The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) (14 page)

But he
spoke English with little trouble, his hotel offering free training to improve
the guest experience.

He had
excelled.

His plan
came together over the hours lying on his bed and the next morning he arrived
early for work, seeking out his friend Duy in the Eco Office, Duy a one-man
team that monitored utilities usage in the individual guest rooms, an effort
the hotel was undertaking to try and lower their carbon footprint.

“I need
a favor.”

“What?”

“I need
you to tell me when room 804 has a shower.”

“Huh?
Why?”

“I
forgot my key pass in there yesterday. If management finds out, I’ll lose my
job!”

Duy
smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got your back.” He handed him his
card. “Use mine for now. I don’t need it stuck in here.” He hit a few keys on
the computer. “Just a second, I have to activate the system for that floor to
get at the data. He pointed. “He entered his room about six hours ago and
didn’t take a shower. He turned out his lights about fifteen minutes later then
the TV shortly after. I’m assuming his roommate is in there with him.”

Phong
shook his head. “He doesn’t have one. I heard someone say he ‘won the bet’,
whatever that means, so he got the solo room. He’s alone.”

Duy
examined the keycard log and nodded. “There’s only one keycard assigned to that
room, and only one has been used since they arrived yesterday. Looks like
you’re right.” He looked at Phong. “His room is flagged as being for security
personnel for the American delegation. Are you sure you want to sneak in there?
He’s liable to shoot you.”

“Not if
he’s in the shower.”

“You’re
taking one hell of a chance.”

“I can’t
lose my job.”

Duy
tapped a few keys and cursed. “He just turned on his lamp and the television.
He’s getting up. Go now, I’ll call you when the shower starts.”

Phong
rushed from the room, taking the service elevator to the eighth floor then
waiting for Duy’s call on his hotel issued cellphone, picked up at the
beginning of each shift, handed in at the end. It vibrated on his hip. He
answered the call, his heart now pounding as he heard the words he had been
waiting for.

“He’s in
the shower. Hurry!”

Phong
stepped out into the hallway and walked straight for the room, pushing his
maintenance cart in front of him. He tapped lightly on the door and there was
no answer. Swiping Duy’s master keycard, he pushed the door open slightly and
listened.

The
shower along with karaoke quality singing could be heard.

Louie
Louie, oh baby, say we gotta go?

He
quickly stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him, his eyes scanning
the room the entire time. The man’s clothes were laid out on the bed, but his
pass was nowhere in sight.

Something
Phong had anticipated.

From two
decades of experience he knew that most security personnel locked their passes
in the room safe while off duty just to prevent what he was about to do.

What
most didn’t know was that each safe had a master code, and thanks to those same
two decades of experience, he knew what it was.

He
opened the cabinet doors hiding the safe and dropped to his knees, pressing ##
rapidly then entering the master PIN code of 144639. The safe clicked open,
revealing the photo ID he saw all the security personnel wearing. He took the
pass then closed the safe and the doors, exiting quickly just as the shower
shut off.

It had
been the most terrifying two minutes of his adult life.

And
things were only going to get worse.

He
returned Duy’s keycard with a promise of beers later, then booked off sick,
feigning a wicked stomach ache. It being his first sick day in years he wasn’t questioned
for a moment, instead receiving well wishes and advice from the ladies in Personnel
on various soups and potions to try, one even offering to come by later with
some.

He had
bowed his way out, made his way home and changed into his best clothes—a dated
suit bought at a secondhand store years ago—donned a pair of dark sunglasses
like he had seen the security team all wear, then took his moped to the museum.
He no doubt made an odd sight as he rode the fifteen minutes to his
destination. Parking just down the street, he waited for the American
delegation to arrive. Once he saw they were all in the building, he walked in, aping
the movements of the security detail.

The pass
was barely looked at, merely photocopied and handed back.

He had
visited the museum once before and knew the most popular room would be where
they kept the drums. There was no way Petrov would miss it. Entering the room,
his badge secured to his chest allowing him to pass unfettered, he found a
floor to ceiling tapestry and placed himself behind it. From his position he
could lean to the left to see the door he had just come through, and to the
right to see the opposing door.

The rest
was now history, his adversary dead.

A life’s
promise fulfilled.

A life
no longer with purpose.

He curled
up into a ball on his bed and wept for those who had been lost all those years
ago.

Vietnam National Museum of History, Hanoi, Vietnam

Mai Lien Trinh turned down the hallway containing the museum staff
offices, hers at the far end, her position, or lack thereof, warranting a tiny
cubbyhole next to the utilities closet. But she didn’t mind at all. She found
her work fascinating, rewarding, and until today, completely non-political.

She
hated politics. Her brother was obsessed with them. He hated the Party, he
hated the system, he hated their father for being a staunch supporter of the
military, a proud retired member of the Vietnam People’s Army and a firm
supporter of communism.

Her
mother simply never spoke of it right up to her death.

And Mai hated
it all. She just wanted to live her life outside of the system as best she
could, which was why she had gone the academic route rather than the service
route. And she was damned lucky as far as she was concerned.

Now
if only I could find a boyfriend!

She had
been on a lot of dates but rarely received the promised call back. Her brother
assured her she was ‘hot’ but in a bookish way, so it must be something else
and she was pretty sure what it was.

She
hated her country.

Her work
exposed her to the world and she knew it was much better almost everywhere else
she had been. Communism was at fault, the Party that imposed this failed system
was at fault, and the people who blindly supported the Party were at fault.

Like her
father.

Many of
the men she went out with were men she wouldn’t want to have return her calls,
and she made it quite clear they shouldn’t call through her lack of interest,
and most of the rest simply were shown disdain at their love of their
“connected” job.

Yet
there were a few that she was disappointed never called her, breaking her heart
every time.

And if
today didn’t end well, she might not need to worry about her dismal record on
the dating scene.

She’d be
dead or worse.

She
closed the door to her office, sitting behind her desk and logging into the
computer connected to the internal network. It was an old “clunker” as she had
heard them called by other visiting professors, the better yet still outdated
computers reserved for the full professors, not the grad students.

But it
worked.

One
advantage of working at a museum where nobody thought anything beyond physical
security was important was that she pretty much had access to everything.
Professor Tran had put her in charge of trying to modernize, which meant she
had full Admin privileges on the server.

And was
quickly into the files for the video cameras, installed just last year.

She
pulled open a desk drawer and found a memory stick given to her as a gift at a
conference she had once attended in Australia and inserted it into the USB port
of her computer. She quickly copied the files over and set the ‘Hidden’
property on them to True. She then copied the electronic catalog of all their
artifacts, pocketing the memory stick. Next she printed the catalog so she’d
have something physical in her hand instead of having to use the memory stick
to explain her presence.

She was
about to log out when she paused for a moment, mentally debating if she had
time.

And
whether it was worth the risk.

She
reached in her desk and grabbed a second memory stick, repeating the process,
then slipped the tiny USB key into her bra. If she made it out unscathed, she’d
have both copies. If she was stopped, she could hand over the first one and
hopefully walk out with the second. And if she were arrested, she’d be in so
deep it wouldn’t matter how many copies she had.

She
trembled at the thought.

Straightening
herself in a small mirror stuck to the back of the door, she sucked in a breath
and was about to leave when she stopped.

She went
to her desk and picked up the phone, dialing her brother.

She got
his voicemail.

“Cadeo,
it’s me.” She thought for a moment then realizing they barely spoke, added, “Your
sister. I’m in some trouble. I got mixed up by accident with the assassination
this morning. I’m at the museum now but I’m leaving. I’ll hopefully be with two
American professors, Acton and Palmer, at the Daewoo. But if something goes
wrong, just let everyone know I was doing the right thing and wasn’t involved
in this at all, no matter what they say, I was just an innocent bystander.” She
took a deep breath. “I love you.”

Her
chest tightened and her eyes filled with tears as she suddenly realized she
actually did love her brother, despite his decision to become a criminal, a
dealer on the black market. She thought of calling her father but before she
could return the phone to its cradle the door burst open behind her.

Causing
her to nearly pee her pants as she inhaled suddenly.

The
Russian from earlier was standing at the door flanked by two police officers
including Captain Nguyen, the first officer on the scene after the shooting.

“Miss
Trinh, may I ask what you are doing here?” asked the Russian.

She felt
herself begin to get dizzy and grabbed the desk, placing the phone receiver on
the top, still connected. The breath she had been holding finally burst free
and she began to breathe again. And she realized he was waiting for an answer.
She held up the sheaf of papers. “I was printing off our antiquities catalog
for the visiting professors.”

“May I
see?”

She
nodded, handing the papers over. Sarkov quickly leafed through them, nodding as
he did so. “An impressive collection, I am sure.” He handed the papers back.
“Certainly this information is available on the Internet?”

Mai
shook her head. “No, little of it anyway.”

“Are
your American guests leaving so soon that this couldn’t wait?”

Mai’s
mind raced for a reasonable explanation but could come up with nothing. “Not
that I know of.”

He took
a step forward causing Mai to take one back. “Did they ask you for the list, or
did you offer?”

“I-I
offered.”

“You
don’t sound certain.”

“No,
I-I’m just scared.”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t
you be?”

Sarkov
smiled, his head bobbing as he took another step forward. “I suppose I would
be. Which is why I definitely wouldn’t come back here today.” He held his hand
out. “Please give it to me.”

She knew
she was busted. “Give you what?”

“Whatever
storage device you are using for the files you copied from the secure network.”

She
gulped, her stomach doing butterflies as her mind raced. Glancing past the
massive man, Nguyen’s glare had her staring at Sarkov’s shoes. Wingtips.
Polished. She looked for her face in them.

She
reached into her pocket and produced the memory stick, regaining her composure
for a moment. “I copied the electronic version of the printout in case they
preferred that.”

The
words came out fast and almost a jumble, her nerves winning out.

“Of
course you did,” he said, taking the memory stick. “You won’t mind if I take a
look at this a little closer, would you?”

She
shook her head, motioning toward her computer. “Please.”

Sarkov
smiled. “I think we’ll use my computer in the car.” He held out his hand,
inviting her out the door. “If you would be so kind?”

She
began to tremble. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere
safe, I assure you.”

“B-but
I’m a Vietnamese citizen.” She looked at Nguyen. “I demand—I mean I request
that my government protect me. I’ve done nothing wrong.”