Kane nodded, doubting anyone hired by the Assembly would be so clumsy. “Have you notified the son?”
“No, we haven’t been able to reach him. It keeps going to voicemail.”
“Not the kind of news you want to leave in a message.”
McKinnon grunted. “Nope. I’m sure we’ll hear back soon.”
“I’m sure.” He tilted his head toward the house. “I’m going to take a look around.”
McKinnon nodded, already turning away, indicating to Kane who the man perceived to be the alpha dog. Kane ignored it, used to being treated with disrespect by men far more dangerous and powerful than McKinnon.
The difference was he usually ended up killing them.
He walked up the front steps and into the home his former archeology professor had grown up in. Kane hadn’t tried to call Acton yet, though things were in motion, the man too influential in his life to leave him hanging. It had been Professor James Acton that he had turned to after 9/11 for guidance. He had wanted to serve, to fight the terrorists that had attacked his country, but hadn’t yet finished his education. It was Acton that had urged him to follow his heart, and he had ended up enlisting that week.
His father had been proud and annoyed.
He had distinguished himself, eventually becoming a Ranger then joining Delta. He was quickly approached by the CIA and leapt at the chance.
And left the army to become an insurance investigator with Shaw’s of London.
That was the end of any pride his father had displayed.
If only you knew.
If Acton hadn’t encouraged him, he might very well have toughed it out, perhaps become an officer at the end of it all, and never had the chance to fight in the trenches, to join Delta, to become a spy. He owed Acton a lot, and he trusted the man, he one of the few people outside of the CIA that knew what he truly did.
And helping him out now wouldn’t be the first time.
Acton knew how to reach him, so the fact he hadn’t heard from him meant Acton most likely didn’t know about his parents yet, or if he did, he was dealing with it in his own way. Either way, Kane couldn’t reach out. Not yet. He needed to determine if the Assembly truly was involved, because if they were, they’d most likely be monitoring Acton’s communications. And if it weren’t, whoever had kidnapped Acton’s parents could still be monitoring him, and if a CIA agent reached out, it could sign their death warrants. He needed more intel.
He entered the house, quickly doing a cursory once over, nothing beyond the half-eaten bacon sandwich on a side table suggesting anything untoward.
And a television left on that had since been turned off.
He pulled out his phone, plugging an attachment into the bottom, an app automatically launching after he pressed his thumb on the sensor. It immediately began detecting signals all through the house, the software quickly eliminating identifiable ones. He stepped into the bedroom, scanning with the device and frowned as a strong signal was detected. It increased in strength as he approached an old phone sitting on a nightstand.
We’ve got a bug.
He found no more on the second floor, returning to the main floor, putting an earbud in as he pretended to be listening to voicemails. Two more phones had bugs though it wasn’t until he found the one in the living room, behind a large painting of a winter scene, an old cabin perched at the edge of a frozen river, that he had his answer.
There was some dust on the bug.
Which meant it had been there for some time, though not too long, the Actons having only moved recently.
He frowned.
If these bugs had been here that long, it meant it was most likely the Assembly that had planted them, there no one else he could possibly think of that might have reason to monitor Acton’s parents.
Kane froze, rage building in his stomach.
If they’re watching his parents, then they’re probably watching mine. And Chris’.
He unplugged the device from his phone, slipping it into his pocket as he exited the house, returning to his car. If they were monitoring the parents, then there was a definite possibility they were monitoring him, which severely restricted his options.
I need someone they don’t know about.
He thought for a moment then smiled.
Lee Fang Residence, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Lee Fang pressed the sensor, making sure her pulse rate was where she wanted it, she at a full sprint on her treadmill, approaching the one-hour mark. She was dripping with sweat, the endorphins rampaging through her system giving her a natural high she thrived on. Her iPhone, strapped to her upper arm, blared a retro eighties mix, Erasure’s A Little Respect thumping in her ears, she discovering decades of music she had never known existed until she arrived in the United States.
Against her will.
She had been a member of the Beijing Military Region Special Forces Unit. Tough, disciplined, and loyal. Loyal to a fault, as it would turn out. She had stumbled upon some information she shouldn’t have, information that she felt threatened her country, even though some of its top generals were involved.
And when one of those generals tried to rape her, she had killed him.
And her flight had begun.
Reaching out to the only American she knew that she thought she could trust, a member of their Delta Force that she had met on assignment in Africa, she had been put together with a CIA agent named Kane. Kane had saved her ass and got her out of China, and as a thank you for her providing the United States with valuable intel that ended up saving them from a coup, she was given a new identity and a generous pension, despite still being in her twenties.
She was just now starting to get used to her new life, or perhaps she had just resigned herself to the fact she could never go home. She was a traitor and a murderer, at least in her government’s eyes. She found it frustrating, the injustice of it all sometimes causing her to break down in tears, an uncharacteristic reaction for her if there ever was one. She loved her country, she loved her people, she loved her job. She had been the best of the best, and now she lived in a small apartment in Philadelphia, living out her days exercising and watching American television, surfing the Internet and trying to figure out what she could do with her life that would have zero chance of her being discovered.
She had no friends.
And was lonely.
Painfully lonely.
The treadmill beeped, her sixty minutes up and she began her cool down, reducing her speed gradually as her perfectly timed mix slowed its beat.
Waay too much time on your hands.
She knew she was lucky. Many people would be thrilled to have a government pension, guaranteed for life, with no need to work. But not her. She had to feel useful, she had to feel like her life had a purpose. And right now, it had none, and she could see no future that would make her happy.
You can never go home.
And in her new homeland, she couldn’t put her skills to use. She couldn’t join the military, the police, paramedics, or anything. Any job that might involve security was off limits as per her agreement with the American government.
On some of the dark nights, curled up on her couch, tears in her eyes, she had eyed the balcony, contemplating how easy it would be to end the pain, to end the torture of her new reality.
But she couldn’t do it.
It would be the ultimate failure.
And she was no failure.
She had to look at this new existence as a challenge. If she couldn’t work, then she needed a hobby. Something she could channel her energies into that would be satisfying.
You could always become an assassin.
She smiled as she hit the big red button, stopping the treadmill. Unhooking the safety key, she grabbed a towel and wiped down her face before taking a large swig from her water bottle. She stared at herself in the mirror and flexed. She had been told she had an amazing body, though looks had never been important to her. She turned to the side, ch
ecking out her bum.
Not bad.
She knew most women would kill to have her physique, she naturally blessed with a slim body. Her workouts however were intense, which is what gave her the six-pack abs and sculpted arms and legs. When she went out jogging, she received a lot of looks from men, Yellow Fever apparently an affliction among many American men. She hadn’t known what it meant until she looked it up on the web.
It had caused her to wear loose fitting clothing when she went out, adopting a more tomboyish look.
A boyfriend was out of the question. She couldn’t put anyone at risk like that, and she couldn’t stand having to lie to them about her past.
She headed for the shower and stripped naked, activating the Bluetooth shower speaker, her tunes immediately piping out of the tiny speaker. Climbing into the shower, she closed her eyes and let the hot water run over her, relaxing her tasked muscles, her mind drifting to thoughts she fought to control, her sexual needs unmet in so long. It wasn’t in her nature to have a one-night stand, and having ruled out a boyfriend, she was limited to her own methods of release.
She pictured her desire, her mind a blur of images that eventually coalesced into the smiling face of a man that surprised her.
Dylan?
He was extremely fit, good looking for a Caucasian, though she had never found white men really attractive.
Maybe living among them for so long has changed your opinion.
She wasn’t sure about that. She watched a lot of television and never found herself admiring the men Hollywood presented to her hour after hour.
Maybe it’s because he’s the only possibility.
She reached down, realizing that he was probably the only man she could have some sort of relationship with. He knew her past, he led a life where commitment wasn’t an option, and from the obvious interest in her he had displayed, he’d be willing.
She moaned.
“Dylan.”
The doorbell rang, followed by three hard knocks on the door, shattering the moment. She turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around her and grabbing her Glock. She peered through the peephole and saw no one.
Her eyes narrowed.
Odd.
She opened the door, leaving the chain in place, and spotted a small box sitting in front of her door. She closed the door, undid the chain, and opened it again, leaning out. Looking down both ends of the hallway, she saw no one. She knelt down and examined the package. It was wrapped in a plain brown paper with no markings.
Not a delivery.
So it wasn’t a mistake, and it wasn’t anything normal.
Her radar immediately went up.
She did a quick visual inspection then picked up the package, stepping back inside and locking the door. The package vibrated and she threw it into the kitchen, behind the counter, and dove in front of the couch, covering her head.
Nothing.
She rose, the towel catching on her foot and falling to the floor.
It went unnoticed.
She tentatively stepped into the kitchen, the box on the floor, tilted against the cupboards, still vibrating.
It has to be a phone.
She grabbed the package, excitement rushing through her like a muscle memory of her former life. She tore off the paper, revealing a cardboard box with no markings. Opening it carefully, the vibrations louder now, her eyes widened as her suspicions were confirmed.
She pulled out the Blackberry and pressed the button to take the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi Fang, it’s me, Dylan. Busy?”
Ambasciatori Palace Hotel, Rome, Italy
Acton stared at the phone sitting on the table. They had decided that since he had no phone, his parents’ kidnappers had Laura’s number, and Reading’s phone might be compromised if there was a leak in Giasson’s office, they needed a new one. Reading had gone out and purchased a burner, and they had used that phone to send a message to Kraft Dinner, they’re own code name for Acton’s former student, Dylan Kane. His secret contact number wasn’t a phone that would ring and his former student would answer, it was a phone number connected to the web somehow that would contact Kane if a special coded sequence was sent to it.
A coded sequence unique to them.
Acton wondered how many people had this method of communication open to them, but given Kane’s job, he doubted it was many. It had proven useful to them on too many occasions, and he hoped that it would prove useful once again.
But it had been hours, and they had heard nothing.
Acton sat back in frustration. “For all we know he’s in the middle of a desert somewhere with no way of receiving our message.”
Reading nodded, Laura in the bedroom sleeping. “Definitely possible. The way our luck is sometimes, most likely.”
Acton half-smiled. “One pessimist is enough, thank you very much.”
Reading motioned toward the window, the impressive view of the ancient city breathtaking. “You haven’t slept all night. You should try to get at least a few hours.”
Acton shook his head. “I can’t. Not with my parents out there somewhere.”
“You’re not going to be much use to them if you’re dead on your feet.”
Acton frowned. “You’re right, of course, but I know I’ll just lie there and disturb Laura. I’ll crash hard at some point, but it’s not going to be now.”
Laura’s familiar morning stretch groan had him turning in his chair to see his wife stepping out of the bedroom, hands extending above her, eyes closed with a contented smile. She gave Acton a kiss then dropped on the couch, curling her legs up under her. “Any news?”
Acton shook his head. “Nothing. We’re taking bets on what part of the world with zero cellphone coverage he’s in.”
Laura leaned over and took a sip from Acton’s coffee cup. “Eww. How old is this?”
Acton shrugged. “I don’t know, when did you make the last pot?”
“Men!” She rose and headed for the coffeemaker in the kitchenette. “You do realize his system is satellite based.”
“Huh?”
“Dylan’s comm system. It’s not cellular, so it must be satellite.”
“And how would you know that?” asked Reading, turning in his chair, an eyebrow cocked.
“Easy. Half the planet, and most of where he deals with, has no coverage. So his system can’t be cellular, otherwise the CIA would never be able to communicate with him. And he told us once the method he gave us piggybacks off their system. So it has to be satellite.”
Reading smiled, looking at Acton. “She’s a hell of a lot sharper than us.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without her,” replied Acton, smiling in appreciation at his wife.
The pot going, she returned to her seat, giving him a peck. “You’d be dead, dear.” She winked at Reading. “Or he’d have you in prison.”
Acton laughed, Reading joining in as they were reminded of the events surrounding how they all met.
Reading’s new phone vibrated and Acton leapt at it.
“It’s a text,” he said, bringing up the message. He immediately put a finger to his mouth.
Room possibly bugged. If you rented hotel room before theft, leave immediately. Don’t take anything except what you were wearing. Leave all phones and electronics. Take cab to St. Peter’s Square. Exit north gate. Green Fiat will be waiting. Good luck. DK.
He handed the phone to Laura whose eyes bulged as she read it before handing it over to Reading. Acton rose, emptying his pockets of anything he didn’t have on him at all times, Laura heading for the bedroom to get dressed. Reading rose, pointing at the new phone, Acton guessing he was asking if he should leave it as well.
He nodded, pointing at the pile of electronics on the table.
Kane clearly thought there was a significant risk of electronic surveillance, and the suggestion had him replaying the conversations that had taken place over the course of the night.
We talked about everything! Even Dylan!
Laura stepped out of the bedroom and nodded. They headed out into the hallway, saying nothing, the ride down in the elevator silent. Acton eyed everyone with suspicion, from the staff to the tourists, every innocent glance triggering his paranoia to the point he doubted whether or not they should trust the cab hailed by the porter.
His decision was made for him when Reading practically pushed him in. He slid over to the driver side of the back seat and Laura pushed up against him, Reading stuffing his large frame into the room remaining.
Acton was about to give their destination when Laura beat him to it. “Vatican, St. Peter’s Square, please.”
“Yes, signora.”
They weren’t far from Vatican City and they were between rush hours so the traffic was reasonable, at least by Rome standards. Acton paid the cabbie and they headed into the walled city, past the Egyptian obelisk and around the Apostolic Palace. Acton was keeping a brisk pace for the first few minutes until Laura pulled on his arm.
“Slow down a bit, you’re going to kill me.”
Acton immediately stopped, looking at his wife whose chest was heaving slightly. “Sorry, babe, are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yes, just not ready for a power walk across the city.”
“Sorry. I forgot.”
She hooked her arm in his and started them forward at a more comfortable pace. “No need to apologize, you’ve got other things on your mind.”
“It’s not far. I have a feeling Dylan selected our pickup location based upon your condition.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. That boy thinks of everything.”
Reading grunted. “Probably wanted to force anyone following us to abandon their vehicle.”
Acton immediately glanced behind them, finding dozens of people walking in all directions, some following their path.
Of course they are. You’re on a path!
“Just keep moving,” said Reading, apparently noticing his constant backward gaze.
Acton frowned but looked ahead. “There it is.” The gate that Kane had sent them toward was now in sight, the city street visible on the other side. As they cleared the gates and reentered Italy, Reading elbowed Acton, his chin jutting to the left.
Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) Page 12
