Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) (31 page)

And on
more than one occasion, a target presumed dead showed up weeks or months later,
alive and well, perhaps missing an arm or leg that had been used to decide they
were erroneously terminated.

Give
me a rifle and a scope any day.

His
watch vibrated with another message. Leiko was breathing deeply on his chest,
the woman finally worn out herself as well. They hadn’t left the hotel room
from the moment he knocked on her door, food ordered in, the remnants on a cart
in the hall.

They
were both each other’s desert.

He
carefully extracted himself, doing the old Ross Geller hug and roll, and
retreated to the bathroom.

Urgent
from SW.

He
frowned.

This
can’t be good.

He
pulled out his encrypted phone, locking the door and turning on the shower.
Dialing, Sherrie White almost immediately answered. “Hello?”

“It’s
me. What’s your status?”

“I’m out
of commission. The professors have been arrested, two of their students
kidnapped, and I don’t know what to do. I need help.”

He could
hear the disappointment in her voice. Nobody wanted to fail on a mission,
especially a young agent trying to make her bones in the business, but it
happened. Even he had failed once or twice.

Though
he had always managed to clean up his mess.

“Are you
secure?”

“I’m in
a hospital recovering. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a police guard but I’m off the
books so I haven’t notified Langley.”

“Which
means you haven’t notified our boy.”

“No, he
doesn’t know.”

“He will
soon enough. Better he hears from you. Why were the professors arrested?”

“They
shot the two men who tried to kill me. I think the police are just sorting
things out, but the woman who shot me called Dean Milton. She wants the
painting or she’s going to kill the two students that were with me. And she
knows the professors have been arrested.”

“Which
means she knows where they are.”

“Right.”

“And if
those two men were at their house and tried to kill you, then they were most
likely there to kill the professors.”

“That’s
my assessment as well.”

“Okay.
Sit tight. I’m going to call in some big guns.”

“Okay,
thanks Dylan. And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t
be sorry. Just call Chris. Now.”

“I
will.”

Annapolis Police Department, Taylor Avenue, Annapolis, Maryland

Nadja Katz knocked on the door then opened it, not waiting for an
invite. The cop sitting across from her target looked at her, surprised. She
flashed her badge. “Homeland Security. We’re taking over the case.” She jerked
her head toward the door. “Give us a minute, would you?”

He
didn’t look pleased but he grabbed his pad and paper and left, Acton’s back to
her. She closed the door then rounded the table. Acton’s eyes widened. She put
a finger to her lips then pulled out a small device that looked like a
cellphone. She activated it.

“This
will allow us to talk in private.”

“I’ve
got nothing to say to
you.
”

“So you
recognize me.”

“You’re
the bastard that killed Sherrie.”

She
forced a smile.

It was
expected.

“You’ll
be happy to hear that she’s alive and well. It’s amazing what Kevlar can do
these days.”

Acton
breathed a sigh of relief before his rage refocused. “What have you done with
my students?”

“They’re
safe. For the moment.”

“What do
you want from me? From us? What have we done?”

Another
practiced smile. “You’ve created headaches for my employers by asking the wrong
questions publicly.”

Acton’s
eyes narrowed. “What questions?”

“Questions
exactly like that. You, professor, need to learn to shut your mouth.”

Acton
looked at her. “It’s what I do.”

Cheeky.

She
forced a smile. “Right now all you’re going to do is come with me, quietly,
then take me to the painting.”

“I don’t
think so.”

“If you
don’t, your students will die, as will your best friend, Greg, and his lovely
wife Sandra. And I
will
finish the job on your young CIA agent.”

Acton
glared at her. “What if I just tell the cops you’re the one they’re looking
for?”

She
smiled, it almost instinctual, as if some vestige of memory from her forgotten
youth wanted to rear its former self. A rare occurrence. “If I’m not outside in
ten minutes, my men have orders to kill everyone involved.” She leaned forward,
her knuckles pressing into the table, her bangs hanging in front of her eyes.
“Or you can come with me, quietly.”

Acton’s
glare intensified then broke, his shoulders slumping. “Fine.” He rose. “I give
you the painting, then what?”

“Then we
part ways.”

With
a bullet to the back of your head.

Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, New Orleans,
Louisiana

Dawson stood by the door as Jones and his wife rushed up the steps.
The staff would be taking commercial flights, this flight limited to Bravo Team
members, a minimal flight crew, and two scared passengers.

No one
else.

Niner
and Spock were busy closing all the blinds on the windows to prevent any
snipers from getting a good shot, and the Secret Service, not too pleased to be
excluded from the op, were providing external security until the plane was
airborne.

Atlas
was last on board, one of the flight crew pulling up the stairs of the Learjet.

“Let’s
go!” shouted Dawson at the open cockpit door, the pilot already edging up the
throttle, the sleek private jet beginning to taxi for the runway, the Secret
Service having arranged for an immediate departure.

It was a
rapid extraction, but necessary. Whoever they were dealing with had power and
money, and though they hadn’t killed, yet, clearly were willing to break the
law. Jones hadn’t told them much, his fear of harm to his family genuine. And
probably justified. Langley had informed them of the hack on the Constitution
Tower computers, masked to make it look like it came from government computers,
the hacks actually originating out of Russia apparently, though that meant
little. Organized crime and foreign powers set up secret cells in various rogue
states so that anything they did could be blamed on the state they had taken up
residence in. China had been the most popular, though now that Russia was back
in the bad books, they were the preferred locale, it a lot easier to blend into
the Russian mosaic than the Chinese homogeny.

The
powerful engines shoved him into the back of his seat as the pilot lifted off,
the emergency ascent approved to put them out of range of bullets or shoulder
launched missiles as quickly as possible.

It was a
terrifying experience he was sure for those on board not used to it.

The
plane began to level out when he felt his satellite phone vibrate. “Speak.”

“Hey,
BD, it’s me.”

Dawson
immediately recognized Kane’s voice and smiled. Then frowned. “Okay, you never
call to just say hi. What do you want?”

Kane
laughed, though he sounded like he was trying to keep from being overheard.
“You know me so well. I need your help.”

“We’re
just wheels-up and airborne for two and a half hours.”

“You’re
not in Bragg?”

“Negative.
Just leaving New Orleans.”

“Shit.
Listen, the Professors are in a bit of trouble.”

“Again?”

“Yeah,
it never ends with them. We should start sending them a bill.”

Dawson
laughed. If the bill were actually tallied, the US government might come out
owing the Actons after all they had done for them over the years. With Laura
Palmer filthy rich, her money had helped save his men on more than one
occasion.

The
Feds might think they’re owed, but Delta owes them big time.

Which
was one of the many reasons he never hesitated to help when he could.

“What
happened this time?”

“Not
sure, it’s a weird one. Apparently somebody found a painting that was supposed
to have sunk on the Titanic, began asking some questions, and a security tap
was triggered. It looks like they might have uncovered something to do with the
Titanic—a US Navy ship might have been there and done nothing.”

Dawson’s
eyes narrowed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Hey, it
sounds like bullshit to me, but two people are dead, the agent I sent was shot
twice, and two people were taken hostage.”

Okay,
not a joke.
“Where is Acton now?”

“The
professors were both arrested at the scene. My guess is they’ll be released
after it’s shown it was self-defense, but here’s the rub. Their friend Milton
told the woman who shot Sherrie that they had been arrested.”

“Sherrie?
As in Sherrie White?”

“Yeah.
Oh, that’s right. I forgot you worked with her before.”

“Yeah.
Good agent. She’s fine?”

“She
will be but I don’t think she’s secure.”

“What do
you need?”

“Boots
on the ground. I’m on the other side of the planet, heading into hell itself
tomorrow, so I’m going to be out of the loop in less than twenty-four hours. I
need to know this is being handled.”

“Don’t
worry about it, I’ve got it covered.”

“Thanks,
buddy, I knew I could count on you.”

“No
problem. Next time
you
buy the beer though.”

“You got
it.”

“For all
of us.”

“Are you
shittin’ me? I’m a public servant!”

“Hey,
I’ve seen enough James Bond movies to know you’ve got some tucked away for a
rainy day. Well it’s about to start raining, my friend.”

“You’re
a cruel, cruel man, Mr. Dawson. But you save my friends, you’ve got a deal.”

“Consider
it done.”

“Hey, baby,
who you on the phone with?”

Dawson
chuckled, the sound of a woman’s voice clearly audible on the other end. “Hell
itself, I presume?”

“You’re
a sick, sick man. I’m letting you go now.”

“Good
luck in hell.”

Annapolis Police Department, Taylor Avenue, Annapolis, Maryland

Katz looked up as the door opened, a man in a suit, probably a
detective, stepping inside, two uniformed officers directly behind him. She
picked up the jamming device, slipping it into her pocket.

“We’re
ready to go here,” she said, but she knew immediately something was wrong, the
two uniforms each with a hand on their holster.

“Can I
see your ID please?”

Katz circled
the table, pulling out her badge wallet and flashing her ID. “Special Agent Willow,
Homeland Security. And you are?”