15
Belmond Reid’s Palace Resort, Island of Madeira, Portugal
“Man, this is the life.”
Archaeology Professor James Acton sighed as a gentle, warm breeze swept over them, the rhythmic soothing sound of the Atlantic Ocean washing up on the coast of this island paradise a welcome white noise drowning out the sounds of families and singles at play on the sands and in the shallow waters.
He reached up and slightly twisted the umbrella jammed in the sand, blocking the sun from burning the bundle of English flesh lying beside him. To say his wife, Archaeology Professor Laura Palmer, burned easily, would be an understatement, yet she always seemed to manage somehow, whether it was here on the beach on spring break, or at a dig site in the middle of some unforgiving desert.
Sunblock.
Lots of it.
He, on the other hand, always seemed to easily manage a nice golden brown. Skin cancer might claim him one day, though when he thought back to his youth, lying on beaches with his parents lathering bronzing oil onto him, he figured the damage had already been done, and done young.
“Thanks, hon.”
“No problem. Don’t want you getting all sore for tonight. Got plans for you.” He grinned at her.
She responded with a lazy, content look. “I’ll just lie there if you don’t mind. Just tell me when you’re done.”
He feigned a hurt expression. “Is that anyway to talk around our friends? They’re liable to think we’ve already turned into a boring, married couple.”
“Hey, when I was laid up in a wheel chair for a couple of years, all I did was lay there. Sandra had to do all the work.”
“Gregory!”
Acton grinned at Laura then rolled his head to the other side, looking at his best friend, Gregory Milton and his wife Sandra. “But now you’re an animal in the sack?”
“A beast.”
“Unstoppable.”
“Like a juggernaut.”
“Wham, bam, thanks for the slam.”
“Who’s your daddy?”
“Smack the junk, tickle the—”
“James!”
Acton cringed at Laura’s admonishment. “I think we went too far.”
Milton shook his head. “I didn’t, but you definitely did.”
“Who’s your daddy?”
It was Milton’s turn to cringe as he looked at his wife giving him a none-too-pleased look. “Umm, new topic? I was thinking after the sun goes down a bit we would take a drive over to the ruins, walk around for a while. I realize it’s not Greek ruins, but it should still be interesting.”
Laura rolled into a seated position, facing them. “That sounds nice. I can only lie around for so long without going barmy.”
Milton agreed. “It’s really too bad we had to cancel Greece. I was so looking forward to that. It’s on my bucket list, and now that Niskha’s old enough to leave with her grandmother for a week, we were finally hoping to actually see some of the world.”
Acton frowned. “Unfortunately a lot of your European bucket list will have to wait, perhaps forever.”
“The refugees,” muttered Milton, his head bobbing. “I wanted to do Bavaria one day, but Germany’s essentially lost. I’m just glad I saw Paris before it was ruined.”
“Yeah. But let’s not call them refugees. The vast majority of them are just migrants. Hopefully Europe smartens up and realizes what’s happening before it’s too late.”
“I think it already is,” said Milton. “My parents go to Europe every year for a few weeks. They’ve been doing it since they retired, but now they’ve cancelled their plans for the first time in over a decade. It’s just not safe anymore.”
“Especially if you’re a woman,” said Laura, sticking her lips out as she searched for the end of a straw leading to a ridiculously feminine looking drink.
Acton grabbed his own identical one, draining it. “I would never let Laura go to Europe alone.”
“Let?”
He cringed. “Poor choice of words. You know what I mean.”
She winked at him. “I know. And you’re right, I wouldn’t want to go. With rapes and sexual assaults going through the roof throughout Europe, you’d be insane to travel alone as a woman. My heart breaks for those poor women who were born and raised in countries that were traditionally safe and now are so dangerous. I mean, what happened in Cologne was insane!”
“What was it, over a thousand women assaulted?”
“Something like that.” Acton held up his drink and a cabana boy waved at him, rushing off to get another. “I watched a few videos of it and it was disturbing. RT News had a video showing this poor woman being groped and manhandled by dozens of men as she left the subway.” His eyes dropped. “The sheer terror on her face was enough to make me want to go in there with an MP5 and thin the crowds a little.” He shook his head. “If Europe isn’t careful, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
Milton rubbed some sunscreen on his wife’s back. “You really think it could turn to civil war?”
Acton looked at his friend. “Think about it. If you lived peacefully in your hometown for your entire life, then suddenly thousands of people showed up with nothing in common with you, insisting you pay for their food and shelter and medical benefits, then some of them paid you back by robbing your stores, mugging you and raping and sexually harassing your wife and daughter, then laughed it up while your government did nothing to protect you, even denied that the very things you had seen with your own eyes had happened, don’t you think you’d be tempted to take matters into your own hands?” He glanced at Laura. “I know if someone touched Laura I’d hunt them down and cut their heart out.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“Think nothing of it.” He winked then turned back to Milton. “Then I’d have to decide whether to continue with the government truly responsible for letting it happen.”
“Well, the far rightwing parties are certainly polling a lot higher since the migrants arrived.”
“And that’s the truly scary thing. When the people start to fight back, to enforce a way of life that their government won’t, what happens then? Think about it. If you fight back, and the government orders the police or the military to intervene, and just one unit refuses those orders, instead standing down, what then? And what if those units instead decide to support their own people, rather than the migrants?” Acton shrugged. “A year ago I would have said the very idea of a European civil war was insane. Today? I’m not so sure.”
Sandra looked at Laura. “Laura, honey, I think you might have chosen the right time to move to the US.”
Laura nodded, sipping her drink then setting it aside. “As much as I’d like to say my husband is being paranoid, I just can’t. I’ve been talking to a lot of friends back home in the UK and though it’s not as bad as in France and Germany, they’re terrified.”
Acton’s phone vibrated and he fished it out, his eyes narrowing at the number. “What country code is seven?”
Laura snatched the piña colada from the cabana boy then motioned toward her husband. “He’ll be needing a new one as well.” The boy grinned and hurried off, Laura raising her glass to toast her husband’s good timing. “Russia, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Huh.” Acton swiped his thumb. “Hello?”
“Hello, Professor Acton, this is Arseny Orlov from the Russian Ministry of Culture. Do you remember me?”
“Arseny, of course I remember you. We met at the Antiquities Preservation Conference in Munich. What can I do for you?”
“Have you been paying attention to the news?”
Acton chuckled. “I’m on a beach in Portugal, trying to avoid the news, why?”
“Well, I suggest you check the news then call me back.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed. “Why not just tell me?”
There was a pause. “Professor Acton, Jim, please, just watch the news then call me back. You must understand the gravity of the situation before I ask the
favor I must of you.”
The call ended and Acton launched the browser on his phone.
“Who was that?” asked Laura.
“Dr. Arseny Orlov, Russian Ministry of Culture.”
“What did he want?”
“He wants me to check the news then call him back.”
Milton sat up, grabbing his iPad. “That sounds ominous.”
Laura set aside her drink. “Did he say what it was about?”
Acton shook his head. “He said I had to ‘understand the gravity of the situation’ before he could ask me for a favor.” The CNN headlines appeared on his phone. “Holy shit!”
“What is it?” asked Laura, crawling over so she could see.
Milton shoved his larger tablet toward them, the headline big enough for them all to see.
Japan and Russia on Brink of War?
16
South Kuril Islands, Russian Federation
Japanese name: Chishima Islands
“Sir, the Russian ship is not responding to our hails.”
Captain Akira Yamada kept his expression emotionless, though inside he could feel the tension building. He was Japanese, the past seventy years dominated by a pacifist tradition adopted after the war. Only recently had they begun to participate in peacekeeping missions and other humanitarian activities outside their borders.
Never had they been in a possible shooting war.
Not since the great disgrace.
But his mission was clear.
Blockade the Chishima Islands, preventing any Russian ships from passing. It appeared that his government had chosen today to be the day they reestablished their sovereignty over the lands stolen from his people at the end of the war.
It’s about time.
“Sir, the Russian ship is not breaking off!”
“Hold your position!” he snapped, detecting the panic in the man’s voice. The Russian captain had decided to run the blockade, aiming his ship directly at his, it a game of chicken.
An idiotic game of chicken.
His ship was holding position with no way to avoid the collision. Chicken only worked if both parties were racing toward each other, the coward breaking off at the last minute to avoid the crash.
His was 8000 tons of ship, sitting dead in the water.
The Russian would have to break off.
There was no courage here. No honor. No age-old tradition of a joust.
This was arrogance, the Russian assuming, and asserting, his perceived superiority.
“Arm all weapons, prepare to fire.” His order was calm, yet curt. He had no intention of firing, but his crew needed something to concentrate on, though he knew his crew was disciplined enough not to fire without orders.
The shame of a mistake was too great.
“Hail the Russian ship. Inform them that they will be fired upon if they do not break their approach.”
“Yes, sir!”
“She’s breaking to port, sir!”
“Reverse engines, hard to starboard!”
“Yes, sir!”
He felt the mighty beast under him struggle to move back, its massive bulk turning slightly to starboard, the prow of his ship swinging slowly away from the oncoming rush of Russian idiocy as it broke in the opposite direction.
Yet it was too late.
The Russian had misjudged his maneuverability.
“Brace for impact!”
An alarm sounded and he gripped the arms of his chair, his bridge crew grabbing handholds as the Russian frigate broadsided them, scraping along the front quarter with a screaming squelch of metal, sparks spraying across both decks, the ship letting out a moan of protest before it was all over. He leapt from his chair, rushing onto the weather deck with his binoculars, surveying the damage to the Russian vessel.
Paint. Scraped paint. Which meant his vessel was probably similarly damaged. He shifted his binoculars up and spotted his counterpart doing the same. The Russian lowered his binoculars, giving Yamada a clear view of his face.
Arrogance.
“Damage report!” he shouted over his shoulder before looking back at the Russian vessel as it continued to run along the line of Japanese vessels before turning away.
If someone doesn’t smarten up, this is going to turn into a shooting war, fast.
17
Approaching Sheremetyevo International Airport, Moscow, Russian Federation
“Why do I get the nasty feeling coming here was a mistake?”
James Acton stared out the window of their private jet. They had left the Miltons in Portugal, fully expecting to fly in and out the same day, especially since their hastily arranged visas expired at midnight.
So the vacation could continue tomorrow.
In theory.
Though it never worked out that way.
Apparently, a Russian ship had just rammed a Japanese ship. More vessels from both navies were steaming into the area, and the US Seventh Fleet was also responding.
And so were the Chinese.
Leave it to them to take advantage of an opportunity.
At this point, the navies of Russia, Japan, China, the Philippines, the United States and Vietnam were on full alert, the incident originating north of Japan turning into a regional dispute over conflicting claims of islands and waters throughout the South China Sea and the East China Sea.
It was getting out of control.
He had been to Moscow before, and what he was seeing outside their plane was a level of security he had never experienced before. He couldn’t possibly imagine the Russians actually concerned about a Japanese attack on Moscow, it clearly an intimidation tactic for arriving visitors and dignitaries, yet it was unsettling nonetheless.
“Are we sure we want to do this?” asked Laura, sitting across from him.
He looked at her, his lips pursed. “No. But we’re here, we have the proper documentation, and Arseny did sound desperate. If he’s right and he does have the Imperial Regalia, then confirming that might be enough to end this entire situation.”
“I don’t understand why the Japanese simply don’t ask for them back. This entire pretense of asserting their historical sovereignty seems dangerous.”
“Honor.”
“Honor?”
“It’s all about honor. It’s incredibly important in their culture, I think so much so, that it’s hard for people from our culture to understand.”
“Sounds like a bunch of Klingons.”
Acton grinned. “Honey, your first Star Trek reference!” He clasped his hands to his heart. “I think I love you more at this moment than I ever have.”
She rose, the plane having come to a stop. “Don’t make me regret watching twelve damned movies in two months.”
“Babe, those were just to draw you in. When the new series starts, you’ll want to have The Original Series, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager and Enterprise all under your belt. I’ll spare you the animated series—”
“Bloody hell.”
“—but if you insist, we can throw it in there.”
Laura looked at the flight attendant. “Have my divorce attorney draw up papers for when we get back. Tell him my husband is an über dork.”
The flight attendant stifled a laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
Acton winked at her. “Don’t listen to her. She loves my dorkiness.”
“Of course, sir.”
They descended the stairs and with no luggage or personal belongings to deal with, were swiftly processed through customs, their visas indicating they were here as guests of the government expediting things. As they stepped through the doors, a young man stood near the exit holding a sign.
James Action.
“It couldn’t possibly be for us.”
Laura grinned at her husband. “You are a man of action.”
“This is true, I am that. Should we risk it?”
“I think we must.”
They walked over to the young man. “I’m Professor Acton.”
<
br /> “Oh, thank God you’re here. We must hurry, things are getting worse by the moment.”
The young man rushed out the doors, saying nothing more, not bothering to look behind him to confirm his clients were following.
Acton turned to Laura. “I guess we better follow him. I’m not sure he’ll notice we’re not in the car.”
Laura giggled and they took off after him, the young man waiting beside a non-descript blue sedan, holding the rear door open. Laura climbed in first followed by Acton, the door slamming shut, the young man racing around to the driver’s side and jumping in.
The engine roared to life.
And they were shoved into the back of their seats as he launched them into traffic.
“What’s the hurry?” asked Acton in a veiled attempt at self-preservation as they both struggled to put their seatbelts on.
“The news. It’s bad.”
“What’s happened?” asked Laura.
“Tass is reporting that a Japanese warship intentionally rammed one of our ships. Several of our soldiers were killed. The Kremlin has ordered the Eastern Military District on full alert and more ships are heading into the area. I fear my country might retaliate.”
“I doubt that,” said Acton. “The version of the news you’re hearing is quite different from reality.”
The young man peered in the rearview mirror. “Perhaps it is your news that is inaccurate.”
Acton shrugged, it true he didn’t necessarily trust his own news sources these days, though he’d trust them any day over Russia’s. “You might be right.”
“Why doesn’t Russia just return the relics?” asked Laura.
“That’s just it. According to my father, they haven’t asked for them.”
Acton leaned forward. “Wait, your father is Arseny?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, sorry. I thought you were a government driver.”
The man shook his head. “No, sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Vitaly.” He shoved a hand between the seats. Acton hastily shook it, Laura doing the same, the hand returned to the wheel before an accident occurred.
“You said they hadn’t asked for them,” prompted Acton.
Raging Sun (A James Acton Thriller, #16) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 6
