The Collective Protocol Read online

  The second way that the machine allowed her to interact with her subjects was to create a “blanket” disbursement of her directives in an area surrounded by the amplifiers. Everything within that area is subjected to her message. That’s why the Americans couldn’t really get an idea of what was going on. There were several large pockets of animal attacks that were geographically isolated from one another, but still close enough that they couldn’t rule out a communicable disease. Most of the phases in the Collective Protocol were designed to occur with this type of method.

  The final way that the machine allowed her to project her thoughts was the direct attack. She could invade someone’s mind from a distance and cause them to do whatever she wanted them to do. This was how she learned to use her abilities, as a teenager, without the assistance of the Neuroactuator, so she was the most comfortable with directly controlling a person to do her bidding.

  Paige greeted the laboratory technicians who were at work in the facility. Just like her, they lived and worked here on the Canadian government’s funding. All had undergone years of screening processes, training for the mission and psychological evaluations in preparation for the Collective Protocol. They knew what they were getting into and went out of their way to topple the American society.

  “Good morning, Ms. Watkins. Are you ready?” Lillian asked. She was the lead technician for the team who supported her in the lab. Even though they were in a relationship and lived together in Paige’s apartment, Lillian was the picture of professionalism when they worked together. Everything and everyone in the building worked to support the Collective Protocol; without Paige’s abilities there would be no Protocol and she felt that without the lead technician’s love and support, she’d be less successful in this endeavor.

  “Yeah, I’m ready to begin. We’ll need to call the CSIS agents in Virginia to see who our first target recommendation should be.”

  “Of course, ma’am,” Lillian said even though she was a few years older than Paige. The technician turned and gestured with her hand to have one of the others make the phone call. “Let’s get you attached to the Neuroactuator while Christian calls the agents.”

  The telepath eased into the reclining seat that was specially designed to mold to her body’s contours while Lillian busied herself placing heart rate monitors, blood oxygen sensors and various other wired monitoring devices found in any standard medical facility. Once everything was hooked up, the technician placed a sleep mask over Paige’s eyes to help cope with the sensation of being in two places at once. Finally, she slipped a simple padded headband around her patient’s head and ensured that it rested properly over her temples.

  A second technician stepped up and grasped the small bundle of wires that ran from the headband. He connected them to a much longer cable that ran towards a series of computer stacks and communication equipment. While he carefully marked the wire so no one would trip over it and disconnect the machine from Paige, Lillian placed a soft blanket over the telepath.

  “Thank you, I was getting chilly,” Paige murmured from underneath the mask.

  “Of course, ma’am. I know that you like to stay warm,” Lillian replied. “Christian has the line open now. We’re going to put the call over the intercom.”

  “Got it.” Paige had done a direct attack like this several times in rehearsals so she was familiar with how it would go. This was the first time that she’d actually done it for real though. The only person that she’d personally killed with her powers was the woman who’d given birth to her so she was a little nervous about seeing the face of someone as she killed them.

  “This is Fred, I’m on Number One,” a male voice stated over the intercom. Number One was the codename for the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Everyone knew that this was going to be an extremely precarious operation. The Americans eavesdropped on everyone in their country and cell phones were notoriously easy to intercept. The key to avoiding discovery was to ensure that certain keywords that the computers would recognize weren’t used. “Just went inside the house with the pillars for his daily meeting. Should leave again in an hour by bird.”

  That gave Paige an idea. “Okay, I’ll try to visit Number Two first and then come back,” she said from her reclined position. “Let me know immediately when Number One leaves if I’m not there.”

  “Alright, will do.”

  “Switch to the second tourist,” Lillian told the tech at the phone bank.

  “Hello, everyone. It’s Wilma, I miss you!”

  “Hi, Wilma,” Paige answered. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Washington Monument! Isn’t that exciting?”

  “I wish I could be there.”

  “You really should come and visit. It’s amazing. There’s some sort of ceremony going on right now, too! It’s so exciting.”

  “Ok, Wilma. Enjoy your trip and we’ll see you soon,” Paige replied.

  The phone line clicked over and Paige instantly projected her mind through the Neuroactuator towards Washington, D.C. She floated above the city and felt her sister’s presence off to the west. She ignored it for the moment and turned until she saw the Monument. Her consciousness flew quickly to the massive obelisk and she instantly identified a ceremony of some type around the base of the structure.

  From high above, she was able to detect “Wilma” who was quickly walking away from the area. She refocused on the ceremony and saw a man standing at a temporary podium in front of the small crowd. Paige cast about for a few seconds trying to decide if she wanted to use one of the armed men who were stationed around the Director of the FBI. Something about their mental state made her question using one of them. They were watchful of the crowd immediately in front of them, but they were too lax about the security immediately outside of the small circle of the crowd. It made Paige nervous, so she pulled up and widened her search.

  There they were. The snipers on the roof of the Smithsonian were what gave the men on the ground the false sense of security. It was a good thing that she decided to check out her surroundings; otherwise the sniper probably would have just shot the agent raising his weapon against the director.

  Two men lay prone on the roof of the old red brick Smithsonian Institute building. One held a rifle and the other watched through some type of binoculars on a stand. She thought about it for a moment. Just shooting the director wouldn’t do the Protocol any good; they had to kill as many people as they could to create a panic. She quickly probed the spotter’s mind to determine if he had a weapon that could be used against his partner. He didn’t, but the shooter wore a knife on his belt.

  Her projected nonphysical form dove down and inhabited the mind of the sniper behind the rifle. “Hey, you okay man?”

  “Wha? What do you mean?” she asked through the shooter’s mouth.

  “You just shook for a moment. You need me to turn on the heated blanket again?”

  “Uh, no. No, I’m good,” she answered.

  “Okay. This is probably gonna wrap up in a few minutes, so we’ll be cleared to leave soon,” the spotter stated.

  “Yeah, I could use some coffee.” She risked a glance at her partner and he was once again peering through the binoculars towards the crowd.

  “I hear ya, man,” he answered. She slid the sniper’s arm down along his side and pulled out the knife. She searched his memories for knowledge about how to fight with a knife and discovered what she needed to do. “Let’s get some from that little coffee shop on the way back to—”

  He never finished his sentence as the knife slashed across his throat, severing his windpipe, arteries and the muscles holding his head upright. She utilized the sniper’s superior strength and reflexes to catch her partner and gently lay him back away from the edge of the building. She casually stabbed the blade through his eye to end his suffering and settled back behind the rifle. Maybe killing the others wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d worked herself up into believing.

  This was going to be e
asy, she thought. There was no way to connect the Canadian government to this shooting. The Director of the FBI was one of the only people who could derail the Protocol. He would undo everything that she’d ever worked for if he was given a chance.

  Paige again relied on her host’s memories and skills as she calmly sighted in on the director. She fired and pulled the bolt to the rear to eject the spent cartridge. Another bullet slid into the chamber as she thudded the bolt closed. She picked another target and fired again. By the time all ten rounds were fired, the crowd was in chaos and the primary target had long since bled out under the hands of his security element.

  She didn’t relish the idea of what she had to do next, but it had to be done. She had to tie up all the loose ends before she left, otherwise there would always be a doubt. The sniper’s testimony that he watched everything happen without being able to stop the event might raise a spark of doubt and the Americans would seek answers. She rolled onto her back and pulled out the pistol on the man’s hip. The metal clanged hard against her teeth as she clamped them around the slide and barrel of the weapon. She squeezed the trigger and was instantly returned to Calgary.

  *****

  “Dammit, she’s going into cardiogenic shock! Disconnect her!” Lillian screamed.

  The techs flew around the chair and began to disconnect the wires and leads from the telepath. One of the nurses grabbed a large-bore needle and jammed it into a pre-mixed vial of anti-clotting medication and blood thinners.

  The staff had seen this before when she experienced a host’s death and were prepared for it. Paige’s body shook and thrashed as two of the technicians held her arm so the nurse could inject the cocktail of drugs into her system. Within minutes her convulsions slowed and finally settled completely as she lay unconscious on the chair.

  “Should we wake her?” the nurse asked Lillian.

  “She has a mission to complete and she’ll do it,” Gavin bellowed from the railed overlook above the lab. “After she kills those two men, she’ll have a three or four day rest.”

  The lead technician stared in horror at the man who really ran the building behind Paige’s back and said, “You heard Commissioner Dartmouth. Christian, break open the smelling salts and we’ll get her connected again.”

  Christian snapped a small paper ammonia packet and placed it under Paige’s nose, causing her to cough and choke on her spit. “Ugh, geez okay! I’m awake.”

  “How are you feeling Miss Watkins?” Lillian asked in concern.

  “I’m alright,” she replied.

  “Are you sure? I can’t… I mean we can’t afford to lose you,” Lillian mumbled.

  Paige reached out and placed her hand reassuringly on the arm of the woman who shared her bed. Then she glanced up at the balcony. “Hey, Gavin. The Director of the FBI is dead. Sniper bullet.”

  “Good job, Paige! Let’s finish off the CIA director and then take that break that you deserve.”

  “I’ve got a plan for that. Christian, call Fred back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the technician replied and punched the number into the computer keyboard while Lillian rushed to reconnect all the sensors and leads to the telepath.

  The agent’s phone rang over the intercom and he picked it up on the second ring. “Hi, this is Fred.”

  “We miss you, Fred,” Gavin interjected himself into the procedure. “Wilma’s on her way home, when will you be coming back?”

  “I, uh… I’m sorry, who is this?” the man on the other end of the line asked.

  “Fred, its Paige. I’m ready to see your part of the city.”

  There was a noticeable pause and then he replied, “Hi, Paige! I wasn’t sure it was you. I’m still sightseeing, but I believe that the birds are going to get in the way soon.”

  Paige’s mind raced as she tried to figure out what the CSIS agent was talking about. The Director of the CIA was “in the house with the pillars for a meeting.” That had to mean the White House, but she wasn’t sure what he was talking about when he said “birds.” “Hey, Fred. What kind of birds are we talking about?” she asked.

  Fred paused while he tried to think of a way to explain it to her. “Uh, the birds that fly all over the city. They pick up things and drop them off at other places. Very annoying.”

  She still didn’t know what he was talking about. Suddenly, a light went off in her head and she realized that the “birds” he referenced were really helicopters. “Oh, I know what birds you’re talking about now. Okay, I want to come for a visit. Which side of the house are you on?”

  “The south.”

  “Of course. See you soon.”

  “Look forward to it.”

  She gave the technician sitting at the Neuroactuator’s control panel a thumbs up and he flipped the switch.

  Paige once more floated over the American’s capitol city. Her twin sister’s aura pulsed brightly, once again, in a neighborhood just north of the river. She briefly considered dropping in to visit her and checking in on her life. It had been months since she’d done that, but she decided against it and focused on her mission. The telepath scanned the landscape until the National Mall came into view and then she saw the two helicopters sitting on the South Lawn.

  A collection of men moved from the White House towards the “birds.” As they filed into the helicopters Paige wondered which one the director would board. As she hovered above the town contemplating what to do, Fred’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I like the Second City better than this place. Chicago is awesome!”

  She had her answer, now she needed to determine what she would do. She searched around the immediate area and she saw them. A flock of geese rested on the banks of the Potomac. Before she plunged into the birds’ minds she verified that the helicopters were taking off. The skids were lifting off the lawn and her aura descended into her targets.

  Paige relished the sensation of flying as she beat her wings. She banked towards the approaching helicopters and the flock followed suit behind her. They rose to meet the director’s flight. The telepath leapt from the geese’s minds a moment before they were sucked into the turbines of the helicopters.

  NINE

  “Good evening, I’m Tara Blaisdell and this is the six o’clock news. Our top story is the death of two of our nation’s top leaders. Both the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency and the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation are dead. They were killed within hours of each other.

  “Caleb Johnson was murdered today while he was delivering a speech at the Washington Monument. A member of his security element opened fire on the director, killing him and another six people instantly. Seven more are in critical condition tonight at the George Washington University Hospital.

  “We have confirmation that the person responsible for the killings is also dead of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. The shooter was found on the roof of the Smithsonian Institute beside his partner, whom he had murdered as well.

  “Dale Hughes, the somewhat outspoken Director of the CIA, was killed today when his helicopter crashed over the Potomac. A flock of geese flew into the propellers and the helicopter lost all power, plunging it into the river and killing all on board. As recently as yesterday, Director Hughes publicly called for a rebalancing of federal resources which would give the CIA more power within the borders of the United States. On several occasions he stated that the FBI was not handling the investigation of the mass animal attacks properly. Analysts have said that his desire to find a cure for the animals’ madness in the south may have been due to the fact that at least one of his close family members was killed by a bear in western Virginia.

  “In related news, the death toll in the widespread animal attacks across the southern United States has now risen to more than one hundred and thirty-three thousand as hospitals continue to struggle to treat all the patients who’ve been brought in. Virtually every community in that hard-struck region has a citizen patrol which kills every animal it sees.


  “Authorities are concerned about sickness in some of the smaller towns as the bodies of animals litter the streets. There are simply too many corpses for the local population to handle. Many communities have ignored the government’s request to keep the animal bodies preserved until investigators can properly investigate and determine the cause of the attacks. They’ve begun burning the bodies to reduce the risks associated with the rotting animals lying around.

  “Let’s go live to our reporter in Pine Bluff, Arkansas—”

  Reagan clicked off the television. She’d seen enough to learn the cause of the huge explosion that she had heard earlier in the day. She was on her way to class when a massive blast reverberated through the neighborhood and oily, black smoke smeared the sky nearby. The map that the news put up during the story on the helicopter crash made it look like the part of the river that it crashed into was right next to the Key Bridge, less than three blocks from where she was standing when it happened. No wonder it was so loud, she thought.

  The local and national news was so depressing these days that most of the time she didn’t even bother to watch it. She’d gotten in the habit of watching news programs during her freshman year when she had a political science class that spent the first ten minutes of every class discussing current events. That’s where she learned about the biases of the different news agencies. It was actually quite entertaining sometimes when one or two of the more passionate students would debate the same story based on how their chosen network presented the information.