If kids don’t learn about these things, how will they be able to teach their own children?
From those moments onward he was always cautious around strange dogs, tied his shoelaces and watched out when men were working.
All without his mother hovering over him.
He raised his hands, quieting the crowd.
He decided to open with the joke his wife had suggested.
“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated!”
Laughter filled the room followed by a roar as a smile spread across his face, his wife clapping and laughing just behind him.
“It’s been a crazy year, a busy year, and I think we’ve done a lot of good, don’t you?”
More cheers, a chant of his name struck up until he raised his hands again.
“I appreciate that, I appreciate that.” He paused, leaning forward over the podium slightly. “Now, you’ve all heard the news reports from earlier today.”
Boos.
“I know, I know, I’m not happy about them either. But unfortunately the evidence presented appears to suggest that the stories are true.” Shouts of dismay erupted and he gave them a moment. “I know, I’m as shocked and disappointed as you are. I can assure you that I had no idea, but the evidence seems to indicate that the majority of the funding provided to my campaign through the late Mr. Quaid has ties to Russian companies and possibly Russian criminal and even political elements.”
Fists were thrown into the air, the anger clear.
“You’re right to be angry. I’m angry as well. In fact, I’m livid. You know me, you know what I stand for. I believe America needs to be strong in the face of its adversaries, and to think that these very adversaries were financing my campaign is an outrage.”
He paused, holding his hands up to keep the audience quiet. He looked over at his wife for a moment.
“I almost lost my wife last year.”
His voice cracked, eliciting awws from the audience. He held out his hand and she took it. He gave it a squeeze and whispered an “I love you” before letting go.
“My wife is my rock; I don’t know what I’d do without her.” He took in a deep breath. “What happened to me the other night made me realize just how precious life is. Two people I had known for years are dead, directly as a result of my campaign. During the time I was a hostage, I was told to tone down my speeches about Russia and the sanctions I believe should be toughened. I was told that should I become president, I should drop those very sanctions. And if I didn’t, they would kill my entire family, including my precious little grandchild.”
Rage and horror were written across the faces. He stole a quick glance at his wife, a tissue dabbing at her eyes.
“These events, and these recent revelations about the source of the funding of my campaign have forced me to make some tough decisions. Everything I do I do for my family and for my country. If the Russians believe that me being president is in their best interests, then there is no way I should be president. And for this reason, as of tonight, I am withdrawing from the race.”
Roars of protest filled the room, the crowd clearly as disappointed as he was.
If only they knew the whole truth.
“I’d like to thank my wife and family for their support during these difficult times, my staff for their unwavering efforts from when this was just a crazy idea, and to all of you who have been steadfast in your belief in me and a better America. I know you’re all disappointed, and believe me I am as well, but I cannot in good conscience allow a foreign, belligerent power, to have any influence in the campaign for the most powerful post in the world. It is time to make America strong again! It’s time to take America back!”
The campaign slogan began to be chanted again and he raised his hands, reaching out to his wife, who raised hers as well.
“God bless you all! And God bless America!”
He stepped back from the podium, waving to the chanting crowd, many of the faces stained with tears as the press corps rushed forward, shouting questions at him.
But he blocked them out, turning for the stage exit and quickly disappearing. He turned to Agent White, deciding against going back to his dressing room.
“Get me out of here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Within moments they were in the limousine, just he and his wife in the back, White and the driver behind the partition.
No one would see him tonight.
He turned and buried his head in his wife’s shoulder and sobbed, a life’s work destroyed, wiped out by the act of one man, a century ago.
He squeezed his eyes shut, stemming the tears as his wife patted his head, saying nothing, knowing words weren’t what he needed now. He sat up, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes and cheeks dry.
“Sorry for that.”
She smiled at him. “Never apologize for having feelings.”
He laughed. “I wonder how many points I’d have dropped in the polls if they saw that display.”
“You’d probably pick up a few.”
“Always my biggest supporter.”
“And your biggest fan.”
He sighed, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket. “I can’t believe it’s over.”
“You did what you had to do. You did the right thing.”
“I know,” he said, looking out the window as the buildings whipped by. “But I wonder who they’ll go after next.”
“Do you really think they’ll try again?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.” He tore his eyes away from the streets and looked at his wife, fear in his heart. “These people want their president, and they have the money to buy anyone they want.”
Ilya Mashkov Residence, Moscow, Russia
Dimitri opened the car door and Mashkov stepped out. It was a cool, brisk morning in Moscow, the sun overhead a mere glow behind a dull gray sky. In the distance storm clouds threatened any afternoon plans.
It looked like he felt.
It was going to be a tumultuous few days, but he would make it through them. There was a reasonable explanation for the CIA investigation into him, and the press conference he had just listened to, though infuriating, couldn’t possibly be blamed on him.
Jones had betrayed them.
And he’d die for it.
As would the entire lineage of Brett Jones.
It was sad really. He took no joy in the thought. A lot of innocent people were going to die. They wouldn’t be murdered all at once, that would raise too many suspicions. Somebody would die on vacation in Mexico, there’d be a freak natural gas explosion in someone’s home, someone would be hit by a bus. There were thousands of ways to die that would appear to be accidents.
Though Christopher Jones would die with a bullet to his head, after the rest were all dead, so he’d have the opportunity to live with what he had done.
Because nobody betrayed The Assembly.
He stepped into his ridiculously ostentatious house and handed his gloves to Dimitri who placed them on a nearby rack. His butler helped him out of his overcoat.
“Can I get you anything, sir.”
Mashkov shook his head. “No. I need a little time alone.”
“Very well, sir. Until lunch, then?”
Mashkov nodded, dismissing the man with a wave of his hand. Dimitri may work for The Assembly, but he was his butler, and he’d be damned if he was going to treat him any differently than any other butler. He was a member of The Assembly, not his manservant. He was one of the twelve most powerful men in the world and this was his home.
He quickly crossed the marble floors into the living room, heading toward the wet bar as he undid his top button.
A throat cleared behind him.
He spun around and smiled, the beautiful agent he had been unable to stop thinking about sitting on his couch, her leather pants and tight top revealing every luscious curve.
He had asked Dimitri to find out who she was in the hopes that he could me
et her at some point, but he had never dreamed the man would actually arrange a meeting with the woman.
Perhaps I’ve underestimated you, my friend.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss—?”
“Katz.”
“Katz.” He felt his heart race a little faster as she stretched an arm across the back of the couch. “Do you have a first name?”
“Of course.”
“And it is?”
“Nadja.”
“May I call you Nadja?”
“You may.”
It was odd. If she were here at Dimitri’s behest, she had to know why. She was a very sexually attractive woman, so she had to be expecting this meeting to be for the purpose of starting some sort of relationship. A business relationship, but of a personal nature. He had them with many women, though none so attractive as her.
Perhaps it’s the gun?
Her shoulder holster hung loose, as if she had made herself comfortable while waiting for him.
A good sign.
What he couldn’t figure out was why her voice was so monotone.
Perhaps she’s here against her will?
He’d have to ask Dimitri what he had said to get her here. He’d hate for it to have been some sort of threat.
Sleep with him or else.
His eyes explored her body, deciding he didn’t care why she was here, just that she followed through with what he wanted.
Something stirred below.
But her stare was almost unnerving.
Cold.
That wasn’t it.
Indifferent.
That was it. Indifferent. It was as if she had no clue the effect her sexuality had on him, or if she did, couldn’t care less.
She obviously isn’t attracted to you.
That was of no matter. He had slept with dozens of women, hundreds, that hadn’t found him attractive.
Though they had all found his money attractive.
And so would she.
“So, Nadja, can I get you something to drink?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Curt. No nonsense.
I bet she likes it rough.
He sat down on the other end of the couch, reaching his hand out across the back, stopping only inches from hers. He breathed in, gently, not wanting to come off as creepy. Her smell was intoxicating. It wasn’t a perfume, but something else.
Her shampoo?
Whatever it was she smelt like flowers.
His fingers inched closer.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m here to clean up your mess.”
His breath caught in his throat and his heart slammed a little harder.
She wasn’t invited here, she was sent here!
He had to get control of the situation, though he had no idea how. He resisted the urge to look for a method of escape. “I assume you’re referring to what happened in New Orleans? It was indeed unfortunate, however there’s nothing that can trace back to us. And the Titanic incident was certainly not my mess. I had no involvement there whatsoever.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Mashkov—”
“Ilya.”
“—that you’re mistaken.”
It appeared his charms were wasted on this woman, which made her even more attractive to him.
You always desire what you can’t have.
Fortunately there were few things in this world he couldn’t have.
“Nadja, we’re all friends here, how can I help? My first duty is always to my colleagues—I would do anything for them.”
“Except apparently follow the security protocols laid out for you when you were first admitted into the organization.”
Mashkov’s chest tightened instantly and he could hear the blood rushing through his ears.
They know about the email server!
He tried to keep the panic off his face. He had to assume they knew everything, and lying wouldn’t help. But they couldn’t possibly know what was going on in his mind. “I assume you’re speaking of the external email routing I set up?”
“I am.”
He waved his hand as if it were nothing. “That’s nothing. My server is completely secure, it’s impossible for anyone to crack the encryption. I merely set it up so I could save time. It allowed me to devote more of my limited time to the organization’s business.”
“I’m afraid the others don’t see it that way.”
His heart was pounding rapidly now, sweat trickling down the back of his neck, his fingers recoiling instinctively, a little more distance now between him and the woman who a moment ago was the object of his desire, and now the source of nothing but fear. “I’d be happy to explain my reasoning, and of course comply with any security protocols they feel are necessary.”
“Unfortunately it’s too late for that.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” It was the first crack in his voice, the first break in the façade he had been trying to maintain.
“I mean, Mr. Mashkov, that because of your actions, the CIA was able to locate one of the darknet routers the organization uses. Because of that, they were able to track your unsecured server, and through that, all of the messages you sent through it.”
“But they’ll never crack the encryption!”
“It’s the CIA, Mr. Mashkov. They will crack it, it’s just a matter of time.”
“What are you saying? Are you saying that the CIA will be able to identify who we are?”
Katz suddenly stood, stepping back from him. “I’ve been told to give you a message.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
A message. A message I can handle.
“Y-yes, what is it?”
“The Assembly doesn’t tolerate mistakes.”
She quickly drew her weapon and pointed it at him.
“Wait!” he cried, raising his hands in front of him, jumping to his feet. “There has to be another way! I’ll pay you! Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it. Triple it! Anything you want, I can get for you. Anything!”
She tilted her head slightly to the side. “I want nothing you could possibly offer.”
She squeezed the trigger.
The round slammed into his chest, there no real pain at first, just the shock of being hit. He stumbled backward, the bottom of his legs hitting the couch, sending him back into his seat as he grabbed at his chest.
And then the pain came.
Intense.
White hot.
Unlike anything he could have imagined.
He looked down and felt a surge of adrenaline at the sight of his own blood oozing out over his fingers. Katz stood in front of him, her weapon pointed at his head.
“Please, wait,” he said, raising a hand. “Do one thing for me, please.”
Katz paused, moving the weapon aside. “What?”
“Tell my son I love him.”
“Very well.”
She put another bullet in his chest as the doors to the room opened, Dimitri stepping inside.
“Is it done?”
Katz nodded.
“Very well. I’ll clean up.”
You bastard.
Acton & Palmer Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
Acton looked at the patio table as he flipped the hamburgers and smiled. Milton and his wife were laughing with Laura, Tommy, looking much better than he had several days ago, was casually whispering to a giggling Mai.
It was good to see her so happy.
She had been really shaken up by the events of a few days ago, though once Tommy had been released from the hospital, they had been almost inseparable. He had worried about how she would adjust to life in America after having been torn from her home in Vietnam, but it looked like she was going to be just fine. Even if Tommy ended up breaking her heart, as young boys were prone to do, she would do fine.
He caught Laura looking at him, a slight smile on her face. He winked, flipping the next burger. After Laura had been shot they had received the
devastating news that they wouldn’t be able to have children because of it. It had been a crushing blow to both of them, and sometimes when she thought she was alone, Acton could hear her crying.
And that always got him started.
It was odd that a young Vietnamese woman in her early twenties could somehow fill some of that void, yet she had, Acton starting to think of her as an adopted daughter, Laura even voicing the same thing only last night.
The way Mai clung to Laura when saying goodbye, and now gave Acton a quick hug instead of a handshake showed him that the bond being created was mutual.
The doorbell rang and he handed the lifter to Laura. “I’ll get it. Just finish flipping them for me, will you?”
“I think I can handle that.”
She rose and took the lifter as he walked by, giving her a little smack on the bum.
“Get a room!” shouted Tommy, laughing.
Acton’s eyes flared suggestively at Laura. “Sounds like a good idea.” The doorbell rang again. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” He hurried through the patio door and into the kitchen, rushing toward the front door. He pulled it open and nearly shit his pants in shock.
“Hiya, Doc.”
Acton shook his head, mouth agape at the sight. Dawson and Red were standing on the doorstep, their arms full of groceries. “What are you two doing here?”
“Heard you were having a barbecue.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed. “What? I…”
He was flabbergasted, his mind still not comprehending what was going on.
“Umm, these are getting kind of heavy, Doc.”
Acton looked at Red, the words not registering for a moment. “Oh, shit, sorry guys! Come in, come in! Your timing couldn’t be better. I just started cooking a few minutes ago.” He looked at the bags. “Christ, looks like you brought enough to feed an army.”
Red shrugged. “We’s hungry boys.”
Dawson stepped inside, Red following. “We would have been here on time but somebody got lost.”
“I didn’t get lost. You just give horrible directions.”
Acton led them deeper into the house toward the backyard, still not believing these two Delta operators were actually here.
Laura’s not going to believe this!
Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) Page 25
