Life is good.
He frowned. “I’m concerned about Viktor.”
Laura nodded. “Me too. He’s too old to do what he’s planning on doing. Whatever that is.”
“I don’t know about that,” replied Acton. “That old bastard got us out of Russia and halfway through the mountains, took a bullet, and was still as feisty as ever when we left him in Turkey.”
“This is true. I hope he’s able to help Arseny and his boy. He was such a sweetheart. And Darya and Boris. They were just precious.”
“He’ll figure out a way. Somehow.”
Acton leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, thinking about how he wished he could have gone with Zorkin to help clean up the mess they had left behind. If they hadn’t have agreed to go to Moscow, Orlov’s son wouldn’t have become involved, the old couple wouldn’t have become involved, and Zorkin wouldn’t have become involved.
But if Orlov hadn’t called them then none of this would have happened, so it was actually his fault.
Acton mentally kicked himself.
The man was trying to do the right thing.
He sighed.
And was probably dead for his efforts.
Though at least the relics were in the proper hands. Dawson had informed them just a short while ago that satellite imagery showed the Russian Air Force and Navy being recalled, and their Eastern Military District standing down. The Japanese Navy had redeployed to push back the Chinese, and the bulk of the US Seventh Fleet was moving to join them, a few ships left behind to make sure nobody acted up until formal agreements could be signed, and with the combined navies steaming south-west, the Chinese were pulling out, claiming a naval exercise.
The conflict was over.
Though not before an apparent flurry of suicides among high ranking Japanese politicians and captains of business, the press wildly speculating as to the cause, the going theory that they had somehow been responsible for the unwinnable conflict.
A conflict recognized as too great a danger to be allowed to continue by a brave Russian citizen who had realized he couldn’t trust his government to do the right thing, and instead had made a single phone call to a man he barely knew, a man he trusted more than those he had worked with for years.
Acton opened his eyes, watching the Delta team laughing and joking around.
And thanks to these brave souls who had once again risked their lives.
A risk no one would ever know about.
Dawson walked down the aisle, stopping by Atlas’ seat. “Just got off the phone with Maggie. Looks like there might be trouble on the home front.”
All the joking and kidding around immediately stopped, everyone turning to their friend, Acton sensing something was terribly wrong.
“What?” asked the proud warrior, his voice giving the first hint of trepidation Acton had ever heard from it.
Dawson said nothing, just reaching out and putting a hand on the big man’s shoulder.
Atlas muttered a curse. “It’s Vanessa, isn’t it?”
Dawson nodded.
Atlas sighed. “I had a feeling.” He looked up at Dawson. “What do we know?”
“Apparently she broke down then ran out of Maggie’s apartment saying she couldn’t take it.”
Atlas’ face sagged and Acton felt for the big man, his chest tightening as one of the toughest men he had ever known began to slowly deconstruct in front of him. “I-I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
Niner rose from his seat, switching to the one next to Atlas. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m really sorry, man. I know you really like her.”
Atlas tossed his head back against the seat, sighing loudly. “I loved her, man.” He squeezed the armrests, Acton for a moment wondering if they could take the pressure.
He let go.
“Shit, this sucks!” Atlas leapt to his feet and began pacing back and forth, everyone giving him his space.
Laura leaned over to Spock. “What’s going on?”
“Before we left, his girlfriend was read-in on what he does for a living,” explained Spock. “She’d accused him of lying about something then accused him of being part of Delta and threatened to leave him if he didn’t tell her the truth.”
“Oh, that poor dear!”
“You don’t normally get to tell people what you do, but BD got the clearance since they were talking marriage, so Atlas told her. She seemed okay with it at first, all proud like, but I guess things went up shit’s creek after we left.”
Laura nodded then rose, walking toward the big man and taking him by both arms, looking up into his eyes.
He seemed confused as to what to do, the desire to pace obvious, the fact he’d bowl her over equally so.
“What’s your real name?”
“Leon.”
She smiled. “Leon, don’t lose hope yet. When you get back, sit down and talk with her. Find out what the problem is. If you love her, and she loves you, then you’ll figure this out. She’s just panicking now because she found out this big, scary secret, and the man she loves isn’t there to talk it over with her. Once you two get some time together, I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Atlas sighed, dropping his chin to his chest, nodding. “We’ll see.”
She patted his cheek. “Yes, we will.”
An announcement over the PA had them all sitting in preparation for landing in Portugal, Acton and Laura planning on continuing their vacation while she let them use the plane to get back home. Atlas sat, his friends continuing to reassure him, as Laura buckled in beside her husband.
She took his hand, gripping it tight. “I’ve never seen him so sad before.”
Acton agreed. “I know. But it must be tough for these women. Until they’re about to get married, they have no idea what their future husbands do. To then have to decide whether to continue forward, knowing your husband puts himself in harm’s way every day, has to be an almost impossible thing to wrap your head around.”
“I guess it’s no different than marrying a police officer.”
Acton shook his head. “I don’t know about that. When someone dates a cop, they know they’re a cop and they’re obviously fine with it since they stick with them. In this case, you think you’re dating a soldier, so, yes, there’s a small chance he could die in combat or training, but to find out he’s Delta? Christ, I don’t know how these guys do it. How they’re wives do it.”
“They’re incredible women.”
Acton grunted. “They must be.” He leaned over and gave her a peck. “Just like you.”
“Aww, you’re looking for something,” she said, poking him in the chest. “And I’m too damned tired and sore to participate. I’ll just lie there, okay?”
Acton laughed. “There’s no right answer for that one, is there?”
95
Abbotts Park Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina
Butterflies.
Atlas couldn’t believe he had them, but he did. When they landed he had immediately called Maggie, actually beating Dawson to the punch. “Tell me everything you know.”
And what he was told was heartbreaking, no one having been able to reach Vanessa since she ran out. Maggie did report that after many unanswered phone calls she had gone to the apartment last night and a shouted “go away” had been the response to her knock.
“At least we know she’s alive,” he had murmured.
“Go and talk to her. Don’t take no for an answer. Talk through the door if you have to, rappel down to her balcony, but whatever you do, don’t let that girl wallow in self-pity any longer. She needs to talk to someone, and that someone is you.”
“Funny, I heard something just like that recently.”
Maggie laughed. “Not from those testosterone junkies you hang out with.”
He chuckled. “No, Laura Palmer.”
“I knew it had to be a woman. And a smart woman at that.”
“Thanks, Maggie.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
And he was about to find out.
Flowers in one hand, chocolates in another, and a fine bottle of red wine tucked under his arm.
All the things he could think of, besides himself, that might cheer up the woman he loved.
He knocked.
Nothing.
He tried again, keeping it gentle.
“Vanessa, it’s me.”
A door across the hall opened and her nosy neighbor stood in her door, arms crossed. “Booyee, are you in trouble! What the hell you been doing to that girl that’s got her crying so much? I told her you’d be nothin’ but trouble. Imagine, datin’ an army man, especially after what happened to her daddy!”
The click of the deadbolt on the other side of Vanessa’s door signaled the end, he hoped, to the unwarranted berating he was getting from a woman whose only claim to fame was four husbands and four child support checks.
The door opened and Vanessa glared at the woman. “You mind your own business and leave my man alone!” She grabbed him by the arm, pulling him inside before slamming the door shut and locking it.
“Hi, babe, how are you?”
She crossed her arms, one foot out front, tapping as she stared at him, saying nothing. She nodded toward the flowers. “Those for me?”
Atlas had honestly forgotten he had been holding them. “Oh, um, yes.” He held them out to her.
She grabbed them, took a look and tossed them on the table. “Beautiful.”
She might as well have been reading the word from a dictionary. She flicked her wrist at the chocolates. “And those?”
“Uh huh.” He handed them over.
She tossed them on the table.
“And that?”
He gripped the bottle of wine. “Umm, maybe I better hold on to this?”
He flashed a toothy grin, scrunching his shoulders slightly as he tried to feel her out.
She melted, falling into his arms and squeezing him tight. “Oh, gawd, did I miss you.”
“Me too, babe, me too. But I’m home now.”
She pulled him to the couch and they sat down. She nodded toward the television, CNN on mute, a report on the Japanese situation playing. “You had something to do with that, didn’t you?”
He smiled slightly. “You know I can’t tell you.”
She leaned closer to him. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, don’t you?”
He leaned away from her. “How?”
She continued pressing forward, slowing crawling up his body. “You just look guilty.”
He lay back on the couch. “Huh, never been a problem before.”
She lay atop him, her lips inches from his. “I guess you love me.”
He smiled, gazing into her eyes. “I guess I do.” She leaned in for a kiss but he took her by the shoulders and held her in place. “Do you think you can love this life I’m offering you?”
She smiled. “Absolutely.”
96
Ebiso District, Tokyo, Japan
Jiro Sato lay on his bed, gasping for breath, Keiko lying beside him, her chest heaving.
“Oh my, that was, I mean, you were, I mean.” He stopped. “Oh my.”
“Glad you enjoyed yourself.”
Butterflies formed instantly, his chest tightening. “Umm, you didn’t?”
“Are you kidding me? Were you not in the room?”
He grinned at the ceiling.
“I want to do it again.”
He turned his head toward her. “I never want to stop!”
She giggled, rolling on top of him, the sheet falling off her shoulders revealing the most incredible sight he had ever seen, and hoped to ever see again.
That this was love, there was no doubt.
And with what they had just done, he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.
“You have to meet my mother.”
Keiko raised a finger to her lips. “Never mention your mother when we’re having sex.”
His eyes widened in horror. “Oh, um, yeah. Forget I said that.”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Ignore it.”
“Never answering the door again.”
Keiko moaned. “Never leaving the bed again.”
The knock became more urgent.
Keiko stopped, her shoulders slumping. “Get it. And tell whoever they are that they ruined a perfectly good lay.” She rolled off and he got off the bed, quickly wrapping a robe around himself, slipping his feet into a pair of slippers, the knocking continuing.
He peered through the peephole and his eyes widened in shock.
He opened the door. “Umm, what are you doing here?”
Deputy Minister Sasaki bowed. “May I come in?”
“O-of course!”
Jiro stepped backward, Sasaki entering, a security detail remaining outside in the hall. Sasaki looked at him. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Jiro glanced toward the bedroom to see the door closing.
Something Sasaki apparently hadn’t missed.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he said, smiling.
“What can I do for you?”
“I thought you deserved to know that the Imperial Regalia have been recovered, and have already been delivered to their sanctuaries.”
The revelation was almost cathartic, his muscles relaxing, a sigh escaping as his eyes closed, the weight of seventy years of shame abruptly lifting from his shoulders, a weight no young man should ever have been forced to bear, and now, with the shame and dishonor gone, a weight his children would never need to share.
It’s over.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Sasaki bowed slightly. “It was my duty and honor. If it weren’t for you, we never would have recovered the Imperial Regalia. The Japanese people will never know what happened, but if they did, they would thank you.”
“Um, ah, thank you.” He bowed.
Sasaki bowed deeply, holding out a rolled up scroll with a wax seal in the center, the symbol of a chrysanthemum pressed into it.
His eyes widened.
“And His Majesty would like to thank you as well.”
Jiro fainted.
97
Butyrka Prison, Moscow, Russian Federation
Orlov sat on what might loosely be described as a bed, the mattress paper thin, the slats underneath spaced so far apart he feared his large frame might fall through, the threadbare sheet probably providing more support.
His entire body ached.
And he was terrified.
The interrogation had been intense and painful the first day, all manner of threats made, all manner of methods used.
He had talked.
Oh God, had he talked.
He was never a brave man, never a man who should have been subjected to anything like he had been.
And he had talked.
Repeatedly.
Yet the interrogations, the torture, had continued.
The same questions.
The same answers.
And repeated again.
Until it had stopped.
There had been no explanation, nothing. He had been led back to his cell, barely able to walk, then left alone. He received his meals through a slot in the door, and that was it.
He asked nothing, asked for no explanations and no favors, terrified of what the response might be.
He just sat.
Healing.
And worrying about his wife and son, he having betrayed them both with his pathetic weakness.
“Open three-oh-two!”
The locks clicked and Orlov’s heart raced as he rose, standing on the line he had been instructed to, his entire body shaking as he prepared for another beating.
The door opened and an impossibly old man stepped inside.
His eyebrows rose. “A-aren’t you a little old to be a prison guard?”
The man smiled. “Who said I’m a prison guard?” He leaned forward. “Do ever
ything I say, when I say, and you’ll see your son shortly.”
Orlov’s jaw dropped. “Wh-who are you?”
“Viktor Zorkin, pleased to meet you.” The man extended a hand then motioned toward the door. “Now let’s go, I have some more friends to collect.”
THE END
Acknowledgements
The idea for this book came from an article my dad sent me about missing historical artifacts. In it was mentioned the theory that the Imperial Regalia might actually be among them. The very idea intrigued me and I actually stopped writing the Delta Force Unleashed thriller I was writing, switching my attention to this new idea. It dealt with an area of the world I hadn’t covered before, and quite frankly, fascinated me.
Hopefully it did you too.
I’d like to take a moment to thank Greg “Chief” Michael for his invaluable advice on the naval scenes. He helped verify and correct a lot of my terminology and tactics, assisting me greatly. Any errors are this author’s alone, and I will cover my ass by suggesting they can all be chalked up to poetic license.
I’d also like to thank my dad for all the research, and Brent Richards and Ian Kennedy for some military terminology help, and as always my wife, daughter, mom and friends.
And here’s a question. Did you get as hungry reading the biscuit scene as I did writing it? Man, my stomach was grumbling like crazy! Okay, now I have to Google where I can get fresh biscuits near here.
Another special mention to the winners of an impromptu “name that character” contest held on Facebook. Chariya “Apocalypta” Em was the winner, and Richard’s nomination of Rosie “Riveter” Bugnet also made it in as a last minute addition. Thanks to all who participated. If you want to join in the fun (yes, fun!) follow me on Facebook today. Details are on my website.
To those who have not already done so, please visit my website at www.jrobertkennedy.com then sign up for the Insider’s Club to be notified of new book releases. Your email address will never be shared or sold and you’ll only receive the occasional email from me as I don’t have time to spam you!
Thank you once again for reading.
Raging Sun (A James Acton Thriller, #16) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 23
