Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) (24 page)

“Roger
that,” said Niner, returning to their own vehicle to retrieve his bag of
tricks.

Dawson’s
phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered it with a swipe. “Hey, BD, it’s Red.
We’ve got a possible location on your guy. We traced the vehicles to an office
tower not too far from you. I’ve sent the details to your phone.”

“Just a
second.” Dawson brought up the secure text then tapped the location, a map
appearing with an automatic routing displayed. Ten minutes away. “Got it, ETA
ten minutes.” He slammed the doors on his side shut, the others doing the same,
then locked it with the fob as he climbed into their vehicle. He held up his
phone to the others as he put it on speaker. “Red traced the vehicles to an
office tower about ten minutes from here. Let’s go.”

Niner
put the vehicle in gear and pulled out into the light traffic, it slowed by the
lookyloos, as Dawson punched the address into the onboard navigation system.

“Do you
want us to send backup?” asked Red.

“Negative,
too many guns, we can’t risk the candidate.”

“Roger
that.”

“Do you
have eyes on the building?”

“Negative,
no birds are over the area at the moment.”

Niner
took a sharp right, Dawson pretty sure his side of the vehicle actually left
the pavement. He gave him a look. Niner grinned. “What can you tell me about
the building?”

“Constitution
Tower. Mostly financial firms, but get this, the first two floors are reserved
for those corporate image packages, you know, where small companies share facilities.”

“Got
you, anything standing out?”

“We’re
running the companies now, but we won’t know anything before you get there.
ETA?”

Niner
glanced at the phone. “If BD wasn’t giving me the stink eye constantly, five
minutes, but probably seven.”

Red
laughed at the other end.

“Good
hunting.”

Unknown Location, New Orleans, Louisiana

The screens flicked off, one by one, Christopher Jones not sure what
would happen now. Peter Quaid still stood in front of him, that infuriating
smile still plastered on his face, and in the shadows he knew there were at
least several of the gunmen that had brought him here.

“You
won’t be seeing me for a few days as I have business in Moscow. But we’ll meet
when I return.”

Jones
glared at him, his stomach still churning, his heart still pounding, his entire
body drenched in sweat, he not yet recovered from the very real threat to kill
his granddaughter.

And his
entire family.

“Why, Pete,
why would you get involved with such people?”

The
smile slowly faded and for the first time he could have sworn he sensed a hint
of regret in the man’s eyes.

And a
little fear.

“Sometimes
you wake up one day and realize the life you once thought was your own,
actually isn’t, and maybe never was. Much like you’ve just been woken up.” He
sat in another chair Jones’ hadn’t noticed in the darkness before. “Listen, my
friend, I’m sorry this had to happen to you. But don’t blame me, I’m just the
messenger here.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the blank screens.
“Even
I
don’t know who they are. I work for them, just like you do.
Unfortunately for you the choice was made for you a century ago by someone you
barely remember. Your grandfather made a stupid mistake betraying these people
and now you’re paying the price.” He leaned forward. “But think about it. What
price? You’re going to be the most powerful man in the world very soon. They
will
make that happen. You
will
be sitting in the White House, and almost
every decision you make will be yours. But in some cases, a few cases, they
won’t be.” Quaid shrugged. “My life is mostly my own, but occasionally I have
to do things like I did today. I’ve learned to live with it, and so will you.”

Jones
gripped the arms of his chair. “You and I, sir, are apparently two very
different people.”

Quaid
frowned, immediately picking up on the implied insult. “Perhaps we are. Or
perhaps we once were very similar, and in time, will be again.” Quaid rose,
extending his hand. “Until we meet again.”

Jones
ignored the outstretched hand.

Quaid
shrugged. “In time, Chris, you’ll realize I saved your life tonight.” He leaned
in, his voice low. “Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone what happened here
tonight, or they
will
kill you. No matter how well protected you think
you are after tonight, they will
always
find a way to get to you. And
your family.” He rose. “Your story is this: you and I were kidnapped by unknown
assailants. You were brought here, you don’t know where they took me. They
threatened your life if you didn’t stop talking about the Russian sanctions,
then they left.”

Jones’
eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t that defeat the entire purpose?”

Quaid
smiled that infuriating smile again. “The truth is the best lie to tell. You
will, however, be deeply affected by this, and will over the coming days tone
down your rhetoric, and eventually, when you are in power, will drop the
sanctions as a goodwill gesture. The minutia will be figured out later by
people smarter than us. For now, just remember you were yelled at a lot then
left alone. You don’t know who they are, what happened to me, and just want to
move forward. As far as you’re concerned, the case is closed. Got it?”

Jones
nodded and Quaid slapped him on the shoulder, walking away.

“What do
I do?” asked Jones, turning in his chair.

“You
wait.”

“For how
long?”

Quaid
chuckled.

“Not
long, my friend, not long.”

Assembly Covert Communications Facility, Moscow, Russia

“The infection continues to spread,” said Number One, Ilya Mashkov
sipping his tea, it now five in the morning in Moscow. He had been woken by his
butler, Dimitri, a trusted man provided by The Assembly.

Urgent
business.

It’s
always urgent with them.

He
didn’t trust his butler as far as he could throw him. He was an Assembly man
which meant his loyalties were to them, not him. Though he never had any
intention of betraying them, there was always the chance he could screw up one
day, and Dimitri would be there to catch him.

And
report back.

Then
he’d most likely be dead.

It meant
he never felt comfortable in his own home, which sort of defeated the purpose
of being “all powerful”. He was trying to ignore the man’s background, and at
times he was able to forget, and perhaps eventually he’d put his foibles behind
him—after all, The Assembly seemed to be all seeing, all knowing, so if he were
to screw up, then there’d be no way they wouldn’t find out, butler or no
butler.

He took
another sip of his tea, a brilliant concoction from Dimitri that was one of the
many reasons he wished he could trust the man, he spectacular at his job.

“What is
it this time?” asked Number Two.

“Our
agents are reporting increased Internet traffic involving the painting.”

“Is it
still localized to the same geographic region?”

“Negative,
it’s now going global. We have significant search traffic originating from St.
Paul’s University and the surrounding area, as well as the Smithsonian and
several other academic institutions and museums around Europe.”

“And
there’s no chance this is simply a coincidence?” asked Mashkov, almost
instantly regretting it, all the silhouettes freezing for a moment as if in
stunned silence at his stupidity. “What I mean is, are we sure there hasn’t
been some new reference to it in a movie that may have spurred a temporary
blip. I would expect that after the release of the James Cameron movie and the
recent hundredth anniversary, search related traffic would have spiked. Perhaps
that’s all we’re seeing now.”

Number
One decided to humor him. “I don’t believe so. Our NSA sources have provided us
with copies of several emails sent from St. Paul’s University and a residence in
St. Paul where a professor claims to have the painting in his possession, and
means to authenticate it posthaste.”

Mashkov
frowned. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Indeed.
A forgotten painting, unknown to all but a few, is suddenly a hot topic among
academia. And should this painting actually be authenticated, it could be a
disaster for us. Too many questions will be asked.”

“Do we
know who this professor is?”

“Yes.
Professor James Acton.”

Mashkov’s
eyes narrowed. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“You
might remember him from the report on our two CIA headaches, Dylan Kane and
Chris Leroux. Professor Acton was Kane’s teacher at university, the one who
apparently encouraged him to join the Army.”

“I
thought we had ordered Leroux and Kane eliminated?”

“We did,
but it has to appear as an accident and unfortunately that has proven difficult
with Kane being a deep-cover operative and Leroux constantly accompanied by a
CIA security detail.”

Mashkov
pursed his lips, nodding slowly. “Perhaps we need to draw Special Agent Kane
out.”

“How do
you mean?”

“With a
little bait.”

Constitution Tower, New Orleans, Louisiana

Niner pulled into the office complex, the visitor parking out front
mostly empty, only a few stray vehicles in view, though to the right there were
ramps that lead to underground parking. As he slowly drove up to the front of
the building Atlas cursed.

“Is that
who I think it is?”

Dawson
turned to see what Atlas was looking at.

A large
black sedan matching the description of the vehicle that had left the underpass
earlier.

“Can you
see the plate?”

“Not
from this angle.”

“Park.”

Niner
nodded, swinging into a spot. The sedan drove past, the license plate light
giving them a nice view.

“That’s
them,” confirmed Atlas, holding up his phone with the plate numbers. Suddenly
the car surged ahead, careening sharply onto the road.

“Gee,
boss, do you think we’ve been made?” asked Niner as he hammered on the gas,
jumping a curb and ending the useful life of two small pine trees. Niner
glanced in his rearview mirror before cranking the wheel and flooring it. “Good
thing Marty didn’t do that, hey?”

“Huh?”

“Would
they have called it No Pine Mall?”

Niner
hammered the brakes, taking off some speed as he made another sharp turn, his
mad skills getting them closer.

“Are you
on your damned movie references again?” asked Spock as he rolled down his
window, prepping his weapon.

“When do
we ever leave them?” asked Niner as they continued to gain, the engine in the
government issued law enforcement vehicle impressively tuned. “So, if Marty
McFly had run over both trees with the DeLorean, what would Old Man Peabody
have named the mall?”