Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “The key is the marinade,” replied Acton as he sliced off a piece then chewed, the steak melting in his mouth. “Damn, I’m a good cook.”

  “If you do say so yourself,” winked Laura, the rest of their dinner guests chuckling with the exception of tiny Mai Lien Trinh, she still attempting to learn the household’s odd combination of American and British humor, her life in Vietnam ending only months ago. She had been exiled for her part in helping embarrass her country when she helped Acton, Laura and Niner escape Vietnamese and Russian authorities. In thanks for doing so, she had been granted asylum in America and a job at the university where she could earn money and complete her studies.

  Acton smiled with pleasure as he saw young Tommy Granger lean sideways and bump shoulders with Mai, eliciting flushed cheeks from the shy girl. The two had been spending a lot of time together, and if they both weren’t so meek, he was certain they’d be a couple by now.

  All in good time.

  Tommy was a computer whiz that had been instrumental in helping save Laura during the Blood Relics incident, Mai as well, her aptitude for computers newly discovered as she finally had access to the tools available to her that Americans took for granted.

  “So when will we know if the painting is authentic?” asked Milton before shoveling some garlic mash into his mouth.

  Acton shrugged. “It won’t be soon. I’ve sent some emails out to several art experts and the chatter has already started. There’s no hiding this now, that’s for sure.”

  Laura put her fork and knife down, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I’m arranging to have it sent to the Smithsonian. We’ve got experts there who can’t wait to get their hands on this thing.”

  “Where is it now?” asked Tommy. “It sounds valuable.”

  “Locked in one of the archeology department vaults,” replied Acton. “It should be safe there, I can’t see anybody wanting to steal it. Not in the next few days, anyway. Hardly anybody knows it exists yet.”

  “How are you going to transport it?”

  “Armored car, I think. It’s too valuable to just drop in the mail.”

  Laura picked up her utensils. “I wanted to drive it there, but James wouldn’t let me.”

  “Hey, you’d be so nervous and distracted driving it, you might get into an accident. And I’d hate to see anything happen to a work of art.” Laura’s jaw dropped in mock offense. “A work of art such as yourself, of course.” Acton grinned, raising his hand..

  Milton high fived him, his wife Sandra snorted. “Nice save, Jim.”

  “Good thing you know how to cook, otherwise such talk might be grounds for divorce,” said Laura as she took another bite of her steak. She swallowed. “Though it is good steak.”

  Sandra leaned forward. “Now Laura, all he did was marinade it—”

  “Actually, I did that,” interrupted Laura.

  “Oh, then all he did was slap it on the grill and flip it once or twice?”

  Laura smiled. “Come to think of it…”

  “Hey, but these mashed potatoes are fantastic. And that garden salad was terrific,” said Milton, leaping to his friend’s defense.

  “Actually, I made those,” replied Laura, leaning back in her chair and looking at her husband. “In fact, for about ten minutes you had Greg working the grill while you did something inside.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you actually do anything?”

  Acton huffed. “Well, duh, I did the most important thing there is to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I lit the barbecue.”

  “Ooh, what a man!”

  Mai snickered.

  She got that one.

  Acton swallowed his last piece of steak, noticing he was the last to finish. He had been talking a lot, but he had also been given the largest piece at Laura and Greg’s insistence. He was pretty sure Tommy was a little disappointed but knew the young man wouldn’t dare object.

  Something twigged as the Sirius XM station they were listening to in the background began to play Start Me Up, the vocals barely audible, it turned down so low. He tossed his chin toward the nearest speaker. “So for you Stones fans, I stumbled upon a little tidbit that you might find interesting.”

  “Stones?”

  Acton turned to Mai. “As in the Rolling Stones.”

  She shook her head. “Is this a band?”

  Acton’s jaw dropped. “Only one of the most famous rock and roll bands in history!” He turned to Tommy. “You need to do a better job at educating her.”

  Tommy shrugged. “I’ve heard of them. Weren’t they named after that magazine.”

  Milton groaned. “I feel so old.”

  Acton shook his head. “The youth of today. We’re doomed.”

  “Hey, I’m sure you had no idea who your parents listened to,” said Tommy defensively.

  Acton laughed. “No, I knew what they listened to, I just didn’t like what they listened to for the most part at the time. Now I actually like a lot of the classic rock from the sixties and seventies that my dad listened to.”

  “Including the Stones?”

  Acton nodded. “Including the Stones.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now, first, to correct one thing, Rolling Stone magazine was named after several things. The Rolling Stones, which came before the magazine, the song Rollin’ Stone by Muddy Waters—”

  “Ooh, Muddy Waters,” said Sandra, “I love them.”

  “Him.”

  “Him?”

  “Him.”

  “Umm, maybe I’m thinking of the Moody Blues.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And the third thing?” asked Milton, patting his wife’s knee.

  “The Dylan song ‘Like a Rolling Stone’.”

  Tommy leaned forward. “Dylan?”

  “I give up.”

  Tommy grinned. “Just kidding.”

  Mai giggled.

  Acton pursed his lips. “I’m not sure you are,” he said, doubt lacing his voice. “But let’s give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Okay, you said you had some tidbit?” prompted Laura. “Now, remember, the Stones are from my side of the pond, so it will take a lot to impress me.”

  “Well, did you know that in high school Mr. Jagger played basketball?”

  “No, I did not,” replied Laura. “And that’s this great big secret you discovered?”

  Acton chuckled. “Patience, my dear, patience. Did you also know that his bandmates at the time felt his voice sounded too uppity to be singing the blues?”

  “Uppity?” asked Laura. “You mean upper-class?”

  “Yes.”

  “Odd. I never got that impression,” said Milton. “Sounds pretty down to earth to me.”

  “Well, there’s a reason for that now.”

  “Oh, do enlighten us, oh great one!”

  Acton jabbed a finger at Milton. “Hey, great one is reserved for Gretzky.” He stuck his tongue out slightly, tapping the tip. “At a basketball game, he ran into another player and bit the end of his tongue off, and in the confusion, swallowed it.”

  “Eww!” cried Sandra and Laura together.

  “Glad you waited until after we were done our medium-rare steaks,” said Milton, his nose turned up.

  “I pick my moments.”

  “So what does this have to do with him no longer sounding uppity?”

  “Well, he wasn’t able to talk for a week, and when he finally did, the shape and size of his tongue had changed so much that he no longer sounded upper-class, and his singing voice had completely changed.”

  “That’s incredible!” cried Sandra, her eyes suddenly narrowing. “Wait, is this true, or are you just pulling our legs?”

  Acton smiled. “Nope, completely true. If Mick hadn’t made a tasty treat of his tongue, the Rolling Stones may never have been.”

  “Cool!” Tommy stretched and put his arm over the back of Mai’s chair, prompting her to lean forward. He started to turn a little red and Acton felt sorry for the
guy.

  Mai leaned back.

  Acton exchanged a glance with Laura as Tommy let go the breath he was holding.

  “So back to this painting,” said Sandra. “You really think it’s possible that it was stolen off the Titanic as she sank, by someone who was on board a military boat?”

  “Ship,” interjected Acton.

  “Huh?”

  “If a navy guy caught you calling his ship a boat, he might toss you over.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Doesn’t seem to be much agreement though some people say ships can carry boats, boats can’t carry ships.”

  Laura laughed. “My granddad always said that if your ship is sinking, you get in a boat. If your boat is sinking, you get in the water.”

  “As good a definition as I’ve heard,” smiled Acton. “Anyway, the theory makes sense, especially with that security alert.”

  “So it’s not just insurance fraud?” asked Sandra.

  “I don’t think so. If it were fraud, how would some US Navy captain end up with it? It just doesn’t make sense. What I think the real question is, is if it weren’t fraud, how did a US navy captain end up with it?”

  Laura leaned over, putting an elbow on the back of Acton’s chair. “And if he weren’t acting under orders, why would the Navy cover it up?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Sandra.

  “The security alert. Clearly they know he was involved. Didn’t Steve Wainwright say he had his father’s record but part of it was redacted? And it was when they started asking questions about that portion of the record the Navy shut them down?”

  Acton nodded. “But do they actively know, or is it just something put in there from long ago? Classified missions are not unusual, so a redacted personnel record isn’t anything new and no one would even think about it when printing it off. It obviously wasn’t Captain Wainwright’s file being watched, otherwise the security alert would have been triggered when the initial file was printed for his grandson. It wasn’t until they asked about him in relation to the Titanic that the alert was tripped.”

  Milton frowned. “Which means somebody absolutely knows why.”

  Acton pursed his lips. “Can we say that? It could be some security alert programmed in years ago. Just a code on a file that the system says, anytime I see this code, I trip an alert.”

  Tommy shook his head. “You’re forgetting one thing, Professor.”

  The table turned toward Tommy, the computer expert at the table. “What’s that?”

  “Someone had to choose the keywords that would trigger that alert.”

  “Meaning.”

  “Meaning that someone had to program the system, either specifically, or through a keyword database, to have an alert triggered when someone searched for Wainwright and Titanic together. And those systems are modern. Nobody involved with the Titanic would probably have been alive when those systems were programmed.”

  “So what you’re saying is—”

  “Somebody in the past twenty or thirty years programmed the system to make sure if anybody searched for information on that redacted mission, an alert would be triggered.”

  “But there’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Sandra. “If it was programmed to watch for that, then who programmed it? Everyone involved would be dead by now. Wouldn’t putting a security alert in the system just let people know there was something they were trying to hide? I mean, I would assume the data isn’t in the computer if they’re trying to hide it, so if no one knows about this, then why create an alert in the first place? Aren’t you just waving a big red flag saying ‘look at me, I’ve got something to hide’?”

  Acton felt his stomach churn a bit. “So what you’re saying is that somebody today is actively monitoring that alert.”

  Tommy jabbed a finger in the air at Acton. “Exactly! That’s what I’ve been trying to say. Somebody, somewhere, received that alert, because they were waiting for it. And I’m willing to bet you it wasn’t the Navy.”

  Laura squeezed Acton’s hand tightly.

  “If not them, then who?”

  Assembly Covert Communications Facility, Moscow, Russia

  “The infection appears to be spreading.”

  Ilya Mashkov frowned. He was still getting used to the idea that The Assembly thought extremely long term. Both forward and back. They rigorously protected the secret of their existence, and would do whatever it took to preserve it, though this was the first time he had ever seen the distant past become an issue. And with the Titanic barely a century ago, it wasn’t exactly the distant past for this organization.

  The full truth had yet to be revealed to him.

  As each year passed, and he found himself ingrained deeper and deeper into the organization, he was granted access to more of their files. He knew at least centuries were involved, what he didn’t know was whether or not it was millennia. He had been provided an impressive amount of information on other organizations, from the Triarii to the Order of Mary, many millennia old. He had the sense it was to impress upon him the fact that organizations like this did exist today, and had been around for thousands of years. He assumed it was to prepare him for the revelation that he too was now part of an equally ancient organization, something he would have had serious doubts about believing.

  But not anymore.

  He just wanted to know the truth.

  He had been given the file on the Titanic operation as soon as it had become an issue. All members were provided with all relevant information for any current crisis. After all, once one became a member, one was trusted.

  Certain death was the alternative.

  The Assembly could never risk a security breach from within, and the benefits of being part of the organization made it almost unfathomable that someone would betray it.

  The wealth and power were intoxicating.

  As far as he knew, not a single member had ever knowingly betrayed the organization, though from what he understood several had done so inadvertently in the past and were eliminated so the “infection”, as they called it, couldn’t spread.

  “Our monitoring of Internet traffic suggests an increase in searches on a painting thought lost on the Titanic. Some of this is originating in the same geographic region as Congressman Mahoney’s constituency office,” explained the digitally altered voice, this man the longest serving member of The Assembly—which meant he knew who every single one of them were. This man was the only truly anonymous member of the organization.

  Who kills him if he’s the one who betrays us?

  He doubted anyone knew who he actually was, he only known as Number One. Apparently The Assembly had forgone any names because of a previous security breach that had threatened to expose their identities, it now forbidden to use anyone’s name, only their designation.

  I wonder if I’ll ever be Number One.

  “I’ve invited our operative to bring us up to date.”

  A screen flashed and the image of an incredibly beautiful woman appeared, her cheekbones sculpted, framed by short raven hair, her skin a healthy light brown from the sun, her green eyes piercing in their intensity.

  His breath was taken away.

  “Thank you, sir. As you already know, interrogation of the records clerk yielded the name of the individual requesting the information on Captain Wainwright, Congressman Bill Mahoney. This interrogation also led us to believe at least one other person was involved. In questioning the Congressman, we were able to determine it was Captain Wainwright’s own grandson, a Steve Wainwright, that had requested the records search. Apparently some records were found in the Captain’s basement recently including a painting supposed to have gone down with the Titanic. We are currently on route to pick up Mr. Wainwright and determine who he has spoken to.”

  “What is your contingency if he has spoken to others about this?”

  “I have a plan to take care of it, assuming your orders are still to eliminate anyone involved.”

&
nbsp; “They are.”

  “Then you have nothing to concern yourselves with. The entire family will be eliminated should it become necessary.”

  “Very well, keep us posted.”

  The screen flashed and went blank, the beautiful woman gone, Mashkov determined to find out who she was, suddenly infatuated with the desire to have her as his own.

  The intoxicating delirium of absolute power.

  It was a wonderful feeling to know he could have anything, or anyone, he wanted.

  Whether they were willing or not.

  Money. Drugs. Both.

  There was always a way.

  Though he preferred willing.

  In his home base of Moscow he had dozens of willing women, concubines for the lack of a better term, throwing themselves at him whenever he desired. He never had to resort to pressure.

  Except with his wife.

  Though they barely spoke anymore.

  His wife and children lived in Saint Petersburg and he rarely saw them, which was fine with him. His two daughters were ungrateful, spoiled little brats that had turned against him long ago, his attempts to purchase their affections only making things worse. His son had rejected the family money and instead changed his name and joined the Russian Navy, determined to make a name for himself on his own.

  Mashkov was immensely proud of him, though heartbroken he never saw him.

  Give it time.

  He had every confidence his son would come back to him once he had made a man out of himself, though if he were to interfere, to call in a favor to help his son climb through the ranks or get a plum assignment, he would never see him again should his son find out.

  So he kept his distance, though a watchful eye was ever present.

  He flinched as he realized someone was talking.

  “…most disturbing. I think it’s time we spoke with him, do you not agree Number Twelve?”

  Oh shit, what did he just say?

  He tried to replay the conversation but it was a total blank from the moment the alluring woman had finished her update.

  “Of course,” was all he could think of to say.

  “Excellent. I took the liberty of arranging a meeting with our point man and Mr. Jones. I’ll leave the rest in your hands.”