And he had been ordered to remain put—it was not his job.
He had respectfully told his boss to sod off and that he was on vacation for a week effective immediately.
He had then done something he hated doing—purchased a last minute ticket using an account Laura had given him access to for emergencies.
To say Laura was rich was an understatement. To say she was generous was equally so. He cringed at using her account for this, though she’d never object, and in fact would likely insist upon it, if she were reachable.
And she wasn’t.
Whatever had happened in those final seconds had taken the phone offline.
Permanently.
That, unfortunately, meant there was nothing for them to trace. But she had given a rough location, and hopefully the locals would get their act together with boots on the ground without delay. Yet that all assumed these poachers hadn’t already relocated them, and with the speed at which things moved in Africa, he had no doubt it would be hours before any local authorities reached the site.
He checked his watch.
Bloody hell. They’ll be dead by then.
He pulled out his phone, sending a message to a number he was one of a privileged few to have.
Desperate times.
He watched the buildings whip by as he searched for another way to help, a smile suddenly appearing.
Leather!
46
University College London Dig Site
Lower Nubia, Egypt
Lt. Colonel Cameron Leather, retired, sat in his tent, frowning. His employer was on holiday, which was nothing out of the ordinary, and that fact had zero effect on his day-to-day responsibilities. His job, and that of his men, was to protect the various dig sites Laura Palmer and her husband had. At the moment, that included Acton’s dig in Peru and hers here in Egypt.
He pulled his shirt from his chest, it stuck to him like a sweaty lover. The heat was unbearable at times, this after all the middle of the desert, but you got used to it. He had just returned from Peru, where it was a hell of a lot cooler than here, so had yet to acclimate. Out of fairness, he rotated his teams between the two sites and completely out of the cycle, the company he had founded after retiring from the British Special Air Services, having contracts with other clients.
But Laura Palmer’s money bought his services.
And they had definitely been needed over the past few years.
He had been hired through government referrals and had expected a routine assignment. Never had he expected to be battling Islamic extremists in this very location, Chinese in the Amazon, or ancient cults in Iceland.
It was a great gig.
He had feared retirement would be boring, though as long as he worked for Laura Palmer, he doubted it ever would be, which was just fine by him, though the price had been high, too many of his men dead.
But that was the job, and they had died protecting the students that he could hear on the other side of the thin tent, two of whom stood in front of him right now.
Their teacher was on vacation, and their teacher, as was her too often exercised prerogative, had left with no security detail. He had to admire that. She refused to live her life in fear, despite everything that had happened to her and her husband. And with the Triarii hopefully out of their lives, things might be less complicated from now on, though those two put together seemed to invite trouble.
It kept life interesting.
And a safari in South Africa should be no concern, though apparently she had missed her normal check-in with her grad student, Terrence Mitchell.
It was this lack of communication that was the subject of the earnest conversation with Mitchell and his wife.
Earnestness that needed to be calmed.
“She could have just forgotten. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Mitchell nodded, apparently unconvinced. “Possibly. I just thought you should know I hadn’t heard from her. I tried her satphone myself, and it’s not working.”
This caught Leather’s attention, his eyes narrowing.
Mitchell sensed he might not have lost the argument. “I mean, she’s not answering, it just goes straight to voicemail.”
Leather relaxed slightly. “Again, nothing out of the ordinary. They could be on an overnighter in the middle of nowhere and the battery went dead. Nothing to panic about yet.”
Mitchell sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, but bloody hell, ever since she met him there’s been nothing but trouble!”
Leather chuckled, a hint of jealousy still there, the young lad once having a fairly obvious crush on his professor. He had done well, though, marrying the pretty young thing that stood beside him.
Jenny elbowed her husband. “Some would say ever since he met her, his life has been hell.”
Mitchell grunted. “Some would, but they’d be wrong.”
Leather’s satphone rang and he grabbed it, answering the call. “Leather.”
“Hi Cameron, Hugh Reading. We’ve got a problem.”
47
Lee Fang Residence
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Dylan Kane moaned in ecstasy as the strong hands of the Asian goddess straddling his back worked their magic. It had been a tough couple of weeks extracting himself from China after the events in South Korea, the borders tightened up while tensions were allowed to ease. He had been forced to hole up at his friend Chan Chao’s place for a few days before a freighter transport was arranged, unfortunately taking him to Singapore rather than the closer Japan.
But no matter. He had survived, returned home for a far too infrequent visit with the love of his life, Lee Fang, who was working away the remnants of the hell his body had endured over days spent in a metal box.
And it was hell.
He wasn’t ashamed to admit that when his contact in Singapore had cracked open the special delivery, his friend had run from the smell, turning a hose on him for ten minutes after ordering him to strip in the backyard.
And it was one of the more refreshing showers he could remember.
Life as a Special Agent in the CIA wasn’t easy, and was usually lonely, a flurry of one night stands and meaningless affairs seeming fun on the big screen, though torture to the heart in real life. He had always planned on being dead by forty, there no point in a long-term relationship, but then he had met Fang, a fellow intelligence operative, exiled from her home, as alone as he was, a stranger in a strange land.
He rolled over, smiling up at her. “I love you.”
She beamed, dropping on top of him, kissing him deeply. “I love you too.”
A warmth spread through him, a feeling he would never tire of, a feeling he had never experienced until he had met her, and a feeling he knew, if it were ever lost, might never be found again.
“I missed you.”
He smiled. “I could tell by the way you mauled me when I came through the door.”
She giggled, swirling a finger around one of his nipples. “You surprised me. I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”
“Well, you know the job. It doesn’t exactly let me post my schedule online.”
She shrugged. “I understand. It makes it more exciting.”
An electric pulse surged through his wrist, his watch secretly indicating he had an important message.
“Ugh.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
He shook the wrist with the CIA issued device.
Fang frowned, sitting up. “But you just got here!” She gyrated her hips, drawing in a deep, slow breath as she closed her eyes. “You check your messages. I’ll be a moment.”
Kane laughed as he entered a coded sequence of button presses around the dial, a message projected on the back of the crystal indicating he had a secure communication on his private service. Years ago, he had set up a clandestine way of communicating with trusted contacts without the CIA’s knowledge, a safety net in case someone, somewhere, decided he was expendable—and he didn’
t agree with their assessment.
Fang moaned louder, Kane leaning back and groaning as he reached over and grabbed his laptop, flipping it open as the most spectacular sight he could imagine continued to take care of her own business—he was merely a tool in the equation.
He pressed his thumb against the biometric sensor then launched his secure communications service. He frowned at the message from the British Interpol agent, Hugh Reading, a message that could mean only one thing.
The professor was in trouble.
What the hell is it with him?
Fang cried out, her fingers tearing at his chest like a lioness as he turned his attention back to her for a moment, doing his part to make her feel as good as she made him, it not taking long for him to join her in shared ecstasy before she collapsed atop him once again, her chest heaving, her breath hot on his neck.
“Oh, God, I love it when you’re home.”
He kissed her. “Evidently.”
She gave him a peck then rolled off, a puddle of satisfied flesh content to let him finish whatever had distracted him. “Langley?”
“No, Hugh Reading.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, her eyes narrowed. “Really? The professors?”
Kane dialed his phone. “We’re about to find out.”
48
Outside Colonel Clancy’s Office, The Unit
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Red was about to kick open the outer door to Colonel Clancy’s office when Spock held up a hand.
“Wait, you wanna sprain the other ankle?”
Red stepped aside, presenting the door with an outstretched hand to the healthier warrior. “Be my guest.”
Spock smiled at him. “Thank you.” Then planted a swift kick next to the lock, the door splintering. Slamming it with his shoulder, the door flew open, Spock stumbling inside, Red and Sweets following.
At first glance, Red saw nothing out of the ordinary. “I’ll check her computer.” He rounded her desk as Spock flicked the light switch.
Red gasped.
Maggie lay on the floor behind the desk, blood trickling from her nose, a small pool on the carpet. He rushed to her side, pointing at Spock. “Ambulance, now!”
Spock grabbed the desk phone so there’d be no doubt of the location, as Sweets seized the corner of the desk, swinging it out of the way.
Red leaned close to Maggie’s ear. “Maggie, can you hear me?”
A weak moan, little else.
“Everything’s going to be okay. We’re here now.”
“BD?”
He could barely hear her, Spock stepping into the hallway with the distraught corporal, the young man now realizing his folly. “He’s on an op. I’ll let him know we found you.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him. “No, he’ll j-just worry.” Her voice was barely a whisper, the words mumbled, difficult to understand, and judging from her face, Red had a suspicion of what had happened.
And could only pray he was wrong.
49
Virgin Atlantic Flight 601
Heathrow Airport, London, England
Reading sank into the plush leather of first class, suddenly realizing why the ticket was so damned expensive, the opulence surrounding him something he had never experienced before on a long-haul flight, unless blessed to be in Laura’s private jet.
And it made him feel guilty.
Bloody hell, this isn’t right.
He turned in his seat, looking at the poor bastards in economy, and noted it was completely full, making him feel better that he hadn’t made a mistake and missed a cheaper seat.
He sighed.
Laura won’t mind. This is like me buying her a coffee.
He grunted.
A fancy one, but a coffee nonetheless.
His phone vibrated and he checked the display.
Blocked.
He swiped his thumb, putting the phone to his ear. “Reading.”
“Hey Hugh, it’s Dylan. Everything okay?”
Reading snorted. “With Jim and Laura in our lives, is it ever?”
Kane chuckled. “What now?”
“I just got a call from Laura. They’re in South Africa, near the Sabi Sabi Resort. They were under attack by poachers who thought they found some gold, the Kruger Gold, if I’m not mistaken. They were being shot at before we got cut off. I’ve sent all the details to your secure account.”
“Okay, what have you done?”
“I’ve had the locals notified, but it’ll take time for them to reach the area. My concern is that they’ll be taken hostage and moved somewhere off the grid. Can you use your resources to find them, perhaps track them, so we know where to look?”
“I’ll see what I can do. I can’t get there in time to do any good, and hostage rescue isn’t my wheelhouse.”
“How about our friends?”
Kane chuckled. “You’re a mind reader, Hugh. I’ll see what I can do and get back to you.”
“I’m about to take off, so I probably won’t be reachable until I land in Johannesburg.”
“Understood. I’ll make sure you have an update for when you arrive.”
“Okay, thanks, Dylan.”
“Good luck, Hugh. And when you find them, tell them to retire. They’re not good for our health.”
Reading laughed. “Something tells me they won’t listen.” He ended the call, turned off the phone to save the battery, then returned it to his pocket.
“Kruger Gold? If your friends have found that, they’re going to be rich.”
Reading didn’t register for a moment that he was being spoken to, finally noticing the woman staring at him from the next seat, so far away due to the extra room he hadn’t even realized she was there. “Excuse me?”
She smiled at him. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. The Kruger Gold. Some say it could be worth over half a billion dollars today.”
Reading’s eyebrows popped. “Half a billion dollars? American dollars?”
She nodded.
“How do you know so much about it?” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not an archaeologist, are you?”
She laughed, reaching over and placing a hand on his arm. “Oh, God no! I’m a model. But everyone in South Africa knows about Kruger’s Gold.”
Reading suddenly noticed the woman was striking. “Fashion model?”
She smiled.
Huh. Maybe first class isn’t so bad after all.
He smiled, extending his hand. “Hugh Reading. And you are?”
50
Leroux & White Residence, Fairfax Towers
Falls Church, Virginia
“My God, that smells good! What are you making?”
Chris Leroux smiled at the sight of his girlfriend, Sherrie White, as she stood in the doorway of the kitchen wearing nothing but his t-shirt. “Damfino.”
“Huh?”
“Damfino.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Damned if I know?”
He grinned. “Exactly.”
She shook her head, popping up onto the counter. “Okay, if you don’t know, then I think we’re in trouble.”
Leroux lifted two hot dogs, split down the center, from the pan, placing them on the open half of a grilled cheese sandwich. “No, that’s what they’re called.”
“Huh?”
“Damfino.”
“They’re called ‘damned if I know’.”
“Exactly.”
Sherrie let out a frustrated burst of air. “Who’s on first?”
“No idea, but if he wants a damfino, he better speak up.” He placed another thick slice of old cheddar over the hotdog, then moved the second slice of buttered bread on top.
“I’m confused.”
“Evidently.” He decided he better save her, and spelled it out. “D-A-M-F-I-N-O.”
Her eyes widened. “Damfino!”
“Exactly, as in ‘damned if I know’. An old friend of the family showed me how to make them when he was visiting. Rememb
er that friend of my dad’s, Bob Crampton?”
“Oh, from San Diego?”
“Yeah, he and his folks had a Mel’s Root Beer for a while. He invented the sandwich as a snack for himself, but when customers saw him eating it, they wanted it. Apparently, it was a hit.”
Sherrie leaned over the glistening concoction still sizzling in the pan. “Looks terrible for you.”
Leroux shrugged. “Anything that tastes good usually is.”
Sherrie brightened. “Can I have one?”
Leroux nodded at a plate behind him. “Yours is already up.”
She beheld the expertly plated sandwich, cheese oozing from the golden brown crusts, the curiously added hotdog demanding to be tasted. She took a bite and moaned. “Oh God, this is so good.”
Leroux removed his own from the pan, sliding it onto the cutting board before slicing it at an angle. “I’ll let Bob know you liked it.”
Sherrie swallowed another bite as Leroux took his first. “Damfino. Where’d that come from?”
Leroux covered his mouth as he chewed. “The customers were asking what it was called, and he’d just say, damned if I know. It stuck.”
“Hilarious!” She went to the fridge, pulling out a jug of milk. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”
Leroux gulped down his bite. “This is the first day off both of us have had together in a while, and we’ve already spent half of it sleeping in. I want to make the most of it.” He took another bite, savoring the texture and flavors. “I was thinking non-stop sex.”
Sherrie downed a long slug from her glass of milk before picking her sandwich up again. “I think you have to wait twelve hours after eating one of these.”
Leroux quickly put down his plate. “Better to be safe.”
Sherrie laughed, pointing at it. “Eat your damned sandwich, you’ll get what’s coming to you later. Today I want to go out and have some fun.”
“Rollercoasters?”
She grinned. “That’s an awesome idea! I haven’t been on a rollercoaster in a dog’s age.”
Wages of Sin (A James Acton Thriller, #17) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 11