Raging Sun (A James Acton Thriller, #16) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Good.” Morrison glanced about the room at Leroux’s trusted team. “I know I don’t need to say this, but keep this to yourselves.” Nods from the team indicated they understood. Morrison stared at the screen, taking up a position beside Leroux. “The White House wants to know the moment we know where they’re heading. If Agent Kane’s contact can get them out, we want people there to meet them.”

  Leroux nodded. “Are the Russians aware we know they’re after them?”

  Morrison shook his head. “Not officially, but you can be certain they do.”

  “Do we know why they’re after them?”

  Morrison grunted. “Not yet.”

  Sonya Tong, one of Leroux’s best analysts, and a young woman who had an inappropriate crush on her supervisor, held up a hand. “I might have something on that.”

  Leroux and Morrison both turned toward her. “What?” they asked in unison.

  Tong flushed slightly then pointed at the display, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Russian visas appeared. “Their visas were rushed, pushed through in hours by someone with a lot of pull or a lot of push behind them.”

  Leroux stepped toward the screen, quickly reading the visas, noting their expiry date of later today. “Do we know who?”

  “This man.” An image appeared, various documents flashing by. “The visa applications were made by Arseny Orlov from the Ministry of Culture.”

  “What do we know about him?”

  “He’s a curator located in Moscow. A few foreign trips to conferences, nothing of note.”

  Randy Child, the whiz-kid addition to Leroux’s team, interrupted. “He’s just been arrested.” He pointed at the screen, footage appearing from LiveLeak, a frame frozen, facial recognition points mapped on it as well as the file photo Tong had brought up, the computer indicating a match.

  “Where was this taken?” asked Leroux.

  “Courtyard Moscow Hotel a couple of hours ago. Just a few minutes before the arrest warrants were issued for the professors.”

  Leroux turned to Tong. “Do the Actons know him?”

  “I’m running a background check now, but they’re both in similar fields of study, so it’s definitely possible.”

  Leroux pursed his lips as he stared at the data on the displays. “Let’s summarize. A curator from the Russian Ministry of Culture gets two last minute visas for the professors, visas that are only good for one day. They enter the country hours later, then minutes after their arrival this same man is arrested at a hotel and arrest warrants are issued for our professors.”

  “Got something!”

  Leroux turned toward Child. “What?”

  “I crosschecked that curator’s name. His son is also wanted. The warrant was issued in the same dispatch as the professors.”

  Leroux drew a deep breath, processing the new intel. “Okay, so it’s definitely connected.”

  Morrison agreed. “Now we need to know why the hell they went to Moscow in the middle of an international crisis.”

  Leroux grunted. “If I know them, that’s precisely why they went there.”

  Morrison glanced at him. “Explain.”

  “Something happened in the Kuril Islands that’s pissed off the Japanese. There’s no way they would take action like this unprovoked.”

  “Agreed. They’re demanding the return of anything taken there. Does that famous gut of yours have any theories?”

  Leroux nodded. “The fact they’re demanding the return of anything taken I think is the key to this entire thing. Something was found. Sovereign rights have nothing to do with this, that’s just a smokescreen. The problem is figuring out what could possibly have been found that Japan would be willing to provoke a war with Russia, a war they couldn’t possibly expect to win.”

  “Military secrets?” suggested Tong.

  “Naked photos of Tokyo Rose?”

  Leroux glanced at Child, the youngest of their team—and the one with the least developed filter. “No, I think this is something different. If the Russians found something then it must be important. And the Japanese know they found it, otherwise none of this would be happening. If it was important enough for this reaction today then it would have been last year or ten years ago. This was discovered very recently. And it was obviously recognized by the Russians as important.”

  “And important things get sent to Moscow,” said Morrison.

  Leroux smiled. “Exactly. And I don’t believe in coincidence. I’m guessing that whatever it was, it was sent to Moscow and given to this Orlov guy to identify. And if that’s the case then it’s some sort of relic, which would explain why he would call the professors in.”

  “Don’t they have archaeologists in Moscow?” asked Child.

  “Yes. But his actions would suggest he doesn’t trust them for some reason.”

  “A man of conscience,” muttered Morrison, gazing at the man’s file photo.

  “Exactly. If he knew what he had been asked to identify was the key to preventing a war, and he didn’t trust his country to do the right thing, which would be to return it, then he just might call in outside help.”

  “Acton and Palmer.” Morrison shook his head. “Thank God we’ve gone digital. Their files would take up a room by now.” He looked at Leroux. “Okay, let’s assume you’re right. Why would the Russians want to arrest the Actons if they’ve already arrested Orlov? It just ratchets up tensions with us once we officially find out.”

  Leroux frowned. “I can only think of one reason.”

  Tong gasped. “They have the relic!”

  28

  1st Special Forces Operational Detachment—Delta HQ, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  A.k.a. "The Unit"

  “Hi, sir, you’re working late.”

  Colonel Thomas Clancy looked up from his laptop, motioning for Dawson to enter. “No rest for the wicked.”

  Dawson stepped inside, closing the door. “Your sister-in-law still awake?”

  Clancy chuckled. “Good one. I’ll do you the kindness of not telling her you said that. You don’t want to get on her wrong side.”

  “I get the sense you made that mistake.”

  “Twenty years ago. I’ve been paying for it ever since.” Clancy pointed at a chair and Dawson sat, noticing the half-full ashtray with a freshly lit cigar burning.

  “I thought you quit.”

  “I did. But that battle-axe has me so on edge, I decided to reward myself for not disappearing her.”

  Dawson grinned. “I’m sure she’d forgive you if she knew the alternative.”

  Clancy grunted. “Oh, don’t be so sure about that.” He pushed a file across the desk toward Dawson. “After you called, I got a call.” Dawson took the file, flipping it open. “You’re officially on standby to deploy. Team of six. We’re sending you to Italy so you’re in theater, then we’ll hopefully get an idea where you’re going to be needed.”

  “What do we know?”

  Clancy frowned. “Not much, except that the Russians are horny to get their hands on the professors. Langley is standing by to give you a briefing.”

  Dawson closed the file, it merely dossiers on the professors he was already quite familiar with. “So this is official?”

  “Yup. Our friends have once again got themselves into the thick of things, and this time there’s not much we can do about it but watch.”

  29

  Nikolskaya Street, Moscow, Russian Federation

  “Keep quiet and keep your heads down until we’re clear,” hissed Zorkin through clenched teeth.

  Acton held Laura’s hand as he consciously sealed his mouth, his entire body tense. The drive hadn’t been long, but every wail of a siren, every halt of the van, sent another surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

  And a sudden jerk to the right didn’t help, the light from outside gone, the van pulling into darkness. Two men emerged from the black, rushing past the van, the sound of a garage door slamming behind them causing his heart to skip a beat.


  It won’t be a bullet that kills me. It’ll be my damned heart exploding.

  Zorkin turned off the engine and glanced back at them as they were flooded with light. “We’re clear. Everybody out, but keep quiet.”

  Someone opened the side door of the van and Acton stepped out, helping Laura and Vitaly down as Zorkin talked to the others in Russian, Vitaly getting redder by the moment as he listened.

  “What are they saying?” asked Acton in a whisper.

  “Checkpoints are being set up around the city. He says we’re not going to be able to get through without being challenged.”

  Zorkin stepped toward them, nodding at Vitaly. “He’s told you?”

  “About the checkpoints and being challenged, yes. What are we going to do?”

  Zorkin smiled. “We’re going to have to go old school, as you Americans might say.”

  “And that will work why?”

  Zorkin jerked a thumb at the world on the other side of the garage door. “These young punks have lost the touch. They’re not suspicious enough. Give it time and our supreme leader will have us back to the old ways soon enough, but for now, over two decades of being soft should work for us.”

  Vitaly raised a finger. “Umm, any w-word on my father?”

  “Just that he’s been arrested and being held at Lubyanka.”

  Vitaly stifled a cry, Laura reaching out and taking his arm. She turned to Zorkin. “Will they hurt him?”

  Zorkin looked at Vitaly, the young man’s eyes red with tears, but said nothing.

  That’s a yes.

  Acton motioned toward the Imperial Regalia still sitting in the van. “What if we give them the relics?”

  Laura nodded. “Yes, surely they’d let him go then?”

  Zorkin shook his head. “No, we can’t be sure of that. They may just take you into custody and torture you. Dylan asked me to get you out, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Acton felt his chest tighten slightly with anger. “Don’t we have a say in it?”

  Zorkin stared at him. “Only if it agrees with what I say.”

  Acton held his gaze for a moment then shook his head, exasperated. “I can see why Dylan trusts you. You’re just like him.”

  “I’m about fifty years older. I’d like to think he’s just like me.”

  Acton smiled. “Good point.” He motioned at the garage they found themselves in. “So, what’s this old school method you were mentioning?”

  Zorkin pointed at a beat up curtainsider truck, its cloth back emblazoned with faded Cyrillic letters and a phone number. “Meet your luxury ride.”

  30

  The Unit, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  “Here’s the scoop. Our professors are in the thick of it once again.”

  Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung shook his head. “Okay, who’d they piss off this time?”

  Dawson clicked a link on his laptop then jerked a thumb over his shoulder, the display highlighting the Russian Federation. “The Russians.”

  Sergeant Will “Spock” Lightman cocked an eyebrow. “Christ, they’re punching above their weight this time.”

  Sergeant Gerry “Jimmy Olsen” Hudson leaned forward, jabbing a finger at the map. “You’re telling me that Washington has authorized us to go inside Russian territory?”

  Dawson shook his head. “No, and I don’t anticipate they will. But Dylan—”

  “Oh shit, he’s involved?” Niner looked at the others. “Now I know we’re in trouble.”

  Atlas’ impossibly deep voice rumbled in agreement. “Never trust the CIA to have your back.”

  “True dat,” replied Niner.

  “Don’t be appropriating my culture,” said Atlas.

  Niner’s eyes opened wide, staring at Atlas with a WTF expression on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s the latest buzz word. Apparently you’re not allowed to enjoy creole food, and I’m not allowed to enjoy Chinese food.”

  “I’m Korean.”

  “Same shit, different flies.”

  “Now that’s insulting. When I shove my stainless steel Korean chopsticks up your ass, you’ll realize just how different they are from those pussy wooden things the Chinese use.”

  Atlas sighed. “Again with my ass.”

  Dawson shook his head. “Done?”

  “Yessim.” Niner whipped an easily caught pen at Atlas.

  “Anyway…Dylan has his contacts working on a way to get them out of Moscow, and hopefully out of Mother Russia. Washington wants us ready to get them to safety once they cross whatever border they’re going to cross.”

  Sergeant Ronny “Jagger” Leibowitz leaned forward, his pronounced lips pursed. “Why is Washington so horny to protect them? What’s the difference this time? Usually we’re having to sneak one by them.”

  “Langley thinks that the professors may be the key to stopping what’s looking like a potential armed conflict between Russia and Japan.”

  Spock’s eyebrow rose. “So what you’re saying is that if we don’t save the Actons, sushi prices are going up?”

  Dawson nodded. “Yup. Say your goodbyes and get yourselves squared away. We’re wheels up in sixty mikes.”

  31

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “They’re on the move.”

  Leroux turned to Child. “Do we have a visual?”

  Child’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “Hacking the traffic cameras now.”

  Leroux watched the map of Moscow, a red dot representing Acton’s phone, tracing out a slow route from where it had sat motionless for the last half hour. “Any projections as to where they might be heading?”

  Tong shook her head. “Not yet. There’s just too many main arteries in that area that lead everywhere. We’ll get a better idea when they get on one of them.”

  “Where are those feeds?” asked Leroux, not bothering to look at Child.

  “I’m having trouble getting in. Looks like they’ve put up—” He paused for a moment then a camera feed suddenly appeared, a busy street shown. “Got it.”

  “Do we know what vehicle they’re in?”

  Child shook his head. “No, but we’ll be able to narrow it down as we keep track.”

  Leroux stepped closer. “They won’t be in a car.” He pointed at the steady stream of vehicles. “They’ll need to be kept out of sight since the entire city is searching for them. They’ll be in something that can hide them.”

  “A van or a truck?” suggested Tong.

  Leroux shook his head, the camera angle changing as Child tried to keep the view in synch with the movements of the cellphone. “Not a van. They won’t be hiding in the back. If it were me trying to smuggle them out, I’d be in something like…” He smiled, pointing at a covered truck. “That.”

  They watched the truck in question take the on-ramp onto what appeared to be a major highway. Child updated the view.

  “What direction is that?”

  “South,” replied Tong. “They still can go east or west off this, but I think we can probably rule north out.”

  Leroux nodded. “East as well, at least for the long haul. There’s no way they’re going to try and drive to the Pacific coast.”

  Tong giggled.

  Child leaned back in his chair. “I think you’re right, sir, the cellphone tracking is in synch with that truck. Everything else is accelerating far faster.”

  “Good. Do we have any checkpoints coming up?”

  Child frowned, updating the map.

  “They’re about to hit one now.”

  32

  M2 Highway Checkpoint, Moscow, Russian Federation

  I swear something is trying to jimmy my ass.

  Acton shifted again, trying to get comfortable, though it was proving to be an impossible task. They hadn’t been in their “getaway” vehicle for more than ten minutes and his body was already aching. It had been a hasty exit from the garage, the relics and three passenge
rs stowed under the wood floorboards of the truck, a load of boxes piled atop them.

  They hit a bump and Laura moaned.

  If we have to stay like this much longer, I’m going to go postal.

  Which was probably why Zorkin had been extremely vague about how long they’d be stuck in their cramped conditions, breathing in diesel fumes, the roar of the engine and the whine of the tires on the asphalt drowning out his ability to think, let alone talk.

  Though every moment of movement meant they were that much closer to getting out of the cordoned off Moscow.

  One thing Zorkin had been clear on was that should they stop, no matter what they heard, they were to remain silent. Even if the vehicle was impounded, they should remain quiet and await rescue.

  Rescued by whom, was the question he didn’t bother asking.

  He just assumed it would be the elderly gentlemen at the garage.

  Zorkin was definitely ex-KGB and the others probably were too, though he couldn’t be certain. He just wondered how well they could trust these men who now held their lives in their hands. If just one of them got word of a hefty reward, something he had a feeling would be soon offered—if not already—this journey might be cut incredibly short.

  The truck began to slow, the squealing brakes so ear-piercing it caused him to wince in pain. The engine began to idle, the distinctive shouts of officials barking orders, heard.

  Checkpoint!

  Zorkin frowned. “I’ve got a schedule to keep. You’ve delayed me enough with this damned roadblock!”

  The officer wasn’t impressed with the crotchety old man routine, instead pointing to the side of the road where several other vehicles were being searched. “Over to the side, now!”

  Zorkin shook his head, putting the truck in gear. “Da, da, it’s more like Chechnya here every day.”

  As the truck jerked forward, the officer jumped on the running board, reaching inside and grabbing the wheel, Zorkin hammering on the brakes. “I served in Chechnya. You don’t want me treating you like we did them.”