Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) (27 page)

And
missed.

But he
didn’t.

The
crowbar caught her in midair, in the midriff, knocking the wind completely out
of her, her already tender ribs causing her to cry out in pain, her weapon
falling from her hand and onto a perfectly manicured lawn.

She hit
the ground on her back and twisted, the follow up blow about to land, the
hooked end of the crowbar embedding itself in the soft turf.

She
grabbed it and kicked up, catching the bastard in the balls.

He
doubled over in pain, she pretty sure his Adam’s apple had a pair of nuts for
company.

“Drop
your weapons!” shouted someone from across the street. Her assailant with the
tenderized gonads reached for his own gun.

“Federal
agent! Shoot them!” she shouted as the man swung around with his weapon.

Three
quick shots rang out, overlapped by another three shots from a second weapon,
her man jerking with each hit then collapsing on top of her. She struggled
against the deadweight, her cracked ribs not helping.

“Clear!”
shouted a man’s voice, the announcement echoed by a female, and she knew
immediately who had saved her.

Professor
James Acton and his wife, Professor Laura Palmer.

Footsteps
on pavement rushed toward her and she immediately recognized them from the file
photos, Acton reaching down and hauling the body off her.

He
looked down at her. “Were you sent to save us?” he asked with a wry grin.

She laughed
then winced, grabbing her ribs. “Yes.” She extended her other hand and he
hauled her to her feet. “Dylan sent me.” She nodded toward the dead man at her
feet. “Just in the nick of time by the looks of it.”

“Let’s
get inside, there might be more.”

Sherrie
nodded, bending over to pick up her weapon.

She
gasped in pain.

“I’ll
get it,” said Laura, easily retrieving the weapon and handing it to her. She
grimaced a thank you then limped toward the house, the two professors—the two
civilians—covering her as porch lights turned on and curtains were pushed aside
by neighbors wondering what was going on in their quiet little suburb.

“Grab
just what you need. We’re leaving here immediately,” she said as they entered
the house, Laura closing and locking the door behind them.

“We’ve
got four people in the basement.”

Sherrie
stopped. “What? Who?”

“Guests,
friends of ours. They were here when Dylan said to hole up.”

Shit!

“Okay,
so we’re seven then. That means two vehicles. Not good, but we don’t have a
choice.” She gasped as a pain shot through her chest. “Get them up here.”

Acton
nodded and rapped out a pattern on a door then opened it. “We’re okay. I need
you to come up now. If you need it, don’t leave it.”

There
was a shout of acknowledgement and the sound of footsteps on bare wooden
stairs. Acton pointed farther into the house. “Get Greg’s wheelchair, he’s
going to need it.” Laura nodded and disappeared for a moment, returning pushing
what looked like a very expensive unit.

Jesus,
seven of us, one in a wheelchair?

“We need
to get to a secure location,” she said as she returned to the front door,
looking out the window, the first sirens now sounding in the distance. “And we
need to get out of here before those police arrive.”

A man
stepped slowly through the basement door, holding his back. Laura pushed the
chair over to him and he dropped into it with a sigh. “Thanks.” He looked at
her as three others appeared. “Shouldn’t we wait for the police? Can’t they
protect us?”

“Not
from a sniper round. We need to clear out of here before their backup arrives.”

“Whose
backup?”

Acton
pushed his friend toward the door. “We shot two people outside. They were
attacking—” He stopped. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

Sherrie gripped
the handle of the front door. “Agent Sherrie White, CIA, but tonight I’m a
civilian.”

“Got
ya.”

“We need
two reliable vehicles. I came in one—”

“Our
Jeep is new. We’ll use that.”

“Good.”
She nodded toward the man in the wheelchair. “Do you have any special needs?”

He shook
his head. “I can walk, but why don’t we take my van? It’ll be a tight squeeze
but at least we’re all together.”

Sherrie
shook her head. “No, it’d be like driving a tank. We’d never be able to outrun
anything if we had to.” She looked at the group. “Who’s the best driver?”

Acton
squeezed the back of his wife’s neck. “She is.”

Sherrie’s
eyebrows popped and Laura explained. “I do some racing as a hobby.”

“Then
let’s go. Professor Palmer, you drive your Jeep, take two of your guests with
you, I’ll take everyone else in my car.”

“I’d
like to go with my wife.”

Sherrie
shook her head. “I’m here for you—”

“I go
with my wife.”

Sherrie
held her tongue. “Fine, there’s no time to argue. You stay on my ass. I need to
get you to a safe-house now.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a tiny
round device and handed it to Acton. “Swallow this.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a
tracking device in case we get separated. Swallow it.”

Acton
took the oval shaped device that almost looked like a gel capsule and eyed it
for a moment before popping it in his mouth, swallowing it dry. “How does it
work?”

“I can
track you anywhere on the planet for the next thirty-six hours.”

“Why
only thirty-six hours?”

“Because
by then, Professor, I’m going to assume you’ve had a bowel movement.” She reached
for the door handle. “Now let’s go!”

“What
about the painting?”

She
sighed. “What painting?”

“It’s
what this is all about, isn’t it? We have to get it.”

“We’ll
discuss that when we’re out of here.” Sherrie unlocked the door and opened it
slightly, it looking clear, the sirens suddenly much louder, neighbors now on
their lawn. “Where’s your Jeep?”

“In the
garage.”

“Okay.”
She pointed at the youngest two. “You two with me, casual, calm walk to my car.
The rest of you into the Jeep through the garage. Pull out, hang a right”—she
jerked her thumb in case there was any doubt—“and if I’m not ahead of you, I’ll
pass you. Go right at the stop sign and head for the highway. Got it?”

Laura
nodded.

“Then
let’s go.”

She
stepped out on the porch, walking down the driveway and toward the road. A
neighbor approached. “Are you guys okay?”

She
nodded, slowing her pace, her conversation continuing over her shoulder. “Yeah,
what happened here?”

“Two
people were shot. I thought I saw Jim and his wife out here.”

“They
were, they heard the shots then went inside to call the police.” She waved.
“Sorry, gotta get these two home!” The three of them walked briskly down the
street, Sherrie with one hand on her gun in her shoulder holster, the other
gripping the key fob. She pressed the button, her vehicle chirping. “Get in.”

Her two
passengers climbed in the back seat as she noticed Laura pulling the Jeep out
of the garage. The same neighbor ran up to the passenger side window and she
saw Acton roll it down, words being exchanged as she started up the car. She
did a shoulder check and pulled out, driving past the excitement as the first
police car careened around the corner at the far end of the street.

“Everybody
look at the bodies as if you’re shocked but not scared. That means mouths open,
eyes wide as if your dentist just squeezed your boob.”

She
glanced in the rearview mirror and almost chuckled.

Clearing
the scene, she drove slowly past the police car as it locked up its brakes,
shuddering to a halt. Another look in her rearview mirror showed the Jeep
backing onto the road and following just as the two officers stepped out of
their car.

She came
to a stop at the end of the street, signaling her turn, Laura pulling up right
behind her. She was about to pull out when the girl screamed from the back
seat.

She
turned to see a pair of headlights racing toward her.

Goodbye
Chris.

“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Acton as a large SUV slammed into the
driver side of Sherrie’s car, shoving it into the curb then up onto two wheels.
It pulled back, the sedan dropping back onto all four tires as Acton reached
for the door handle.

“Wait!”
Laura slammed the car into reverse as a woman stepped out of the passenger
side, machine pistol in hand. She aimed it at them and opened fire as Laura
floored it, ducking behind the dash as Acton threw himself over her, the
windshield taking several hits.

They hit
something, hard, and the gunfire stopped.

He
looked up to see Mai and Tommy being hauled out of the back seat and tossed in
the back of the SUV, Sherrie pulled from the driver seat and thrown to the
ground.

“No!”
screamed Acton as he jumped out, pulling his weapon as the woman put two rounds
into the young agent’s chest.

“Drop
the weapon!” shouted someone from behind him, but he ignored them, instead
beginning to sprint toward the SUV as the woman and her accomplices climbed
back inside. It started to pull away, the passenger side window lowering, a gun
appearing, the muzzle belching lead.

Something
slammed into his shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground, the gun
clattering on the pavement as he lost his grip.

“Stay
where you are!”

He
looked toward who was shouting and saw two police officers rushing toward him,
weapons drawn. He collapsed on his back, exhausted and in pain as Laura blew
past the officers and to his side.

“James,
are you okay?”

He
nodded, grimacing. “Check on her, I’ll be okay.”

Laura’s
lips pressed together as she gave him a concerned look, then she jumped to her
feet, sprinting to the end of the street as he was suddenly grabbed by the
officers and flipped over onto his stomach.

Giving
him a clear view of Laura beginning CPR on the young agent sent to save them.

JW Marriott Hotel, New Orleans

Christopher Jones rushed into his sobbing wife’s arms, disappearing
into their bedroom for a private reunion. The large suite was bustling with activity,
a mix of Secret Service, FBI and NOPD spilling out into the hallway and other
rooms commandeered for the emergency. The secret was out, but it didn’t matter
now. Jones was safe and they’d be leaving for Washington within the hour, the jet
already fueling up, Jones’ house being swept and secured.

And
then our part is done.

NOPD
wouldn’t be happy, but the police chief had already agreed to allow the
evacuation of their witness. Jones would be made available via video conference
and if necessary in person at a later time, once things were secure.

Detective
Laprise might insist upon that.

Yet that
wasn’t his problem or concern. His was to keep this man safe and he had failed.
He should have split the team, two on, two off at all times, but no one had
thought anything like this could actually happen.

And the
Secret Service team was competent. He didn’t really blame them, they were taken
by surprise, and to be certain his team wouldn’t have failed as well would be
presumptuous.

At least
in writing.

Unofficially,
he did feel quite confident his men would have prevailed, though that was part
of the training, to be able to react instantly to unexpected situations.

In the
end Jones had been saved, but at what cost? The embarrassment to the Secret Service
would be significant. Delta wouldn’t wear it officially since they “didn’t
exist”, and unofficially the pre-approved plan was for Delta to only be
responsible for security outside of the hotel.

They
weren’t to blame.

But he
still felt at fault.

“Okay,
everyone, we’ve finished with the phones.”

Special
Agent in Charge McCarthy stepped back as the staff and Secret Service agents
whose phones had been confiscated surged toward the table they had been
collected on. Dawson smiled slightly, the crazed expressions shown by some
revealing the withdrawal they had been suffering from these past couple of
hours.

“Oh my
God!” cried one, “The press is going crazy!”

“Twitter
is on fire,” observed another, shaking her head as her thumbs went crazy on the
tiny display. Saunders reached into the fray, pushing several phones aside
until he found his, a Blackberry. Dawson was about to turn away from the
feeding frenzy when he stopped, something caught by the corner of his eye.

Did
he just do what I think he did?

Dawson
darted forward, grabbing Saunders’ hand as he stepped away from the table.