Acton turned toward the camera. “You got that?” Murphy gave a thumbs up. “We’re live on several networks right now.”
Sarkov frowned, this an unexpected development, but his fate had been sealed the moment he went to Phong’s apartment instead of home. “I understand. Now you need to understand me. You all need to surrender your weapons and come with me. I’ll take you to the airport where we can get on a plane to Moscow. At least there you’ll be in a more civilized country.”
“Only a bit more civilized,” said Acton. “Let’s just be clear, it’s Moscow that’s trying to kill us.”
“Yes, but this is a proxy war. The Vietnamese are the ones trying to kill you on camera. Once you’re in Moscow, you’ll simply become pawns. My prediction is you two will be released almost immediately, the Vietnamese nationals would be returned after a cooling off period, and Agent Green would at most get a show trial.”
“But we have proof that he wasn’t involved.”
“Your word is hardly proof.”
Laura shook her head. “No, we have the museum footage that proves he wasn’t the shooter.”
Sarkov’s eyes narrowed, his heart skipping a beat in excitement. “Really?” He looked over at Mai, a sudden realization dawning on him. “You made a second copy?”
She nodded.
“Brilliant, brave woman.” His appreciation for this young, diminutive woman grew several fold. He looked at Laura. “And this footage proves that your Agent Green wasn’t the shooter.”
“Without a doubt. And Phong just gave a full confession to the world.”
“And we gave our witness statements,” added Acton. “The world knows this was a lone gunman, a local man who was taking revenge for a war crime committed forty years ago.”
Sarkov thought for a moment.
This changes everything.
There was no way Moscow could kill or disappear these people if he got them to Russia. But they were still in terrible danger if they remained here, with Yashkin only minutes away. “This is good news,” he finally said. “And it makes it all the more important that we get you out of Vietnam.”
“Why?” asked Acton.
“If the world knows you are definitely innocent, there is no way Moscow will harm you. The worst that will happen is you are put up in a hotel under guard for a few weeks while you are questioned and the Kremlin does their dog and pony show for the press, then you’ll all be released. Young Mai will probably be released, perhaps even with a demand that she not be harmed by the Vietnamese upon her return, and Phong will be given a trial, most likely quickly found guilty and sentenced to life in prison.”
Phong rose from his corner. “I’ve already accepted that,” he said as he walked toward them. “I don’t want anyone else hurt. We should do what he says.”
One of the Vietnamese men said something, Mai jumping to her feet and rushing over to the man, grabbing him by the arm. Words were exchanged, rapid fire, Sarkov having no hope of understanding. Acton turned toward them.
“What’s going on?”
“He says he’s not going to Russia.”
“Better there than here,” said Laura. “At least temporarily.”
“He said he has a way out.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed. “And he’s telling us this now?”
“He didn’t think he’d need to use it. He says we can all escape.”
Cadeo pulled a panel up from the floor and his men began to descend some steps into what was once a mechanic’s pit. “Are you coming?” he asked his sister in English.
She shook her head.
Acton stepped toward Cadeo. “Listen, if you run now, you’ll be running your entire life.”
Cadeo just glared at him then looked at his sister saying something in Vietnamese, his expression softening. She nodded, biting her forefinger as tears flowed down her cheeks. Cadeo disappeared, closing the panel behind him. Laura walked over and put her arm around Mai’s shoulders. “What did he say?” she asked softly.
“He said he loved me and to be careful.”
Laura hugged her tighter as she began to sob, leading her away, waving off the camera following them.
Sarkov looked at Acton. “We have little time to debate this. Once Mr. Yashkin is here, you will die, perhaps me as well.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Acton seemed to think about this for a moment then walked over to Agent Green. There were whispers as they spoke, the brief conversation breaking with nods of agreement. Acton then spoke to his wife, again in hushed tones. Finally he spoke to the camera crew. He turned to Sarkov.
“What about the reporters? They’re not involved.”
“Are they the ones that were there when Miss Trinh was rescued.”
Acton quickly shook his head, perhaps a little too quickly. “No.”
“Then I think I might be able to convince my Vietnamese counterpart to let them leave. I would highly suggest they leave the country as quickly as possible, even if they are not the crew wanted by the authorities.”
Acton nodded, as if he understood that Sarkov knew he was lying.
“So we are agreed?”
Nods of assent gave him the green light.
“Then we must leave now, we have only minutes.”
Dong Mac Ward, Hanoi, Vietnam
Dimitri Yashkin rolled up in his chauffeured vehicle provided by the Russian Embassy. The drive had been uneventful but slow, taking more than the promised twenty minutes, a parade of some sort blocking their way, it seeming to stretch across half the damned city. And what he found when he arrived baffled him. Two police cars and nothing more.
“I thought there was gunfire? What the hell is going on here?”
His chauffeur said nothing, simply bringing the car to a halt and climbing out, opening Yashkin’s door. Yashkin stepped out into the cool evening breeze and looked at Major Yin as he exited his own vehicle. “What’s going on here?”
Yin shouted something in Vietnamese, another man running over. Words were exchanged, Yin seeming confused, continually asking questions, then getting angrier and angrier, his subordinate beginning to cower.
Yashkin stormed over. “What is happening? Where are the suspects?”
Yin looked at Yashkin, exasperated. “They’re gone!”
“What?”
“They’re gone! He says your man took them.”
“What? What man?”
“Mr. Sarkov.”
“Sarkov!” Yashkin’s mouth gaped wide in shock. You could have told him Petrov’s ghost himself had been here and he couldn’t have been more surprised. “Are you sure? I sent him home!”
“He’s sure.”
“Where did he take them?”
“To the airport.”
“What?”
Yashkin could feel every muscle in his body tighten as fury ripped through him. Through clenched teeth he asked, “When?”
“Almost fifteen minutes ago.”
“Stop the motorcade, stop Sarkov. They can’t be allowed to reach the plane.”
Yin shook his head. “No, he said he’s taking them back to Moscow.”
Yashkin paused, not sure what to make of that. “Moscow?”
“Yes.”
“And the suspects agreed?”
“Yes. Apparently Mr. Sarkov convinced them they would be safer in Moscow than here. It avoided a possible gun battle and many deaths.”
Yashkin bit his lip, thinking. Perhaps Sarkov wasn’t a traitor after all. He was still a damned fool, and he’d be enjoying his final years in a cold dark cell for disobeying orders and violating Moscow’s wishes, but at least he wouldn’t die with the shame of being labelled a traitor.
But his orders were to have these people eliminated by the Vietnamese so that his country could claim they weren’t involved.
“I want your men to shoot them on sight.”
Yin’s jaw dropped, then his head began shaking rapidl
y. “No no no! There’s a camera crew following them, broadcasting live!”
Yashkin caught his shoulders before they slumped in defeat. His deflated tone didn’t hide his dejection. “Explain.”
“There was a CNN crew here, taping them. That’s how my men found them, they followed their van from the American Embassy. They apparently lost them for a few minutes but eventually found them. They were allowed to leave freely since they are press—they didn’t want to create an international incident, especially since they were broadcasting live to the world.”
“And your men let them follow Sarkov to the airport?”
Yin nodded.
“Idiots.”
Yin nodded again. “I agree.”
The young man in charge of the scene clearly understood English, withering with each word.
“Delay the Americans as much as you can. I don’t want that plane leaving before I get there. And detain Sarkov and the others when they arrive at the airport.”
Yin nodded, demanding a radio as they headed for their respective vehicles.
Moscow is going to string Sarkov up by his balls.
Approaching Noi Bai International Airport, Hanoi, Vietnam
Jimmy watched the nearly empty streets whip by, the airport located north of the capital leaving much of the route a clear high speed shot out of the city. It was normally a forty minute drive but they had done it in half the time, their Vietnamese police escort urged to higher and higher speed by the approaching bumper of the lead vehicle driven by him, the normal thirty mile per hour speeds upped to sixty plus.
But it was too easy.
He wasn’t complaining, he was just stunned the Vietnamese, and more accurately the Russians, were sticking to their agreement. The drive was long and uneventful, and it had given him a lot of time to think—or more accurately, worry—about Niner. Dawson hadn’t been able to contact him directly about their imminent departure, and though he hated the decision to leave without their fellow operator, he agreed with it. Atwater and the civilians were the priority.
But he was also a firm believer in the no man left behind doctrine.
Which was why he was hoping they would quickly be returning to assist in an extraction if Niner didn’t make it. He had been watching the entire route like a hawk for Niner to make an appearance like the original plan had dictated, but he hadn’t seen him, though at these speeds and at night he might have missed him.
And if he had, and something bad happened to his friend, he’d never forgive himself.
He looked at the GPS in the dash and activated his comm. “ETA less than four minutes.”
He knew it was less than the four shown since it was assuming they were travelling at the speed limit.
They were doing anything but, much to the annoyance of the police in the lead, the motorcycle cops’ bumpers about three feet ahead of his own.
There was no way he was going to tolerate any delays.
Three minutes.
And it had only been thirty seconds. He could see the airport directly ahead, and had been able to for some time, it standing out against the night sky, the planes taking off and landing steady.
Two minutes.
Which meant less than a minute. “ETA less than two minutes.” Brake lights lit up in front of him and the motorcycles split off in opposite directions.
Jimmy cursed.
Two police vehicles were blocking the road ahead, at least a dozen officers behind them, weapons drawn. “Road block ahead!”
“Can you go through?” asked Dawson over the comm.
“Affirmative. At least a dozen hostiles with weapons.”
“Do it!”
“Everyone hold on!”
Jimmy leaned forward and hit a custom installed button on the dash, disabling the airbags and fuel cutoff features for the impending front end collision. He was driving a large, heavy Ford SUV, facing two relatively small Vietnamese vehicles.
He laid on his horn, at least giving some warning to the officers that he had no intention of slowing down.
They didn’t move.
Until he was within about ten yards, then they scattered.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, tensing up his muscles and shoving his head back against the headrest, bracing for the impact, the DSS agent beside him and his passengers in the back doing the same.
They hit hard, the back end fishtailing for a few moments, the civilians in the back momentarily panicking, but he was trained for this. He took his foot off the gas as he steered into the skid, steadying his breathing as his body demanded an emotional reaction.
Instead he mastered the adrenaline bitch and when enough speed had been taken out of the equation and traction reestablished itself, he straightened the wheel, back in control.
He hammered on the gas, blasting through a set of gates that were being hastily closed, the Secretary’s airplane plainly visible in its cordoned off, secure section of the airport to the left.
He cursed again, a company of troops surrounding the area, but thankfully with few vehicles. He glanced in his side mirror and saw the motorcade was still tight behind him. He braked, turning onto an access road that led to the tarmac, moments later turning hard left, eliciting more screams from the back. He was heading directly for the plane now, the soldiers or police, he couldn’t tell which and didn’t really care, scattering out of the way. DSS agents were posted around stanchions demarking the diplomatic exclusion zone indicating American soil.
One of the agents opened a gap in the simple barrier, jumping out of the way just as Jimmy blasted through, easing off the speed slightly but not locking up his brakes until he reached the other side, leaving enough room for the rest of the motorcade to get inside the barrier.
“Everybody out and on the plane. Don’t forget any equipment assigned to you. Stay calm and don’t run. We don’t need anyone getting injured in the final nine yards.”
Doors were thrown open as he stepped outside. The squeal and shudder of antilock brakes surrounded them as the other vehicles stopped, car doors being thrown open as the civilians raced for the steps that had been pushed up against the front door of the Boeing 757, their instructions to not run ignored. He checked the backseats and found an abandoned piece of satellite gear.
Naughty! Naughty!
He removed it and handed it to the DSS agent that had accompanied him.
“Nice driving,” said the man with a nod of appreciation.
“Thanks, nothing I like better than a Sunday drive in the country.”
The man chuckled as they walked toward the stairs. “Remind me to never accept an invitation from you for ice creams.”
Jimmy batted his eyes at him. “Why Agent Conroy, whatever do you mean?”
Dawson jogged up to them, smacking him on the shoulder. “Good job.”
“Just good? Why Agent Conroy here just hit on me for doing such a good job.”
Conroy shook his head, laughing as he climbed the stairs, the last of the civilians now boarded.
“Hugs and kisses later,” said Dawson as the last of the abandoned equipment was carried up by DSS agents. Dawson’s phone rang as he pointed to the vehicles. “Get some men and move these out of the way. I don’t want anything interfering with us taking off.”
Jimmy nodded and climbed into his own vehicle, pulling it in behind the wing. He didn’t care if the engines blew the damned thing halfway back to the hotel, he just didn’t want them hitting or trying to suck the vehicle into them.
He glanced in his mirror and saw Dawson smile.
It must be Niner!
“What’s your situation?” asked Dawson as he rushed up the stairs, the idling engines too loud to hear properly. Inside he found confusion and chaos as the panicked civilians couldn’t seem to decide where they wanted to sit, too many trying to avoid windows. He pointed at Spock. “Start assigning seats. Explain how bullets and jet fuel work.” Spock grinned and began to push people into seats as Dawson stepped to
ward the cockpit.
“We’re on our way,” said Niner. “I’ve got the professors, the Vietnamese grad student, and the assassin with me and an ABC news crew in a CNN van following. But there’s a change in plans.”
Dawson frowned. He didn’t like changes in plans. “Explain.”
“We’re not coming to you. We’ve surrendered to the Russian agent we met earlier, Sarkov. We’ve agreed to return with him to Moscow.”
“Unacceptable.”
“We had no choice. We were surrounded and had only minutes before his superior, that asshole Yashkin, arrived with orders to kill us all.”
Dawson’s teeth clenched. “That guy deserves a bullet to the skull.”
“True dat! Listen, if you guys get a chance to leave, you take it. Don’t wait for us. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news—”
“Been a little busy but did catch the latest Big Bang Theory on the way.”
“Sheldon is my favorite, he’s so dreamily geeky—he’s like a white Asian. But, if you had switched the channel you’d see we’re being broadcast live so we should be safe. Also, the assassin, an employee from the hotel, broadcast a full confession and the professors managed to get their hands on footage from the museum proving it wasn’t me.”
Dawson breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank them for me.”
“I’ll be sure to give Jim a big kiss and Laura a hearty handshake from you.”
“Good. Make sure you don’t mix them up. Contact me as soon as you arrive at the airport. ETA?”
“I can see it from here, so I’m guessing we’ll be there in less than ten minutes, maybe even five at the speed we’re going.”
“Good luck, my friend.”
“Ditto.”
The call ended and Dawson felt a little relief though not happy at the prospect of his friends being taken to Moscow.
But at least they’ll be alive.
He entered the cockpit and looked at the pilot. “Can we leave?”
He shook his head. “They’re refusing clearance.”
The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) Page 27
