Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 (3 page)

“Mr. Lee, Mr. Petrenko repeats our previous position on this, that Russia has had no Broken Arrow incidents, as you call them, no lost nuclear missiles, therefore does not see the need to discuss this.”

Lee nodded. “That’s interesting.” He held his right hand up over his shoulder, and his aide, standing behind him near the wall, stepped forward and placed a file in it. Lee opened it, and read from the text on the single page.

“Item: One Soviet 15F42 1.2 Megaton warhead, recovered from a failed SS-11 launch, September 14
^th
, 1962.” Lee looked at Petrenko.
That’s a new shade of red.
“Item: One Soviet VA-111 Shkval torpedo, armed with a twenty kiloton nuclear warhead, recovered January 12
^th
, North Sea, 1989.” He paused again as he surveyed the Russian delegation. “Need I go on?”

Petrenko held up his hand and shook his head. “There is no need, Mr. Lee.”

“Very well,” said Lee, leaning forward. “We are willing to return all
six
of the Broken Arrows listed in this file.” He pushed it across the table. Petrenko took the file, but didn’t look at it.

“And what is it you want in return?”

Lee leaned back in his chair. “We want our
one
Broken Arrow.”

Geneva Suite, Grand Hotel Kempinski, Geneva

September 24, 2009

“And you’re certain we have no American warheads in our possession?”

“Sir, I’ve done a thorough search of all our computerized files, I’ve even interviewed every man we have who was on staff in 1985 and none are aware of this.”

“Dymovsky, I find it impossible to believe that the Americans would offer to return six of our warheads in return for one that does not exist!”

“I agree, sir, it’s most puzzling.”

“Puzzling?” Petrenko leaned back on the leather couch, glaring at the speakerphone, the rest of the room not daring to say a word, all eyes on him to see how they should react. “Puzzling? That’s a word for it. Or as
they
might say, it’s bullshit!”

There was silence on the other end.

“Dymovsky, you now have one duty. You must find me that missile at all costs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Petrenko mashed the button with his fist, disconnecting the call, then motioned to his aide, Yuri. “Vodka.”

Nikolai Ushakov, his glorious leader’s “eyes and ears”, sat across from him. “What do we tell the Americans?”

Petrenko sighed, waiting for his vodka. Yuri handed him a filled glass, and wisely placed the bottle of Stolichnaya on the glass table in front of him. Petrenko downed the glass, and leaned forward, pouring himself another. He sipped this one, then looked at Ushakov, the liquid courage surging through his veins, numbing his limbs, and loosening his tongue ever so slightly. “We tell them the truth.”

Bulgakov Hotel, Moscow

July 8, 2010

“Here they come.” 

Colonel Grigori Trubitsin, “retired”, sat in a hotel room, an old television tuned to the international edition of CNN, waiting for the American plane to touch down in Vienna, signaling the beginning of the end of a plan twenty-five years in the making. He didn’t respond to his former Sergeant’s unnecessary commentary. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the screen since the exchange coverage had begun. The camera zoomed in on a man standing on the walkway in front of the Russian jet. He was a nobody. They would never let the throng of press see a
somebody
. Another camera showed the American plane landing, then taxiing to a closed off area of the airport, stopping within fifty meters of their plane.

“A little more public than we wanted,” said Yakovski.

“Da,” agreed Trubitsin. These types of exchanges happened far more often than the public was aware, but this case was so high profile, there was no hiding it. “Here they come.” He pointed at the screen as four men, appearing tired, but excited, emerged from the dark entrance of the plane, then one by one climbed down the stairs to the tarmac below, where officials directed them toward the waiting American jet. At the same time, ten people exited the American plane, and made their way aboard the Russian jet.

Trubitsin’s heart pounded in his chest as he saw her.
My God she’s beautiful.

“There she is!” Yakovski slapped Trubitsin on the back and downed a shot of vodka he had poured. The group climbed the stairs, showing no emotion. He knew they were relieved to be free, but he was sure they weren’t happy to be forced to live the rest of their lives in Russia, a shithole if there ever was one. Trubitsin loved his country, rather he loved what his country once was, but now criminals and whores had taken it over, and he tried to spend as little time here as he could.

Don’t worry, Anya, I’ll have you out of here in no time.

As soon as he saw her board the Russian plane he turned off the television and turned to Yakovski. “She’ll be under close supervision for months. We’ve waited twenty-five years, what’s one more?”

“Da. Let’s hope she has the code.”

“We know she has it, why else would the Americans have arrested them? They know she has it, but they couldn’t prove it, and they couldn’t arrest only her, otherwise it would tip their hand as to why she was being arrested.” Trubitsin leaned back in the threadbare hotel chair, and sipped his vodka. “No, she has it. The question is, how did she smuggle it out?”

Fort Meade, National Security Agency Headquarters

TRANSCRIPT OF ECHELON INTERCEPT

SECURE BBS IDENT: THE EXCHANGE

BBS INTEL: THE EXCHANGE – WEAPONS TRADING SECURE ELECTRONIC BULLETIN BOARD SYSTEM UTILIZED BY ARMS DEALERS/CUSTOMERS

DECODE PROTOCOL DELTA 5-6 BRAVO

XXXXXX

INITIATOR: UNDERSTAND YOU HAVE SPECIAL ITEM FOR SALE.

RESPONDER: PERHAPS

INIT: AM INTERESTED IN PURCHASING

RESP: FOR WHAT PURPOSE?

INIT: DOES THAT MATTER?

RESP: YES

INIT: I CAN’T TELL YOU SPECIFICALLY

RESP: DO YOU INTEND TO USE IT?

INIT: YES

RESP: WHAT IS THE TARGET?

INIT: WHY?

RESP: BECAUSE I DO NOT WANT TO BE THERE WHEN YOU USE IT.

INIT: UNDERSTOOD. THE TARGET IS XXXXXXX

TRANSCRIPT INCOMPLETE OR CORRUPTED

Knoxville, Tennessee

Present Day

“Crusade! Crusade! Crusade!”

The roar from the crowd filled Edison Cole’s ears. The rush of adrenaline at the excitement of hearing several hundred men chanting, arms extended in salute, salute to him, gave him goose bumps. His heart thumped in his chest as he smiled back at them, his head nodding in approval. He let the chant continue for another minute before raising his hands to silence them. He leaned forward and gripped the podium edge with both hands.

“My friends, the Muslim scourge on our land must come to an end. It
is
them or us. There is no in between. Peaceful coexistence? We tried that. And what did we get in return? Nine-eleven!”

“Death to Islam!”

The crowd roared in approval at the spontaneous outburst from the back of the crowd.

Cole smiled. “Indeed. Death to Islam. I’m just as sick and tired of hearing these fanatics yelling ‘Death to America’, day after day, night after night, on our newscasts as you are. And what do our politicians do about it? Nothing! Free speech? Bullshit! What about our freedom to exist? Our freedom to exist as free men? Free men, who can say and do what we want, when we want, without government interference? If these camel jockeys had their way, our women would be wearing burqas, and we’d have to bow down and pray to their
Allah
five times a day!” The crowd laughed at the way he drew out Allah. “Their fuckin’ Imam’s would be screeching their hate over speakers throughout our country, and if we stood up to them, our women, our sons, our daughters—we—we would all be slaughtered under the sword of Islam, all in the name of peace!” He paused to take a breath as his words sank in, then lowered his voice.

“Did you know that a recent survey of Muslims found ninety percent of them wanted to live in peace with us? Sounds pretty good, huh?” A few guffaws burst from the audience. “Good, I’m glad to see some of you get what the sheep leading our country don’t. If ninety percent want to live in peace, then that means ten percent don’t. And there’s a billion of those bastards out there. That means one hundred million of them want us dead. Want our way of life wiped from the face of the earth. Want to take us back with them to the goddamned dark ages!” His voice was now a fevered pitch. His face, red with anger, the veins throbbing on his neck and temples, threatened to burst through the skin. “I say enough is enough! It is time to act! Time to act to preserve our way of life before it is taken away from us while our government watches, tail between their legs, concerned only for political correctness. A political correctness that if this scum had their way, would be tossed to the wayside.”

He sucked in a lungful of air as he gazed out at the throng, now as angry as him, some punching their palms with clenched fist, others as red as he felt, their anger palpable.
If one of those bastards came in here now, he’d be torn to shreds.
He smiled.

“But what can we do?” he asked, quietly, shrugging his shoulders.

“Kill ’em all!”

Thunderous applause erupted and they chanted, “Kill ’em all! Kill ’em all!”

Cole smiled and shook his head, raising his arms. The crowd drew silent. “As much as I’d love to kill every last one of those sons of bitches, that would take too long.” He chuckled and smiled, leaning forward with one elbow on the podium. “Besides, I don’t think we have enough bullets.”

The crowd roared in laughter.

“I’ll make ’em!”

The crowd laughed harder, the man who said it getting ribbed by the people around him. Cole laughed and stood straight.

“And I’ll help you,” he said, still laughing. Then his face became serious. He leaned forward again. “No, my friends, we don’t need to kill them all.” He leaned even closer to the microphone, his knuckles whitened as he gripped the dais. “We need to kill their faith.” He lowered his voice further still, until it was almost a whisper. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation. “And I know how we’re going to do it.”

Unknown Location

November 19, 1256 AD

Faisal slowly became aware of his surroundings. A rush of sound filled his ears, soon accompanied by a splitting pain, the din and throbbing sensation almost too much. He focused on the pain, as he was taught to, and pushed it aside. Within minutes the roar in his ears had subsided, replaced with curious sounds coming from all directions. The shuffling of padded feet, water splashing in a fountain. And giggling.
Giggling?
Faisal opened his eyes and immediately shut them. He squinted them closed, shutting out the blinding, bright light that surrounded him. He slowly opened them again, just a sliver. This time it was more bearable. It took a few moments before he could open them enough to make anything out. A shape moved in front of him, toward him.

He scrambled backward, suddenly remembering what had happened in his bed chambers. The shape moved closer, filling his entire field of vision, for what it was worth, everything still a blur. A cool, gentle hand touched his outstretched arm as he grasped the empty space beside him, his sword nowhere to be found.

“Be at peace, everything will be fine.” The voice was soft. A woman’s voice. His racing heart calmed slightly. If a woman was nearby, he must be out of immediate danger. He blinked several more times and the shape in front of him slowly became clear.

He gasped.

She was beautiful. Unlike any woman he had ever seen. And more of any woman than he had ever seen. He quickly averted his eyes and held his hand up to block her from his sight. A giggle erupted from behind him. He looked, and another woman, as scantily clad as that in front of him, smiled. In fact, there were several behind him.

The hand on his arm gently squeezed. “There is nothing to fear.”

He turned to face the woman and found this time he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Her dark brown hair flowed like tiny streams of water, down past her shoulders, a few stray rivulets dangling over her forehead and her deep, brown eyes, which stared at him like two gems, sparkling in a pond. Her light brown skin, unmarred by hard labor, was partially hidden behind a nearly translucent, pink veil. He could see her smile through it, a smile that immediately set him at ease.

Her hand slid down his arm then grasped his hand. “Come, rise and behold your reward.” She pulled at his hand and he climbed to his feet, all the while staring at her. Her silk covering barely hid her large breasts, one shoulder bare, the opposing side of her bare midriff revealing a belly button filled by a large ruby, the sash she was wearing wrapped and tied about her waist, leaving her legs bare above the knees. It was more skin than he had seen in his life.

A stirring in his loins shamed him, and he looked away again. The woman smiled again. “Behold all that is your reward for your loyal service to Allah.”

Faisal followed her outstretched arm and gasped. He was in a large chamber, flickering candles and several cooking fires providing the illumination. A large fountain occupied the center of the room, and, set into the surrounding walls, bed chambers, open to the center.

And there were women.

Dozens of women. Everywhere he turned, he found the most beautiful women he could have ever imagined. And they were all staring at him, smiling.

“Where is this place?”

The woman, still holding his hand, smiled. “Do you not recognize it?”