Protocol Six: Chapter Twenty-Seven
“…Dad? It’s me…” “Jesus… honey, I feared the worst. I’d almost resorted to praying.” “Ah– ! God… Daddy, don’t make me laugh; it hurts…” “How
“…Dad? It’s me…” “Jesus… honey, I feared the worst. I’d almost resorted to praying.” “Ah– ! God… Daddy, don’t make me laugh; it hurts…” “How
What looked like a pile of scrap on wheels, but apparently far from dead, ground on its abused rims to a gentle stop at the
The driver stuck to the alleyways as much as possible; it provided slightly better cover and minimized the risk to any bystanders. But ahead, a
Overhead, the old SuperCobra banked hard left, evading fire from the Apache’s minigun, and the Army pilot’s annoyance carried over the radio. “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot,
A Marine staff sergeant in embassy dress saluted smartly, and held the limo door for the party of three. David awkwardly returned the gesture as
Cue the makeover montage. Within an hour, David was freshly shaven, and his hair cut in a military style. Now he stood in his boxers,
“Whereas the Members of this Congress hold dear both the Freedom and the Safety of the People of these United States, Whereas this Congress recognizes
David had visited the National Archives before, a typical class trip that at the time was no more than time out of the classroom. Now
Admiral McMillan rubbed his chin and locked eyes with David. “David, we’re aware that everything we’re telling you right now sounds ridiculous, even insane.” “Good
“Good morning, sir; it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” The Army nurse’s smile was genuine, and David couldn’t help returning it.