Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) (36 page)

“Clear!”
shouted Wings, quickly followed by Jagger.

He
scanned the area, confirming his teammates’ assessment, finally relaxing.
“Clear!” He activated his comm. “Any shot on that SUV?”

“Negative,
she’s gone.”

Shit!

Acton hit the ground, lowering his weapon when he heard the shouted
“Friendly” advisory, it crystal clear the new arrivals were on his side. Rather
than add his own bullets into the mix and possibly become a target, he let the
three men try and take out the SUV as he instead looked to make sure all the
other hostiles were down for the count.

The SUV
slammed into the far doors, the thin metal and glass tearing away as thousands
of pounds of motor vehicle forced its way through.

And then
it was over.

Emergency
lighting took the edge off the darkness as his eyes adjusted, and he cautiously
pushed himself to his feet.

Then
smiled as he recognized their saviors.

“What
are you guys doing here?” he asked, stepping forward, hand extended.

Red
shook his hand, as did the others. “A friend said you needed some help.” Red
motioned toward Steve Wainwright, still holding his dead sister. “I’m sorry we
were too late to save her.”

“So am
I,” said Acton, wrapping an arm around Laura as Mai watched Jagger and Wings
examine Tommy. He looked toward the rear doors, now hanging off their hinges.
“Any chance you’ll be able to catch her?”

Red
shook his head. “Doubt it. This is off the books so we don’t have any assets in
the area. There’s more going on here than you know, Doc, and it isn’t over
yet.”

Acton
frowned, not liking the sound of that. “Care to fill me in?”

“Absolutely.
But first we need to get you to safety.”

Assembly Covert Communications Facility, Moscow, Russia

Ilya Mashkov was exhausted, he graduating to copious amounts of
coffee now, his usual pale tea not enough to keep the juices flowing. He was
sure the other members of The Assembly were just as exhausted as he, though
their silhouettes revealed nothing.

And nor
did his.

He
assumed.

He
always wondered if he was the only one who couldn’t see their faces. Perhaps
everyone could see his, or perhaps everyone could see the faces of those who
came after them, since they already knew their identities through the vetting
process.

Perhaps
some day I’ll start to see some faces on the screen.

The very
thought that those anonymous figures could actually see him forced him to be at
his best whenever he arrived at the secure site set up for him. He wished they
would set one up at his primary residence in Moscow, but his request had been
refused.

Security
reasons.

No
matter, he was an IT expert and had tapped the hardware himself, bringing a
little convenience to his life. He used it to read the emails as they came in
so he would have time to prepare responses if necessary, and sometimes skipped
his onsite check-in to send replies or new emails, instead batching them then
sending them all at once, giving the impression he had actually logged into the
hardline.

He was
certain everyone was doing the same thing, it simply ludicrous in today’s world
to expect someone to travel fifteen minutes in each direction when the touch of
a button from anywhere in the world would allow him to accomplish the same
thing.

But he
never faked the meetings.

That
he would never dare risk, though he had been debating it over the
past day, there so many meetings in the past 48 hours it was beyond ridiculous.

“Number
Twelve, our intelligence reports indicate the CIA have been gathering quite a
bit of intel on you in the past several hours.”

Mashkov
felt his throat go dry almost instantly, his tongue stuck to the roof of his
mouth. He reached for his coffee, taking a large sip, swishing it around.
“That’s odd,” he said. “Do we know why?”

“No,”
said Number One, his screen surrounded by a pulsating green box indicating who
was speaking, there no mouth to see.

“Are
they looking into anyone else?” Mashkov hesitated for a moment, his mind still
processing the implications of what had been revealed, he never being privy to
a special meeting that discussed one of the members specifically. “I mean, any
of you?”

“No.”

“Then
that’s good, right? If it had anything to do with The Assembly they’d be
pulling data on more than just one of us. It might be because of my meeting
with the Russian President scheduled for next week.”

“Perhaps.”

Mashkov’s
alarms were ringing. There was no way they would have called an emergency
meeting for routine government inquiries into his background. It must happen a
hundred times a day, and if these people hiding in the shadows were as powerful
as he knew they were, then their names most likely had been run at some point
as well.

So
why are they so concerned?

“If you
want, I can look into it.”

“That
won’t be necessary. We have someone taking care of it as we speak.”

Mashkov’s
blood ran cold as all the screens went blank.

Approaching Washington, DC

“They’ll use me until they’re done with me.”

Christopher
Jones sat facing his wife, the security detail at the rear of the plane,
leaving them alone. He had decided he had to tell someone what was going on,
and his wife was the only one he could trust completely.

But the
fear on her face had him regretting his decision almost immediately. Tears had
rolled down her cheeks when he described the sniper aiming at Kaitlin and the
promise to kill everyone descendent from his grandfather.

He
wondered if it included her.

She was
married to him, but she wasn’t blood, and this organization seemed to be very
precise, very cold, very calculating.

It made
sense. The promise to his grandfather was to eliminate his entire bloodline.

He
looked at Constance. “I think you and your family are safe.”

She
looked at him, wide-eyed as she dabbed the corners of her eyes. “
You
are
my family. Our children are, our grandchild. How can you say such a thing?”

He
leaned over and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. “You know what I
mean. I think they mean the bloodline, so
you
will be safe. It’s
everyone else we love we need to worry about.”

“If they
kill you, they better kill me too. There’s no way I want to live if everyone I
ever cared about is dead.”

He
smiled slightly, trying to comfort her, not sure of what to say.

I
have to get us out of this.

She drew
in a deep breath then exhaled, slowly. “Okay, let’s think of this logically.”

“Logically.”
He smiled, her analytical side starting to show. It was how she had fought her
cancer, it was how she fought all her battles. And this apparently was going to
be no different. It was a coping mechanism that was actually useful. “We’ll figure
out a way through this, together.”

“We
don’t know who these people are.”

“No.”

“But we
know Pete Quaid was one of them.”

“An
underling is my guess. Not one of their leaders.”

“These
twelve shadows you saw on the screens.”

“Right.
But he’s dead, remember, so no use to us.”

Word had
just arrived about the assassination of the only two suspects in custody. There
had been six men when the hotel was assaulted with two drivers apparently
waiting at the underpass he had been told about. That meant eight men. Four had
been killed by the security team sitting behind him, but the other four had
obviously escaped.

And
silenced the only possible leaks.

NOPD had
no success in tracing those involved, and with him no longer in New Orleans,
they were most likely out of the state by now too.

They’ll
never find them.

And it
wouldn’t matter if they did. They were foot soldiers. They would know even less
than Saunders.

Saunders!

He still
couldn’t believe the man was involved.

I
wonder if
his
grandfather made a promise.

“If you
don’t do what they ask, they’ll kill everyone.”

“That’s
what they said.”

“And
they want you to become President.”

Jones
looked at his wife, sensing something. “Yes. Why? What do you mean?”

“What
would happen if you didn’t?”

“Huh?”

“What
would happen if you lost?”

Jones’
eyebrows climbed his forehead slightly as he leaned back in his seat,
contemplating his wife’s words. If he were to lose the election, then he
wouldn’t be betraying his country since they’d have no way of using him. And if
he lost, without revealing their secrets, they’d have no reason to kill him.

It made
sense.

He
looked at his wife, smiling. “I think you may have just saved all our lives.”

Her eyes
twinkled. “It’s what I do.”

He
laughed, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek. “So how does the
runaway front runner lose an election?”

“There’s
only one way I can think of.”

“And
that is?”

“We need
a good scandal.”

Leif Morrison’s Office, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
The next day

“How’s Sherrie?”

“She’s
well, sir, at least as well as can be expected.” Leroux stifled a yawn. “Sorry,
sir, I was up most of the night with her then had to drive back here.”

Morison’s
eyes narrowed. “She’s having trouble sleeping?”

“No, not
at all. The painkillers they’ve got her on are knocking her out pretty good.
It’s the wheezing. They say it’ll go away soon, but I guess I’m just paranoid
that she’ll stop breathing.”

Morrison
rose from his desk and took a seat closer to Leroux. He leaned forward, elbows
on his knees. “She’s going to be fine, Chris. You need to stop worrying.” He
raised a hand, smiling. “I know, I know, it’s easier said than done, but this
is the life you’ve signed up for.”

“I know,
being the boyfriend of a CIA operative means I need to learn to expect these
things.”

Morrison
shook his head, his smile spreading. “No, that’s not what I meant. What I meant
was you’ve signed up to love someone. And that means you’re going to spend the
rest of your life worrying about that person when they’re not well, whether
it’s cracked ribs from two shots to the chest, or the flu. It doesn’t matter
what it is, or how routine it is, you’re going to worry.” He patted Leroux’s
knee. “It means you love her. And as long as you worry, you know you still do.”
Morrison rose and returned to his chair behind his desk. “Now, what’s the
latest?”