning his phone so his peer could see. “During Jani Beg’s reign, he had returned to Sarai. His mother was sick, and they feared she would be blind for the rest of her life. The Khan had heard of a man in Moscow with a reputation as a healer, able to perform what many considered to be miracles.”

“And that man was Saint Alexius,” Sean said.

“Yes. Alexius was the Metropolitan of Russia. By the end of his life, he wielded a considerable amount of authority across the entire Grand Duchy of Moscow.”

“I take it this metropolitan was able to help the Khan’s mother?”

“Yes,” Kevin confirmed. “She regained her sight and survived the ordeal. I’ve seen no mention of the techniques Alexius may have used, but whatever he did worked.”

Sean took his phone out of a pocket and looked up the same information about Saint Alexius. He stared at the painting of the man, a mural from centuries ago that depicted the metropolitan bending over the bed