The Imperfect Plan

By Ed Silva

Jessica Cardelini wasn't your typical suburbanite. Majoring in Cryptology, she was used to puzzles; however, the biggest puzzle she would face would be her past. After the murder of her Uncle, her life went into disarray. Finding herself in a tug-of-war between the F.B.I and unknown forces, she turns to the only help available, Professor Patrick Robinson. Together they traverse through D.C. looking for what her Uncle left behind...The Imperfect Plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781387297498

Book preview

1

WASHINGTON D.C.

The MI-6 surveillance vehicle number one skidded the tires as the driver halted to a stop in front of the British Embassy on Observatory Circle. The driver cut off the headlights, and turned on the hazard side markers.

The Senior aide to the Prime Minister opened the right rear passenger door, and got out. Slamming the door shut, he unbuttoned his suit, and calmly walked to the front entrance.

A sudden burst of sunlight illuminated the area as sun glow broke through the clouds.

Approaching the front door, he was stopped by a security personnel agent demanding identification.

The Senior aide pulled out his credentials from under his suit, it was clipped to a cord around his neck. His credentials were impressive. It had a gold embossed hologram representation of the constitutional Monarchy seal above his photo I.D. and a barcode.

Good morning to you sir, please follow me.

He was taken to a section in the basement of the Embassy. The passage was high enough to stand in, and it had an electrical conduit running along the ceiling, feeding lights in steel cages every fifteen feet or so. They approached the only door in the hall, and the agent reached for the knob. Opening the door without knocking, he motioned for the Senior aide to step inside.

Welcome to Washington D.C. The Director of the British Secret Service Intelligence said, sitting across the room. How are you?

Jet-lagged and exhausted. He replied with a wry smile.

A dim light shined above a man who stood across a long impressive table, large enough to sit twenty people.

Good morning, Sir. The man said friendly.

And you are? The Senior aide raised his eyebrows.

Antognoli Manzitelli. He replied, sounding more authoritative than friendly. I’m from the department of defense at Winterfield, and what I’m about to show you is classified as top-secret. Please take a seat.

He pulled a chair, and sat quietly.

The unauthorized disclosure of any of this information to any person not authorized by the Prime Minister, the Assistant Commander of Joint Special Operations, Joint Chief of Staff Chairman, the Profiler, the Director of the British National Intelligence, or myself to have access to this material is a felony. If you talk about Maximum- Classified files, charges could be filled against you. Am I clear?

Yes sir.

At three hundred hours, we ended all communications with the Analyst in charge of Operation White Diamond.

The Senior aide nodded, while grabbing a bottle of water that was in front of him.

I was studying the dossier in the plane, and I read what he said. Do you have the audio?

He pressed play from a remote controller that he was holding in his left hand, and the Analyst started speaking.

...Please leave me out of this. He sounded as if he was crying. There is nothing wrong with her. Let her live!

Who is the woman he is talking about? The Senior aide asked, and took a sip of water.

Her name is Jessica Cardelini, and she is the niece of Francisco Cardelini, our primary target.

This is the reason why I am here, representing the Prime Minister of England, and the Parliament. You requested extra funds to continue with this Operation, and I came to collect evidence to support your analysis.

The agent slid a sealed envelope across the table.

This is all of the original file from what we have gathered of Operation White Diamond. You take this to the Prime Minister, and let him see it with his own eyes that she is posing a threat to the British Government. According to the D.N.A sample taken, she is a match. We have confirmed it.

He picked up the envelope. It felt thick, and heavy. Top-secret/eyes only was stamped in red at the top of the envelope.

Operation White Diamond was the filthiest black operation ever conceived in the History of Great Britain, and without question the most extraordinary I have studied.

Most assuredly Mr. Senior aide. This is a file titled maximum classified, and the information inside has a Parliament flag on it. The reputation of some very important people in Downing Street, and in the House of Commons would be ruined.

There is also a Scientist involved?

That is correct, which happens to be his Father.

The Senior aide raised his eyebrows.

Could this be the motive why the Analyst won’t finalize the Operation? This is because of a conflict of interest?

The agent shook his head. No.

We brought in a psychiatrist and he was found suffering with Relationship Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

O.C.D.? But that is an absurd! Our asset simply fell in love with his target! He does not have a disorder!

The agent and Patricia looked briefly at each other and let the Senior aide sudden emotion pass.

The moment he failed to pull the trigger, and failed to comply with our command, he got issues. There is a disorder in his brain, a lack of discipline. There will be consequences to his actions, and in his case, seeing how complex is our target, he got to be put down before he opens his mouth.

Show him the text messages taken from the Analyst’s phone. Patricia pitched in.

You’ve breached his privacy!

Trust me, we have been doing this for over a decade in the United Kingdom. The people will never know.

They have the right to know.

Just show him the screen shot and we will end this meeting. Patricia sounded impatient.

I am on it ma’am. The agent turned to a television mounted on the wall. He turned it on, and the image of a text message filled the screen.

Manzitelli will scroll down for you to read, and you will notice that our Asset will text our target every day at eleven in the morning saying that he loved her.

Manzitelli continued speaking. In return, the target will respond with ‘I love you too’ back at him.

They are simply in love!

You can’t choose who to fall in love with. The Senior aide said thoughtfully.

Mr. Senior aide. Taxpayers are helping us with funds totally millions, into an operation they are not even aware of. The British Government is releasing information to the media, and they are believing that this money will be used for education, medical, and better road pavements.

Not towards a clandestine operation outside the United Kingdom.

Within miles of the Pentagon.

Right in the Capitol of our number one ally. Trust us, we do not want the United States starting a War over Operation White Diamond.

We definitely don’t.

Then take this little envelope, show it to the Prime Minister quietly, and tell him we will resolve this situation in our terms. Everything he needs to know will be there.

Yes ma’am. The Senior aide got up to leave.

There is one more thing sir.

He stopped, but didn’t bother to turn around.

What the hell is her problem?

I am going to snitch on you so badly to the Prime Minister.

Tell Mr. Prime Minister that if he got any questions, he can contact us directly. If the State is short on funding money to give us for our research, then why pay for you to have fancy trips?

The Senior aide smiled, and looked over his right shoulder.

I have been in this line of business before the creation of Operation White Diamond. It is called ‘Seniority.’

Whore!

He slammed the door before giving her time to protest.

The birds were singing from the trees when the Senior Aide reached back to his S.U.V. that remained idling at the curb.

I am glad this meeting is over, and I got what I wanted.

He felt the weight of the envelope as he inserted it under his suit pocket.

Patrick Robinson sat on top of his Harley Davidson motorcycle with dual exhaust chromed pipes. He was wearing a black leather jacket that he had zipped it all the way to his chin, his helmet was equipped with wired spikes down the center, and he had comfortable jeans.

He watched the Senior Aide putting the envelope under his suit, and then getting inside of the S.U.V.

He is carrying what I am looking for!

The Deputy Prime Minister was right!

The British Government is finding ways to lead the people into darkness.

We are here to stop them from doing it!

As he watched the S.U.V. pulling away from the curb, he started the engine of his bike.

The ride down Massachusetts Avenue was smooth, and traffic was light. The Senior Aide sat in the passenger seat, and looked at the navigation screen mounted in the center of the dashboard.

They were approximately three minutes from reaching their destination.

The F.B.I Safe House.

I have arranged a meeting with an agent to discuss a matter of National Security.

The Senior Aide looked out the window. They were about to pass by the fountain of the Khalil Gibran Memorial.

It was at that moment he caught something that didn’t quite belong.

A motorcyclist sig-sagging through traffic, approaching his S.U.V. He turned his torso to the left, and caught the back- up S.U.V. through the left rear window. He snatched the radio communication from the dashboard, and pressed the talk-button.

Surveillance One to Back-up do you copy?

The response came a second later.

This is Back-up go ahead.

I am finding a suspicious motorcyclist coming towards us at your nine o’clock position. He has been following us for two blocks. Please make a visual. Over.

Affirmative, we will slow him down. Proceed to your route.

Copy. He placed the radio back on the dashboard, and sighed.

I am assuming that witch sent someone to scare me away.

Scare tactics!

That is what the British Government loves to do to its people.

Throw them in chaos!

Patrick Robinson was about to cross the Former Embassy of Iran, when he heard the sound of squealing tires, and an S.U.V. moving rapidly into his lane.

He rapidly pulled the brakes, and watched the S.U.V’s brake lights lighting up as well.

He switched to the left lane, and accelerated. But, the S.U.V. got in front of him, and made him slow down. His gaze went to the license plate.

Government tag...

His eyes went to the heavily tinted rear window. Blue, and white lights started flashing at the top of the window. It was followed by a single sound of a siren.

It was a warning for him to stay away.

I have less than two minutes to act, or I will lose these documents forever!

The question is: How to get rid of these guys...?

Reaching for the nine millimeter from under his leather jacket, he was about to pull it out of his waist, when he noticed that the S.U.V.’s brake lights was coming on, and the rear window was coming down. He caught an agent pointing a gun at him.

He suddenly let go of his nine millimeter, downshifted, and hid behind a truck. The S.U.V. got in front of the truck, and the agent gestured of the driver to get out of the way. Just as he was squealing to the right, the agent was shooting at Patrick’s direction. The bullets were ricocheting on the asphalt, and at the truck’s wagon.

Patrick leaned to the right, and twisted the throttle handle all the way to the maximum position. As he was reaching the cabin of the truck, he caught a partial view of the right side of the S.U.V.

He pulled out his nine millimeter, and aimed at the right rear tire. He pressed the trigger twice. The tire popped, and the driver swerved in and out in his lane. Trying to maintain control of the S.U.V. he stepped on the brakes, in attempt to slow it down. But, S.U.V. instead started leaning to the left, and it began tipping over.

Patrick waited until the S.U.V. was completely on its side, and aimed his gun at the gas tank. He pressed the trigger three times, and the S.U.V. exploded in a ball of fire that could have seen from a block away. As the S.U.V. slid across the pavement while still catching on fire, he swerved around it, and accelerated to the Senior Aide’s S.U.V.

The Senior Aide’s eyes registered fear. He felt his S.U.V. cutting a sharp left into Decatur Place, and maintaining the automatic thirty-five miles per hour.

We are just two minutes away!

Patrick missed the turn, and instead of turning back around, he continued on Massachusetts Avenue. He was approaching Sheridan Circle.

Dupont Circle was visible down Massachusetts Avenue. The Avenue rose towards a bridge that ended at the Rock Creek Park.

Ignoring the Sheridan’s traffic laws ‘right of way’, he cut an immediate left, riding over double solid yellow lines, and continuing straight on R Street NW.

R...

R is for Richard.

R Street was a one-way street, and he was  moving on the wrong side of traffic. Angry, and confused drivers honked their horns at him.

The Senior Aide moved his trembling fingers from his right hand across his forehead, and removed a bead of sweat.

What the hell is going on?

He looked through the windshield, and caught the precise location of the F.B.I Safe House. They were just a block and a half away.

I am starting to feel a bit safer now!

I can see a couple of Police Units parked on the curb.

Cyclist riding their bicycles, and enjoying a cool morning, and –

There it was again!

The motorcyclist!

The terrorist!

And this time he is coming straight at my direction

in the opposite side of traffic.

The Senior Aide shifted nervously in his seat...

Patrick Robinson leaned forward, as the store fronts on both side of the street passed in a blur. Just as his motorcycle met with the front of the Senior Aide’s S.U.V, Patrick let go of the handlebars, and lunged for the windshield. His body collided noisily against the glass, causing it to shatter. As his helmet entered the inside of the vehicle first, one of the wired spikes penetrated the stomach of the Senior Aide. It drew the breath from his lungs, and killing him instantly.

In a swift motion, Patrick moved his left leg towards the driver, in an attempt to catch the driver’s throat with his calf. But, he felt the padding of the driver’s seat instead. There S.U.V. was being operated without a driver.

What?!

How is this even possible?

He watched the automatic pilot maintaining the control of the S.U.V. The steering wheel, the accelerator, and the brake pedal were moving without being touched.

I better get out of here before this ‘machine’ believes that I have created a crime!

Returning his attention to the Senior Aide, he reached under his suit, and grabbed the envelope.

It is a good thing that I am wearing leather gloves!

Because I don’t want to get in contact with all of this blood!

There were spots of blood on the outside of the envelope.

Hopefully, it didn’t contaminate the pages inside!

But then again if it did, his blood would only add a symbolical mark to what Operation White Diamond really stood for.

A bloody Operation.

2

The pedestrians crowded the sidewalk. Couples strolled by arm in arm, and gathered at various outdoor cafés in downtown D.C. Everywhere you looked, smiles and conversations from people that were enjoying the pleasant early morning.

Allan Longshore stopped his BMW, cut the xenon headlights and turned the ignition off. Sitting there in the silence, he waited for his earpiece to beep. Then, listening intently to the instructions from his boss’ security personnel, he unlocked the door and stepped out of the car. As the communication ended, he turned and closed the door. Pressing a button on the BMW alarm remote controller, he locked the vehicle. A figure clothed completely in black stepped out of a recessed doorway and walked by Allan. As instructed, he followed close behind, maintaining the silence of the alley.

Coming to another recessed doorway, they entered and the hustle and bustle of the street receded behind them. As Allan followed, he was completely unaware of the figure following behind. He went down the hard concrete steps while scanning the poorly lit hallway. The building was silent except for the hum of the giant ventilation system. Due to the light fixtures not working properly in certain areas of the hall, some spots looked dimmer than others.

The figure clad in black turned left, and knocked on a thick wooden door immediately to his right. Someone opened the door, and the figure clad in black mentioned for Allan to go inside.

The Director of the Covert Intelligence Department of Winterfield hid herself from view in the darkness. Invisible to the public eye, and to most of the people working in the British Government, the shadowy Director never appeared unless something earthshaking had happened.

This time, it did!

Operation White Diamond.

The missing link to the dreadful Operation is to be found here...in Washington D.C.

We are certain of this!

Specially after locating the Chief Executive Officer!

Were you successful? She was from Poland and spoke in Polish.

Allan took a step forward and a dim light came on, illuminating the top of his head.

Yes. He said, while pulling the key out of his pocket and setting it on the table. It created a tinny sound as it stroked the solid surface.

And nothing was left behind that could lead back to us?

That’s correct. He took a step back and the overhead light faded.

You have done well. The D.C.I. said while looking at the shiny object that was on top of the table. She sounded pleased.

She took the key and put it inside of her purse.

It’s an honor to protect my Country.

Especially if the information I discovered in the London happens to be true!

3

There was a knock on the door, and one of the agents from the Director’s security detail rapidly opened the door.

Ms. Drumond, I am sorry for interrupting. What happened?

The Prime Minister Aide’s S.U.V. was ambushed. The file you gave him was stolen. Patricia stood up in the darkness, her body began to sway.

Jesus Christ!

How is he? She placed both hands on the table, as if to maintain her balance.

He was pronounced dead at the scene!

Her hands went to the light switch, and the lights in the room revealed that she was wearing a navy blue dress that was cut into a V at her breast, showing her glossy skin. She had slender eyebrows, and green eyes. Her hair had coils of leaf-brown highlights.

The agent caught the warning look in her eyes.

You shouldn’t worry about your name being exposed in the files that were stolen. We took extra precaution when we were creating the material for the Prime Minister.

What do you mean? Patricia raised her eyebrows.

The British Government should have more trust in your work, and we simply wanted to show them how much we care about what they are doing to you in the United States.

4

Patrick Robinson stopped his motorcycle at the staff parking lot of the Georgetown University, and turned off the engine. He removed the leather gloves from his hands, and inserted them in the left pocket of his jacket.

Then, he removed his helmet from his head. Patrick had a bald head, with a tanned skin complexion.

Placing the helmet on one of the handle bars, he unzipped his jacket, and removed the envelope that he had taken from the Prime Minister’s Aide.

This is the information that I needed to prove to the United Nations how corrupt the United Kingdom has been for the last two decades!

He carefully teared the top section of the envelope, and removed the papers from inside.

England will never be the same after I expose their evil works to the World!

Unfolding the sheets of paper, he stared at them with a puzzled look on his face.

What