Wages of Sin (A James Acton Thriller, #17) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “You’re always hearing things.”

  “No, I swear.”

  “It’s your imagination. Next thing you’ll be saying there’s ghosts.”

  His cousin raised his weapon, turning toward the entrance tunnel. “I’m checking it out.”

  “Go ahead if you’re so sure.”

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  Jacob grunted. “I’m not chasing ghosts.”

  “You afraid?”

  “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.”

  His cousin chuckled, Jacob’s eyes narrowing as he stared at him, replaying what he had just said, a smile breaking out as everyone started to laugh.

  “So are you coming?”

  Jacob shook his head. “Like I said, I didn’t hear anything. You check it out.”

  “You are afraid.”

  Jacob ignored him.

  “Fine.” His cousin stepped away from the light, flicking on his flashlight as he headed back toward the entrance.

  Fool.

  Niner pressed against the wall, his knife ready as his finely tuned hearing picked up the tentative, cautious steps of a hostile coming their way, laughter petering out around the bend. It would have to be quick and silent, otherwise they’d be overwhelmed with five more armed poachers, odds that could get tricky in these tight quarters.

  The beam from a flashlight sliced through the ink-black, illuminating the opposite wall, the man stepping into view. Niner waited, his breathing controlled as he kept his heart rate steady, letting the adrenaline flow smoothly to give him heightened reflexes, but not too hot to cause mistakes.

  He reached out, clamping a hand over the man’s mouth as he slit his throat with the other. Jimmy stepped forward, grabbing the man’s hand with the flashlight before it could fall, Niner silently lowering the dead man to the ground.

  One down, five to go.

  Acton inched his way deeper, the shaft he was in coming to a three-way split, this his fear, and why he had made it a point to drag his foot on the dirt floor every few feet. He didn’t care if anyone spotted his trail, there no way of knowing if it were made today or ten years ago. All he cared about was not getting hopelessly lost inside a system he was certain had no logical layout.

  Two flashlight beams appeared ahead, approaching slowly, two men talking, their voices echoing off the walls, clear they thought they were alone. He wished he could understand the language so he might glean some information from them, but he didn’t, though from the tone he had the impression they were complaining about something. He stepped into the shadows, pressing behind a support beam as the two men continued past, down a shaft he thankfully hadn’t just come from, they liable to find Courtney if they did.

  He watched as they played their beams along the walls and ceiling, clearly searching for something, and smiled, spotting in their light what appeared to be a severely rotted timber.

  And a pickaxe handle on the ground underneath.

  He edged forward, picking up the handle as the two men disappeared around a bend, then flicked his flashlight back on, examining the ceiling. He tapped at it with the handle, dirt crumbling down.

  Do I risk it?

  One of the men said something, the utterance sounding like frustration, the footfalls approaching again, this time quicker.

  Dead end?

  The beams of light reappeared and he cursed.

  No choice.

  He swung the axe handle, shattering the rotted beam, the noise deafening in the enclosed space.

  And nothing happened.

  Oh shit!

  Excited exclamations from the two men were followed by heavy footfalls.

  He swung again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Tladi froze, a rumbling sound coming from somewhere in the distance getting louder. His heart hammered and he glanced up at the ceiling, appearing sound for the moment.

  “What was that?”

  The woman shrugged. “Probably a cave-in. I told you that you needed to be an expert to deal with these types of situations. You refused to listen.”

  Tladi felt a rage build in his stomach, sick of the attitude from this privileged white woman, her constant superior tone, her constant disrespect, almost enough to make him kill her right now, regardless of whether they found the gold.

  No reward is worth this!

  He jammed the barrel of his gun into her stomach. “If my men are dead, then so are you.”

  She glared at him. “Your men are certainly dead, and it’s because of you.” She shrugged. “Besides, who cares? It just means there’re fewer people for you to share the gold with.”

  Tladi relaxed the weapon slightly, the woman having a point.

  He turned to his man, who thankfully didn’t understand English. “Go check it out.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “What the hell was that?”

  Jacob was on his feet, there no ignoring the massive rumbling sound as it approached, a cloud of dust rolling over them before the sound, and debris, settled. But he knew what it was, a sound that terrified anyone who had worked in the mines.

  Cave-in.

  He looked at the others. “Maybe we should check it out.”

  His other cousin shook his head. “To hell with that, I’m staying right here.”

  “Coward. Those are our brothers. I’m going.”

  “Fine, fine, I’ll go.”

  Jacob turned to the others, nodding toward the exit tunnel. “See if he found any ghosts.”

  Niner smiled as he watched two of the men leave, the others chuckling over something that was said. One of them approached his position, flashlight stretched far ahead of him, much more cautious than his compatriot who lay beside Jimmy, exsanguinated. The hostile carefully played his light over the walls, ceiling, and floor, as if he expected something to jump out at him from any direction.

  Not good.

  Niner pressed against the wall but knew he’d be spotted this time.

  He’d have to time it perfectly.

  The flashlight came around the corner, catching his knee then moving on for a moment before flicking back.

  Busted.

  Something was yelled.

  Niner stepped out, yanking the man forward then past him, sending him toward Jimmy to take care of. A grunt and gasp behind him told him business was good as he surged toward the two remaining hostiles. He plunged his knife into the stomach of the first startled man, clamping a hand over his mouth as he twisted the blade, then pulling it free, his entire body already spinning toward the final hostile, he buried the blade deep into the other’s skull, silencing him instantly.

  Scrambled-eggs-for-brains collapsed as his friend bled out, Niner still holding him as the death throes finished their final act, the small intersection of tunnels filling with flashlights as the rest of his team entered.

  “United States Soldiers,” whispered Dawson. “Remain quiet!”

  Murmurs of relief filled the tiny area when a shot rang out from the darkness, Leather dropping. Niner spun toward the sound, his knife loosed, burying into the chest of the surprise newcomer.

  Though not before revealing their position with an agonizing cry.

  They had been discovered.

  “What was that?”

  Laura had already spun toward the sound, there no point in playing stupid. Instead, she decided keeping her mouth shut was the best option. Someone had fired a weapon. A single shot. It could have been an accident, though someone had cried out, and it sounded like one of fear, of pain.

  Tladi didn’t wait for an answer. “We need to find another way out of here.” He grabbed her by the arm, squeezing tight, and led her deeper into the tunnel. She resisted, charging foolishly into a century-old abandoned mine idiotic. “Let’s go!”

  “No, you’ll get us both killed!”

  He jabbed the gun into her ribs. “Move or you’re dead.” She glared at him but realized she had no choi
ce. Whatever had happened had Tladi scared, which could only be good for her.

  Should she survive his panicked reaction.

  Could help have arrived?

  “Fine.” She continued forward. As she played her flashlight out in front of them, no longer searching for the lost gold but merely attempting self-preservation, she dismissed the idea.

  Surely help would be much louder than a single shot and a lone shout.

  She felt a queasiness almost overwhelm her.

  Unless that single shot was someone shooting James!

  She slowed slightly, a shove to her back sending her stumbling forward again as she replayed the cry in her mind.

  Could it have been him?

  She had no way of knowing, no possible way, yet within moments she was convinced it had indeed been him.

  And he was dead.

  Acton breathed a sigh of relief as the two new men that had been approaching him spun toward the sound of the gunshot. They sprinted back toward where they had come, which had to be where the hostages, and Laura, were.

  And a horrifying thought occurred to him.

  They’re shooting them!

  His heart slammed against his ribcage as he resisted the urge to rush after them, instead carefully moving forward, it far too easy to stumble upon someone, or something, that could mean his certain death.

  Tladi slapped his hand over Laura’s mouth as they came out of a bend in the shaft, it splitting into three. He yanked her against the wall and into the shadows, pressing the gun against her head. Someone was coming, a diffused beam from a flashlight visible to their left for a brief moment before they were buried in shadows, whoever it was, creeping along toward them.

  It couldn’t have been one of Tladi’s men, though perhaps it was, the gunshot potentially putting even these murderers on edge. But if they suspected the shot wasn’t from one of their own, then who did they think it was?

  It was the silence that was killing her.

  A single shot, a single cry, then nothing.

  If they had shot James or one of the others, surely there would have been some shouting, surely someone would have been sent to find Tladi, but no one had come.

  It made no sense.

  Suddenly the light was visible, then the shadow of the figure, his hand held in front of the beam, giving him enough light to see his way, though not enough to reveal his position to those who might be around the next bend.

  And reflecting just enough of his silhouette that she knew instantly who it was, his form seared on her mind forever.

  James!

  “Is one of you Courtney Tasker?”

  Silence, then the young woman spoke. “She ran away. I think she’s safe.”

  Dawson sliced the ropes binding them as Leather was helped to his feet. Dawson glanced over his shoulder at him. “You good?”

  “Just my pride wounded. That bastard came out of nowhere.”

  Niner shrugged. “Don’t look at me.” He pointed at the tunnel where the man had emerged from. “I consider that Sword. These two are Omaha and Utah. That was clearly a British tunnel.”

  Dawson chuckled as he helped the hostages up. He pointed to Jimmy. “Get them outside. Signal control that we have not recovered the Secretary’s daughter.” He flicked his flashlight at Leather and his man. “Go with them.” He turned to the others. “Where’s Laura Palmer?”

  The older black man replied. “He took her.” He pointed down Sword. “Down there.”

  Dawson turned back to Jimmy. “Tell Control we think the other person with Acton is Tasker, not Palmer.”

  “Roger that.” Jimmy led the hostages to safety, Leather and his man following them out.

  Dawson looked at Atlas and Niner. “Three tunnels, three of us. Shall we?”

  Niner smiled, stepping into Omaha. “See you on the other side.”

  82

  Belfast, South Africa

  Reading shook his head, his discomfort from being wedged into the tiny vehicle forgotten as he witnessed true suffering around him. He had never seen real poverty before, not in person, not in a modern country.

  This was unbelievable.

  In the jungles of the Amazon, where the primitive tribes existed, he had experienced firsthand their simple, basic lives, lives that were rich in a way Western civilization could never hope to comprehend.

  Happiness, contentedness, was its own wealth.

  Kinti and her family were happy with their lives the way they were.

  Simple. Pure. One with nature, with the jungle.

  Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

  If you don’t know what it is like to be “rich” by Western standards, then you’re never miserable because your life doesn’t compare. How can you be upset because you don’t have a big television, when you don’t even know what one is, when you can’t even conceptualize a computer, a tablet or a phone, a meal served at a fine restaurant, or a car to show off to your neighbors?

  When everyone is living the same way you are, and you’ve never seen or even heard of something different, envy and jealousy over material possessions never enter the equation.

  But here, everyone living in the squalor that surrounded him, knew there was a better life, a better way, and it meant they were fully aware of how horrible their lives actually were.

  It was heartbreaking.

  Having just seen the wealth and modernity of Johannesburg, then less than two hours later to be in the same country, experiencing the ramshackle homes that lined the dirt roads, tucked away so the pampered heading to the luxury resorts only miles away wouldn’t feel uncomfortable, he was flabbergasted.

  He looked at Ndlovu. “How do people live like this?”

  Ndlovu glanced at him. “You in the West I think forget how most of the world lives, especially in societies where significant minorities have westernized.”

  Reading’s head bobbed slowly as they drove through the town. “Like Brazil.” He had seen it when Jim and Laura had treated him to World Cup tickets, but they had been inside the bubble of the event, not seeing the poverty, instead seeing what the Brazilian government had wanted them to see.

  Much like the Olympics.

  Ndlovu flicked his wrist at their surroundings. “Exactly like Brazil. Rich enough to host Olympic games, but too poor to provide basic services to their population—unless they’re rich.” He sighed. “In South Africa, it is two different worlds. The white world, and those like me who have been able to live in it, then this, this disgrace.” He shook his head, his voice lowering. “I was born into this, but was lucky. My father worked for the ANC and was able to get a good job when apartheid was abolished. He was able to get me an education, to lift us out of this.” He shook his head. “But there are only so many jobs.” He pointed to a house ahead. “According to what we were told at the store, this is it.”

  They pulled up beside the humble home, Reading following Ndlovu to the door, looking about with unease, painfully aware he was the only white man in the entire neighborhood, and that all eyes were on him.

  Now I know how a minority must feel back home.

  Ndlovu rapped on the door, it rattling noisily. The door opened moments later, a colorfully dressed woman answering with a smile until she saw him.

  Still no trust?

  A brief exchange in their native tongue occurred before she regarded Reading warily, fear in her widened eyes. “Yes, I speak English.”

  “Wonderful, that will make things much easier for my friend. As I said, I’m Agent Ndlovu, State Security Agency, and this is Agent Reading, Interpol.”

  Reading extended a hand. “Ma’am.”

  She took it, her handshake weak and brief.

  Ndlovu continued. “We’re looking for Tladi Tsabalala. Is he here?”

  She frowned, the fear gone, derision replacing it as she snapped out an annoyed shake of the head. “No.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “I never ask.”

  “When did you last see hi
m?”

  She pursed her lips for a moment. “Yesterday.”

  “Do you mind if we look around?”

  She shrugged. “I got nothin’ to hide.” She stepped aside and Ndlovu entered, Reading following him into the house in name only, though it was clearly a home, those who lived here doing so with as much dignity as their circumstances allowed, it clean and tidy, with several personal items decorating the walls and shelves.

  Reading was about to compliment her when he bit his tongue, realizing it might come off as condescending. They pressed deeper inside, finding several children in a back room surrounding a single schoolbook, then a rear door that opened into a dusty yard containing a shed slapped together from scrap corrugated metal.

  “What’s in there?” asked Ndlovu.

  The fear in the woman’s eyes returned.

  “Well?”

  She shrugged. “I-I don’t know.”

  Ndlovu looked about, his eyes settling on an axe nearby. He picked it up, breaking off the padlock holding the door in place, Reading pretty certain a simple shove would have brought the entire affair to the ground.

  Ndlovu tossed the axe aside, pulling open the door.

  Reading gasped.

  The stench was overwhelming, rolling out like a liquid, Reading stepping aside and pulling a handkerchief from his pocket then pressing it against his mouth and nose.

  “What the bloody hell is that?”

  Ndlovu frowned, stepping inside. “Rotting flesh.”

  Reading followed as Ndlovu hauled a tarp off a pile in the back, then gasped at the both heartbreaking and infuriating sight. Dozens of elephant tusks and rhino horns were stacked against the back wall, representing the murder of scores of innocent creatures for no other reason than greed and East Asian erections.

  Ndlovu shook his head. “Well, we’ve definitely got the right guy.”

  Reading stepped outside, gulping in several lungsful of air. He looked at the woman. “We need to know where he is.”

  “I d-don’t know.”

  Ndlovu stepped outside, wagging a finger at her. “You’re in a lot of trouble. Cooperate, and I might just leave you out of this.”