The Angel Protocol

By T.J. McKenna

The Puzzle Master saga concludes with "The Angel Protocol."

The adoring world that rejoiced when Jocie Paulson returned from the past with the solution to the “Mark of the Beast” genetic damage has just as quickly sentenced her to death. When mysterious notes appear inside the time machine, it’s clear that someone has a different plan and is willing to manipulate Jocie’s past, present and future to change her fate.

As the puzzle pieces fall into place, even the Four network and her family join with old enemies to stop her plan. While the forces against her align, Jocie rallies an unanticipated ally to her side, hoping that time and their intertwined fates won’t catch up with them, all the while knowing that the only solution to the puzzle includes sacrificing her own future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.J. McKenna
• Release date: Jul 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005413880

T.J. McKenna

T.J. McKenna lives in Colorado with his wife, three kids and a belligerent rabbit. He feels Puzzle Master is a natural step following his non-fiction work The Constitution at Your Dinner Table because like the Constitution, The Bible is a book that was meant to be read and enjoyed by everyone. It’s his sincere hope that through fiction his readers will be encouraged to pick up and read God’s Word.

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Prologue

New York City, 2225 A.D.

I watch the jury enter the courtroom. Some have smiles on their faces, some look at the floor. The verdict was never in doubt, and by watching their faces I know what’s recorded on the computer tablet in the foreman’s hand as surely as if I’d been sitting in the room as the words were dictated. I glance at Dad, he knows, too.

The foreman holds the tablet up for the bailiff to take to the judge and their eyes meet. Both have painful looking scars on their faces and anger in their eyes. The single washed member of the jury is staring at me. She wants to cry, but is holding it back. Ten members of the jury are marked with scars and open sores that indicate they took the Mark of the Beast vaccine as a pill. The twelfth and happiest looking member of the jury is a young woman with dark hair who is not much older than I am. She has dark lines that run across her neck and onto her jaw line, indicating that she received the Mark of the Beast as an injection when she was just a baby. She must be the child of a high-ranking member of the Cult Hunter Corps who had enough clout to have their family vaccinated before the pill was available to the general population. Her smile isn’t simply one of joy in the verdict. Her smile is also one of pure hatred towards me.

The judge glances at the tablet and hands it back to the bailiff, who returns it to the foreman.

Have you reached a verdict? the judge asks.

We have, your honor. On the sole count of conspiracy to commit mass murder, we find the defendant, Jocelyn Kimberley Paulson, guilty.

I smile. I’m now officially a war criminal.

There are eight uniformed officers and twelve wearing plain clothes in the courtroom, they all move their hands toward their stun guns as the verdict is read. The room is also full of former members of Four. They won’t try to rescue me though. Mom and Dad alone could easily disarm every officer in the courtroom, but there’s a veritable army waiting outside, should they try it.

Does the defendant wish to make a statement prior to sentencing?

I do, your honor.

There are cameras in the courtroom, my statement will be made to a worldwide audience.

I speak to the faithful, both marked and washed. I know that you see no justice in what has happened here today, just a handy scapegoat for misplaced anger. I ask that you all stand firm in your faith and know that the Lord has a purpose in all things. Don’t meet anger with anger. Now is the time to love and pray for your enemy as if they were your brother. Good things will come from this verdict, I promise.

I look to the judge to indicate that I’m finished.

Under any other circumstances I would be restricted in sentencing you, but recent changes in the law have opened up the options available to me.

He glances at the young woman with dark hair.

Therefore, I will say the words that no judge in this country has uttered for well over a century - Jocelyn Kimberley Paulson, for crimes committed against humanity, you are hereby sentenced to death.

I have been sentenced to death, but not in the way that you think…

I look at Dad and smile again.

Even he doesn’t know.

*******

My Dear Friend:

I love free will.

I love the Lord for giving it to us.

Sure, it’s been the source of great evil since man was thrown out of the Garden of Eden, but it’s also the basis for all good. Of course, free will can also create a fine line for us to walk, not knowing for certain whether the choice we make will result in good or evil. That’s why free will is so great, it allows us to choose our future.

Some people say that Dad and I can see into the future because we observe things, put puzzle pieces together and predict what will happen. To me that’s not really seeing the future, it’s just a highly educated guess. Whichever it is, we use what we know to make decisions that can change the course of our lives.

I made a decision that changed my life on September 30, 2223. That was the day that the federal grand jury indicted me and a warrant was issued for my arrest. On that day, Dad offered the resources of the Four network to help me disappear but I refused his help and instead chose to surrender to federal authorities. As you may have already perceived, I made a quick side trip before I surrendered.

Yesterday, as I stood in the courtroom and listened to my death sentence, even more of those puzzle pieces and highly educated guesses came together - and I reaffirmed the choice I had made about my future. Okay, I guess that sounds funny, the world’s only death row inmate making decisions about her future…

I know you better than you could possibly know yourself, so I’m writing you this letter because I know you’re the only person who will ever understand and because you’re the only person who can act on the information contained herein.

Dad once said that if he was going to die, he wanted to die as a Christian. I want that, too - but as Mom and Dad would say - Not today. In fact, I estimate that writing this letter to you is going to take over a decade and that during those years I’m going to live a very full life, which I’ll describe to you as it goes along. I know already that my remaining years will be lived with great purpose, but once that purpose is fulfilled, my life will be over. I also know that if you’re reading this, that I’ll soon be dead.

Until we meet face to face…

Jocie Paulson.

Chapter One

Two years earlier - Timber Ridge Camp, Virginia, August 15, 2223 AD

Do you have time for a quick swim in the river? Zera asks, as we leave the cafeteria after lunch.

No, I’m scheduled to run the time travel simulation in the museum, I say. Believe me, I’d rather swim. Cousin William teamed me up with Alex again.

The skinny guy with dark hair and blue eyes? I worked with him a couple of days ago, Zera says. He seemed nice enough.

That’s because he’s afraid of you. With me, he never shuts up. It gets on my nerves after a while.

I think he likes you.

I give her a sour look, because I think she may be right.

After I was released from the hospital due to drinking a load of toxin there was a full month of media tours as I explained to the world how Five-X had been thwarted in the attempt to kill billions of marked people around the world. When it was over, I wanted a quiet place to rest, so I volunteered as a camp counselor at Timber Ridge Camp for the rest of the season and talked Zera into joining me. I don’t think she came along because she really wants to be here though, I think she’s here to watch my back.

Ten younger kids are already lined up outside the museum, as is Alex. He’s a couple of years older than I am, but still acts like a love sick teenager whenever I’m in sight. Cousin William entrusted me with the code to the museum, so I brush past Alex as if he’s not there and unlock the door.

The children start to file into the building. Five of them are definitely washed and three of them are definitely marked. The other two would looked washed to anyone else they passed on the street, but I can see that they are actually marked but have had their Mark of the Beast gene removed. They’ll need antivenin injections for a while, but everyone is hopeful that the small amount of toxin that didn’t get cooked in the Five-X attack will soon deteriorate and the entire world can soon have the Mark of the Beast gene removed.

Hello, Jocie, Alex says. You sure look great today.

You said that yesterday.

I’ll say it every day. You always look great.

One of the children giggles.

You lead the museum tour, while I warm up the time machine simulator, I say, then walk away.

The time machine simulator has never needed warming up. It works perfectly every time. I just don’t want Alex following me around like a puppy. He’s a better tour guide than I am anyway. I hear him leading the kids through the other rooms and them asking him questions. When the hologram simulation of Mom holding Dad at knifepoint ends, I hear one of the girls ask Alex: Why did Martha do that to Cephas? Didn’t they love each other?

Alex is good at the history questions, but he doesn’t know how to answer this one. He stammers for a minute, so I decide to let him off the hook.

I think they did love each other even when that happened, but love can sometimes make people do funny things, I say, as I reenter the room. Sometimes I think the more love we feel, the funnier the things we do become.

Like drinking a whole vial of deadly toxin? Alex asks. How much love do you need to feel to do something like that?

Dad warned me to avoid the temptation of hero worship, so I don’t respond.

Who’s ready to see the time machine simulation I ask the kids, and get a loud chorus of me.

We only allow ten kids per group because they’ll each want a turn in the cage by themselves, pretending to be Dad, all alone in a cave twenty-two hundred years in the past. I’ve learned to keep my eyes closed during the simulation so the final bright flash of light doesn’t ruin my night vision, but when I run the simulator for the last boy, the flash is noticeably brighter than normal through my eyelids.

I immediately ask my com for the exact time in case the flash is a malfunction, but I’m already suspecting I’ll find nothing wrong with the equipment.

When everyone has had a turn, Alex and I usher the kids out of the museum. I try to usher Alex out with them, but he follows me back inside.

Do you really think people do funny things when they’re falling in love? he asks.

Please don’t mention me drinking toxin in front of the younger kids, I say. I think some of them may find it scary.

Okay. But I meant what I said. You sacrificed yourself. It takes a heart full of love to do something like that.

If you’re going to ask me to talk about it, don’t, I say. Now if you’ll excuse me, the simulator acted strange on that last run, so I’d like to check it out.

"I’ll help.

No thanks, I’ve got it.

I don’t mind.

Alex, I say sternly. I want to be alone.

When he leaves, I lock the door behind him so he can’t come back, then review the simulator log. As expected, everything was working perfectly.

You already know what it is, Jocie. You’ve known since the last time. Just accept it.

I walk past the large simulator and walk to the small time machine with the bird cage sized travel arena and the package wrapped in brown paper with grandpa’s name on it. There’s a piece of white paper on top of the package.

*******

Leavenworth, Kansas, 2225 A.D.

Welcome to your new home, Paulson, the guard says as we step out of the armored tube car that brought me here. The sign indicates that I’m at the Leavenworth federal penitentiary, one of just two remaining high security prisons in the country. Most other prisons look like hotels, with swimming pools, spas, and the like. This one is old school, the way prisons were two hundred years ago, bare walls, steel toilets, and not much else.

I’m in light handcuffs, but they were kind enough to cuff my hands in front of me. Everyone knows that members of Four are trained to fight, but there are no public records of me engaging in combat, so they probably don’t realize that they’ve put themselves in danger. For fun, I work out how many of the eight young and muscular guards I could disable before I get stunned senseless by the others. The answer is all of them.

The check-in procedure is easy. My only possession is a backpack with an ancient composition notebook for the letter I’m writing, five equally ancient pencils, some clothes, and my favorite Bible. Like every guard in every jail I’ve been in as I awaited trial, they paw through my few possessions and find nothing that they consider dangerous.

Here are you new clothes, the desk guard says. You can keep your personal clothing, just be sure that they are covered at all times. Only prison issued clothes will be washed in the laundry. If you choose to wear personal clothing, you’ll need to wash it yourself in your cell sink.

He issues me five each of shirts, pants, socks, underwear and shoes, as well as a single pair of athletic shorts. Everything he places in front of me is bright pink. As a redhead, I’ve never really been a fan of the color pink, but that’s life.

It looks like we have a celebrity, an old guard says.

He has four black lines that radiate across his face, indicating that he’s just as old school as the prison itself - a former cult hunter from twenty years ago.

That sure is some pretty skin, he says. Assign her to B block. Let her spend some time amongst the marked so she can see her handiwork first hand. Put her in with Deuce.

Eyebrows go up among the younger guards.

I guess my new cell mate has a reputation.

Here’s your com, the guard behind the desk says. Keep it with you at all times.

Why do I need a com in prison? I ask. It’s not like I can call anyone.

It gives you access to the prison library, including the music and video collections and it’s used for making prison-wide announcements. That’s it.

Plus it allows you to track all of us.

There’s a lot of yelling though the bars as I’m marched through cell block B. The prisoners here are all marked, most with sores and bruises that are many times worse than what I’m accustomed to seeing in the general public. Much of the yelling is about my washed skin, and what they intend to do to it.

When we reach my cell, Deuce is laying on her bunk with a blanket over her, facing away. Even so, I can tell that she’s over two meters tall with a large frame.

No more cell mates, Deuce says.

Sorry, Deuce, the guard replies. This is the last empty bed on the block.

When I squeeze her through the bars, don’t blame me. I’m going to say it was an escape attempt.

Come on, Deuce, you haven’t even met her yet. Maybe you’ll like her.

What are you in for? I ask.

Assault with a deadly weapon and homicide, Deuce answers.

Then you have some catching up to do, I say. I’m in for killing several million.

Deuce finally rolls over and looks at me. She’s much older than I thought she’d be. I’d guess she’s around fifty years old. The most remarkable thing is that she has more black lines on her face than I’ve ever seen on a former cult hunter. Even stranger, they come from both sides of her neck.

You’re even smaller than you look on video, she says. It shouldn’t be much trouble to squeeze you through the bars.

The guard leaves and the bars automatically close behind him.

Home sweet home … for now…

Chapter Two

Timber Ridge Camp, Virginia, August 17, 2223 AD

I have dishes duty again? I say. That’s three times this week.

Afraid of your hands getting all wrinkled? Zera asks.

No. I just don’t see why Cousin William hasn’t installed some robots to take of it. Who does dishes by hand in this day and age?

What’s the matter? Is Alex on the dish team with you?

Why do you ask?

You’ve been a little weird for the last two days. It started after you and he were on museum duty together. I’d ask if he tried to kiss you – but since he doesn’t have a black eye or broken bones - I’ll assume that’s not it. So what happened?

It’s nothing to do with Alex.

Then what?

I close my eyes. I want to tell someone about the pieces of a new puzzle that’s developing in my head.

Something’s wrong, Zera - something with the world, I say.

Something’s been wrong with the world since Adam and Eve were thrown out of the Garden of Eden. You’ll have to be more specific.

I can’t. Not yet. Call it another one of those Paulson hunches if you want, I say. But something is definitely wrong.

The team is back together for the weekend, how about if we all work on it together?

She’s referring to the fact that Austin is coming to visit for a couple of days.

I would like to see Austin, I say. But not as much as you, I suspect.

She blushes just a tiny bit.

Go wash dishes, Jocie.

When I arrive at the back door of the mess hall the rest of the dish crew has already started. Being late means I’ll be stuck with the worst job of all, scraping the uneaten food off the plates for composting. My cousin William is doing the job when I get there. He may be the camp director, but there’s no job at Timber Ridge camp that he hasn’t done and won’t do when he’s needed.

I was about to send out a search party, William says.

He isn’t trying to mean or sarcastic, that’s not his way. He’s probably the happiest and most playful person I know, so he’s simply letting me know that he’s noticed my tardiness. I don some gloves and an apron and start scraping, but William continues to scrape alongside me.

How are you, Jocie? he asks.

I’m fine.

You came here to relax, but you don’t look relaxed, he says. What can I do to help?

Actually, some time with a fighting stick…

I don’t think so, he interrupts. I think you’ve done enough fighting. It was only ten weeks ago that you time travelled and then drank toxin. You need to stop fighting for a while.

The enemy never stops fighting.

I can see that’s going to have about as much of an effect on you as it did your parents when I said the same thing to them, William says. Your mom and I practically grew up together. It seems like she was always fighting someone.

I keep scraping, lost in thought.

I haven’t known your father my whole life, but he’s the same way. He never rests, he’s always gathering information and …

Boo! William yells as loudly as he can.

Others along the dish line drop what they’re washing or let out startled yelps. I find myself in a combat crouch with the scraping utensil drawn back into a throwing position, ready to unleash it at William’s neck, followed by hand and foot attacks on everyone in the room.

I’m sorry, I say. It was just instinct.

Get out of here, Jocie, William says. "Take the weekend off with Austin … and relax."

*******

Leavenworth, Kansas, 2225 A.D.

I wake up twenty minutes before the siren that will wake the entire prison population and open my notebook to write a few paragraphs of letter to My Dear Friend. Then I flip to the back to mark how many days I’ve been here.

Day seven.

Deuce is awake, but pretending that she’s not.

Good morning, Deuce.

I think today is the day that I squeeze you through the bars, Paulson.

You’ve said that for six days. Today is the seventh day, so take a lesson from the Lord and give it a rest.

As I do every morning, I put away my notebook and take out my Bible to read until the siren sounds.

Conversation with Deuce usually ends after she threatens to squeeze me through the bars, but today she surprises me.

How can you still believe in God? she asks. You’re here, locked in a little room for the rest of your life, which in your case isn’t even that long.

I put down my Bible.

Jesus loved the thief who was hanging beside Him on a cross. He’s not going to stop loving me – or you, - just because we’re in prison.

Deuce stands up. She’s enormous. She stands nearly a half meter taller than me and must be double my weight. She stares down at me and I stare back.

You’re not afraid, she says. You’re not afraid of me, and you’re not afraid of dying.

That’s right.

Are you afraid of going to breakfast? You should be.

Are you referring to the scrambled eggs? I ask. …or the fact that Bella and her group plan to attack me today?

You knew? You’ve sat by yourself at every meal and every day in the yard since you got here. You haven’t talked to anyone but me. How could you know?

Eyes, body language, there were plenty of signs.

I’ve seen it before, Deuce says. They’ll bring at least five.

They’re bringing six. They got Debbie to join them yesterday, but her heart isn’t really in it. She’ll run as soon as I take out Rhonda.

Rhonda’s nearly my size. How is someone your size going to take her out? Hit her in the knees?

The left knee to be precise, I say. She limps slightly on her left, probably from another fight.

Deuce smiles.

I take it that she has you to thank for that? I ask.

Two years ago. They’ve left me alone since then.

How’d you know that today was the day? Deuce asks.

I’m on dish duty in the kitchen after breakfast and they all switched to be in there with me. The cameras are low enough to throw a dish towel over them so there’ll be no recording of what happened. They’ll say I slipped on the wet floor, but they needn’t bother because the guards are in on it. They’ve been encouraging Bella all week.

So why aren’t you afraid?

Psalm seventy-three, say. I went into the sanctuary of God; then understood I their end. Sure thou didst set them in slippery places: thou casted them down into destruction.

Deuce continues to stare in confusion as the morning siren sounds.

The dish room is a slippery place, Deuce. It’s exactly the sort of slippery place the Lord chooses to help people like Bella see the error of their ways.

*******

It really makes no sense to have a dish room, as the prison could easily install robotic dish machines that would get the dishes much cleaner than we can, but apparently washing the dishes by hand is a time-honored prison tradition. There is only one machine, the one that counts every dish, every utensil, and every tray. If even one item is missing, everyone will be searched until the missing item is found - which makes the dish room crew very unpopular when it happens.

The worst job is scraping the leftover food off of the plates, so I volunteer to do it. The job puts me at the first position in the line, making it more difficult to surround me, but I’m also in a corner. Fortunately, the position gives me the best vantage point for inspecting the room for any hidden cameras. As expected, there are none. The prison administration is better off if there is no video evidence of what happens here.

There are only four cameras in the room, one in each corner. The only way to cover the camera nearest to me will be to walk behind me.

Rhonda is next to me. She’ll be the first to strike when someone makes an excuse to walk behind me and covers the camera. She’s a tall woman, with jet black hair and olive skin. She’s also overweight and slow.

Bella takes the easiest position in the wash line, loading the clean dishes into the counting machine, which is farthest from me. Bella has many more open sores than the average marked person. Some look as if they’ve been open for years and are probably quite painful.

The rest of the group chatters amongst themselves for nearly an hour. We’re almost done the entire job when Bella chooses to turn the conversation to me.

Hey washed girl, Bella says. Aren’t you afraid of getting your perfect skin all wrinkled in the water?

I refuse to answer.

I already don’t like you, Bella says. If you disrespect me by trying to ignore me, you’re going to regret it.

I’ve saved a stack of six of the smallest plates, which I now spread out on the counter.

I don’t like you either, Bella, but my god has commanded me to love you like a sister.

Did you hear that ladies? Bella asks. The washed girl loves me like a sister! How about if we welcome the little washed girl to the Leavenworth family?

Bella throws a towel over the camera nearest to her and the other women of the line do the same in the other corners, leaving just the camera nearest to me. Debbie moves to cover the last camera. She expects me to resist, but I stand aside and allow her to move behind me.

I need the cameras covered more than they do.

You know what’s coming next, don’t you little washed girl? Bella asks.

Indeed I do, I say, then smile. Your move, Bella.

Debbie grabs me from behind, but makes the mistake of bear-hugging me around the shoulders, rather than lower down, which allows me the partial use of my arms. Rhonda takes a swing, which I deflect. When Debbie attempts to move her grip lower, she loosens the hold enough for me to first elbow her in the stomach and then the face as she doubles over from the pain.

Rhonda tries to swing again, and I kick her in the left knee and hear an uncomfortable popping sound before she crumples to the floor. As predicted, Debbie backs into the corner once Rhonda is injured.

I don’t wait for the remaining four to get organized. I grab the plates that I left out and throw them like ninja stars. They’re made of hardened carbon fiber so they don’t break. The two women that are hit in the head are knocked senseless and the one I hit in the arm looks like she’s regretting being part of the plan.

Thanks Mom. Now I know why you taught me how to throw things.

Bella is still standing in