Protocol Six

Protocol Six: Chapter One

Koenig scratched his chin. He didn’t like going unshaven, and this time it had been about three weeks. But his supplies were low, and he loathed the thought of another seventy-mile outing to withdraw cash. He never used cards or checks, not ever. He’d no idea if there was any imminent danger to him — yet — but he couldn’t risk going down without at least some closure. He would keep reaching out; soon enough David would see the connection. He had to.

He had to.

There was a sputter from outside; the generator was low on fuel. Damn. No way around it now. Koenig rubbed his tired eyes. It was for the best. He needed sunlight, and to shake out his writer’s cramp. He couldn’t entrust his thoughts even to a typewriter ribbon; there were ways to read those. He missed his computer and especially email, but he’d resigned himself to lose those things sooner or later anyway, which was the whole point of his self-imposed exile. Koenig would go out. Yes. Maybe treat himself to a slice of pizza today.

Just another few pages.

Dr. Solomon: as always, please forgive this imposition. You’d be justified by now to doubt my sanity, as have I on many occasions recently. But I say again, you don’t need to believe a word I say. Facts don’t change based on our belief; therein lies the vast difference between reason and dogma. It’s the difference between people such as yourself, and a great many people, some of whom occupy disturbingly high positions, and some of whom you’ll meet sooner than you’ll want to. As I said, you needn’t believe. You will see. You’ll know…

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