While the celebrities were usually the worst in how they treated her on board, the bands often invited her out to party with them, gave her backstage passes, and on occasion the festivities carried on in the bedroom.
It was an exciting life, if not degrading at times. There was nothing like having sex with someone the night before, then serving them and their entourage the next day with it open season for busy hands because somehow the right to grope the help had been purchased by the good time shown only hours before.
She regretted it every time.
“So, Clarice, will we see you in the bar?”
She smiled at the pilot and copilot as they left. “You can count on it.” They were both cute, though the pilot was married. That didn’t stop a lot of them, but the copilot, Jeff, he was single, and his ogling certainly suggested he was interested.
I can think of worse ways to spend some time in Mongolia.
Clean up was fast thanks to the trainees, and in less than an hour they were at their hotel, a cesspool by the standards she was used to, though probably upscale for Mongolia.
She decided to play nice.
“We’re meeting for drinks downstairs in about half an hour. You two are welcome to join us.”
The girl shook her head. “No thanks, I’m just going to stay in my room.”
“Me too,” said the guy.
“Suit yourselves.” Clarice entered her room, slutting up just enough to not look too desperate, but enough to make it clear to Jeff that should he want to fly her friendly skies, she was available.
She stepped into the hallway in time to see the female trainee enter her counterpart’s room.
Someone’s a quick worker.
A flash of jealousy washed over her. What was it with white guys and Asian women? They barely spoke to each other on the plane, and already they were getting jiggy with it?
She shrugged and headed for the elevator.
Jeff better be game, because I’m horny.
12 |
Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“I’m in!”
Analyst Supervisor Chris Leroux turned in his chair, located at the center of one of the impressive operations centers at the CIA. Jampacked with enough gear and communications capability to run a sizeable war, today things were light for his team, and the only reason his boss, National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison, had permitted their little surveillance operation.
And the real reason it was entertained was who the subjects were.
The country owed the professors. Big time. Based upon false intel provided by a corrupt president, Acton had been targeted by the elite Delta Force for elimination, Acton and his students put on the President’s Termination List naming them all as domestic terrorists.
It was a blight on all their records, though he had no involvement in it.
Once the truth had been discovered, the wrongs were righted where possible, but too many innocents were dead.
And it meant that the Delta Force’s Bravo Team had dedicated themselves to rebalancing the bad karma created, through helping Acton and whomever he was attached to, whenever and wherever possible.
And that often ended up involving him and his team, and though he barely knew the professors, he had a connection with them, especially through his best friend, Kane, that had him helping whenever possible.
Like today.
When the morons headed into danger for no apparent reason other than the fact they couldn’t help themselves from helping others, no matter the risk to their own lives.
I think they count on getting bailed out.
Though that was easier said than done in a country like Mongolia, landlocked between the two hostile nations of Russia and China, with minimal tech, and piss poor communications infrastructure. It would be almost impossible to get serious boots on the ground should it become necessary, and there was precious little they could tap from here to help on the fly.
Hell, they couldn’t even get a drone into position without the Chinese or Russians going apeshit and shooting it out of the sky.
The professors, for all intents and purposes, might be on their own on this one.
He turned to his team’s wunderkind, Randy Child. “Took you long enough.”
Child shrugged. “Hey, there was no pathway to the airport. Connection problems. We are talking Mongolia here, not Minnesota. It’s only a couple of steps up from North Korea.”
Leroux decided not to keep pressing the kid’s buttons. “What have you got?”
“Not much.” Child’s fingers operated his keyboard furiously, information appearing on the mass of displays that curved across the entire front of the room. “Their flight arrived about an hour ago.”
“Video?”
“I’ve got one camera in the charter terminal. Give me a sec.” Some more keystrokes then a chin jutted toward the front of the room. Leroux turned to see the professors clearing the brief customs check associated with private flights, the rich and powerful rarely subjected to the annoyances the cattle were.
“Can you track them?”
“I’ll do my best. We don’t have great satellite coverage of that area, and they don’t exactly have a lot of cameras connected to the Internet. This is going to be tough unless we can retask some satellites or get someone on the ground.”
Leroux shook his head. “Not an option. The Chief approved us keeping an eye on things so long as a higher priority task doesn’t come along. No assets outside of this room.”
Sonya Tong, one of his senior analysts with an unhealthy crush on her boss, turned from her station. “Agent Kane is in the area, isn’t he?”
Leroux faced her. “In a manner of speaking, but he’s on assignment and might not be able to get there for days. For now, the professors are on their own.”
Child interrupted. “Sir, I’ve got another Echelon intercept. I think Dean Milton is in trouble.”
13 |
Tangut Empire, Western Xia August 17, 1227 AD
There was no hiding the trembling. Princess Khatun was too terrified, despite the brave face she hoped was on display. She stood in the middle of the Khan’s bedchambers, a bed only feet away covered in silks and pillows, candlelight and torches surrounding them, the floor piled with the softest of animal hides.
Any woman, any princess, would be thrilled to have a bedchamber such as this to call her own.
And that might be exactly why it was decorated so.
To make those who were about to be taken against their will comfortable.
What a high opinion he must have of himself.
“You are very beautiful, Princess.”
She said nothing.
“Do you ignore your Khan’s compliments?”
Again, she said nothing as he continued to circle her, taking in his prize with widening eyes. He came to a stop in front of her, his eyes boring into hers as she met his gaze, determined to let him know that despite his mastery of her body, he had none over her mind.
“I admire your courage, however useless it is.” His hand darted out and he grabbed her by the throat. “No matter how much you resist, this is happening.”
She grabbed at his hand, trying to pry it from her neck, but it was of no use. His grip was like iron, and as she gasped against the ever-tightening hold, her world drifted out of focus and she began to lose consciousness when she was abruptly released. She collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath and coughing, and as her senses returned, she recoiled, the Khan having removed his pants, his eager pride wagging in front of her face.
“Now, Princess, we do this the easy way, or the hard way.” He grabbed her by the back of the head, pulling her toward him. “And so you know, I prefer the hard way.”
She turned her head to the side as he pulled her closer, his flesh touching her cheek, her mouth filling with bile. He pinched her nose, forcing her to hold her breath as he laughed. She stole a glance up at him, her eyes watering, and when he tossed his head
back in victory as she gasped for air, she gripped the gift from her father she had tucked in her hair and squeezed. She felt the click and pulled the end with her fingers, her thumb pressed against the sheath as she withdrew the hidden blade.
And shoved it into her rapist’s scrotum, then yanked the razor sharp edge toward her as he screamed in agony.
Ending, she prayed, his reign of tyranny over women forever.
14 |
Kempinski Hotel Khan Palace Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia Present Day
Mai Trinh checked her phone for the umpteenth time as she paced their small hotel room. “I’m still not getting a steady signal. It keeps dropping off.”
Tommy Granger, sitting cross-legged on the bed, hammered away at his keyboard, an array of equipment spread out around him including things that appeared to be mini satellite dishes. He was the geek in this relationship, and this was all Greek to her.
But she loved him dearly.
This was despite the fact he was nothing like the man she had pictured marrying her entire life as a girl in Vietnam. Of course, living there, she had never imagined falling in love with a white guy. Sure, there were the fantasies about being swept away by some movie star, but those were girlish infatuations. She had just assumed she’d find a nice Vietnamese boy, fall in love, get married, have children, grow old together, and pass away within days of the other.
The standard naïve life plan.
Little could she have known she’d be witness to the murder of a head of state while giving a tour of a museum to the professors, then be drawn into an international conspiracy to frame America for the murder. She had done the right thing then, completely disrupting her life in the process, just as she was doing the right thing now.
Though she doubted gunmen would burst through their door any time soon.
Her plan had worked.
She had seen it in the movie. If you wear the uniform and act the part, nobody questions you. And with Laura’s connections, she got them on as crew trainees, and the rest was child’s play.
Tommy threw his arms up in victory. “I’m connected!”
“Won’t it just drop like mine?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m connected differently.”
“How?”
He gave her a look. “Do you really want to know?”
She chuckled. “No.”
Tommy dialed his phone, putting it on speaker. Acton answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Doc, it’s us. I’m connected. We should be good to go when you are.”
“Good work. We’ve just checked into our hotel. We’ll be heading to Arban’s house in a couple of minutes. Remember what we said. You two don’t leave that hotel room for any reason. Any. Order room service as much as you want, and try to take it easy on the dirty movies.”
Tommy shifted uncomfortably and Mai blushed.
They both enjoyed a good blue movie now and then.
“Umm, I doubt they have those in Mongolia,” came Tommy’s meek reply.
Acton laughed. “I’m just joking, Tommy. We’ll have to work on that sense of humor.”
Tommy flushed even more. “Okay, Doc, you got me on that one. Oh, don’t forget the interface I gave you. Just plug it into a USB port and it should give me full access to the computer.”
“Yup, I’ve got your little kit in my hand. We’re leaving now. You should hear from us within an hour.”
“Good luck!” called Mai.
“To all of us.”
15 |
Acton/Palmer Residence St. Paul, Maryland
Milton gasped as he was punched in the stomach yet again. The only mercy was that he hadn’t taken another blow to his face. His nose was broken at least ten minutes ago, blood dripped from his bulging lips, and he feared for his vision, one eye already swollen shut, the other barely open.
An uppercut knocked him from the chair and onto the floor, his face reflected in the shine of the tile, unrecognizable, alien, a bloody pulp of meat barely human anymore.
A heavy boot slammed into his back and he screamed in agony.
Then fear as he lost all feeling below the waist, a sensation he was terrifyingly familiar with.
He’s paralyzed me again!
He sobbed uncontrollably at the horror, at the prayers echoing in his head not for the beating to stop, but for his life to end.
For he wanted it to end.
He couldn’t go through being wheelchair bound again.
He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing everything he had put his wife through before his miraculous recovery, the brave face she had put on, the sacrifices she had pretended to ignore.
I can’t put her through that again. She’s better off without me.
Then his little girl filled his vision and he pictured her pointing at his toe, bouncing to the music, the first sign of life below the waist after being shot twice in the back.
And a jolt of pain surged through his body from head to toe.
Thank you, God!
It was the hint of hope he needed to snap out of the self-pity that threatened to take control.
He had to survive for his girls.
And that meant he had to betray his friends.
“Why are they going to Mongolia?”
His sobs renewed. Not for himself, but for the fact he was finally going to talk, he was finally going to give in to the pain and tell the man everything he wanted to know.
He was killing his friends.
“Be-because a former student texted them he was in trouble.”
“When did they leave?”
“Last night.”
“What flight?”
“I-I don’t know. They have a private jet.”
“Bullshit.” There was a pause. “So, she is rich.”
“Yes. From her brother.” He gasped, another jolt of pain blinding him momentarily, a white hot dagger slicing through his back, his heart hammering from the strain and the terror of what might be to come.
“What’s the name of the airline?”
But he couldn’t answer, his entire body tense from the agony.
He gasped from another kick to his back.
“Please! Not my back!”
The man stepped around him, staring down at his blood and tear-stained face. “Your back? Why not?”
Milton’s heart nearly stopped as he realized he had just made a terrible mistake. He had given his captor a critical piece of information that the man could now capitalize on.
Another kick, this time to the stomach, a love tap compared to the previous, was delivered. “What about your back?”
“N-nothing. It just hurts.”
The man pursed his lips then pulled out his phone, tapping away for a moment before a smile slowly crept up one side of his face. “Interesting. You were shot in the back twice, paralyzed for a while, then made a miraculous recovery.” The man stared down at him as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. “A miracle man.”
Milton said nothing.
His captor grabbed his wallet from the kitchen counter, Milton’s pockets emptied before the assault had begun. The man flipped through the photos he kept there. He held up a photo of Sandra. “You’re married to a kaffir?”
Rage gripped Milton at the racist term. “She was born in Trinidad.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you South African?”
The man ignored his question. “She’s very pretty.” He held up a photo of Niskha. “And your daughter. What is she here? Seven? Eight?”
Milton bit his tongue, terrified of where this was going.
“They’re both very beautiful.” He tossed the wallet back on the counter. “Perhaps I should pay them a visit when I’m done here.”
Milton glared at him, helpless to do anything as terror gripped him. “If you lay a finger on them, you’ll die a slow, painful death, I swear it!”
The man tossed his head back, laughing. “Oh, I’m shaking. Are you, the cripple, going to kill me?”
Milton summoned all the s
trength he could muster as he focused his rage on the man towering over him. “If not me, then someone else. I have friends.”
“Oh, you have friends. Who?”
Milton sneered at him. “You’ll find out when they kill you.”
Another laugh. “Now I have to know who these friends are, so I know who to keep an eye out for.” He eyed him. “I wonder just how much your back can take before you’re paralyzed again.” He stepped forward and shoved a boot under Milton, flipping him onto his stomach. “Let’s find out, shall we?” He raised his boot and dropped it hard.
And thankfully, Milton passed out from the pain, but not before his legs went numb, and he lost all hope.
16 |
Approaching Acton/Palmer Residence St. Paul, Maryland
Lee Fang, exiled Chinese Special Forces, grabbed one of the Glocks in CIA Agent Sherrie White’s go bag and slapped a mag in it before handing it forward. Sherrie took it and stuffed it in her belt then held out a freshly manicured hand.
“So sad. I almost never get my nails done, but today, the one day I get a chance, the one day where I think they might last for more than a weekend, Acton and his wife end up messing things up again.”
Fang loaded a second Glock for herself then held out one of her own hands, admiring the bright red she had chosen. “They did a nice job, though.”
Sherrie grunted. “For the price, they better.”
Fang shrugged as she executed a gymnastic maneuver that had her impressively in the passenger seat a moment later. “Well, you don’t want to go to those cheap places. I’ve seen some pretty horrifying things on Instagram where people have caught infections because the equipment hasn’t been sterilized properly.” She held up three magazines for Sherrie to see, then stuffed it into the agent’s purse. “Have you seen those fish that eat the dead skin off your feet?”
Sherrie nodded as she took a corner hard. “Yeah, I’ve always been curious to try it.”
“I’ve done it a few times back in China, but never again. If you think ‘manicures gone bad’ videos are nasty, you should see the fish ones.”
The Tomb of Genghis Khan Page 4
