The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Jake wasn’t sure if this was the time to dump a truckload of truth on his girlfriend, but he figured there probably never would be a good time. It wasn’t like she could break up with him here in Russia. They were staying in the same hotel room and flying back together in three days.

  Perhaps it’s the perfect time to tell her the truth.

  “Honey, I hate dieting.” Her eyebrows jumped, her eyes opening slightly wider. “I love my fast food, my greasy hamburgers, my pizzas with extra cheese. It’s just the way I am, the way I always have been. I don’t mind eating the foods you like, but I also have to indulge every once in a while.” He slapped his belly. “I’ve always had this and I don’t think it’s going away any time soon.”

  Sarah looked aghast.

  Uh oh.

  “I feel horrible,” he started, but was quickly cut off by her hand darting out and grabbing his wrist.

  “No, I do.”

  “Huh?”

  “For making you do all those things.” She squeezed his wrist tighter then let go, grabbing his hand. “I love you. I don’t care if you’ve got washboard abs.”

  “Hey, I’ve got those, they’re just washboard abs for delicates.”

  Sarah laughed. “See? That’s why I love you. You make me laugh. If I had a problem with your weight I never would have started dating you.” She lifted his hand off the table and raised it to her mouth, kissing a knuckle, her eyes glistening. “I’m so sorry I made you uncomfortable,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

  Now it was his turn, and he was delayed by the return of the waitress.

  Empty handed.

  “The cook wants to know if you’re American.”

  “Why?” asked Jake, alarms suddenly going off as he felt Sarah’s grip tighten.

  “Are you American?” the woman demanded.

  “So what if we are?” asked Sarah.

  The woman pointed at the television, the gathered crowd of locals beginning to take interest in the conversation. “The Prime Minister has been assassinated! By an American!”

  “Of England?” asked Sarah.

  The waitress glared at her. “Of Russia, you ignorant American pig!”

  “Hey, there’s no call for that kind of language,” said Jake, standing. “I think we’ll be leaving.” He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, folding it over his arm as several of the men at the far end of the café left their seats. Sarah rose, grabbing her jacket as well, still holding Jake’s hand across the table.

  The woman shouted something at the crowd, the only word he understood being “Amerikanskiy!” More rose from their chairs as Jake led Sarah out the front door, pulling his jacket on as they stepped out onto the chilly street.

  “We need to get out of here, quickly,” he said, hustling Sarah along as she fumbled with her jacket. He paused to help her as several men stepped out of the café, angry expressions on their faces and shouts of vodka infused bravado spilling across the cobblestone street. He grabbed Sarah by the arm, hauling her along. “We need to get to the car, fast.”

  Their rental was within sight, just near the end of the block. He reached into his pocket, fumbling for the key, a momentary panic setting in when he couldn’t find it. His fingertips touched something and he grabbed, relief flowing through him as he felt the key fob in his hand. He glanced behind him and the crowd was larger now, several marching toward them, shouting, one with a fist pumping the air, a drink in the other.

  He kept them moving fast, resisting the urge to run, knowing that like an animal, a mob was more likely to pursue if they thought their prey just might get away.

  And their pursuers had no idea they had a car only yards away.

  “You get in and lock your door right away,” he said as they approached the car. “Are you ready?”

  “Y-yes.”

  He could feel her trembling, his hand still gripping her arm. He pulled the fob out and pressed the unlock button twice. The car chirped and the lights flashed.

  Somebody yelled.

  “Now!” he yelled, letting her go as he dodged behind the car and grabbed for his door. He stole a quick glance back and saw several of the men racing toward them, far too close. Sarah’s door slammed shut as he jumped in. He jammed the fob at the dash, missing the slot as his elbow pushed down on the lock. His foot shoved on the brake as his second attempt was successful.

  He pressed the ignition switch and the engine roared to life, someone slamming their fist on the roof at the same moment. Sarah screamed as a hand slammed against her window. He put the car in drive and lifted his foot off the brake just as someone slid across the hood, blocking his path.

  He slammed the brake back down, bringing them to a jerking halt.

  Another slam on Sarah’s window, the car quickly surrounded.

  “Jake! Do something!”

  Her voice was desperate, terrified.

  It sounded like he felt.

  Something swung at the windshield, splintering the safety glass on the passenger side.

  “Screw it!” He eased his foot off the brake and the car began to move forward. “Get the hell out of the way!” he shouted as those in front began to push back on the car, hatred in their eyes, mob mentality having taken over.

  These people meant to kill them.

  He removed his foot from the brake completely and gently pressed on the gas, cranking the wheel to pull out from the curb, his view of the road blocked.

  A horn blasted but he committed himself, pushing down a little more on the gas, the bumper shoving those in front, some moving to the side, one jumping on the hood.

  It didn’t matter anymore.

  They had to get out of here, they had to get to safety.

  Something slammed into his side of the car, shoving the front end back toward the car that had been parked in front of them. They hit with a jolt, a car alarm suddenly blaring as they were brought to a halt, he instinctively hitting the brakes.

  Somebody pulled full force on Sarah’s door handle.

  He hammered his foot down on the gas, squeezing between the car that had hit them and the parked car, shoving the car and its angry driver aside as they began to gain speed. He looked in his rearview mirror and saw the crowd chasing after them, the only pursuer now on their hood.

  He pulled the stock to wash the windshield, the wipers flicking past, hitting the man’s hand, a finger stuck through a hole in the passenger side of the windshield where it had been hit.

  The man lifted his hand.

  And Jake slammed on the brakes.

  The man’s eyes popped wide open as he slid down the hood and onto the cobblestone. Jake hit the gas, cranking the wheel around the man, trying not to hit him but not really caring when he heard a thump and a cry.

  “Get your phone out and look up where the embassy is!”

  “What?”

  “Just get your phone out!”

  Sarah fumbled in her purse, finally pulling out the phone as Jake looked in the rearview mirror, cursing. The car he had hit was racing up behind them. He pressed on the gas a little harder, but had no idea where they were going.

  Sarah held up her phone.

  “Get the address for the embassy then program it into the GPS.”

  She nodded, no longer bothering to try and speak, instead trying to get trembling fingers to work on a touch screen phone.

  What I’d give for an old Blackberry right now.

  He spun the wheel, cranking the car around a corner and onto a busier street, trying to watch ahead for any chance of being stuck in traffic while pressing the buttons on the built in navigation system, it thankfully already set up for English instructions.

  “I’ve got it!” exclaimed Sarah, holding it up.

  “Type it in! Type it in!”

  Sarah typed in Moscow, a list of streets appearing, it narrowing as she continued typing. A second car seemed to have joined the chase, probably filled with drunken patrons from the café. Several waving arms were shoved out its windo
ws as well as a few from the car he had hit. Either it had passengers before the collision or others had joined the driver in his pursuit.

  Either way it didn’t matter.

  From what he could tell they had at least eight people after them.

  “There!”

  “Turn left at the next intersection in one hundred meters.”

  He cut across two lanes of traffic, taking the turn just as the light changed. He glanced at the display and saw they were less than five minutes away from the embassy.

  “Call them!”

  “What?”

  “Call the embassy. Tell them what’s happening!”

  Sarah worked the phone and suddenly he could hear ringing over the speakers, forgetting they had paired the phone with the car when they first rented it.

  Thank God!

  “American Embassy—”

  “Thank God, we need help!” he cried, only to hear the automated voice hell system begin. Sarah began selecting options and finally the phone rang. Jake slammed on the brakes as a car cut in front of them, his arm darting out to protect Sarah from jerking forward, neither of them with their seatbelts on. “Put your seatbelt on!” he shouted, glancing in his rearview mirror. “Hold on!”

  The car was suddenly slammed from behind as their pursuers caught up. He jammed down on the gas, the car leaping forward as he glanced back, a nervous laugh erupting as he saw the airbags had been deployed, most likely killing the car’s engine as a safety measure.

  The laugh was soon stifled as the second car pulled around.

  “American Embassy, how may I help you?”

  “We’re being pursued by a car full of Russians!” he shouted as the GPS signaled another turn silently, the phone in control of the audio. He cranked the wheel.

  Three minutes.

  “I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to calm down, I can’t hear you properly.”

  Jake wanted to shout even louder, but bit his tongue. “We are two American citizens. We were attacked by a mob of Russians when they found out we were American. They are pursuing us now in our car. We are about three minutes away from the Embassy. You have to let us in or they’re going to kill us!”

  “One moment please.”

  Music played.

  “Is she kidding me?!”

  Strains of a Muzaked version of More Than Words by Extreme filled the car.

  Sarah’s seatbelt finally clicked into place, reminding him to grab his own, yanking it across his chest. Sarah grabbed it and shoved it into the buckle when the music stopped. It was a man’s voice. “This is the Regional Security Officer. Give me your situation.”

  “We’re American citizens. Right now one car is pursuing us, probably four individuals inside. They assaulted us and we escaped in our rental. We’re”—he glanced at the display—“two minutes out from the embassy.”

  “Do you have your passports?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “Do you—”

  “Yes!”

  “Good. Just show those at the gate and you’ll be let inside.”

  “These people mean to kill us!”

  “Once you are inside the gates we will protect you. There’s nothing we can do outside those gates. Are you coming from the east or west?”

  Jake glanced at the map.

  “East!”

  “Okay, good, it’s a one way street. The gate is on your right. Just stop right there and get out of the car. Just leave it, forget the keys. Make sure you have your passports raised in the air and announce clearly that you are American.”

  “Okay, okay. We’re almost there!”

  A siren sounded behind them.

  “What’s that?” asked the man.

  “We’ve got a cop following us now.”

  “Okay, don’t stop. Just keep going.”

  Jake made a hard right, seeing the gate ahead. And two police cars, sirens and lights blaring, raced toward them in the wrong direction.

  “There’s more cops coming right at us!”

  He heard the Officer shout something unintelligible. The gate was only a couple of hundred yards away. The light traffic ahead was veering to the left and right as the police cars tore toward them.

  “Go! Go! Go!” urged Sarah as she gripped the dash, her passport rolled up in her palm. It was going to be down to feet. He could see Marine Guards running toward the gate now, the red and white boom barrier still down, manned by what looked like Russians, the large gray iron gates behind that still closed.

  He hammered on the brakes, shoving the car into park with a jolt. “GO!” he screamed as he unlocked his seatbelt. Sarah threw open her door and tried to jump out, forgetting her belt. She cried out, struggling for a moment as Jake leapt from the car. He reached back in and pressed the button, releasing Sarah and she flew forward, shrugging off the shoulder belt.

  The boom barrier was still down, the two Russian uniformed guards stepping toward them with their hands out as the three police cars and their pursuers screeched to a halt, shouts erupting as ear splitting sirens drowned out most everything.

  Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out his passport, rushing toward the gate. “We’re Americans! We’re Americans! Let us in!”

  Somebody was running toward the front gates, a phone pressed to his ear suggesting he might be the Regional Security Officer. “Open the gates! Open the gates!”

  A Russian guard tried to block him but Jake knew it was all or nothing now. He dropped his shoulder and hit him square in the chest, bowling him over, hard. The jolt was jarring, but he kept forward, leaping over the boom gate, Sarah right beside him, a steady scream still sounding from the moment she left the car, her face one of pure terror like he had never seen in his life.

  The iron gates started to slide open when he heard gunshots erupt behind him. He didn’t stop. If they were willing to shoot them now, then there was no way they’d survive an arrest. He opened his arms wide, trying to shield Sarah as he slowed slightly to let her through the narrow opening first.

  Something hit him from behind, hard.

  He flew forward, his arms out front breaking his fall as he smacked hard into the ground, excruciating pain radiating throughout his back. It didn’t feel like a gunshot, at least not how he’d have guessed one would feel, but he had definitely been hit by something, and it had been preceded by a shot.

  Rubber bullet?

  He pushed himself to his elbows, looking up at the gate not five feet away. Sarah was inside, trying to leave to help him but she was being held back by two Marine guards, her pleas thankfully being ignored, Jake knowing the moment she crossed the threshold of those gates she’d be back in Russian territory.

  “Shots fired! Shots fired!” yelled someone, the hammering of boots on pavement nearing, a platoon of Marines rushing toward the scene.

  But nobody crossed the line, nobody moved to help him

  He pushed himself to his hands and knees, crawling forward, his passport still gripped in his hand, his back breaking in pain, when someone kicked him, hard. He felt his entire torso lift up as ribs cracked, the pain in his back a sudden distant memory. Instinctively he tried to curl into a ball as a flurry of kicks ravaged him. He heard shouts of protest in English, Sarah’s begging for them to stop, and the Russians continuing to deliver street justice.

  He opened his eyes and saw that the Russian police were holding back, four men from the café the ones actually doing the kicking. He looked up and saw a boot raised, about to stomp on his head. Sarah screamed, someone shouted something, and suddenly all hell broke loose. The pounding of boots approaching, a chorus of “Move back!” ordered repeatedly and the sight of military issued black boots rushing toward him almost made him forget the boot about to drop on his head. He looked up at the man, rage and hatred etched over his face, Russian expletives spitting from his twisted mouth. Jake raised his hands to try and block the blow when a rifle butt suddenly hit his attacker square on the chin, knocking him to the side.
The sounds of hand-to-hand combat surrounded him then he felt someone grab him under the armpits, hauling him to his feet.

  He looked behind as he was dragged through the gates and saw a cordon of Marines, their weapons aimed at the Russian attackers and police, covering his rescue as the entire procession quickly retreated behind the safety of the Embassy perimeter. As he felt his feet drag over the speed bump he cried a gasp of relief, knowing that at least for the moment he was safe, that he wasn’t going to die. He was placed gently on his knees and he collapsed in pain, rolling over onto his back, the cold pavement slowly biting into his skin through his jacket. The gates rumbled closed as Sarah dropped to his side and began to hug him, crying uncontrollably, her sob filled words incoherent.

  He just reached up and hugged her, his ribs aching in protest.

  But he didn’t care.

  They were alive.

  They were together.

  And they’d never be coming back to Russia again.

  Daewoo Hanoi Hotel, Hanoi, Vietnam

  “It is my understanding that you have allowed the assassin to escape.”

  Dimitri Yashkin seemed nothing if not direct. Dawson could sense Secretary Atwater was already bristling at his presence, his figure imposing and the Russian arrogance almost unbearable under the circumstances.

  To Atwater’s credit, however, she stood her ground and refused to be intimidated by the man, at least from all outward appearances. Inside she might be quaking, but Dawson doubted it. He had no doubt she felt safe at this very moment, there half a dozen security with guns within twenty feet, including himself.

  He could drop Yashkin in two seconds if it became necessary.

  But it wouldn’t.

  This was a “diplomatic” visit.

  “I wasn’t aware of that until a few minutes ago,” replied Atwater.

  “You should have better control of your security detail. If one of my men did what your man did”—he nodded toward Dawson—“he would be in prison before the day was out.”

  Atwater smiled. “In America we have due process. I thought Russia had the same?”

  Yashkin’s turn to bristle.

  “We do, of course. It was merely a figure of speech.”