Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 (13 page)

Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site

Laura tossed in her cot and glanced at the clock.
Two minutes later than the last time you looked at it!
She knew James’ flight would have arrived only about an hour ago, so he wasn’t late in calling her. Yet. She checked the satellite phone again.
Yes, it’s on. Yes, it’s charged. Yes, you’re getting impatient.
She returned it to the small table serving as her nightstand and turned her head away, closing her eyes. She forced a yawn in an effort to make herself tired. It didn’t work.

She jumped as the phone vibrated. She flipped over in the cot, snatched the phone and swung her legs over the side. She twisted the antenna up and hit
Talk
. “Hello, James, is that you?”

“Hi, babe! Yeah, it’s me, how are you?”

Laura sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to make herself look presentable, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “I’m fine, darling, just so happy to hear your voice. How was your flight?”

“About what you’d expect on the Lima Express.” Her heart leapt as she pictured him tossing his head back as he laughed. She still felt like a school girl. It had been a year since the events in London, the events that had led her to help a man she had never met, fight for his life, and to prove once and for all her life’s work had not been in vain. It had nearly killed them both, it had killed dozens around them, but through it all, they had survived, and a passion was kindled between them that had yet to show any signs of burning out.

“I remember it well!” Only one week before she had left the site in Peru to come to Egypt and set up this new site for her university. They had been almost inseparable for a year, and the past week was difficult, but they were both independent, strong minded people, top in their chosen profession, and it was their duty to set up dig sites such as those in Peru and Egypt so their students could learn and become the archeologists of tomorrow. And with her considerable wealth, both knew they were merely a quick flight away from each other.
Well, maybe not quick.
She already wanted to book a flight to Maryland right now to see him.

She sat down in front of her maps and the smile left her face. “James, something has happened.”

There was a moment’s pause before Acton answered. “What’s wrong?”

She knew from the tone he was concerned. “An NGO set up next to us just before I arrived. They’re in the middle of our dig site. I went over and they claimed to be lost. Said they had the wrong GPS coordinates.”

“What?” She knew from his voice he found it as unbelievable as her. “Who travels to the middle of the desert of a third-world country without double-checking their GPS coordinates?”

“I’m glad you think it sounded as ridiculous as I did.” Laura looked at the pad of paper she had lifted the coordinates off of. “I let the head of their expedition use my satellite phone and he wrote down a set of coordinates. I managed to lift them off the pad with a pencil—”

“That’s my girl!”

“—and they’re in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean!”

“So they’re BS.”

“Yes, and that’s not all, when we were leaving their site, one of their trucks opened, and I caught a glimpse of some very advanced computer equipment inside, all functioning, and I thought I saw one of them carrying a gun.”

She waited for him to respond and was about to open her mouth when he at last spoke. “Do they know you saw this?”

“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”

“What did he say after he used your phone?”

“He said he’d be leaving in the morning.”

“Okay, don’t do anything. Stay where you are, keep the phone on you, and call me if they haven’t left in the morning. Chances are it’s innocent, but you can’t be too careful these days.”

“Really, James, if it weren’t for what happened last year, I’d probably never have given it a second thought, but now I find I take another look at everything.” She paused and took a deep breath, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees. She lowered her voice. “I wish you were here.”

“So do I, babe, so do I. I can be on the next flight out if you want.”

She straightened up. “No, no, don’t do that, I’m simply being foolish.” She yawned. She heard him yawn on the other end. “You must be so tired.”

“Empathy, babe, empathy. You know I yawn every time you do.”

She smiled. She knew the day he stopped would be the day he no longer loved her. Goosebumps spread across her arms as she pictured him. “I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, babe. You get some rest now, I’m going to have dinner with Greg and Sarah then hit the sack.”

“Okay, give them my love.”

“Will do.”

“Love you, miss you, bye!”

“Love you too, bye.”

She waited to hear him hang up the phone then she returned to her cot, exhaustion sweeping over her. Within minutes she was sound asleep.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Morrison glanced up to see Leroux’s head poking into his office, as if the start of a comedy sketch. He looked down, half expecting two more of his analysts’ heads to appear with a chorus of “hellos”. Morrison waved him in, holding up a finger then pointing at a chair in front of his desk, as he read a status update on his display. He pushed the laptop away and turned to Leroux.

“What’ve you got for me?”

“This is interesting, sir,” said Leroux. “I’ve tasked Echelon with as many keywords as I can think of, and flagged them highest priority.” He handed Morrison a file. “This conversation took place last night.”

Morrison opened the file and scanned the conversation apparently between two lovers. His right eyebrow shot up as he read about the lost NGO. Leroux obviously noticed.

“A lost NGO that’s supposed to be in the middle of the Atlantic?”

Morrison sat back in his chair. “Sounds like BS to me. Did you check on them?”

“Yes, sir, and there aren’t any NGO’s in the area. These could be our guys, sir.”

Morrison nodded. “Okay, I think we have our starting point. What can you give me on the subjects?”

“Professors Laura Palmer and James Acton. They were the two caught up in that mess in London last year, remember?”

“Aaaahhh.” Morrison did indeed remember. The sensation created had only just begun to die down. And he never believed their story that they knew nothing about why they were targeted. “If these two are innocent,” he said, jabbing the file, “then they are the two unluckiest bastards on the planet.”

And whether they know it or not, they’re knee deep in it again.

Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site

Laura woke with a start. She looked about the tent, its insulated lining designed to keep the sun’s heat out, also kept most of its light out as well, making it hard to determine the time of day. She listened for what may have woken her.
I could have sworn I heard a helicopter.
But she heard nothing. The camp was silent. Too silent for the start of the day. And she still didn’t feel rested. She reached for her watch. 4:33am.
Far too early to get up.
She tossed the watch on the table and tried to fall back to sleep. Her mind wandered to the UN group. Something wasn’t right. She knew it. There was simply no way an experienced group of aide-workers would leave without double-checking their GPS coordinates. And the coordinates he supposedly wrote down turned out either fake, or another example of complete and utter ineptitude at the other end of the line, that for a moment made the story of having the wrong coordinates suddenly seem plausible.

No, that couldn’t be it. And even if it were, wouldn’t he have returned to call again as soon as he entered the new coordinates and they showed his destination as somewhere off the Azores? No, something was off. And the computer equipment? Why would digging wells require so much equipment? And she was sure she had seen a gun. She reached under her pillow and fingered the 9mm pistol she kept there. Well, perhaps the gun was justifiable.

She rolled on her back and stared at the tent ceiling. There was no way she was getting back to sleep. He said they would be leaving first thing in the morning. If they were, then they should be getting prepped to leave shortly.
Don’t be an idiot!
Her inner voice knew before she did what she was about to do.
I have to know.
She climbed from the cot, dressed and pushed aside the inner flap when she paused. She glanced back at the bed for a moment then quickly walked over and retrieved the gun from under her pillow, stuffing it behind her back in her belt. She exited the tent, looked around to see if anyone else was awake yet, and finding no one, began the walk to the other camp.

It took about fifteen minutes for her to reach the crest of the hill overlooking the UN camp. She crawled on her stomach the final few feet so she wouldn’t be seen by anyone below, silhouetted against the dawn sky. As she crested the hill, she gasped. As she surveyed the scene below her, she heard the unmistakable sound of a round chambering in a weapon directly behind her. She flipped over, and before she could reach for her weapon, the butt of a rifle smacked her in the face, knocking her out cold.

Nubian Desert, Egypt, UNICEF Camp

Russell, or rather Cole, stood, his arms crossed over his chest, his face revealing none of the excitement surging through him as he watched the helicopter’s rotors slowly wind down. Four men, probably mercenaries, had immediately taken up positions around the chopper, keeping a wary eye out for anything that might disturb the meeting. Another two unloaded a crate, supervised by, from the sounds of it, an old army Sergeant by the way he was yelling at the men. Another, far more calm, strode confidently toward Cole. The short, stocky man stretched out his hand in greeting. Cole took it, surprised at the strength of the grip. A look at the veiny forearm told him that, regardless of the man’s age, which he estimated at over fifty, he wasn’t to be messed with.

“Grigori Andreievich Trubitsin,” said the man in a thick Russian accent, releasing Cole’s grip and bowing his head slightly. “And you must be Mr. Edison Herbert Cole.”

Cole’s expressionless face flashed in surprise, but only for a moment.

Trubitsin appeared pleased by this. “You wonder how I know your name.”

Cole regained his composure. “It had crossed my mind. I thought we’d agreed to no names.”

“Mr. Cole, it is my business to know everything about everybody,” said Trubitsin, turning to the now approaching crate and extending an arm toward it. “When one is selling one of these, one must exercise utmost caution.” He turned back to Cole, staring him directly in the eyes. “And I make it my business to know who I might be, how do you Americans say it,
double-crossed
, by.”

The cold tone in which the implied threat was delivered struck a rare chord of fear in Cole. Something he hadn’t felt in years, in fact, something he couldn’t recall ever feeling. “I’m sure we’re all friends here.”

“Nyet!” said Trubitsin sharply. He softened his tone immediately with a slight smile. “No, Mr. Cole, there are no friends here. But that does not mean there are enemies here either. We are businessmen, you and I. I have something you want, you have something I want.”

Cole nodded. “Businessmen. Agreed. You received my deposit?”

“Would I be here if I had not?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Nyet, I should think not.” His manner led Cole to believe this man was used to being listened to, without question, and didn’t tolerate stupid questions. He resolved to keep them to a minimum.

“Shall we inspect item?” asked Trubitsin.

Cole nodded, his heart pounding faster as the crate neared. The two men carrying it placed it gently in front of their commander and stood back, snapping their heels together. Trubitsin bent over and entered a code on an electronic keypad. A beeping sound preceded a hiss as the crate’s locks released. The older “sergeant” flipped open the lid, revealing what was inside. Cole couldn’t help but smile this time. Several of his men inched forward, trying to get a look.

It didn’t look like much, its rather old casing had clearly seen better days, the paint chipped, even faded slightly. But none of that mattered. If this was what Trubitsin claimed, it marked a moment in history, a moment, he knew, that would go down in history as the turning point in the battle with Islam. His heart thudded in his chest as one of his men hooked a diagnostic terminal to the device inside the crate and hit a few keys then nodded at Cole.

Trubitsin reached into his pocket and removed a piece of paper, handing it to Cole. “Arming code.”

Cole didn’t bother asking how Trubitsin managed to get it, to get the arming code for a tactical nuclear missile from the Cold War, an American tactical nuclear missile no less. Some questions were better left unasked. He handed the paper to his man who took it and quickly entered the code into the terminal. After a moment he turned to Cole with a smile on his face.

“It’s good, sir!”

“Of course is good!” said Trubitsin in about as cheery a voice as Cole had heard from him so far. “Now, to conclude our business.”

Cole turned toward their communications truck and gave the thumbs up to the man hanging out the door. The man nodded and stepped back inside. A moment later he returned to the door and nodded.

“It’s done.”

Trubitsin looked over his shoulder at a man who had remained behind in the chopper. The man was staring at a laptop screen. After a few moments he snapped the screen shut and nodded to Trubitsin.

Trubitsin smiled and turned back to Cole, extending his hand one last time. “I wish you best in your endeavors, Mr. Cole. Dosvidanija.”

Cole shook the man’s hand. “And to you.”

Trubitsin turned on his heel, marching toward the helicopter, his men falling neatly in behind. The pilot had already powered up the rotors as soon as the transaction was completed, and they lifted off into the night sky, out of sight within seconds.