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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “That is an idea.”

  “Comrade, no!”

  He spun toward the captain in charge of the ground troops, the man’s AK-74 rising, its aim shifting from the suspects to Dymovsky.

  And he knew he was going to die, the rage in the man’s eyes clear.

  He was about to fire.

  A shot rang out from overhead, the captain spinning around, his finger squeezing, bullets spraying from the barrel of his weapon, lead ricocheting off the rock face before finding flesh.

  Filippov didn’t get a chance to cry out, he caught in the face with three rounds, his body collapsing forward, toppling over the edge and falling out of sight.

  And the shots continued until the magazine was at last emptied, the final rounds finding one more soft target.

  Dymovsky’s stomach.

  Chaos erupted.

  All of the soldiers turned their weapons on the Americans above.

  Americans who simply stepped back, out of sight.

  “Cease fire!” he gasped as he collapsed against the rock face.

  But his order went unheeded.

  Dawson stepped back, there no point in getting shot or shooting back. The thunder of Niner’s sniper rifle belching lead at the Russians was enough for him to know the fight would be soon over, the talented operator and his spotter, Jimmy, having a clear shot of the entire proceedings less than a mile away.

  His only concern now was the professors.

  And there were too many panicking and dying Russians ten feet below him to let this continue for too long.

  “Grenades!”

  He pulled one off his ammo belt, the others doing the same. Pulling the pin, he counted to two then tossed it over the edge, making sure it was around the bend so the professors and Zorkin would be shielded by the rock face.

  The blasts were deafening, the screams horrific, but the gunfire stopped. He stepped over to the ledge and looked down at the carnage below. Not a soldier was left standing, and those that remained intact were either dead or writhing in agony.

  He sighed.

  They had their chance.

  And they squandered it.

  He took no pleasure in killing these men. They had done nothing to harm anyone, at least not here, not today. And now thanks to poor training or poor leadership, they were dead or dying.

  And his team remained intact, not a scratch on them.

  “Cover me.”

  He handed a rope to Atlas who took a grip on it, Dawson lowering himself to the path below, his weapon on the Russian troops just in case anyone decided to make a last stand.

  No one did.

  He looked up. “Get down here and see what you can do for them.” He activated his comm. “One-One, Zero-One. Position secure. Get here on the double, over.”

  “Roger that, Zero-One,” replied Niner.

  Dawson heard familiar voices around the bend.

  “Are you okay?” asked what sounded like an older man, clearly Zorkin.

  “Yes, I think so,” replied Laura. “James?”

  “Yeah, though I think I shit my pants,” said Acton. “How’s your shoulder?”

  Zorkin grunted. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

  “Well, you’re bleeding all over yourself, so you might want to rethink that bravado and let me take a look at it.”

  Dawson rounded the bend, smiling at the source of the banter. “Good to see you all again.”

  “BD!” Laura rushed forward and gave him a hug as Atlas rounded the bend. “Atlas!”

  “I heard sugar was being dispensed,” rumbled Atlas, giving Laura a quick hug.

  Acton shook their hands. “Thank God you’re here.”

  “Let’s try meeting on a beach next time,” said Dawson, looking around. “It’s too damned cold here.”

  “We were on a beach. It was nice.” Acton shivered. “And warm.”

  Dawson spotted a bag slung over Acton’s shoulder. “Is that them?”

  Acton nodded. “Yes. Now can we get the hell out of here before the jewels start clinking?”

  Dawson chuckled, turning to Atlas. “Stick out a thumb, find us a ride.”

  “Consider it done,” replied Atlas, stepping away, contacting Control as Jagger and Spock began to quickly disarm the Russians, tossing their weapons over the edge of the path.

  Acton glanced up as two jets slowly circled overhead. “They saved all our asses, I think.”

  Dawson agreed. “Yup. Sometimes flyboys are handy to have around.”

  The thunder of helicopters that had been approaching for the past couple of minutes was finally noticed by Acton. He looked about. “Are those Russian?”

  Dawson shook his head. “No, that’s our ride home.”

  Acton nodded toward the Russians, the rest of the team doing what they could to treat the wounded and make the dying more comfortable. “What about them?”

  Dawson frowned. “We’ll have to leave them,” he said as Niner and Jimmy arrived from the southern end of the path. “But I don’t think any of them are going to be alive much longer.”

  Niner grinned at them. “Hiya, doc, how are things? Been up to anything interesting lately?”

  Acton smiled, shaking the new arrivals’ hands. “Oh you know, the usual. Catching a little sun, enjoying my vacation.”

  Niner made a show of shoving past him, his arms extended. “Laura, baby, how are you?”

  Laura laughed, giving him a hug then pushing him away good-naturedly. “Now, Niner, you know we can’t be doing that in front of my husband.”

  Niner smacked Acton’s ass, causing him to flinch in surprise, giving Dawson a look that had him stifling a laugh. “I think the doc likes it. Makes him realize how lucky he is.”

  “Next time you spank my ass, Niner, it better be on a football field or after a fine meal.”

  Niner grinned, about to say something, Dawson cutting him off. He motioned toward Zorkin. “See what you can do for him.”

  Niner became all business, he and Jimmy immediately heading for the elderly Russian sitting on a rock, still gripping his arm. Spock rounded the bend, shaking his head slightly.

  None of this was necessary.

  Dymovsky watched the friendly banter between the professors and the American soldiers, it clear they knew each other. Which meant this must be the Delta Force team referred to in the files he had read.

  He looked over to where Filippov had fallen over the edge, he about the only person who had ever been truly friendly to him in years—at least at the office. He had friends outside of work, he had family.

  Yet as the blood oozed out of his stomach, as the pain racking his body slowly eased as he became weaker and the cold of the rock numbed him, he realized the finality of his situation.

  He would die today, along with so many others, a failure.

  The Kremlin would blame him for what had happened, quite likely concocting a story where he had planned the fiasco with Orlov, letting the professors escape with the stolen Japanese relics in order to collect some sort of reward.

  Or they might just go with the incompetence route.

  It had worked before, he blamed for the Brass Monkey near-disaster.

  As long as their Napoleonic leader shared none of the blame.

  He looked up as Professor Acton knelt down beside him. “Can I get you anything?”

  Dymovsky shook his head. “N-no. I-it doesn’t actually hurt that much.”

  Acton glanced over at one of the American soldiers. “Can you do anything for him?”

  A slight shake of the head was the response.

  Acton seemed genuinely disappointed.

  “I-it’s okay. It’s not your fault. A-and I’d rather d-die quickly.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Dymovsky nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I-I had my orders.”

  “I know, but was all this worth it? Look at how many people died.”

  Dymovsky smiled weakly. “If you r-return them and stop the w
ar, then yes.”

  “But you and your men?”

  “We-we died pursuing you. I-if I hadn’t done my job, th-then you might not have tr-tried so hard to get out.” He smiled slightly, looking past Acton as a freshly bandaged Viktor Zorkin stepped over.

  Zorkin knelt down beside them, putting a hand on Dymovsky’s shoulder. “You were a good adversary. I enjoyed the chase. Even if you were working for a government I no longer believe in.”

  Dymovsky nodded slightly, saying nothing.

  “What will happen to my friends?”

  Dymovsky closed his eyes, picturing the young man whose only concern was helping his father, and the old couple, who cared only for who would tend their beloved animals. “I’m afraid this incident will be w-wiped from the records.”

  Zorkin frowned. “So they’re all going to die.”

  Dymovsky nodded. “Y-yes, I fear so.”

  A sudden jolt of pain shot through his body and he gasped, his eyes opening wide as a blinding white light overwhelmed his vision, his adversaries washed away.

  And it was over.

  Zorkin leaned forward, closing the man’s eyes, the American professor sighing, patting the man on the shoulder. He was dead, but that was the life of one who served, whether it was as a soldier, a spy, or a law enforcement officer—you could die at any time.

  And this man had died honorably, doing his duty for his country, however misguided it may have been. He had done nothing to deserve this, and in fact had tried to defuse things, ready to join them in handing over the relics.

  No one should have died.

  Instead, due to the actions of one out of control soldier, too many had died for no good reason that he could think of. And unless he took action, more good people would die.

  And that was unacceptable.

  The Delta leader walked over. “Okay everyone, we’ve got more Russian choppers heading here so we’ve gotta book. On the double, people. Company’s arriving and they’re not invited.”

  92

  Diyarbakir Airbase, Turkey

  Sasaki walked briskly across the tarmac, toward a hangar nearby, its massive doors partially opened. Apparently a call had been received by his government only hours before indicating they had recovered property belonging to the Japanese people, it all very hush-hush, nothing specific going out over the airwaves, encrypted or otherwise.

  But there was only one thing they could possibly be referring to.

  He had been immediately dispatched as the only person currently in the region privy to the secret, cancelling a meeting with Maksimov at the last minute, much to the surprise of his counterpart, Etsuko giggling as she related the indignant rage he had expressed at the news.

  And at the news being delivered by an underling.

  Part of him had wondered if the Russians would do anything foolish like try to shoot them down or force them down, though it was a small part. The Russians were arrogant, but not stupid. An action like that would be unprecedented, at least in modern relations between civilized countries.

  Though nothing would surprise him in this day and age.

  The news was tense in the Chishima Islands, the standoff continuing, all three sides licking their wounds and holding their positions, no further incidents having occurred since the few minutes of lunacy that had put the world on the brink.

  But until the Imperial Regalia were officially reclaimed, hostilities could again break out with the twitch of a gunner’s nervous finger.

  As he stepped through the doors, the bright sunshine outside leaving him momentarily blind as he entered the dim hangar, he prayed to all that was holy that what he was about to see were the cause of so much pain and destruction.

  And that they were intact after seventy years unprotected.

  His eyes adjusted and he saw a congregation standing in the middle of the hangar. Six heavily armed soldiers, all in black, appeared to be securing an invisible perimeter, at the center of which stood a table with a man and woman of European descent.

  “I am Arata Sasaki, Japanese Foreign Ministry, I understand—” He froze, his jaw dropping as his eyes moved from the smiling Europeans to the table. His knees nearly buckled as he immediately recognized what they were. “Y-you found them!”

  “Yes,” replied the man.

  “How?” He ran his hands over the air above the precious relics, not daring to actually touch them lest his eagerness destroy what had survived so much.

  “It took some effort,” replied the woman.

  He looked up at them, finally. “Are they authentic?”

  The man nodded. “My name is Professor James Acton. This is Professor Laura Palmer. We’re both professors of archaeology, and we believe they are indeed genuine.”

  Sasaki sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He opened them, beaming a smile at the two professors. “Thank you. On behalf of the Japanese people and my government, we thank you.”

  Acton bowed slightly. “You’re welcome. But I do have a question.”

  “Anything!”

  “How did the Russians come to find them in the first place?”

  Sasaki dropped his head in shame, bowing apologetically. “I am afraid that is the one question I cannot answer.”

  Acton looked at the other professor. “I had a feeling you’d say that. Don’t worry about it.”

  Sasaki rose. “Thank you for your understanding.” He reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone. “Excuse me, but I have a call to make.” The two professors bowed slightly and he turned away, walking quickly toward the still open doors of the hangar.

  “Sasaki, is that you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Report.”

  “I have them!”

  93

  South Kuril Islands, Russian Federation

  Japanese name: Chishima Islands

  “Sir, we’ve been ordered to assist against the Chinese at Senkaku.”

  Yamada turned, his eyes slightly wide. “What? Confirm those orders.”

  Nakano bowed. “I already have, sir. It would appear that some sort of peace agreement has been reached with the Russians. We are to assist at once with the Chinese situation.”

  “And the islands?”

  Nakano shook his head. “There’s nothing mentioned in the message, sir.”

  Yamada frowned, peering through his binoculars at the Russian ships in the distance, most of the fires out though smoke still billowed from the worst hit.

  Then one turned, the disabled ship following, a towline evident.

  And the others joined them.

  Thus ending the most intense skirmish his country had been in since the war.

  I wonder what the historians will call this when they write about it.

  He turned, staring at the tiny islands behind them, islands that the world thought had been at the root of all this, he knowing the truth, and he wondered if the truth would ever be told.

  Or was there never enough time to pass before the shame of an emperor could be revealed.

  94

  Over Spanish Airspace

  Acton rested his head against the seatback, his eyes barely open. Laura sat beside him, the half dozen members of Bravo Team spread across her private jet.

  Their private jet.

  He still had a hard time fathoming just how rich she was, and now he was. He could never think of it as his money though she had given him joint access to everything.

  God, I love that woman!

  It wasn’t the money, not by a longshot, it was her. She was incredible. The smartest, bravest, most beautiful woman he had ever met. A woman that had been through so much since she had met him, and despite all the danger and heartache, had stuck by his side.

  Remarkable.

  He had thought about things long and hard at times, especially before proposing. She always liked to say that it wasn’t his fault that these things had happened to them, though he had come to the conclusion it was.

  For the most part.

  The
Triarii, responsible for so much of their pain, would never have been in her life if he hadn’t contacted her. They wouldn’t have met Martin Chaney, a member of that organization that had then introduced them to his contacts at the Vatican, and they never would have become involved with Bravo Team.

  It was all his fault.

  And one of these days he would get her killed.

  And every day it tore at his heart.

  Yet there was nothing he could, or would, do about it, for he knew if he did end it, end them, it would break her heart just as surely as if he had stabbed it with a dagger of betrayal.

  He stared at her, a smile on his face, a hint of tears in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just thinking how much I love you.”

  She leaned over and gave him a long, slow, kiss. “I love you too.” She pulled back a few inches, staring into his eyes. “We’re safe. Stop worrying about me.”

  His smiled spread. “You know me too well.”

  She punched him in the shoulder. “I’m a big girl. Don’t make me kick your ass. I just want to get back on that beach and banish the cold from those mountains out of my bones.”

  His smile broadened. “God, you’re great.”

  “Bloody right I’m great.” She poked him. “And so are you, so get over yourself.”

  He chuckled, deciding she was right. “So, do you think Greg and Sandra noticed we were gone?”

  She shrugged. “Not sure, but I do know when I called her there was some giggling going on, so I have a funny feeling they didn’t mind the alone time.”

  Acton smiled, his eyes watering with the thought of how great it was that his best friend was still with them, how he had survived being shot twice, quite likely by one of the six men on this plane with them, then fought back, surviving against the odds, regaining his ability to walk, now healthy enough to travel across the world to lay on a beach and make love to his wife.