Though Moscow likely wouldn’t.
Dymovsky kept his voice gentle. “Listen, son, you and I both know that almost everything you just told me was a lie. If you insist on continuing with the lie, it’s your choice, but I must warn you, Moscow won’t be as forgiving as I am. You were with the professors and Mr. Zorkin. This we know. You’ve even admitted to it. Let’s ignore whether or not you were there voluntarily. You then separated. Again, let’s ignore whether or not that was done voluntarily.” He leaned forward, staring into the young man’s eyes. “All I want to know is where they were headed.”
Vitaly’s breathing grew more rapid, his eyes darting to the left, then staring at the door—anywhere but his interrogator.
“Tell me and this is all over.”
Vitaly gasped. “I-I don’t know.”
Dymovsky smiled. “I can hear it in your voice.” He took the untouched handkerchief and pushed it against one of the open gashes on the boy’s face.
Vitaly winced, tears filling his eyes.
“Son, if you react to that little bit of pain, you won’t survive the hell Moscow will put you through. Now tell me. Your friends will never know it was you. And besides, I already know the answer, you’ll just be confirming it.”
This elicited a response, Vitaly’s eyes darting toward him for a moment. “H-how?”
“You remember Boris and Darya, your hosts from last night?”
“A-are they okay?”
Dymovsky smiled. This was a good boy, mixed up in something bigger than he could have possibly imagined. “Yes, of course they are. We’re not Chechens. In fact, I enjoyed delicious homemade biscuits with them this morning. And a cup of tea.” Dymovsky winked at him. “She’s a good cook, isn’t she?”
Vitaly shook out a nod, a hint of a smile appearing for a flicker of a moment.
“Now, think of it this way. They betrayed you. Zorkin and the professors left you to be captured. Left you to be tortured. What do you owe them? Nothing. Help me and I can help your father.”
The boy’s eyes widened slightly, his head lifting at the mention of his father.
There’s the key.
“Th-they were heading west. On the E-38.”
Dymovsky smiled.
“There, was that so hard?”
55
Approaching Italian Airspace
“I think I’m getting spoiled.”
Dawson glanced over at Niner, the rattle of the C130E Hercules causing everyone to shout. There had been a delay in getting off the ground and they were just now finally reaching Italy, the last update from Langley suggesting they were still not confident enough to project a final destination.
“Why’s that?” asked Atlas.
“After travelling on Palmer’s private jet, this thing is just damned criminal.”
Spock agreed. “Cruel and unusual.”
“Yeah, I mean, with the amount of money our government has invested in us, the least they could do is cushion our delicate behinds.”
Atlas leaned back, closing his eyes. “Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with skin care products, that ass of yours wouldn’t be so soft.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know that taking care of one’s skin and performing a little manscaping now and then is a perfectly acceptable use of a real man’s time.” Niner pointed at Atlas’ crotch. “And that friggin’ forest could use some attention.”
“I knew you were looking.”
“Hey, don’t judge me. You checked me out for the same reason.”
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “Umm, and why was that?”
“To test the stereotype. Happy to say I feel more confident in knowing it’s not true.”
Atlas grunted. “Don’t worry, it was in your case.”
A round of “oohs” followed.
Niner laughed. “It’s not the length of the sword, it’s the fury of the attack.”
Atlas’ head lolled to the side, winking at Dawson. “I think a challenged man came up with that one.”
Dawson chuckled. “So, things better with Vanessa?”
Atlas nodded. “I think so. At least I didn’t get all the usual complaining this time when I told her I had to leave.”
“That’s good. Do you think she can keep it to herself?”
Atlas sighed. “God, I hope so. I’d hate to have to kill her.” A round of laughter erupted. “In all seriousness, I told her to call Maggie or one of the other wives if she was having trouble.”
Spock leaned forward. “I remember when I told Joanne. Man, she was shocked, but relieved. She knew I had been lying about something. She told me that she’d thought I was cheating on her or something, or just wasn’t committed to the relationship. I think it came as a relief that all I had been hiding was being in the Unit.”
Niner gave an exaggerated sigh, staring up at the fuselage. “Ahh, yes, I wonder what it will be like when I let Olivia Wilde know that the man she desperately loves is a superhero.”
Atlas grunted. “Isn’t she like two feet taller than you?”
Niner whipped an apple from his box lunch at him. Atlas caught it and took a bite. “Thanks. I’m a little peckish.”
Dawson’s comm beeped in his ear and he held up a finger, cutting off the conversation. “This is Zero-One, go ahead Control.”
“Zero-One, it looks like they’re heading south. Redirect to Turkey, Diyarbakir Airbase.”
“Roger that.”
Dawson rose to tell the pilot. “Looks like we’re heading for Turkey, boys.”
56
Maggie Harris Residence, Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina
“I’ll never forget the day Will told me,” said Spock’s wife Joanne. “I think he was convinced I thought he was cheating on me. Really, I just knew there was some part of him that he was keeping hidden from me and I wanted in. Once I realized what was actually going on, I really felt he was committed to the relationship.”
Heads bobbed among the women gathered. Shirley, wife of Dawson’s closest friend Master Sergeant Mike “Red” Belme, leaned toward Vanessa. “You know, that’s the most important thing to take from all this.”
Vanessa put her glass of wine down. “What do you mean?”
“If he felt he could tell you the truth then that means he’s committed to the relationship.” She flicked a wrist at her. “Girl, you’ve got him locked up!”
Squeals.
Vanessa smiled awkwardly. “I guess so. I never thought of it that way.” She reached for her glass then stopped, leaning back. “I knew he was lying to me and I just wanted to know the truth.” An exasperated burst of air punctuated her words. “I hate being lied to. I don’t know why, I guess maybe it goes back to my mother lying to me for so long about what happened to my daddy. When she finally told me the truth, that he was never coming home because he was dead”—she paused, forcing in a breath as she struggled for control—“it tore me up. I couldn’t trust her. It took me years before I’d ever believe her about anything.” She shook her head. “I just don’t want it to be like that with the man I might marry.” She threw her hands up. “Like right now! Where are they?”
Joanne leaned forward. “You never ask that question.”
Shirley put her glass down. “And you can never tell your friends or family, no matter how proud you are of what he does, or how scared you are.”
“That’s right,” agreed Maggie. “If you’re ever having trouble, you call one of us.”
Shirley nodded. “We’re our own support network. When the men are off saving the world, it’s our job to make sure things are sane when they get back, and that includes ourselves.”
Maggie agreed. “You don’t think I get terrified every time BD goes out on a mission?”
Joanne motioned to Maggie. “And it’s worse for her! Half the time she actually knows where they’re going.”
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I’m the Colonel’s personal assistant. I tend to overhear a lot of things
.”
“It must be nice though, not having to wonder.”
Maggie shook her head. “No way. Half the time they’re off training or just providing extra security to some dignitary. Routine stuff. I’d rather be able to sit here thinking that’s where he is rather than knowing he’s in some hellhole where everybody, even the so called innocent people around him, want him dead.”
“So you know where they are now?”
“Nope.” Maggie raised her glass of chardonnay. “It’s my day off! I’m blissfully ignorant, just like the rest of you.”
“Welcome to the club!” cheered Shirley, glasses raised, those closest to each other clinking them together.
All but Vanessa.
Maggie leaned over, placing a hand on the young girl’s arm. “What’s wrong?”
Tears poured down Vanessa’s cheeks, her shoulders heaving, her arms trembling. “I-I don’t know. I can’t stop shaking.” She looked up at Maggie. “I think I’m terrified!”
Shirley rose, sitting on the edge of Vanessa’s chair, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. “It’s okay, dear. I was the same way. I was scared of being the wife of someone who could die tomorrow in some country I’d never heard of, knowing I’d never really be told the truth about what happened. I’d be left to raise our children alone, to fend for myself.” She gave Vanessa a squeeze. “But I got through it, and now I have Bryson who I wouldn’t trade for the world, and a husband who I’m immensely proud of, who saves lives for a living and keeps the world safe for me and our son. I feel blessed every day I’m married to him, and even more so when he pulls up in the driveway after being away.”
She smiled at the others, knowing nods around the room. “My heart still races when I get a sneak text from him and I know he’s safe enough to be able to do it. And if he didn’t come home tomorrow, I’d know he died doing what he loved, with friends he loved doing it with. And remember, you now have us. And not just us. If you marry a military man, you marry the military. The entire armed forces is your family. We help each other out, we stick together. It’s nothing like the life you had before. People are here to help you, are happy to help you, because we’ve all been through it, and we’re all still going through it.” She smiled at Vanessa. “You’re going to be okay.”
Vanessa shook her head, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “I-I just don’t think I can do it. T-tell him I’m sorry.”
She leapt to her feet and bolted from the apartment, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Maggie sighed.
Poor Atlas.
57
R-297 Highway, Russian Federation
A vehicle passed them, a young girl pressed against the glass waving. Laura smiled and waved back, absentmindedly running a finger over the scar on her stomach, it permanent evidence of how close she had come to death, and how she could never have a child like that to hold.
They had discussed adoption, though after a lengthy discussion in which they were both mostly in agreement, they had dismissed it—they couldn’t risk a child’s life, not with people like the Assembly possibly after them. Their careers as well didn’t lend themselves to parenthood. And neither, at this point, were willing to give them up, there simply too much good they could do to advance mankind’s knowledge.
It was selfish, perhaps, but it was reality.
With her money, yes, they could afford nannies, but if you weren’t going to raise the adopted child, why bother? She could use the money to help kids where they truly needed it, in Africa and Asia and other Third World areas. They already funneled millions every year to these countries through charities she supported, the returns on her investments obscene.
She had no interest in following in the footsteps of some of the über rich who were pledging to divest themselves of most of their wealth. She didn’t buy it. There was no way these people were going to give up everything and live like paupers the rest of their lives. They could make these pledges because they knew they were far more diversified than the public knew. Giving up 99% of your stock in one company might appear noble, but what about the dozens of other companies?
She doubted these billionaires would be willing to give up their mansions, yachts and private jets when push came to shove. And she wasn’t about to be made to feel guilty for having money. Her brother had worked extremely hard to get to where he was before he died, and though she hadn’t earned it, he had wanted her to have it. She used it to make her life a little easier, though more of it went to help others, and with the reins held by her, she knew where it was going, and that she wasn’t being robbed.
She didn’t trust the big banks or Wall Street to manage her money, not after the financial crisis that had Western governments bailing out banks just to have them turn around and bonus out millions to their executives that had created the problem in the first place.
Instead, she, now with James, managed everything. Could she do more? Perhaps, but then she wouldn’t know that it was truly going to those in need. Far too often charities had massive administrative expenses, too much of the money going to those supposedly managing the groups. Some even paid over half their money raised to companies that were professional fundraisers.
It was disgusting.
People thought they were donating their hard earned money to a worthy cause, when the reality was, in some cases, less than 10% was actually reaching those in need.
She refused to be a part of that.
She would help those less fortunate, trying to lift the Third World up through direct investments in health and education programs. She could never understand why Western governments talked so much about helping these poor people, when in the next breath they’d take in hundreds of thousands of the best and brightest as immigrants.
Don’t these desperate Third World countries need their best and brightest? Isn’t taking them into our own countries simply perpetuating the cycle of poverty and desperation?
It was all so frustrating to her.
Save them all by letting them progress!
If you always took the best laying hens out of the henhouse, why would you be surprised that in the end you had an unproductive group of chickens?
“Stop!”
Zorkin slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the side of the road at James’ warning, a truck blasting past them with its horn blaring in protest.
Zorkin glanced over at the tablet. “What is it?”
“Road block ahead.”
Laura leaned forward to look. “What now?”
Zorkin did a shoulder check and pulled a U-turn. “We get off this road and find another way.”
“Will there be another way?” asked James. “What if they have this entire border shut down?”
Zorkin shrugged. “Then we’ll go off-road.”
Acton gave him a look. “In this?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Another shrug. “I’ll think of something.”
“Well, you better think fast.”
The sound of gunfire behind them had Laura twisting in her seat.
“Look!”
She turned around to see her husband holding up the tablet, soldiers at the bottom of the image pointing weapons in the air, small bursts of brightness erupting from their muzzles. “They’ve spotted the drone!”
Zorkin pulled over, grabbing the drone and tapping at the display, it abruptly changing direction, heading east, if Laura wasn’t mistaken.
Suddenly the image jerked and the ground rapidly approached, the image of a shrub filling the screen.
Then nothing.
James cursed. “There goes our eyes.”
Zorkin handed the tablet back then hammered on the gas. “Find us an alternate road heading west.”
James brought up the map application. “So now we are heading west?”
“We don’t have a choice at the moment. As we speak, Moscow will be getting informed of what just happened, and someone will want to investigate, so this enti
re region is going to be flooded with security personnel in a matter of hours.”
“So we’re screwed.”
“Da. We’re screwed.”
58
South Kuril Islands, Russian Federation
Japanese name: Chishima Islands
“Turn, you arrogant bastards, turn!”
Captain Yamada watched in horror and rage as a Russian frigate tried to storm the blockade, attempting to thread between two American ships that had placed themselves between the two adversaries.
“Turn!”
He could hear the collision alarms on the USS Shiloh, Captain Shephard standing his ground, refusing to move, instead his engines in reverse as he closed the gap with the other American vessel.
If it were a movie, he’d be tossing his sardine rice crackers back without looking away.
The Russian ship suddenly tipped hard to starboard as their Captain ordered his ship hard to port, less than a hundred meters coming between the two vessels, a distance that might appear huge on foot, but far too close when dealing with 10,000 ton ships that didn’t turn on dimes, the wash causing the American vessel to noticeably rise then drop, waves cresting over the decks as the oceans calmed, the Russian vessel steaming along the invisible border now under dispute, the USS Shiloh ordering full ahead as it matched the Russian’s speed should they try to break around them.
They didn’t.
The Russian turned away in a gentle arc, leaving to rejoin its fellow vessels.
“Sir, the Russians are broadcasting in English.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“—States vessels. You are requested to disengage and leave Russian territory. We have no quarrel with you. We will be opening fire on the Japanese aggressors, and do not wish harm to come to you accidentally. Again, please withdraw.”
Yamada frowned. Would they dare fire with the Americans in the way? It would certainly be possible, naval warfare more of a ballistic affair above the water, the Russians easily able to fire over the Americans without harming them.
Raging Sun (A James Acton Thriller, #16) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 15
