Wages of Sin (A James Acton Thriller, #17) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Leroux reached for his plate. “So, umm, sex is off the table?”

  Sherrie chewed another bite, covering her mouth. “Eat.”

  He shrugged. “Your loss.” He took a bite, eyeing her the entire time. He loved her, and she loved him. There was no doubt about that. They had been together now for a couple of years, the reason for their initial union one they could never share with friends, she a CIA agent, he now an Analyst Supervisor. She had been assigned to tempt him—sexually—into spilling state secrets. He, the awkward shy geek, had somehow, miraculously, resisted her.

  And ultimately charmed her.

  It was his high school buddy, Dylan Kane, that had ultimately got them together despite his sense of betrayal when he had discovered the truth.

  Something he could never thank his old friend enough for.

  His phone vibrated on the counter. He glanced at the call display, the coded number raising his eyebrows.

  Speaking of.

  He swallowed, swiping a greasy thumb across the screen. “Hello?”

  “Hey buddy, hope I’m interrupting some hanky panky.”

  “Apparently you have to wait twelve hours after eating a damfino.”

  “Oh, those things your dad’s buddy used to make?”

  “Yup.”

  Kane’s voice became muffled, as if speaking to someone else. “Hey, babe? Do you know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich?”

  “Not very popular in China.”

  “Okay, you’re in for a treat. Do we have hotdogs?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Okay, get dressed. We’re going shopping.” There was a shuffling sound. “Okay, I’m back. The doc is in trouble again.”

  Leroux closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. “What now?”

  “Apparently they’re on safari in South Africa and ran into some trouble with poachers. I’ve sent you the details. See if you can get clearance to have a bird locate them. I’m guessing these guys will have them moved before the locals can respond, and if they’re poachers, they’re going to know all the good hiding spots.”

  Leroux headed for the bedroom to change. “Okay, I’ll contact the director and get the okay.”

  “Good. And read the file. Apparently, the daughter of the Treasury Secretary is with them. That should grease some wheels.”

  “Okay, will do. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Do that. Now I have to go introduce Fang to one of the greatest culinary inventions of all time.”

  51

  Greater Kruger National Park, South Africa

  Acton sprinted as fast as he could for as long as he could, but it was no use. Despite the rough terrain, the poachers were soon out of sight. He slowed down, coming to a halt, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  He turned his head to look up at Courtney, who appeared fresh.

  Youth!

  “Aren’t you at least a little tired?”

  She shrugged. “I run cross country at Harvard. The only difference here is it’s in the dark, but once your eyes adjust, it’s actually not that bad.” She watched him, concerned. “Do you want me to run ahead?”

  He shook his head, standing up straight and stretching his back. “No, we should stick together. There’s a lot of things out here that would like to make a tasty snack out of you. They’re less likely to attack if there’re two of us.”

  This seemed to scare her and she stepped closer, warily scanning the grass that surrounded them, something he hadn’t been doing enough of, his obsession with keeping as close as possible to Laura leaving him to neglect their own safety.

  Courtney pointed to the horizon, a hill stretching toward the east. “That’s pretty close, isn’t it?”

  Acton nodded. “Not too far. Why?”

  “Well, we were up in that area yesterday, I think. There’s no way a vehicle can go up that, it’s too steep.”

  Acton eyed the silhouette of the hill. “So?”

  “So, they would have to go around it.”

  Acton paused for a moment, truly listening to her for the first time. “What are you saying?”

  “Well, if they went that way”—she pointed west of the hill—“then we’d still see their lights, right?”

  Acton nodded, his mouth slowly opening as he realized what she was saying.

  “So since we can’t, they must have gone around it.”

  Acton smiled. “How high was it?”

  She shrugged. “Not high. Maybe twenty or thirty feet, but steep enough that they’d have to go around it.”

  Acton’s head bobbed. “But we can go over it.”

  “Exactly. It could save us a lot of time.”

  Acton handed her the backpack with their supplies. “Help out an old man, would you?”

  Courtney gave a genuine smile, taking the backpack and slinging it over her shoulders. Acton adjusted the straps for her then gave the pack a yank.

  “Okay, let’s move!”

  52

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  Chris Leroux held his palm to the scanner, a beam running down the display as every minute detail of his unique skin pattern was read by the computer then checked against the files of thousands of CIA employees. The security panel turned green with a beep, a click indicating the locks to the secure operations center assigned to his team had been unlocked. He stepped inside, his eyes quickly taking in the various pieces of intel displayed on the massive series of screens sweeping in an arc across the front of the room.

  “What do we know?”

  “Not much, sir,” replied Sonya Tong, one of his top analysts. “State is definitely horny for intel, though. The director’s already been in twice, and we just got authorization to retask a bird ten minutes ago.”

  “In position?”

  “Thirty seconds,” replied Randy Child, their newest and youngest member, a computer whiz kid with no filter between the brain and mouth.

  “Has anything been confirmed by the locals?”

  Tong shook her head. “Nothing yet. We don’t even know if they’ve dispatched anyone.”

  Leroux spun toward her, his eyes narrowed. “What are the South Africans saying?”

  “Nada. They’re not answering.”

  “What?”

  She shrugged. “The phone just goes to voicemail. This is all happening fast and it’s the middle of the night there. Our liaison might be napping.”

  “Or taking a dump.”

  Leroux ignored Child’s perfectly valid possibility. “So what have you done about it?”

  Tong was prepared for the question, as he had expected her to be. “I’ve called the resort they were staying at and they’ve confirmed they’re overdue. They’re sending people out now to look for them.”

  “Did you warn them about the poachers?”

  “Yes, but they seemed unconcerned.”

  “Brave or stupid,” muttered Child.

  Leroux agreed. “Yes, but either one gets boots on the ground.”

  “Bird’s in position,” announced Child.

  “Okay, show me the resort.” Child worked his terminal, a hazy green image appearing on the screen. “Okay, there’s only one road into that place. Let’s follow it, see what we see.” The image scanned west, nothing but empty road and uninteresting landscape bordering it on either side.

  And plenty of infrared signatures showing warm bodies, there so many it was likely all wildlife.

  The door opened, Leroux’s boss, National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison, entered the room. Leroux kept his eyes on the display, not wanting to miss anything. “Sir, we’re searching the road they were last reported on.”

  “Anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  Something whipped past, Tong catching it first. “Stop!” She pointed at the screen, looking over at Child. “Back it up a bit, there was a vehicle off to the side.”

  Child
rolled back the footage then zoomed in on what appeared to be some sort of off-road vehicle, lying on its side, a pulsating green emanating from the engine compartment indicating it had been recently running.

  Leroux tensed slightly and he stepped closer, pointing to a patch of green at the bottom of the frame. “Reposition two meters south.”

  Child changed the angle, confirming Leroux’s fears. What he had thought might be a pair of feet was confirmed, an entire body now visible, the heat signature rapidly fading as the cool night sapped the corpse’s remaining body heat. “Looks like this is the place.”

  Tong pointed, her arm tracing the location of the body. “Could be the driver. Looks like he might have been pulled through the windshield.”

  Leroux nodded. “Could be.”

  Morrison stepped toward the screen. “Reposition to the rear of the vehicle.”

  Child tapped at his keyboard, a second image appearing beside the first, another body revealed. “Definitely the place.”

  Morrison turned to Leroux. “We need to identify them, now.”

  Leroux glanced at his boss. “Yes, sir, but there’s no way we can do it from these images. Once the locals are on-scene, it should be quick.”

  “ETA?”

  “No idea at this point. We’re waiting to hear back from our liaison there.”

  “That’s only two bodies. We know the Secretary’s daughter was with three others, and the Actons were with another couple. Any sign of them? There should be at least eight plus their guide.”

  Leroux motioned to Child. “Zoom out from that area, look for any heat signatures.”

  Child complied, slowly expanding the view, the area alive with large animals, making it difficult to spot anything—this wasn’t searching for a lone target in a barren desert.

  Leroux shook his head, frustrated. “Sir, this is going to require boots on the ground.”

  Morrison nodded. “We’ve got a Delta unit over North Africa right now. They’re being redeployed. Should be there by morning.”

  Leroux frowned. “That’s a lot of time to hide them.”

  Morrison agreed. “Let’s just hope this is a ransom situation and not a robbery.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If they think they’re worth something alive, then they’ll keep them that way. If they don’t…”

  Leroux stared at the two bodies on the screen. “They’re dead.”

  “Exactly.”

  53

  Somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea

  “Zero-One, Control Actual. Come in, over.”

  Dawson jerked up in his seat as he activated his comm, surprised to hear from the Colonel. “Go ahead, Control.”

  “We’re retasking your team. You’re needed in South Africa.”

  “South Africa?”

  His team fell silent.

  “Yes, the Treasury Secretary’s daughter is missing, presumed kidnapped by poachers.”

  Dawson pointed at Niner. “Have the pilot redirect to South Africa.”

  Niner nodded, heading for the cockpit. “Good thing we just refueled.”

  Dawson switched his comm back on. “What do we know?”

  “All we know is that Professor Laura Palmer—”

  Dawson’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding me!”

  “—nope, she and her husband are once again involved.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Some would say so, but they keep us entertained. Anyway, she called Interpol Agent Hugh Reading, who is the source of most of our intel at this time. Apparently, they were being pursued by poachers when they were cut off. Satellite imagery shows their vehicle overturned, with two bodies.”

  “Why were they with the Secretary’s daughter?”

  “Unknown. As far as we know they were not traveling together.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Less than an hour ago.”

  The plane banked sharply to starboard, Dawson reaching for a handhold as Niner returned, giving a thumbs up.

  “Any contact with the hostiles?”

  “Negative, no ransom demands yet, and we can’t presume that’s their motive. If they’re poachers, this doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “Why do we think they’re poachers?”

  “Apparently the professor used that term.”

  “It’s rather specific.”

  “Agreed. Langley thinks someone in the vehicle may have known their attackers, perhaps the guide.”

  “Sounds like a good place to start the investigation. Have Langley find out if he had any family.”

  “Way ahead of you, Zero-One. Langley will be briefing you shortly.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Also, instructions have been sent to you through a secure message. We’ve got one pick up we need you to make on your way.”

  Dawson’s eyes widened. “Sir?”

  “Details are in the upload.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Oh, and BD?”

  Dawson’s eyes narrowed, the use of his moniker unusual over the comms.

  And he knew what it was about.

  “Did you find Maggie?”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing, turning toward him.

  “Yes.”

  The Colonel’s voice was subdued, and Dawson already knew the answer to his next question. “Is she okay?”

  “I’m sorry, BD, but the news isn’t good.”

  54

  Greater Kruger National Park, South Africa

  Acton crept forward on his stomach, painfully aware of every scraping noise his body made against the hard rock beneath him. Courtney had been right, the hill steep and perhaps twenty-five feet high. And from the sounds he was hearing ahead, her guess that Tladi and his men had traveled around the hill, appeared accurate.

  They had gotten lucky.

  It had taken almost an hour for them to reach the hill at a jog, and he was exhausted, adrenaline the only thing keeping him from collapsing right now in a puddle of lactic acid and dehydrated tissues.

  He inched forward some more.

  And saw them.

  Laura and the others appeared to be tied together to his right, about fifty feet away, the vehicles parked nearby, facing away from the rock face, as if in preparation for a hasty escape. Several tents were already set up along with a campfire, apparently no one concerned about the light.

  And why should they be?

  There was no one around for miles, and the only civilization was behind them, behind this large rock.

  Come on Hugh, work your magic!

  If he knew Reading, he would have immediately contacted his colleagues at Interpol to notify the South Africans, then he’d probably have his ass on a plane.

  I hope he charged us for the flight.

  Acton smiled.

  And then he would have contacted Dylan.

  Acton rolled onto his back, waving his arms back and forth at the sky, just in case there were any satellites or drones retasked due to his distinguished partner in this ordeal, the Treasury Secretary’s daughter. He rolled back over, executing his birdcall once more, Laura flinching again.

  I’m here, babe. Just stay alive.

  Comforted in knowing she had received his message, he retreated the way he came, dropping to the ground, Courtney immediately at his side.

  “Are they alive?”

  “For now.”

  She hugged him, resting her head on his chest for a moment. “Oh, thank God.” Then her shoulders slumped. “Why did they have to kill Dyson?”

  Acton decided he better head off the tears and blame game about to happen. “They’re murderers who don’t value human life like we do. There’s no one to blame except them.”

  “Yes there is,” she mumbled. “He didn’t want to come. He wanted to take some courses for extra credit. I forced him. I said if he didn’t, we were over.”

  Acton grunted. “Young people—hell, old people—have been giving ultimatums to each other for
time immemorial. You can’t blame yourself. He died because of something I found, and somehow bad people found out.”

  She frowned. “If our car hadn’t broken down, you wouldn’t have had to pick us up, and he’d be alive.”

  Acton grinned. “There you go! Blame the Jag!” He took the backpack off her shoulder. “Let’s get set up for the night.” He pulled the tent out, choosing a spot near the side of the rock face, leaving one less direction anyone—or anything—might approach them from. Using the flashlight, he quickly read the instructions stitched onto the slipcase, then smiled. He removed the tent then tossed it a few feet away, it popping into shape, a shelter for two now at their service. He repositioned it, inserted the pegs, adjusted the guy lines, then stood up, satisfied. “We camp here for the night.”

  Courtney looked about. “Umm, aren’t we a little close to them?”

  Acton shook his head. “No, they’ve got no reason to look over here, and they’d have to climb that rock to do it. With the tent here, against the side, they don’t really have the angle.”

  “But won’t they see our fire?”

  “We’re not making one.”

  “But we’ll freeze to death!”

  “This is Africa, not Alaska. We’ll be fine.”

  He unrolled two thin aluminized sleeping bags, handing them to her. “Here, zip these together so we can share body heat.” Courtney took them and he turned his attention to transferring all their meager possessions inside the tent. Finished, he checked on her progress.

  None.

  He took over, quickly zipping the two bags together, then tossed them inside the tent. He held out his hand. “After you.”

  “Thanks.” Courtney climbed inside and he followed, zipping the tent closed before inspecting it for any uninvited critters, finding none.

  “Okay, we’re good.” He sat down on one side, cross-legged, pulling the backpack in front of him. He removed the emergency rations, cutting open the vacuum-sealed pack, pulling out what he assumed was jerky—whether it was beef was a question that would remain unanswered. He handed her some. “Eat.”

  She waved it off. “Not hungry.”