The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) (29 page)

“Timing?”

“They
think coincidental. The troops had already been in place for weeks if not
longer. The Russians are simply taking advantage of the situation.”

“How are
the Ukrainians doing?”

Acton
shook his head. “Not good. The Russians basically splashed anything in the air
within the first hour, bombed the airfields so nothing else could launch, and have
told the Ukrainians that any military units that don’t lay down their arms in
Eastern Ukraine by midnight will be eliminated, and any units moving into the
east will be bombed.”

“Christ.
Can’t say that’s a surprise though.”

“Nope.
Everyone knew it was just a matter of time. NATO’s scrambling to send as many
forces as they can to the Baltic States. Russia’s got dozens of bombers in the
air right now.”

“And
us?”

“The
President’s saying he won’t play their game so has kept ours on the ground for
now.”

“I’d
have to say I agree with that. De-escalation is the key right now. The Ukraine
was lost long before today. We should have put a few hundred advisors in there
months ago. The Russians wouldn’t dare risk killing American troops.” He looked
at the laptop. “But world politics aren’t our concern right now. Right now we
need to figure out how the hell to get out of here.”

“That’s
going to be a problem. All our photos are on every television station in the
world.”

“Lovely.”

“Don’t
worry, yours is still a pretty grainy photocopy.”

“Thank
God for small favors, but I did get recognized a few minutes ago.” He nodded to
Mai. “What’s that footage of?”

Mai
didn’t turn, instead her eyes remained glued to the footage she was fast
forwarding through. “It’s from the museum security cameras.”

Niner’s
eyebrows rose. “Really? How the hell did you get that?”

“I stole
it.”

“That’s
why she was arrested. She’s wanted by the police too as a co-conspirator.”

“Co-conspirator?
You two as well I suppose?”

“Yup.”

“What a
joke. This whole thing is a joke. It makes no sense. Why are the Vietnamese so
hell-bent on arresting me that they’d risk—hell, already cause—an international
incident?”

Acton
nodded toward the television. “Apparently the Vietnamese are about to sign a massive
weapons deal with Russia. The Chinese are causing problems in the South China
Sea so the Vietnamese are using their growing oil money to purchase a whack of
new hardware. The talking heads think the overreaction is an effort to please
the Russians who’ve been hemming and hawing on whether or not to sell them the
weapons.”

“The
Russian I met with seemed reasonable though he toed the party line.”

“Sarkov?”

Niner
nodded. “Yeah, same guy. You met him?”

“Yes, at
the hotel before he went to meet you apparently. I got the sense he was willing
to hear the truth. What good that will do now, I don’t know. What with
Atwater’s appeal being ignored, the Vietnamese seem to have committed.”

“Appeal?”
Niner turned back to the television. “Is that what they’re showing?”

“Yes,”
said Laura. “She was broadcasting live to CNN, telling the world what was
happening when they think the Vietnamese blew out the floor from under her.”

Niner
cursed. “I hope the guys are okay.” He motioned toward the laptop. “Any luck
yet proving I’m innocent?”

Mai
shook her head, pointing at the screen. “This is the only footage showing the
shooter. He comes through the main doors, hands over his pass, then heads
toward the room where we all were a few minutes later. You can’t really make
out his face, at least not with this.”

Niner
leaned in and replayed the footage. He frowned. “Nope, this won’t prove it’s not
me.”

“Sure it
will.”

Niner
and the others turned to Laura. “How?”

“That
guy’s half a foot shorter than you.”

Niner
turned back to the screen. “You can tell?”

“Not
really, I just remember from the shooting. The guy who shot Petrov was far
shorter. You’re what, one-hundred-eighty centimeters?”

“Huh?”

Acton
laughed. “Europeans!” He looked at Niner. “You’re about five-nine?”

“Ten.”

“Ten
then,” said Laura. “He was five-two, five-three at best?”

“So how
does that help me?”

Laura
leaned forward and backed the footage up to when the man entered, pausing it.
She pointed at the metal detector. “That height can be measured. From the video
any pro will be able to see exactly how tall he is.” She snapped her fingers.
“Bring up the footage from when
we
arrived. Leave that one open so we
can compare James entering. He’s taller than you but close enough that we
should be able to make a comparison.”

Mai
brought up the footage and paused the image showing Acton entering. She split
the screen to show both images.

And it
was obvious. The man who had used his ID was a head shorter at least than
Acton, and clearly far shorter than his own 5’10”.

“Okay,
so that pretty much proves I’m not the guy. Now what? How the hell do we get
that footage into the proper hands while we’re stuck here?”

Acton
smiled. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

Daewoo Hanoi Hotel, Hanoi, Vietnam

Dawson grabbed Secretary Atwater, swinging the small woman into his
arms as he charged from the room. The eighth floor had been lost and Jimmy, the
last out, had reported seeing a group entering the room directly under
Atwater’s suite. He cleared the threshold, Atwater at first struggling against
the indignity, he ignoring it. Screams from the staff left behind who hadn’t
reacted as quickly as he had filled his ears but they weren’t his concern at the
moment. The others would get them out. His job was to get Atwater to the tenth
floor before the Vietnamese had a chance to blast through the floor. The fact
they would actually blast through the floor of her suite had him convinced this
was going to be a fight to the death.

Which
meant it was time to get dirty.

He deked
to the right, shoving hard, his legs pumping toward the stairwell before it was
lost to the enemy.

An
explosion ripped at the air behind him, screams of terror turning into screams
of pain.

And far
too many screams suddenly silenced.

He
reached the stairwell and put Atwater down, handing her over to two DSS agents.
“Get her upstairs, now!”

They
each grabbed an arm and practically lifted the aging woman up the stairs. He
pointed at Spock and Jimmy. “It’s time to go on the offensive.”

“It’s
about damned time,” said Spock, readying his MP5 as they ran back toward the
room, gunfire erupting as the DSS agents returned fire while they tried to
evacuate the survivors from the room. Dawson took a quick look and saw a
ten-by-ten hole in the floor, several bodies and even more wounded scattered
about the suite. He motioned for Spock and Jimmy to follow him, running to the other
end of the hall. Six DSS agents were holding the stairwell.

“Status!”

“Holding
for now, they don’t seem to be making an assault from here yet.”

“Okay,
hold this stairwell but be prepared to retake the eighth.”

The DSS
agent’s eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”

“I never
kid.”

“He
doesn’t,” added Spock with a smile. Dawson retreated back to the hallway and
opened the first door on his right, entering the room. Spock and Jimmy
followed. “Umm, BD, just how are they going to take the eighth?”

“We’re
going to drop in for a little visit.”

Spock
cocked an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

Dawson
slid open the door to the balcony and Spock grinned. “Now I got you.”

Dawson
pointed to the two double beds. “Three sheets.”

Jimmy
and Spock stripped the sheets, returning to the balcony. The hotel and the
grounds surrounding it were pitch black except for vehicle headlights and
several spotlights that had been set up, randomly swinging across the façade of
the building. They quickly tied one end of the sheets to the railing, spaced
apart by several feet.

“We drop
down, try the door, break the glass if necessary, clear the room. Understood?”

“Yes,
Sergeant Major.”

“Let’s
do this.”

Dawson
wrapped part of the sheet around his hand and swung a leg over the railing. He
didn’t wait, the risk of a spotlight catching them too great. He pushed out and
let himself swing away from the building as he let the sheet slide through his
fingers. Timed perfectly, he swung onto the balcony below, immediately reaching
for the handle of the sliding door. He lifted the door up and off the track,
out of the locking mechanism, an old trick that unfortunately worked with too
many patio doors.

Security
eight floors up is always overlooked.

Spock
and Jimmy surged into the room the moment the door was out of the way and
within seconds the whispered ‘Clear!’ was heard from all three operators.
Dawson approached the door and looked through the peephole. He couldn’t see
anyone but it was nearly pitch black and the gunfire from down the hall was
loud. He pointed toward the left where the stairwell was. “Spock with me, Jimmy
cover our sixes. Stay low, conserve your ammo, and if we’re lucky, anyone down
the hall won’t know what happened with all the noise.”

Spock
pulled open the door and Dawson poked his head out. An emergency light in the
stairwell showed at least half a dozen silhouettes. He could see shadows at the
far end, near the room under Atwater’s suite, but no one close. He stepped into
the hallway, breaking left, Jimmy to the right, taking a knee, Spock beside him
to his left. Dawson raised his MP5 and squeezed the trigger, single shots,
Spock doing the same.

The
Vietnamese, eight of them as it turned out, didn’t know what hit them. Dawson
stepped into the stairwell. “West landing, eighth floor secure,” he said into
his comm. Immediately he heard footsteps rushing down the stairs and the six
DSS agents joined them. “Hold this stairwell as long as you can.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Dawson
pointed at the bodies. “Get their weapons and ammo, one of you deliver it to
the tenth.” Spock was already searching the bodies. “Grenades?”

“One
each.”

“We’ll
take those. This battle will be fought here, now.”

Spock
tossed three grenades to Dawson. He shoved them in his pockets as they joined
Jimmy, still taking a knee at the door to the room they had swung into.
“Status?”

“It’s so
loud down there they didn’t hear you guys. I’m counting at least six in the
hall, but I could be wrong, it’s just shadows.” He pointed to a door about
midway. “I’m pretty sure that’s the room they blasted through from the seventh.
The door’s open and I’ve seen several people moving back and forth through
there.”

“Ok,
somebody is going to check this end sooner rather than later.” He looked at
Jimmy. “How’s your arm?”

“Fantastic.
Let me guess, east stairwell?”

“Yup.”

“No
problem,” he said as Spock handed over two grenades.

“Good.
Put two in the strike zone as soon as we’ve cleared the soft targets, Spock you
put two into the room under Atwater’s suite. We’ll clear that room so our guys
can clear the ninth of anybody who made it up, then join us.”

“Roger
that.”

Dawson
activated his comm. “Ninth floor, prepare for grenades under Atwater’s suite
and the east stairwell. East stairwell, prepare to take the eighth floor
landing. Ninth floor prepare to join us on the eighth.”

Confirmations
were heard through his earpiece just as someone came out of the seventh floor
access room, turning right toward them. Dawson dropped him as the three
advanced at a crouch, squeezing off single shots at the now alerted men in the
hall. As they approached the first target room Dawson pulled the pin on a grenade,
tossing it around the doorframe as he pulled the pin on a second, still firing
one-handed at the quickly diminishing Vietnamese. He tossed the second grenade
inside. “Fire in the hole!” he shouted as they all rushed forward, away from
the blast. Spock dropped the last man in the hallway as those at the stairwell
took notice. Jimmy’s first grenade was already whipped down the hall, speed and
accuracy key as the ceiling was too low for a traditional lob. It was a
fastball pitch that in the darkness they had no way of knowing if it were
successful or just bouncing back at them.

The
second was thrown as they continued to advance, Spock already tossing his first
grenade into the second target room just as Dawson’s grenades erupted behind
them. Screams and secondary explosions tore into the hallway through the open
door behind them as the stairwell was suddenly shredded in a brief flash, the
emergency light taken out bathing the entire area in darkness. Gunfire erupted,
the distinctive sounds of Glocks and MP5s, unchallenged as Spock’s grenades
tore apart the eighth floor suite.