Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 (19 page)

Yakovski glanced at Chernov from the corner of his eye, as if weighing his options. “You’re too late,” he muttered, his shoulders sagging with the decision he had just made.

“What do you mean?” But Dymovsky knew what he meant.

“It’s gone,” said Yakovski. “Sold.”

A pit formed in Dymovsky’s stomach. “To who? Chechnyans?”

Yakovski laughed. “Nyet.”

“Who then?”

Yakovski shook his head then stared directly at Dymovsky. “You’d never believe me if I told you.”

“Who were they?”

Yakovski, still staring at Dymovsky, looked from eye to eye, as if taking a baseline to measure the surprise of his next statement.

“Americans.”

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

“Bravo One, this is Control, come in over.”

Dawson, again tasked as Bravo One for the mission, grabbed the comm off the table in front of him. All around him his team and the ground crew kept busy loading a C-17 Globemaster III with any and all equipment they might possibly need. Dawson activated his comm. “Bravo Command, this is Bravo One, go ahead, over.” Dawson recognized Clancy’s voice.

“Bravo One, what is your status, over?”

“Wheels up in fifteen minutes, over.”

“Check your secure email. I have a pickup for you to make, over and out.”

Dawson looked at Red who had a laptop in front of him, checking off the inventory as it was loaded aboard. He flipped over to the secure email server and pushed the laptop to Dawson who logged in and brought up the message.

“Are you kidding me?”

Dawson read the message, not sure if Clancy was playing some sort of sick joke on him.

“What is it?” asked Red.

Dawson finished reading the email then spun the laptop toward Red. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Red scanned the email then laughed.

“He is
not
going to be happy to see us.”

Dawson wasn’t as amused. “No shit. Get me a chopper. I’ll take Mickey, Niner and Spock with me, you take command until I join you in Egypt.”

Red nodded and headed for the Wing Ops Officer to get the chopper.

Dawson re-read the email.

This is not going to be pretty.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Send him in.” Morrison leaned back in his chair and smiled as Leroux rushed in, waving a folder in his hand. His hair was matted down on one side, his five o’clock shadow had long since expired, and his clothes appeared suspiciously like the ones Morrison had seen him in yesterday.

“Sir, you gotta see this!”

“Did you sleep here last night?”

Leroux stopped in his tracks, his cheeks taking on a slight reddish hue. “Sir?”

“Nothing.” Morrison decided not to test his underling’s sense of humor. “What have you got?”

“Intercept from the Russians.” He handed the folder to Morrison then started spewing its contents before Morrison had a chance to open it. Morrison tossed it on the desk in front of him, deciding to get the human version instead.

“From what I’ve been able to piece together, a Spetsnaz team from the re-tasked battlecruiser led an assault on a hijacked freighter off the Somali coast. The same freighter that we suspect the helicopter might have landed on.”

Morrison nodded. “And?”

“They report no survivors. They claim the pirates killed the crew, then they themselves were killed during the assault.”

Morrison slammed his fist on his desk. “Fuckin’ Russians.”

“Sir?”

“This was a cleanup job from the get go.”

“What do you mean?”

“There were no pirates—”

“Of course.”

“—and the crew they refer to were obviously those involved in the nuke exchange.”

“Do you think they made the exchange?”

“If they didn’t, the Russians will make a bunch of noise then eventually hand it over as part of the START agreement, but if they did, we won’t hear a peep.” Morrison tapped his fingers on his desk. “Has there been any more chatter from that area?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“And if they’d recovered the weapon—”

“They’d probably be lighting up the airwaves between them and Moscow.”

Morrison nodded. “Agreed. So the weapon is definitely still in play.”

Agent Reading’s Residence, London, England

Former Detective Chief Inspector Hugh Reading tossed his watch on his nightstand and climbed into bed, throwing the duvet over his legs for a quick afternoon nap. He yawned then reached over to turn off the light.
You know you’re getting old when an afternoon nap has more appeal than a nooner.
His cellphone vibrated, demanding his attention. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, knowing a call at this hour couldn’t be good news—only work and his few friends had this number, and his friends knew not to call at this hour. This was one of the reasons he had retired from regular police work and joined Interpol. Regular hours, and less chance of recognition by the general public on the street after last year’s fiasco. He grabbed the phone, looked at the call display and raised his eyebrows.

James?

He flipped the phone open for a man he now considered a friend, despite the fact he had pursued him a year ago as a multiple murder suspect. After those events they had kept in touch, a special bond having formed only events like that could cause. “Jimmy, old boy, do you have any idea what hour it is? It’s this old man’s nap time!”

“Hi, Hugh, I’m sorry about that, but I need your help.”

Reading swung his legs out from under the duvet and over the bedside, sitting upright. He knew from the sound of Acton’s voice something was indeed wrong. “What is it?”

“Laura’s missing. I think she’s been kidnapped.”

Reading’s mind flashed back to the firebrand woman who had challenged him last year in his pursuit of Acton. He had been there for their first kiss, and had seen her not even a week ago when she had made a brief stop in London before heading to Egypt.
Egypt! Bloody hell!
“Tell me everything you know.”

Acton filled Reading in with the details, details entirely too sparse for Reading’s liking. When he had finished scribbling down notes, he glanced at his watch.

“I’m going to make some calls on this end, then I’ll join you in Egypt.”

“Really?”

“If Laura’s missing, I’m going to do whatever I can to help you find her,” he said, then, smiling, added, “Hell, I practically got you two together.”

He heard Acton laugh. “Not exactly how I remember it.”

“Meah, you have your version of events, I have mine,” said Reading, shrugging his shoulders. “Let me know what flight you’re coming in on, and we’ll arrange to meet.”

Unknown Location, Egypt

Laura tugged at the plastic tie, now worn almost through from an unknown number of minutes of painstaking scraping at the bolt in the floor. Her shoulders and neck screamed in agony, burning from the strain of bending over for so long. The plastic tie holding her wrists together stretched, the thin band that remained, tantalizingly close to snapping, held on. She opened her wrists as much as she could, and brought them to her mouth. Like a dog hanging onto a rope pulled by its master, she clamped down on the tie with her molars and pulled with all her might, finally feeling a snap. Her head jerked back and her hands flew away from her and each other, at last freed of their bonds.

She sat back against a soft canvas bag nearby, and gently rubbed her raw wrists. They tingled as the circulation returned, and within minutes, besides a ravenous thirst, she felt herself again, and explored her surroundings. She was definitely in a truck, lorry sized, most likely one of the ones she had seen earlier at the camp. It was loaded with supplies that filled the two sides and back, the only empty space the small sliver down the middle she occupied. The door to the outside and potential freedom was at the back. She pulled herself up and stumbled toward the door, her legs still not quite under her as she tried to regain her balance. She reached for the door handle and grasped it. As soon as she did, the truck lurched to a halt, sending her sailing backward toward the front of the truck. She landed on her back, hard, and her head smacked the metal floor, a searing pain overwhelmed all the others before the interior of the truck slowly faded away.

Milton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland

Acton snapped the phone shut, feeling slightly better now that he knew Reading was on the case. He sat at the kitchen table with Milton and Sarah, impatient to leave for the airport, but realizing there was no point since the flight wasn’t leaving for hours. He stared at his coffee cup that remained untouched. The silence in the room was broken only by the humming of Niskha as she colored in the next room on the floor.

As he stared at the coffee cup, ripples appeared in the surface.
That’s odd.
Then he sensed the vibrations through his chair. He looked up to see if anyone else had noticed.

“What the hell is that?” asked Milton.

“I don’t know,” said Sarah. Now the entire house was vibrating, and a noise that had remained unnoticed in the distance now grew louder.

“Look, mommy!” shouted Niskha, excitement, rather than fear, in her voice.

Acton turned to where she was playing, and saw her run to the window. The noise was now so loud they had to shout to be heard.

“That sounds like a helicopter!” yelled Milton as he wheeled his chair toward the window where Niskha was pointing.

Acton strode quickly to the window, his heart hammering in his chest as he recognized the distinctive sound of chopper blades slicing through the air. When he reached the window he gasped. A large black helicopter was setting down on the front lawn and four men, all dressed in black, and armed, jumped out. Two ran toward the back of the house, one remained at the chopper, and the fourth strode for the main entrance.

Acton searched for somewhere to hide, anywhere, the sound of rushing blood filled his ears, and he almost felt dizzy.
Get a grip!
He looked at Milton who was yelling at him, but Acton couldn’t process anything in his panic.
I can’t go through this again!

Something gripped his arm, squeezing tight. The pain snapped him back to reality as he yanked his arm away, spinning toward the person who had grabbed him. He saw Milton looking at him, fear in his eyes. As reality rushed back, he heard the noise from the chopper dying down as the rotors slowed, Niskha, who saw the fear on her parents’ faces had begun to cry, and Milton was yelling at him.

“Wh-what?” asked Acton, now back in control.

“Who are they?” yelled Milton.

“I don’t know,” replied Acton, realizing Milton couldn’t see over the sill and therefore had missed most of what had played out. “Four men, armed, uniformed, just came out of a military chopper.”

Milton’s face paled. “You don’t think—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, as the doorbell rang.

Everyone in the room stopped and turned toward the door.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a firm, yet not too firm, knock.

“What do we do?” whispered Sarah as she held Niskha against her leg.

Acton took a deep breath. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

Milton gripped the wheels of his chair. “This is my house. I’ll get it.”

Sarah reached to grab the chair, but Acton placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“No,” he said gently. “They must be here for me. I’ll try to keep you out of it.”

Milton turned to Sarah. “You two go hide upstairs, don’t come down until you hear from me.”

Sarah nodded and picked up Niskha, rushing up the stairs.

The doorbell rang a third time, this time the knocking was more insistent.

Acton walked to the door. Spotting a baseball bat sitting in the umbrella holder, he grabbed it and held it behind his back. He gripped the door handle and turned, pulling the door open.

His entire body numbed, and if he had had anything in his bladder, it would surely have released. Before him, all in black, stood the man who had tried to kill him in London a year before.

“Hello, Professor Acton. We meet at last.”

Milton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland

Dawson was of mixed feelings. He stood, staring through his sunglasses, at Professor James Acton. The man responsible for the deaths of so many of his men, at least one by Acton’s own hand, yet he knew, that in the same situation, he would have done the same thing. Ultimately it hadn’t been Acton’s fault, he was innocent, which was the only reason Dawson didn’t kill him where he stood.

He had to give the professor credit. He had balls. Dawson could tell Acton was scared, but he stood his ground, a look of determination creased his face as he fought the instinct to flee. Dawson knew very well he was dealing with somebody who had faced incredible odds before and come out on top, and wasn’t about to underestimate him.

Which was why, when the bat swung from behind Acton’s back, he was ready, stepping into the swing with his left foot to Acton’s right, and grabbing the top of the bat with his left hand, breaking the momentum before it had time to build. He gripped Acton’s shoulder by the shirt and pushed him over his leg, sending him toppling to the side. Dawson gripped Acton’s shirt the entire time, controlling the fall, while still holding the bat. As Acton tried to control the fall himself, he let go of the bat. Now on the floor, Dawson let go of Acton, spun the bat he now possessed, looking at the well-worn wood, then tossed it behind him into the yard.

“Professor Acton, I’m not here to hurt you.”

Acton glared at him as he scurried back a couple of steps. Dawson stepped toward him and extended his hand to help him up.

Acton didn’t take it.

Dawson removed his sunglasses and stared directly into Acton’s eyes.