Spy Thriller: The Fourteenth Protocol: A Story of Espionage and Counter-terrorism (The Special Agent Jana Baker Book Series 1) Read Online Free PDF

gun?
    “Every thirty-nine seconds exactly?” Cade said.
    Johnston just looked at him. “Did I stutter, boy?” Johnston gave Cade a look that reminded him of tenth grade at Chamblee High School when Mr. Butler, the vice principal, had seen Cade shove an envelope into the slot of a locker and then run off like a ten-year-old girl hyped up on sugar. Butler couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or resume his disciplinarian role to make Cade explain what was in that envelope. Cade was just dropping a note into a girl’s locker to tell her he liked her.
    “Sorry, dumb question,” he said. “Um, sir, has this pod ever shown this type of activity? I mean, what in the world are we sending in this e-mail job?”
    “We’re seein’ this type of activity repeat itself durin’ e-mail jobs about every two weeks. It cycles higher each time. And this time, it looks like it’s going to finally blow that pod apart like my daddy’s grain silo,” said Johnston, evading the question.
    “Sir, I’ve never seen a pattern like this. Are you sure you want me up here? I mean, surely there’s somebody more experienced who can . . .”
    Johnston cut him off. “You are who I need right now. Sit down, take a look. Be thorough. That pod can’t go down, son. It can’t.” Somewhere deep inside his southern accent was a sense of urgency far more extreme than when a normal customer’s e-mail job was having trouble. No, this was something different.
    “But, sir, the redundant server will kick in if this box blows past max load. The e-mail job won’t skip a beat.”
    “There is no redundant backup.”
    Cade looked up at him. “That’s not possible, sir; Wright said every server would have a redundant . . .” But Johnston’s face made it clear there was no redundant server. It was as if he was saying you’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. This was not the sixteenth floor, this was someplace different, and Cade had no idea why.
    The suits turned in the opposite direction, and the argument heated. This time, over the drone of the servers, Cade couldn’t hear a word of it.

 
     
    5  
    It was midafternoon and across town, Cade’s father, Cal Williams, was pulling out of Dobbins Air Force Base in Marietta. The retired Navy pilot had a lot of friends still in active service at NAS Atlanta, the naval air station, which was located smack-dab in the middle of Dobbins. Since the base was primarily for reservists, much of it only came to life on the weekends. But, with all the activity in Iraq, Afghanistan, and North Korea, there weren’t many pilots left on maneuvers inside US airspace.
    Cal always found an excuse to make his way over to the naval air station. He may have been retired, but he liked staying in touch with the guys. Cade had heard him say on more than one occasion that the only time he really felt alive was when he was being flung off the deck of a carrier and headed into harm’s way. Strange to hear that from the same man who had also told Cade how glad he was to have never killed a man, not directly anyway.
    Cal’s job as an Electronic Countermeasures Officer, known as ECMOs, was to run the electronic gear that jammed enemy radar and produced false radar trails, making the enemy think there were US planes in a spot where they weren’t.
    Cal always had the radio in his SUV tuned to WBS, so he could hear the news.
    “. . . more reports coming in to the news desk now. The death toll in that Tucson bombing has risen again. Skyrocketed, in fact . . .” There was a short period of silence. It was as if the newscaster, Mike Slayden, had dropped his script or something.
    “Ah, hellooooooo,” said Cal towards the radio with a little smile, wondering why Slayden had stopped mid-sentence while on the air.
    There was a shuffling, echoey noise. Slayden was speaking but was turned away from the microphone.
    “. . . what do you mean? But . . . but he was fine, I just talked to him thirty minutes ago,” Slayden