“That’s going to be a problem. All our photos are on every television station in the world.”
“Lovely.”
“Don’t worry, yours is still a pretty grainy photocopy.”
“Thank God for small favors, but I did get recognized a few minutes ago.” He nodded to Mai. “What’s that footage of?”
Mai didn’t turn, instead her eyes remained glued to the footage she was fast forwarding through. “It’s from the museum security cameras.”
Niner’s eyebrows rose. “Really? How the hell did you get that?”
“I stole it.”
“That’s why she was arrested. She’s wanted by the police too as a co-conspirator.”
“Co-conspirator? You two as well I suppose?”
“Yup.”
“What a joke. This whole thing is a joke. It makes no sense. Why are the Vietnamese so hell-bent on arresting me that they’d risk—hell, already cause—an international incident?”
Acton nodded toward the television. “Apparently the Vietnamese are about to sign a massive weapons deal with Russia. The Chinese are causing problems in the South China Sea so the Vietnamese are using their growing oil money to purchase a whack of new hardware. The talking heads think the overreaction is an effort to please the Russians who’ve been hemming and hawing on whether or not to sell them the weapons.”
“The Russian I met with seemed reasonable though he toed the party line.”
“Sarkov?”
Niner nodded. “Yeah, same guy. You met him?”
“Yes, at the hotel before he went to meet you apparently. I got the sense he was willing to hear the truth. What good that will do now, I don’t know. What with Atwater’s appeal being ignored, the Vietnamese seem to have committed.”
“Appeal?” Niner turned back to the television. “Is that what they’re showing?”
“Yes,” said Laura. “She was broadcasting live to CNN, telling the world what was happening when they think the Vietnamese blew out the floor from under her.”
Niner cursed. “I hope the guys are okay.” He motioned toward the laptop. “Any luck yet proving I’m innocent?”
Mai shook her head, pointing at the screen. “This is the only footage showing the shooter. He comes through the main doors, hands over his pass, then heads toward the room where we all were a few minutes later. You can’t really make out his face, at least not with this.”
Niner leaned in and replayed the footage. He frowned. “Nope, this won’t prove it’s not me.”
“Sure it will.”
Niner and the others turned to Laura. “How?”
“That guy’s half a foot shorter than you.”
Niner turned back to the screen. “You can tell?”
“Not really, I just remember from the shooting. The guy who shot Petrov was far shorter. You’re what, one-hundred-eighty centimeters?”
“Huh?”
Acton laughed. “Europeans!” He looked at Niner. “You’re about five-nine?”
“Ten.”
“Ten then,” said Laura. “He was five-two, five-three at best?”
“So how does that help me?”
Laura leaned forward and backed the footage up to when the man entered, pausing it. She pointed at the metal detector. “That height can be measured. From the video any pro will be able to see exactly how tall he is.” She snapped her fingers. “Bring up the footage from when we arrived. Leave that one open so we can compare James entering. He’s taller than you but close enough that we should be able to make a comparison.”
Mai brought up the footage and paused the image showing Acton entering. She split the screen to show both images.
And it was obvious. The man who had used his ID was a head shorter at least than Acton, and clearly far shorter than his own 5’10”.
“Okay, so that pretty much proves I’m not the guy. Now what? How the hell do we get that footage into the proper hands while we’re stuck here?”
Acton smiled. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
Daewoo Hanoi Hotel, Hanoi, Vietnam
Dawson grabbed Secretary Atwater, swinging the small woman into his arms as he charged from the room. The eighth floor had been lost and Jimmy, the last out, had reported seeing a group entering the room directly under Atwater’s suite. He cleared the threshold, Atwater at first struggling against the indignity, he ignoring it. Screams from the staff left behind who hadn’t reacted as quickly as he had filled his ears but they weren’t his concern at the moment. The others would get them out. His job was to get Atwater to the tenth floor before the Vietnamese had a chance to blast through the floor. The fact they would actually blast through the floor of her suite had him convinced this was going to be a fight to the death.
Which meant it was time to get dirty.
He deked to the right, shoving hard, his legs pumping toward the stairwell before it was lost to the enemy.
An explosion ripped at the air behind him, screams of terror turning into screams of pain.
And far too many screams suddenly silenced.
He reached the stairwell and put Atwater down, handing her over to two DSS agents. “Get her upstairs, now!”
They each grabbed an arm and practically lifted the aging woman up the stairs. He pointed at Spock and Jimmy. “It’s time to go on the offensive.”
“It’s about damned time,” said Spock, readying his MP5 as they ran back toward the room, gunfire erupting as the DSS agents returned fire while they tried to evacuate the survivors from the room. Dawson took a quick look and saw a ten-by-ten hole in the floor, several bodies and even more wounded scattered about the suite. He motioned for Spock and Jimmy to follow him, running to the other end of the hall. Six DSS agents were holding the stairwell.
“Status!”
“Holding for now, they don’t seem to be making an assault from here yet.”
“Okay, hold this stairwell but be prepared to retake the eighth.”
The DSS agent’s eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”
“I never kid.”
“He doesn’t,” added Spock with a smile. Dawson retreated back to the hallway and opened the first door on his right, entering the room. Spock and Jimmy followed. “Umm, BD, just how are they going to take the eighth?”
“We’re going to drop in for a little visit.”
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”
Dawson slid open the door to the balcony and Spock grinned. “Now I got you.”
Dawson pointed to the two double beds. “Three sheets.”
Jimmy and Spock stripped the sheets, returning to the balcony. The hotel and the grounds surrounding it were pitch black except for vehicle headlights and several spotlights that had been set up, randomly swinging across the façade of the building. They quickly tied one end of the sheets to the railing, spaced apart by several feet.
“We drop down, try the door, break the glass if necessary, clear the room. Understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant Major.”
“Let’s do this.”
Dawson wrapped part of the sheet around his hand and swung a leg over the railing. He didn’t wait, the risk of a spotlight catching them too great. He pushed out and let himself swing away from the building as he let the sheet slide through his fingers. Timed perfectly, he swung onto the balcony below, immediately reaching for the handle of the sliding door. He lifted the door up and off the track, out of the locking mechanism, an old trick that unfortunately worked with too many patio doors.
Security eight floors up is always overlooked.
Spock and Jimmy surged into the room the moment the door was out of the way and within seconds the whispered ‘Clear!’ was heard from all three operators. Dawson approached the door and looked through the peephole. He couldn’t see anyone but it was nearly pitch black and the gunfire from down the hall was loud. He pointed toward the left where the stairwell was. “Spock with me, Jimmy cover our sixes. Stay low, conserve your ammo, and if we’re lucky, anyone down the
hall won’t know what happened with all the noise.”
Spock pulled open the door and Dawson poked his head out. An emergency light in the stairwell showed at least half a dozen silhouettes. He could see shadows at the far end, near the room under Atwater’s suite, but no one close. He stepped into the hallway, breaking left, Jimmy to the right, taking a knee, Spock beside him to his left. Dawson raised his MP5 and squeezed the trigger, single shots, Spock doing the same.
The Vietnamese, eight of them as it turned out, didn’t know what hit them. Dawson stepped into the stairwell. “West landing, eighth floor secure,” he said into his comm. Immediately he heard footsteps rushing down the stairs and the six DSS agents joined them. “Hold this stairwell as long as you can.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dawson pointed at the bodies. “Get their weapons and ammo, one of you deliver it to the tenth.” Spock was already searching the bodies. “Grenades?”
“One each.”
“We’ll take those. This battle will be fought here, now.”
Spock tossed three grenades to Dawson. He shoved them in his pockets as they joined Jimmy, still taking a knee at the door to the room they had swung into. “Status?”
“It’s so loud down there they didn’t hear you guys. I’m counting at least six in the hall, but I could be wrong, it’s just shadows.” He pointed to a door about midway. “I’m pretty sure that’s the room they blasted through from the seventh. The door’s open and I’ve seen several people moving back and forth through there.”
“Ok, somebody is going to check this end sooner rather than later.” He looked at Jimmy. “How’s your arm?”
“Fantastic. Let me guess, east stairwell?”
“Yup.”
“No problem,” he said as Spock handed over two grenades.
“Good. Put two in the strike zone as soon as we’ve cleared the soft targets, Spock you put two into the room under Atwater’s suite. We’ll clear that room so our guys can clear the ninth of anybody who made it up, then join us.”
“Roger that.”
Dawson activated his comm. “Ninth floor, prepare for grenades under Atwater’s suite and the east stairwell. East stairwell, prepare to take the eighth floor landing. Ninth floor prepare to join us on the eighth.”
Confirmations were heard through his earpiece just as someone came out of the seventh floor access room, turning right toward them. Dawson dropped him as the three advanced at a crouch, squeezing off single shots at the now alerted men in the hall. As they approached the first target room Dawson pulled the pin on a grenade, tossing it around the doorframe as he pulled the pin on a second, still firing one-handed at the quickly diminishing Vietnamese. He tossed the second grenade inside. “Fire in the hole!” he shouted as they all rushed forward, away from the blast. Spock dropped the last man in the hallway as those at the stairwell took notice. Jimmy’s first grenade was already whipped down the hall, speed and accuracy key as the ceiling was too low for a traditional lob. It was a fastball pitch that in the darkness they had no way of knowing if it were successful or just bouncing back at them.
The second was thrown as they continued to advance, Spock already tossing his first grenade into the second target room just as Dawson’s grenades erupted behind them. Screams and secondary explosions tore into the hallway through the open door behind them as the stairwell was suddenly shredded in a brief flash, the emergency light taken out bathing the entire area in darkness. Gunfire erupted, the distinctive sounds of Glocks and MP5s, unchallenged as Spock’s grenades tore apart the eighth floor suite.
Dawson spun on his heel as the last of the debris burst through the door. He rushed inside, weapon high and on full-auto, squeezing short bursts at anything that moved, Spock joining them, Jimmy covering their asses.
“Clear!” announced Dawson, the others echoing their confirmation. The entire assault had taken less than sixty seconds but it wasn’t over. “Ninth floor, you up there?” he shouted.
“Yeah. That you, White?”
“Affirmative. Get as many men down here as you can.” He pointed at a tipped over ladder and Spock grabbed it, putting it back in place. Almost immediately someone began to descend the ladder as another update came through the comm.
“Eighth floor east stairwell secure.”
Dawson pointed at the first man. “Make sure this room is secure, then begin a room by room search. Try to stick to the hallways, they won’t risk blowing those.” He motioned for Spock and Jimmy to follow as he stepped back into the hallway. Flashlights at either end showed DSS agents in position, weapons being stripped from the dead. He jogged down the hall toward the room with the hole to the seventh floor and took a quick peek around the door.
Nothing was moving and the windows, curtains opened, were providing enough light from the city for everything to be seen clearly.
Including the large hole in the center of the room and half a dozen dead or dying men around it. Shouts and sounds of movement from below could be heard. He tossed his third and final grenade down the hole, taking cover in the hall.
The blast was still deafening, even if fifteen feet below. The screams and cries seemed louder.
Suddenly the lights came back on, revealing the carnage for them all to see.
And signaling, Dawson hoped, the end.
Daewoo Hanoi Hotel Lobby, Hanoi, Vietnam
Sarkov looked up as the lights came back on. The hotel had been rocked by what seemed like a dozen explosions over the last few minutes, the vibrations carrying through the structure and up his legs, though the sounds were muffled and distant. He rounded the corner and found Yashkin standing near the check-in counter with several Vietnamese senior officers and a couple of suits.
“What’s going on?” asked Sarkov as he approached. “Why are the lights back on?”
Yashkin nodded to the men then took Sarkov aside, out of earshot. He lowered his voice. “The message has been sent.”
“What message?”
“That the Vietnamese should be taken seriously in their desire for justice to be served.”
“Justice? How is violating international law justice?”
Yashkin looked at him, almost as if disappointed. “International law? The Russian Federation does not concern itself with international law when one of its leaders has been murdered in cold blood. However, that being said, publicly we have implored the Vietnamese to show restraint in dealing with this security emergency and they have agreed, halting the attack that was so inappropriate a response.”
“An attack you ordered.”
Yashkin shrugged. “Orders from Moscow, though I must admit the Vietnamese were a little overzealous in blasting through the floor directly under the Secretary while she was live on international television.”
“A brilliant defensive tactic on her part.”
Yashkin pursed his lips, examining Sarkov’s face. “I sense admiration.”
“Perhaps, though that should not be misinterpreted as doubting where my loyalties lie. One can always express admiration for one’s enemy’s tactics. The key is to then use the knowledge gained for a successful counteroffensive against them.”
Yashkin nodded his head slowly. “I wonder if your time has come.”
Sarkov felt a pit begin to form in his stomach. “I beg your pardon?”
“Perhaps it is time for you to retire. I think you are too soft for the job.”
Sarkov chose his words carefully. “I have only two years left before that fateful day. However, if I weren’t here today, we would not know that the Americans are telling the truth.”
Yashkin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I have just seen security camera footage of the eighth floor showing that Agent Green was indeed in the hotel at the exact moment of the Prime Minister’s assassination.”
“Show me this.”
Sarkov led Yashkin to the security office, a bit of hope building within that perhaps Yashkin might just be interested in the truth after a
ll. “Bring up the footage showing the American coming out of his room,” said Sarkov as they entered. Within moments they were watching Agent Green exit his room then run to the elevators with several others. “See the timestamp? Only two minutes after the fatal shots were fired.”
Yashkin leaned in, watching the footage loop. “Interesting.” He stood back up. “How did this footage come to be? I thought the cameras were supposed to be deactivated on that level.”
“They were, but an employee reactivated them to help a man named Phong enter the room, presumably to steal the security pass of Agent Green.”
“And I assume there is footage of this as well?”
“Yes. And Phong is what the Prime Minister called his assassin. The same name as the employee seen entering the DSS agent’s room.”
“So then this would suggest our theory is wrong.”
Sarkov almost let out an audible sigh of relief. “Yes.”
“It would appear then that this Phong was acting on behalf of the Americans. He went to Agent Green’s room, Agent Green gave his security pass to this Phong, who then assassinated the Prime Minister and his security detail, while the American delegation did nothing to stop it, then two witnesses, both with known ties to several international incidents involving the American government and its military just happen to be in the room at the same time, to name this Phong patsy as the killer, claiming that the Prime Minister knew him and he was killed for something he allegedly did during the war and not for political reasons.” Yashkin shook his head. “I’m afraid this proves nothing. All it proves is how the professors knew the name of the individual. They were all in on the plot to assassinate the Prime Minister. All that has changed here is that the actual shooter is a different person than we thought, and that the two professors are definitely involved.”
Sarkov’s eyes had opened wide, his eyebrows climbing his forehead as he resisted all temptation to let his jaw drop. The story being spun by Yashkin was brilliantly ridiculous, exactly the type of thing the Kremlin would come up with in situations like this. Yashkin definitely had a bright future, unfortunately it was a future Sarkov wanted no part of.
The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) Page 20
