Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) (29 page)

Isabelle
frowned. “I wasn’t aware he’s required to.”

Jones
stepped into the room. “As a member of my staff, he’s bound by his employment
contract, which includes a clause that requires him to cooperate fully with any
security protocols deemed necessary.”

“And I
deemed it necessary,” said Dawson, pointing to the next room, pushing the
conversation out of earshot of their suspect. “He’s involved, that much is
clear.”

Isabelle
lowered her voice. “I don’t doubt it. This was an inside job if there ever was
one.”

Jones
suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I don’t believe it. I mean, Russ, he’s been
with me for years. He’s the best. He’s been in the business for twenty years.”
Jones shook his head. “No, I refuse to believe he’s behind my kidnapping.”

“Two of
you were kidnapped today, Mr. Jones.” Isabelle looked at him, hard, Dawson
getting the distinct impression she had her suspicions about Jones himself.

This
could be interesting.

“How
well do you know Mr. Quaid?”

Jones
shrugged his shoulders. “I’d call him an acquaintance rather than a friend.
He’s done a lot for my campaign, not just from donating his own money, but in
gathering others to the cause. Outside of formal functions, though, I don’t
really know much about the man.”

“So
you’re willing to take millions from a man you barely know, who will then have
the ear of the President of the United States should you win.”

Jones
blushed, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. “It’s just the way the game is
played. If I win, I’ll fight to bring in campaign finance reform, but until
then, I can’t even mention it. If the moneymen thought they’d lose their
ability to buy their government, they’d pull their support in a heartbeat, and
I’d never win.”

Isabelle
didn’t seem impressed with his subdued campaign promise. “What exactly was said
to you when you were held captive?”

Jones
again seemed uncomfortable, Dawson an expert at reading body language.

And
this man’s holding something back.

“They
wanted me to stop talking about Russian sanctions. To tone down my speeches
about the Russians.” He looked at the floor then away from them. “I don’t know,
maybe I’ve been a little harsh. Perhaps the best way to peace is appeasement at
this point rather than sabre rattling that could lead to an all-out war.”

Now I
know
something’s wrong.

“Uh
huh.” Isabelle didn’t seem to be buying it either. “That’s quite the turnaround
from the speech you gave earlier today.”

Jones flushed
bright red, but said nothing.

“And
what happened to your
acquaintance,
Mr. Quaid, while all this was going
on?”

Jones
shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, we were taken from here together, but
when we got to wherever it was they took us, we were separated. I didn’t see
him again until you guys showed up at the building.” He looked around. “Where
is he?”

“Being
held down the hall,” replied Dawson. Something had stunk about this entire
situation from the get go and there was no way he was going to allow Quaid
access to Jones until he knew the complete story. “He’s being debriefed by one
of my men.”

Jones
looked at Dawson. “You need to take it easy on him. He-he could walk with his
money, then I’m ruined.”

Isabelle
snapped her fingers and her partner produced a laptop. “I think there’s
something you need to see.” With a few swipes and clicks a video from a
security camera began to play. He placed it on the table for everyone to see.
“Tell me what you see there, Mr. Jones.”

He
shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s Pete by the looks of it, with some of the guys
who took us.”

“What
else?” pressed Isabelle.

Jones
shrugged, looking at her. “I don’t know.”

“You
don’t know?”

He
sighed then suddenly snapped. “No, I don’t know! Why don’t
you
tell
me
,
Detective? It’s been a long night and I just want to get on a plane and go
home, sleep in my own bed, and put tonight behind me! So why don’t
you
tell
me
what you see?”

The
tirade didn’t seem to faze Isabelle at all.

This
one has her shit together.

“I’ll
tell you what I see, Mr. Jones. I see a man who has no fear.”

The wind
seemed to be taken from Jones’ sails as his voice dropped. “What are you trying
to say?”

Isabelle
pointed at the looping video. “I say this man Quaid knew his captors. I say he
was in on it.” She leaned closer to Jones. “And I say you know it.”

Leaving St. Paul, Maryland

Nadja Katz looked at the two terrified people in the backseat,
sandwiched between her men. They were young, definitely not her original
targets, but her employers had ordered total rapid containment, there
apparently a serious issue in New Orleans that she might be sent in to clean up
once the Titanic infection had been put to bed.

She had
to admit she was curious about this entire affair. The Titanic had sunk over a
century ago. No one from that time was alive anymore, so why the concern? She
wasn’t privy to any details, except that she was to contain any references to a
Captain Wainwright and a painting. Anyone who had been exposed to that
information was to be tracked and eliminated along with anyone they may have
had contact with that could have contracted the disease.

The
disease being information.

Knowledge
is power, she had always believed, but she also knew knowledge could sometimes
mean death. In this case it was unfortunate, as these people weren’t involved
in actively seeking out state or industrial secrets, they had just stumbled
upon something they were never supposed to know about. And even then, they
didn’t really know much.

But
if they continue to pry…

And that
was what her employers were terrified of, though
she
was attributing the
emotion to them. Though she had never felt fear before, she assumed her
reaction would be to do whatever it took to remove the cause of the fear, and
with the leeway she had been given on this assignment, it was as if her
employers were doing everything possible to remove their own fear.

The Asian
woman was young, judging from her facial structure she’d guess Southeast Asian,
possibly Vietnamese, most likely Mai Lien Trinh, one of Professor Acton’s grad
students. The other one was nobody to her, though clearly somebody to this
young girl, she cradling his head, blood caking one side of his face where he
had sustained some sort of injury.

“Your
name?”

The
young woman looked startled, terrified. And said nothing.

“Your
name, now.” She didn’t raise her voice, simply changed the tone. There was no
emotion, no impatience, it was simply a tone she had seen others use that
elicited the response she needed.

“M-Mai
Trinh.”

Thought
so.

“And
him?”

“T-Tommy
Granger.”

“Who is
he to you?”

“M-my
friend.”

“Not
boyfriend?”

The
young woman flushed.

Not
her boyfriend. Yet.

“You are
one of Professor Acton’s grad students?”

Mai’s
eyes widened and she nodded.

“And
him?”

“He’s a
student, but not one of Professor Acton’s.”

Nadja
pulled out her cellphone and selected Professor Acton’s cellphone number from
the list. The bug planted at Steve Wainwright’s house had paid off quickly,
they returning home from their dinner full of conversation about the two
professors who were helping determine if the painting was real, and about how
they believed Captain Wainwright and his ship must have been at the scene of
the sinking.

It was
information her employers hadn’t told her, and she would make certain they
never knew what she knew, otherwise she herself could become a target. What her
employers’ involvement was with this she didn’t know, but if it were true, that
there was a US Navy ship on the scene that didn’t render assistance, and her
employers were behind it, she could see why they would want that kept secret.

What was
more interesting to her was what the original mission of the ship was. It
couldn’t have been there by coincidence, it’s too big an ocean. And if people
had indeed gone on board like the Wainwrights were discussing, it certainly
wasn’t to steal a painting.

What
could be so important that you would let so many die?

Especially
a US Navy ship.

That
simply didn’t make sense to her. She couldn’t imagine it happening today, though
perhaps back then it was possible. The world was a different place, yet even
so, it was just unfathomable to think military personnel of a modern democracy
would allow innocent civilians, many from their own country, to die while they
sat idly by, stealing something.

There
was definitely something much bigger going on.

And
you don’t want to know what it is.

She
tapped the number.

A man’s
voice answered after several rings. “Hello?”

“If you
want to see your friends alive, Professor Acton, you will bring us the
painting.”

“Who’s
this? Who are you?”

“Who I
am is unimportant. What I have, and what
you
have, is.”

“I don’t
understand. What do you have? Are you the people who just shot that young woman
and took Mai and Tommy?”

“Yes.
And you, Professor Acton, can save their young lives by telling the authorities
nothing. If the police become involved, they die.”

“But
they’re already involved. They arrested Jim and Laura just a few minutes ago!”

Katz’s
eyes narrowed. “Who am I speaking to?”

“I’m not
sure if I should tell you.”

She
shook her head. She had read the extensive file on Acton on her way to his
house, her employers providing an impressive dossier on the man, his travels,
his exploits.

And his
friends.

“This is
Dean Gregory Milton, isn’t it?”

Somebody
gasped.

A woman.

“Yes.”

“And
your wife, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“You
will tell the police nothing about this conversation or not only will these two
young students of yours die, so will your wife and daughter.”

She
ended the call, looking back at her two hostages.

They’ll
die soon enough.

Though
not before the trap was set for much bigger prey.

JW Marriott Hotel, New Orleans

Christopher Jones sank into a nearby chair, his head dropping
between his knees as he grabbed at his hair, unsure of what to do.
They
know!
And if they know, then everyone he cared about would die. If his own
aide was in on this, and his primary financial donor as well, then there was no
one he could trust.

Or is
there?

These
people were new. Could this cabal that had threatened him earlier have brought
in a New Orleans police detective so quickly? He doubted it, but then again, they
had somehow managed to kidnap him and take him to a location that from what he
had overheard was pre-booked. That meant the contingency of him not agreeing to
Quaid’s demands had been anticipated.

Which meant
they could have also anticipated something else going wrong.

And that
meant they might have had a detective ready.

No, he
couldn’t trust her.

His
thoughts turned to Agent White, a name he knew wasn’t real, the team of four he
was with on special assignment. They could have been brought in by this
organization as well.

But
why would they have killed four of their own men?