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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Climbing out, he surveyed his surroundings and immediately spotted Phong sitting with Duy and several other men, Phong on what looked like either a cordless phone or one brick of a cellphone from yesteryear.

  He strode toward them, unbuttoning his suit jacket just in case he needed to grab for the weapon in his shoulder holster. Suddenly Phong’s eyes met his and he knew he had been made.

  Tall overweight white guy in a suit in Vietnam. Real tough.

  The phone clattered to the ground as Phong shouted something then bolted. More shouts and a scream from one of the women sitting in a row with several others behind the men ended when he pulled his weapon, Duy’s designs to run with his friend ended.

  He picked up the phone. “Who is this?” There was a click as the other end hung up. He handed the phone over to one of the women then turned to Duy, still sitting in his lawn chair. As much as Sarkov would love to sit right now, he knew there was no way the flimsy chair would support his mass.

  “You speak English?” He already knew the answer, his personnel file, printed off in English, already told him.

  “Y-yes.”

  He looked at the printout. “Your name is Duy Giang Tran?”

  The terrified man’s head shook out an uncertain nod.

  “You work at the Daewoo Hanoi Hotel?”

  Another shaky affirmative.

  “How about you tell me what happened?”

  “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Sarkov scratched his chin then absentmindedly tapped the gun in his shoulder holster. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Your friend Phong—and yes, I know exactly who he is and where he lives—must have told you, otherwise you wouldn’t be so scared.”

  “I-I’m not scared.”

  “Good! You shouldn’t be. I don’t believe you did anything wrong, at least not intentionally. Why don’t you tell me what you know? Perhaps I can help.”

  A bottle of vodka was suddenly pressed against the man’s lip, liquid courage pouring down his throat as he polished off several ounces, one for each bounce of his Adam’s apple. The bottle was removed then hesitantly offered to Sarkov.

  He shook his head. “No thanks.” The woman who had taken the phone disappeared inside, returning a few seconds later with a hard plastic chair, something he had seen at cheap cafés on many occasions. He smiled gratefully as he took a seat. The festivities continued around them, the brief excitement caused by Phong’s flight forgotten in moments. He watched as a particularly beautiful woman passed, even Duy unable to ignore her. “Very pretty,” said Sarkov. He motioned toward the women. “Is one of these lovely ladies your wife?”

  Duy nodded, pointing to the woman who had brought the chair.

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded and said, “Thank you,” her nervous smile accompanied with her entire upper body bowing repeatedly in the chair.

  Sarkov turned to Duy, smiling, trying to disarm the man at least a little, though he could tell his attempts were unsuccessful so far. “Lovely lady, you’re a lucky man.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Does she speak English?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then nothing you say to me can get you in trouble with her, and we both know there’s nothing worse than being in trouble with your wife.” Sarkov laughed at his own joke, trying to put the man at ease as he directed his gaze at the crowd again, providing the man with a little relief.

  Nervous laughter from Duy, then the others, quickly tapered off.

  “Now, let’s start at the beginning. What happened this morning?”

  The man sighed, his gaze lowering to his shoes as he leaned forward, the bottle rattling on the concrete as he twirled it nervously with his fingers. “Phong told me he forgot his pass in one of the American’s rooms. I just told him when he could get in to get it.”

  “You activated the security cameras to do it.”

  Duy hesitated. “Y-yes, I guess I did. I mean, I had to in order to access the utility usage data.” His jaw dropped. “I forgot to deactivate it!”

  Sarkov smiled, nodding, his eyes still mostly on the crowd. “No need to worry. Your forgetting might actually have helped.” He waved to a group of young women who were smiling at him. They giggled and rushed off. “You had no idea what your friend was going to do?”

  An emphatic headshake. “No! He gave me my pass back, thanked me, and that was it. I didn’t know until later that he had left sick.”

  “And I guess you didn’t know until this evening what he had done?”

  Duy sighed. “Yes. He told us just before you arrived.”

  “Did he say why he did it?”

  “Yes!” Duy turned his chair slightly toward Sarkov, as if excited he might have a defense for his friend. “He said this man murdered his entire family and village when he was a kid. During the war. He said that he had let him live. He swore that if he ever saw him again he’d kill him.”

  “And he did.”

  Duy frowned. “Yes, but it was justifiable, wasn’t it? I mean, wouldn’t you kill the man who killed your family if you had a chance?”

  Sarkov’s chest tightened slightly at the question, it something he had been asking himself too often since he had found out Phong’s possible motivation. Unfortunately he already knew the truth.

  He wouldn’t.

  Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was too scared to.

  Until today, he had never thought himself a coward.

  But he must be.

  He had let the murderer of his wife and child escape unscathed. He would have been able to find the man with little trouble. He had access to a weapon. He could have killed him in a heartbeat.

  But he hadn’t.

  Instead he had requested the earliest transfer so he could escape any possible memories of his wife and son.

  And he hadn’t even unpacked a single photo of them when he had moved into his apartment here in Hanoi.

  Shame swept over him.

  And envy for the brass that this man he had never met had shown.

  Phong is to be admired.

  “Who was he on the phone with when I arrived?”

  Duy’s eyes darted away, his posture changing as he turned slightly away.

  He said nothing.

  “Tell me now, or the police later. Either way you will be telling.”

  Duy sighed then took another swig from the bottle. “He called the American Embassy.”

  Sarkov’s eyes narrowed. The American Embassy? He turned toward Duy, the festival forgotten. “Why?”

  “He’s a good person!” cried Duy, his words rapid, almost jumbled with his accent. “He is! I’ve known him for years and he’d never hurt anyone. That’s why when he heard about what was happening because of what he’d done, he wanted to turn himself in. We”—he motioned toward his friends and the women behind them—“all thought he shouldn’t because they’d kill him.”

  Sarkov turned back to look at Duy’s wife who smiled. “Thank you!”

  He nodded with a smile, noticing the old grandmother nearby rocking in her chair, her hands clapping in synch with the drums, her grin of pure joy a pleasant if out of place sight under the circumstances. “You were probably right to advise him to not go to your local authorities.” Sarkov turned back to the parade. “What did he tell them?”

  “The truth, exactly what I told you.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “They wanted him to go to some address to meet some people so he could tell his story.”

  “Not the embassy?”

  “It’s surrounded, isn’t it?”

  Sarkov nodded. “What was the address?”

  Duy shook his head. “I don’t know the address. I think it was on Lang Yen street, but I don’t know the number.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Dong Mac Ward. Not far.” He nodded toward the car. “Maybe ten minutes in car.”

  Sarkov pushed himself to hi
s feet. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “What should I do? They say the police are after me!”

  Sarkov frowned sympathetically. This man had committed a minor indiscretion. Did he deserve to be fired? Probably. Arrested? Perhaps. Tortured and jailed or executed? Definitely not. “I suggest you and your family leave immediately. Call your hotel tomorrow and tell them you have a family emergency and need to take a few days off, don’t give them a chance to tell you anything—just talk then hang up. Then go stay with people that the authorities don’t know you have any connection with and stay there until you hear on the news that the crisis is over. Hopefully once the truth comes out, you can go back to your job. If what you say is true, your government will probably want to forget this ever happened very quickly and you might just get your life back.”

  Duy rose and nodded, his face clouded with fear and uncertainty. “I will do that.”

  “Good luck.”

  Sarkov strode toward his car and climbed in, entering the street name into his GPS. Ten minutes, maybe twenty if I’m stuck in this parade. He pulled out and inched along, looking for a side street that might not be so busy, but it was to no avail. The crowd was parting, smiles and waves rather than shaked fists the order of the evening, but it was slow going.

  Which meant he had time to think.

  He was already defying orders by being here rather than at his apartment. And he knew Yashkin’s report back to Moscow on his performance would be negative, so much so that he would almost definitely face recall. And if the truth didn’t come out, there would be more than sufficient reason for the powers that be to have him disappear in some cold, dark corner of Russia, never to be seen again.

  Which was why he continued to push forward.

  For he had nothing left to lose except his life.

  Dong Mac Ward, Hanoi, Vietnam

  James Acton looked up from the laptop as Laura’s phone rang, startling Mai who was still a bundle of nerves. They all were. Cadeo’s men were fussing with an impressive cache of weapons and ammo, Mai’s brother’s black market business apparently booming. If they had to make a stand, they could, but it would be pointless. There were no helicopters or American troops rushing to the rescue here.

  They were on their own.

  With nowhere to go.

  If only we could get on that plane!

  But he knew there was no way that was even possible. Their only hope was to not be discovered, get their story out so that the world would be convinced they and Niner weren’t involved, and then hopefully get into the Embassy.

  And perhaps the first step of that plan was about to take place.

  “Hello?” His wife’s voice was tentative, she clearly as nervous as he was. She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “They’re here!”

  Mai jumped in delight or nerves, Acton couldn’t tell, as Cadeo flicked off the lights and opened a door to the side of the garage. Niner stepped ahead of them, his weapon drawn, fresh ammo supplied by Cadeo filling his pockets.

  “Do you see the door that just opened?” She nodded. “Okay, bye.” She hung up the phone, placing it back in her pocket as they waited.

  A couple of minutes later two men casually strode in, the door closing behind them immediately, the lights flickering back on. Acton smiled at Stewart and his cameraman Murphy. “They’re okay,” he told Niner who lowered his weapon, Cadeo’s men following. Acton stepped toward the new arrivals, shaking their hands. “Thank God you made it. Were you followed?”

  Stewart shook his head. “We were but Murph lost them. We should be okay.”

  “I’m surprised they let you go,” said Laura, giving both men a quick hug. “You’re wanted like us.”

  Murphy laughed. “Nope, an ABC news crew are wanted men. We borrowed a CNN van.”

  “They agreed?”

  “Once they heard what was going on. At first they wanted to come with us but we agreed that would look suspicious, four guys in the van instead of the normal two. We agreed to share any footage we take.”

  “Sounds good,” said Acton. “Now let’s get this show on the air, now. We need to get the word out and the museum footage transmitted before we’re discovered.”

  Stewart nodded. “What format is the footage in?”

  “Files on a USB memory stick,” replied Mai, walking toward the laptop. She pulled the device out and handed it to Murphy who immediately sat down, setting up his camera to transmit the data.

  Stewart looked at Niner. “So you’re the assassin.”

  “Apparently.”

  Stewart chuckled. “Well, you’ll be happy to know that the real assassin is on his way here.”

  “What?!” cried both Acton and Laura, Mai almost fainting, grabbing the back of a chair to steady herself.

  “Yeah, this Phong character called the embassy just as we were about to leave. He confessed to everything, said it was in revenge for what Petrov did during the war, exactly like you guys said, and he wanted to turn himself in, but not to the Vietnamese. We suggested—”

  “—I suggested,” interjected Murphy.

  “Mr. ‘Takes All The Credit’ suggested—”

  “That’s rich coming from you.”

  “—that he meet us here so we could get him on tape along with you guys.”

  “And to correct my esteemed colleague’s previous statement, we think the real assassin is on his way here.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Acton.

  “The phone call was interrupted when a Russian arrived on the scene. We think though that the Phong guy ran away in time. We’re just not sure,” replied Stewart.

  “He has the address?”

  “It was given to him, and we assume he wrote it down.”

  Niner clasped his hands behind his neck. “A lot of assumptions.”

  Stewart nodded. “Agreed. But let’s try to look at the bright side. That data is about to be transmitted—”

  “Already happening.”

  “—and you’re all about to get on the air with your stories.”

  “Should we do it live?” asked Acton. “We don’t want to risk them finding us and confiscating the tape.”

  Stewart patted him on the cheek. “You’re so cute!”

  Laura snickered.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know there’s no tape,” said Acton, placing a quick kiss on Stewart’s palm causing the man to jerk his hand away.

  “I’m not that kind of girl,” Stewart said in a feigned huff. “We’re definitely going live. I’ve already talked to the studio and they’re waiting.”

  “Thank God,” sighed Laura. “Hopefully once the truth gets out things will settle down.”

  Stewart shook his head. “Hopefully, but there’s a full-fledged invasion of the Ukraine going on, troop buildups on both sides in the Baltic States, a few shells exchanged between ships in both the Baltic Sea and the Black Sea, and there’s that F-22 that was intentionally hit. Apparently a couple of American tourists were attacked and beaten in Moscow and Marines from the embassy had to rescue them. The Russians are expressing outrage and demanding they be handed over and that the UN Security Council condemn the violation of international law.”

  “That’s pretty rich coming from them,” said Acton.

  Murphy grunted. “That’s what I said.” He pulled the memory stick from the camera, handing it back to Mai. “Sent.”

  “Good. Do they know what to do with it?” asked Laura.

  “Yeah, we already gave them your theory and they used file photos to determine the make and model of the metal detector they were using so they know the exact height for comparison,” said Stewart as Murphy set the camera up for the interviews.

  Laura shook her head. “I can’t believe they let him in with a gun when there’s a metal detector.”

  “Probably because they thought he was a part of the American security team,” replied Stewart. “But this is good. It means that even the Vietnamese were fooled or just didn’t care enough to carefully check the
ID. I’m assuming our friend here”—he nodded toward Niner—“looks nothing like our shooter.”

  “I’m much more handsome,” said Niner, straight-man style.

  “Oh much,” winked Laura.

  “Oooh, Professor, not while your husband’s in the room.”

  Acton shook his head, smiling as Stewart laughed, Mai still not sure what to make of them.

  “Who’s first?” asked Stewart.

  “As soon as Phong gets here, we’ll put him on. But for now I think hearing from the eye witnesses rather than Mr. Green is the way to go. If they hear from him they’ll just say he’s lying.”

  “Good thinking,” said Niner. He looked at Laura. “Shall we go entertain ourselves while your husband is interviewed?” He grinned ear-to-ear suggestively raising his eyebrows up and down.

  Laura pointed to the door leading to a side room. “How about you go get started yourself.”

  Niner’s shoulders slumped. “You’re not going to show up, are you?”

  “No thanks, I’m a one man girl.” Laura goosed her husband. He jumped.

  Acton, his ass cheeks still clenched, looked at Laura. “Careful, hon, you’re liable to lose a finger up there.”

  “Eww!” she cried, yanking her hand away as Niner bent over laughing.

  “I never knew you two were so kinky!” he said, still chuckling as he walked away to check the front.

  “We’re ready,” said Murphy, Stewart standing straight, microphone in his hand, the light from the camera shining brightly.

  “We’ll have all three of you on camera,” said Stewart, but I’ll primarily ask Laura the questions since the public will find a woman more sympathetic and believable. I’m a newsman but we need to sell the truth today not just tell it, so I’m not beyond manipulating people’s perceptions if you’re not.”

  “Sounds fine to me.”

  “Okay, good.” He touched an earpiece apparently connected with the studio. “Can you hear me?” He nodded then gave a thumbs up to Murphy who began a countdown from five, the last two with fingers, Laura stepping up beside Stewart, Acton then Mai beside her. “Thank you, Terry. I’m here with Professors Laura Palmer and James Acton, and Vietnam National Museum of History grad student Mai Lien Trinh, all witnesses to today’s assassination of Russian Prime Minister Anatoly Petrov. They have a much different story to tell than that being provided by the Vietnamese and Russian authorities. As well, they have managed to retrieve footage from the Museum security cameras that appear to substantiate their version of events, footage I might add that the Vietnamese authorities previously said did not exist.” He turned toward Laura. “Professor Palmer, please tell us what happened from your perspective.”