Protocol 7 by Armen Gharabegian Read Free Book Online Page A

his old friend said. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
    “Truth to tell, Maxamillian…I don’t know where to start.”
    “Start at the beginning. That seems to be where we are.”
    Simon found himself groping for words. Suddenly the entire affair sounded completely bizarre to him—absolutely mad.
    “Look, Simon,” Max said, not unkindly. “If this is about Dad…you already know my answer. It’s time to let it go. I miss him, too, but it’s not—”
    “No, it’s not that. Not exactly.” It didn’t bother him at all that Max referred to Oliver as “Dad.” Max’s own father had died when he was four, and Oliver had exerted a very strong influence over him for years. Just weeks ago, he had mourned Oliver’s “death” almost as much as Simon himself, though he was never one to express it openly. He was a soldier, and a good one. From what Simon had learned, he was, in fact, one of the most dangerous men on earth when it came to hand-to-hand combat or weapons of almost any kind, and the display of emotion was not easy for him—Simon knew that. Still, he knew from personal experience—almost thirty years of it—what a good man Max really was.
    “I just received some…personal effects.”
    “Good, I…guess. Are you sure they’re actually his?”
    Always the skeptic, Simon thought, smiling. “Positive,” he said.
    “How did you get them?”
    He was hesitant to say it, but caution gave way to eagerness. “Jonathan Weiss,” he said.
    Max made a disgusted sound. “Ach. I never trusted that guy.”
    “I know. But…Max, it’s a diary.”
    “You know as well as I do, Simon. Diaries can be manipulated. It’s not like the old days.”
    “It’s not a digital diary. It’s analog—hand-written, hand-bound. And I know his handwriting.” Simon stood up and took a deep breath. He knew how much he was asking. “Look, I need you to fly out. I’ll discuss it when you get home.”
    There was a pause—a very long pause. He could almost hear his best friend’s mental wheels turning in his head. Finally he spoke.
    “Simon,” he said. “I can’t do this.”
    “Max, please. I need you more than ever. This is Dad we’re talking about. We need to discuss it.”
    “Are you serious?” he said, sounding harsher with every exchange. “Are you actually suggesting I drop everything I’m doing and fly halfway around the world because you want to have a chat?”
    “Yeah, Max,” he replied, dripping sarcasm. “That’s exactly what I want you to do: come skipping on home for a fucking chat.”
    Max didn’t answer. The moment of silence stretched and stretched, until Simon couldn’t stand it anymore.
    “Okay,” he said gruffly. “I get it. Forget we even discussed this.”
    There was still no response.
    “Max?” he said into the empty air.
    Nothing.
    “Fae?”
    “I’m afraid he disconnected, Simon.”
    “He hung up?”
    The AI paused, as if searching for some other way to say it. Finally, it answered. “Yes,” Fae said. “I’m sorry.”
    Simon covered his eyes with one hand and squeezed.
    Now what? he thought. Jonathan a continent away, Hayden unable or unwilling to talk about it, and Max…gone.
    And meanwhile, his father was missing, cut off—maybe in danger.
    Now what?
    “Someone at the door,” Fae told him.
    Simon’s head came up. “What?”
    “Unknown—”
    There was a knock and a familiar voice right behind it.
    “Professor?” Simon heard, both through the door and the intercom that Fae silently activated. “Professor, it’s me—Andrew.”
    “What the devil…?” he said to himself, and moved quickly to open the door.
    “Hello there!” Andrew said, sounding cheerful and completely innocent. But he was holding his personal phone next to his face, the screen pointing right at Simon, displaying seven words as large as he could make them:

    HAVE YOU CHECKED YOUR FLAT FOR BUGS?

    “Mind if I come in?” he said as Simon read the message. Simon could see a thousand things