The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) (35 page)

He
believed in democracy, even if his taskmasters didn’t.

And to
preserve any hope of maintaining a possible democratic future for his homeland,
he needed to stop this madness. His GPS informed him in her charming British
accent that he had arrived. He found a spot along the parade route, there no
police or barriers here to stop him, it an informal affair.

Climbing
out, he surveyed his surroundings and immediately spotted Phong sitting with
Duy and several other men, Phong on what looked like either a cordless phone or
one brick of a cellphone from yesteryear.

He
strode toward them, unbuttoning his suit jacket just in case he needed to grab
for the weapon in his shoulder holster. Suddenly Phong’s eyes met his and he
knew he had been made.

Tall
overweight white guy in a suit in Vietnam. Real tough.

The
phone clattered to the ground as Phong shouted something then bolted. More
shouts and a scream from one of the women sitting in a row with several others
behind the men ended when he pulled his weapon, Duy’s designs to run with his
friend ended.

He
picked up the phone. “Who is this?” There was a click as the other end hung up.
He handed the phone over to one of the women then turned to Duy, still sitting
in his lawn chair. As much as Sarkov would love to sit right now, he knew there
was no way the flimsy chair would support his mass.

“You
speak English?” He already knew the answer, his personnel file, printed off in
English, already told him.

“Y-yes.”

He
looked at the printout. “Your name is Duy Giang Tran?”

The
terrified man’s head shook out an uncertain nod.

“You
work at the Daewoo Hanoi Hotel?”

Another
shaky affirmative.

“How
about you tell me what happened?”

“I-I
don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sarkov
scratched his chin then absentmindedly tapped the gun in his shoulder holster.
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Your friend Phong—and yes, I
know exactly who he is and where he lives—must have told you, otherwise you
wouldn’t be so scared.”

“I-I’m
not scared.”

“Good!
You shouldn’t be. I don’t believe you did anything wrong, at least not
intentionally. Why don’t you tell me what you know? Perhaps I can help.”

A bottle
of vodka was suddenly pressed against the man’s lip, liquid courage pouring
down his throat as he polished off several ounces, one for each bounce of his
Adam’s apple. The bottle was removed then hesitantly offered to Sarkov.

He shook
his head. “No thanks.” The woman who had taken the phone disappeared inside,
returning a few seconds later with a hard plastic chair, something he had seen
at cheap cafés on many occasions. He smiled gratefully as he took a seat. The
festivities continued around them, the brief excitement caused by Phong’s
flight forgotten in moments. He watched as a particularly beautiful woman
passed, even Duy unable to ignore her. “Very pretty,” said Sarkov. He motioned
toward the women. “Is one of these lovely ladies your wife?”

Duy
nodded, pointing to the woman who had brought the chair.

“Thank
you.”

She
nodded and said, “Thank you,” her nervous smile accompanied with her entire
upper body bowing repeatedly in the chair.

Sarkov
turned to Duy, smiling, trying to disarm the man at least a little, though he
could tell his attempts were unsuccessful so far. “Lovely lady, you’re a lucky
man.”

“Thank
you.”

“Does
she speak English?”

He shook
his head.

“Then
nothing you say to me can get you in trouble with her, and we both know there’s
nothing worse than being in trouble with your wife.” Sarkov laughed at his own
joke, trying to put the man at ease as he directed his gaze at the crowd again,
providing the man with a little relief.

Nervous
laughter from Duy, then the others, quickly tapered off.

“Now,
let’s start at the beginning. What happened this morning?”

The man
sighed, his gaze lowering to his shoes as he leaned forward, the bottle
rattling on the concrete as he twirled it nervously with his fingers. “Phong
told me he forgot his pass in one of the American’s rooms. I just told him when
he could get in to get it.”

“You
activated the security cameras to do it.”

Duy
hesitated. “Y-yes, I guess I did. I mean, I had to in order to access the
utility usage data.” His jaw dropped. “I forgot to deactivate it!”

Sarkov
smiled, nodding, his eyes still mostly on the crowd. “No need to worry. Your
forgetting might actually have helped.” He waved to a group of young women who
were smiling at him. They giggled and rushed off. “You had no idea what your
friend was going to do?”

An
emphatic headshake. “No! He gave me my pass back, thanked me, and that was it.
I didn’t know until later that he had left sick.”

“And I
guess you didn’t know until this evening what he had done?”

Duy
sighed. “Yes. He told us just before you arrived.”

“Did he
say why he did it?”

“Yes!”
Duy turned his chair slightly toward Sarkov, as if excited he might have a
defense for his friend. “He said this man murdered his entire family and
village when he was a kid. During the war. He said that he had let him live. He
swore that if he ever saw him again he’d kill him.”

“And he
did.”

Duy
frowned. “Yes, but it was justifiable, wasn’t it? I mean, wouldn’t you kill the
man who killed your family if you had a chance?”

Sarkov’s
chest tightened slightly at the question, it something he had been asking
himself too often since he had found out Phong’s possible motivation.
Unfortunately he already knew the truth.

He
wouldn’t.

Not
because he didn’t want to, but because he was too scared to.

Until
today, he had never thought himself a coward.

But he
must be.

He had
let the murderer of his wife and child escape unscathed. He would have been
able to find the man with little trouble. He had access to a weapon. He could
have killed him in a heartbeat.

But he
hadn’t.

Instead
he had requested the earliest transfer so he could escape any possible memories
of his wife and son.

And he
hadn’t even unpacked a single photo of them when he had moved into his
apartment here in Hanoi.

Shame
swept over him.

And envy
for the brass that this man he had never met had shown.

Phong
is to be admired.

“Who was
he on the phone with when I arrived?”

Duy’s
eyes darted away, his posture changing as he turned slightly away.

He said
nothing.

“Tell
me
now, or the police later. Either way you will be telling.”

Duy
sighed then took another swig from the bottle. “He called the American
Embassy.”

Sarkov’s
eyes narrowed.
The American Embassy?
He turned toward Duy, the festival
forgotten. “Why?”

“He’s a
good person!” cried Duy, his words rapid, almost jumbled with his accent. “He
is! I’ve known him for years and he’d never hurt anyone. That’s why when he
heard about what was happening because of what he’d done, he wanted to turn
himself in. We”—he motioned toward his friends and the women behind them—“all
thought he shouldn’t because they’d kill him.”

Sarkov
turned back to look at Duy’s wife who smiled. “Thank you!”

He
nodded with a smile, noticing the old grandmother nearby rocking in her chair,
her hands clapping in synch with the drums, her grin of pure joy a pleasant if
out of place sight under the circumstances. “You were probably right to advise
him to not go to your local authorities.” Sarkov turned back to the parade.
“What did he tell them?”

“The
truth, exactly what I told you.”

“And
what did they say?”

“They
wanted him to go to some address to meet some people so he could tell his
story.”

“Not the
embassy?”

“It’s
surrounded, isn’t it?”

Sarkov nodded.
“What was the address?”

Duy
shook his head. “I don’t know the address. I think it was on Lang Yen street,
but I don’t know the number.”

“Where’s
that?”

“Dong
Mac Ward. Not far.” He nodded toward the car. “Maybe ten minutes in car.”

Sarkov
pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“What
should I do? They say the police are after me!”

Sarkov
frowned sympathetically. This man had committed a minor indiscretion. Did he
deserve to be fired? Probably. Arrested? Perhaps. Tortured and jailed or
executed? Definitely not. “I suggest you and your family leave immediately.
Call your hotel tomorrow and tell them you have a family emergency and need to
take a few days off, don’t give them a chance to tell you anything—just talk
then hang up. Then go stay with people that the authorities don’t know you have
any connection with and stay there until you hear on the news that the crisis
is over. Hopefully once the truth comes out, you can go back to your job. If
what you say is true, your government will probably want to forget this ever
happened very quickly and you might just get your life back.”

Duy rose
and nodded, his face clouded with fear and uncertainty. “I will do that.”

“Good
luck.”

Sarkov
strode toward his car and climbed in, entering the street name into his GPS.
Ten
minutes, maybe twenty if I’m stuck in this parade.
He pulled out and inched
along, looking for a side street that might not be so busy, but it was to no
avail. The crowd was parting, smiles and waves rather than shaked fists the
order of the evening, but it was slow going.

Which
meant he had time to think.

He was
already defying orders by being here rather than at his apartment. And he knew
Yashkin’s report back to Moscow on his performance would be negative, so much
so that he would almost definitely face recall. And if the truth didn’t come
out, there would be more than sufficient reason for the powers that be to have
him disappear in some cold, dark corner of Russia, never to be seen again.

Which
was why he continued to push forward.

For he
had nothing left to lose except his life.

Dong Mac Ward, Hanoi, Vietnam

James Acton looked up from the laptop as Laura’s phone rang,
startling Mai who was still a bundle of nerves. They all were. Cadeo’s men were
fussing with an impressive cache of weapons and ammo, Mai’s brother’s black
market business apparently booming. If they had to make a stand, they could,
but it would be pointless. There were no helicopters or American troops rushing
to the rescue here.

They
were on their own.

With nowhere
to go.

If
only we could get on that plane!

But he
knew there was no way that was even possible. Their only hope was to not be
discovered, get their story out so that the world would be convinced they and
Niner weren’t involved, and then hopefully get into the Embassy.

And
perhaps the first step of that plan was about to take place.

“Hello?”
His wife’s voice was tentative, she clearly as nervous as he was. She breathed
a sigh of relief and smiled. “They’re here!”

Mai
jumped in delight or nerves, Acton couldn’t tell, as Cadeo flicked off the
lights and opened a door to the side of the garage. Niner stepped ahead of
them, his weapon drawn, fresh ammo supplied by Cadeo filling his pockets.

“Do you
see the door that just opened?” She nodded. “Okay, bye.” She hung up the phone,
placing it back in her pocket as they waited.

A couple
of minutes later two men casually strode in, the door closing behind them
immediately, the lights flickering back on. Acton smiled at Stewart and his
cameraman Murphy. “They’re okay,” he told Niner who lowered his weapon, Cadeo’s
men following. Acton stepped toward the new arrivals, shaking their hands.
“Thank God you made it. Were you followed?”

Stewart
shook his head. “We were but Murph lost them. We should be okay.”

“I’m
surprised they let you go,” said Laura, giving both men a quick hug. “You’re
wanted like us.”

Murphy
laughed. “Nope, an ABC news crew are wanted men. We borrowed a CNN van.”

“They
agreed?”

“Once
they heard what was going on. At first they wanted to come with us but we
agreed that would look suspicious, four guys in the van instead of the normal
two. We agreed to share any footage we take.”

“Sounds
good,” said Acton. “Now let’s get this show on the air, now. We need to get the
word out and the museum footage transmitted before we’re discovered.”

Stewart
nodded. “What format is the footage in?”

“Files
on a USB memory stick,” replied Mai, walking toward the laptop. She pulled the
device out and handed it to Murphy who immediately sat down, setting up his
camera to transmit the data.