“Well, I was watching a movie the other day, Catch Me If You Can, and, well, it gave me an idea.”
“What?” asked Tommy, grabbing another serving of nachos.
“Well, you need us—”
Acton cut her off. “Let me stop you right there. We need Tommy, not you.”
Mai squared her shoulders. “Where he goes, I go.”
Tommy grinned. “She loves me.”
Laura wagged a finger. “Nuh-uh. There’s no way you’re both coming.”
Mai regarded Laura, motioning toward Acton. “Would you let him go anywhere that might be dangerous without you?”
Laura frowned. “That’s not exactly a fair comparison. I’ve got training for these situations.”
“Yes, but what are you asking of him? You need him to help on the tech side of things, not out fighting bad guys, right?”
“Your point?”
“Well, we just need to be in a hotel room, right? I mean, Tommy doesn’t need to actually be in front of the computer, does he?”
Tommy nodded. “That’s true, actually. Doc, if you were at the computer, I could give you a device to install that would use the local cellular network to allow me access. Cell coverage might be spotty outside the cities, but you said he lives in the capital, so it should be fine there for local connections and stable enough for me to help you from a stationary location. I wouldn’t need to be in the field.”
Acton chewed his cheek for a moment, his head bobbing slowly as he regarded the young man. And he was a man. He had matured rapidly over the past year, thanks in no small part to his relationship with Mai. Yet he still thought of Mai, and now Tommy, more as his children than adults. Since she had helped them in Vietnam and been forced into exile, they had become very close with her, and now Tommy as an extension of that. And the fact they couldn’t have children of their own had both of them latching onto them in a perhaps too paternalistic fashion.
They were young adults, old enough to make their own decisions.
And mistakes.
He couldn’t keep treating them like children that needed his protection.
Yet he also didn’t need to enable them.
He sighed, turning to Laura. “What do you think?”
“I think they should both stay here. What if Arban really is in trouble and has been caught? Like you said, they might have his phone. They could be waiting for us. We could walk off that plane and be targets.”
“All the more reason to take us with you,” said Mai.
Laura eyed her. “How do you figure that? You’d be targets too.”
Mai smiled. “You never let me tell you my idea.”
8 |
Tangut Empire, Western Xia August 17, 1227 AD
Fear gripped Princess Khatun as a group of women bathed her in preparation for what was to be a ‘great honor’ if they were to be believed. The very notion disgusted her, and what lay ahead terrified her. She was overwhelmed with grief, her stomach churning with the images of her parents’ death, the beheadings of her brothers, and the impending rapes of her sisters.
Yet she hid her terror.
She hid her sorrow.
She wouldn’t give these people the satisfaction.
Yet these women weren’t to blame. They were slaves, like she soon would be. What would her life be after tonight? She had no intention of pleasing the murderous barbarian in his bedchambers. Whatever he did to her tonight would be against her will, from beginning to end. She would not give him any of the satisfaction he desired.
And when it was all over, and he was done with her, legend had it she would never see him again, as he preferred to change his partners nightly, unless one of his wives were accompanying him.
He’s a pig.
With her mind preoccupied with her fate and that of her sisters, it took her a moment to realize those who had been attending to her had stepped back. She glanced down and gasped at the sheer robes she now wore, the finest of silks adorning her body, silks so thin they left little to the imagination.
“Now for your hair,” said one of the women.
Khatun was guided into a chair and she closed her eyes as two women styled her hair in a manner she was certain was designed to please her rapist. Before long they were done, and she was shown the end result in a polished copper mirror.
She hated that she looked beautiful.
“You are ready.”
She shook her head and rose. “Not yet. Where are my things?”
“What?”
“The things I was wearing when you brought me here.”
The woman pointed at a table behind her and Khatun stepped over to it, selecting an item of jewelry that had been a gift from her father. She slid it into her hair. “Now I am ready.”
The woman shook her head. “The Khan forbids any jewelry that he doesn’t provide.”
“The Khan wants me to please him, does he not?”
The woman frowned. “Of course.”
“Then as a Tangut princess, I must have this one item. It was a gift from my father, and should you not permit me to wear it, I will make it clear to the Khan why I am unable to please him.”
The woman’s eyes bulged, and she was about to say something when a roar erupted from the other side of the draped wall of the massive tent they were in.
“Send her, now!”
Her attendants bowed deeply as they retreated, the woman in charge pointing at a heavy curtain that hung nearby, marking the entrance to the Khan’s bedchambers.
And her impending rape.
9 |
Beidaihe, China Present Day
CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane walked out of the ocean and onto the beach as naked as the day he was born, an unfortunate incident with some coral tearing off his swim trunks, and a wicked unexpected undertow carrying him off course. Heads swiveled as a ripple of shock spread among those enjoying the sun. He walked over to a young woman, her mouth agape, her eyes locked on his nether region, a towel gripped in her hand.
“May I?” he asked in perfect Mandarin.
She nodded and handed him the towel, which he wrapped around his waist.
Eliciting a slew of groans from scores of women.
And a few men.
He continued to stride through the sun worshippers, most already ignoring him as the show was now over. He stepped inside a beachside restaurant and approached one of the staff.
“I’m sorry, but all of my belongings were stolen when I was swimming. Can I use your phone?”
The young woman’s eyes bulged and she bowed out several apologies as she led him to a phone. He thanked her then dialed his old buddy, Chan Chao.
“Where the hell are you?”
Kane glanced around. “Not where I’m supposed to be.”
“Where are you?”
“I think Beidaihe.”
“That’s a public beach.”
“Yup. Can you pick me up? I’m naked.”
“They inserted you naked?”
“It wasn’t the plan.”
Chan chuckled. “How were your reviews?”
“If it weren’t for the Russian judge, I’d say a solid ten-point-oh.”
“You do love yourself, don’t you?”
“I’m a beautiful specimen. I’m not going to deny it. Just ask your wife.”
“Bah! You can have her. Sit tight, I’ll be there in ten minutes. Try not to get arrested.”
Kane hung up then headed for the parking lot, his feet burning on the asphalt. He spotted Chan arriving a few minutes later. He was about to climb in the passenger seat when Chan pointed a gun at him.
“If your ass so much as touches my leather, I shoot you.” He pointed at a bag in the back. “Your stuff. Get dressed.”
“You don’t think people will notice?” Kane asked as he opened the rear door.
“It’s a beach. Look around you. Lots of people are changing into street clothes. None are hanging their boys out for the world to see, but you’re American. They exp
ect you to be different.”
Kane slipped on a pair of underwear. “I’m sure my balls look no different than an Aussie’s.”
“True, but all you white guys look alike to us. You just sound different.”
He perched on the edge of the rear seat and pulled on some socks then pants. “Now, when you say we all look alike, do you mean our faces, or our balls?”
Chan roared with laughter. “Both!”
Kane finished buttoning up his shirt, filled his pockets with the accouterments of being a man and a spy, then put on the CIA issued watch. He entered a coded sequence to activate it for his personal ID, then frowned when an electric pulse surged through his arm indicating a secure message.
He climbed in the passenger seat, once again ready to join polite society, and Chan slammed the car in gear, guiding them back to the hotel. “Why the insertion? Normally you just come in using your cover.”
“They don’t want me on any airport cameras.”
“Why?”
“I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”
Chan grunted. “Please, put me out of my misery. My wife’s on hormone replacement therapy. She’s as horny as a teenager.” He eyed Kane. “When you’re done, could you swing by and take one for the team?”
Kane laughed as he logged into the phone Chan had provided, accessing his secure messaging app. “Careful. Once she’s met Little Dylan, she might not want you anymore.”
Chan stared at him. “I’ll give you fifty grand if you can make that happen.”
Kane frowned as he read the message from his old college professor, James Acton. They had reestablished contact several years ago, and ever since, he had been forced to save the man’s ass too many times. He didn’t mind. Acton would—and had—done the same for him and his friends on occasion. He simply found it fascinating how much trouble the man got himself into, usually through no fault of his own.
But this time, if he indeed were in trouble, it was his own doing.
“I can’t believe it.”
Chan glanced at him as he guided them through the chaos that was Chinese traffic. “What?”
“Oh, an old friend is running toward the danger again.” He frowned at the timestamp then quickly typed out a message and sent it.
I’ll see what I can find out. Whatever you do, don’t go there. Too dangerous.
“I’ve gotta make a call.” He forwarded Acton’s message to his old high school buddy, Chris Leroux, an Analyst Supervisor at the CIA, then dialed his number. He answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, buddy, did I interrupt anything good?”
Leroux chuckled. “Not this time, Sherrie’s out with Fang. I’m at the office. I was just about to send you a message.”
Kane frowned. “Let me guess. The professors are already in it up to their eyeballs?”
Leroux sighed. “So, you know.”
“I know very little. He sent me a message sometime yesterday about a former Mongolian exchange student that might be in trouble. I’ve forwarded you the info but it’s pretty scant. What have you got?”
“Some Echelon intercepts from Mongolia. Somebody there is very interested in Professor Acton, and already knows he’s about to arrive.”
Kane cursed. “What is it about those two?”
“They keep us employed, I guess.”
Kane grunted. “So do the crazies. I’d rather they stayed home for a change and stopped creating work for us.”
“Like that’s ever going to happen.”
Kane checked his watch. “Look, I’m about to go dark, so I can’t help them. Can I leave this with you?”
“Consider it done.”
“Thanks, buddy. Give Fang a kiss for me.”
Leroux paused. “Umm, I think I’ll let Sherrie do that. Fang’s liable to snap my neck.”
Kane grinned.
He’s probably right.
10 |
Acton/Palmer Residence St. Paul, Maryland
Willem Du Toit disabled the rather primitive alarm then listened to confirm what he already knew. The house was empty. He had watched it from his car for almost an hour, and had seen nothing, and a fake delivery to their mailbox by the door had allowed him to peek inside and see the alarm panel indicating it was enabled.
Meaning the house was indeed empty.
And that was disappointing. He had hoped to show up, put a couple of holes in this Professor Acton after some questioning, then make it appear to be a home invasion gone bad. Now, he would have to search for clues as to where he was, and either go get him, or wait for him.
And waiting could mean hours upon hours of boredom, and if there was one thing he hated, it was being bored.
He slowly strolled through the house, his expert eye taking in every detail, and he frowned at a wedding photo. Acton was married, which meant someone else lived here, and he likely told her about the text message.
Two to kill.
And with every person exposed to that information, the dead pool expanded exponentially.
A pile of mail sat nearby. He picked it up and leafed through it, most of it to James Acton, though several were for Laura Palmer. He pulled out his phone and Googled the two names together, his eyebrows shooting up as he dug deeper.
This could be a problem.
He dialed his boss, Hendrick Stander.
“Yes?”
“It’s Du Toit. We’ve got a problem.”
“What?”
“Professor Acton isn’t home, but he’s married to a woman named Laura Palmer. It turns out she’s rich.”
“How rich?”
“I don’t know. Richie Rich rich. She inherited hundreds of millions when her brother died. He was some sort of tech tycoon who had sold his company. If she’s got that kind of money, then she probably has connections. Killing her and her husband could prove problematic.”
The front door opened and the alarm chirped.
“Someone’s here. I’ll call you back.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket and drew his weapon, entering the hallway to find a man standing there. A man who wasn’t Acton.
The new arrival’s eyes bulged, his jaw dropping. “Who the hell are you?”
Du Toit raised his weapon. “Who the hell are you?”
The man raised his hands. “G-Greg Milton. I-I’m a friend of Jim and Laura’s.”
“Why are you here?”
“To-to check on their house while they’re away.”
Du Toit’s eyes narrowed. “Where’d they go?”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Du Toit flicked his weapon, indicating for Milton to follow him into the living room. “I’m asking the questions here.” He shoved him into a seat. “Now, where’d they go?”
Milton said nothing.
He pressed his gun against Milton’s forehead. “Is the answer really worth dying for?”
Milton trembled, still saying nothing. Du Toit pressed harder and Milton’s shoulders slumped. “Mongolia.”
Du Toit cursed then pulled out his phone, hitting redial.
Stander immediately answered. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve got a guy here named Greg Milton. Claims to be a friend of Acton’s. He says they’ve gone to Mongolia.”
Stander cursed. “Find out everything he knows. And keep him alive. We may be able to use him as leverage.”
“Will do.” He ended the call then turned to Milton with a sneer. “Now, how about you and I have a conversation.” He tugged at the cuffs of his gloves. “The hard way.”
11 |
Approaching Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
Clarice couldn’t believe her bad luck. She understood part of her job was to help with the trainees, but never in her short career had she been assigned two.
And two who seemed entirely inept, as if they hadn’t even taken the basic training of being a flight attendant on a private charter.
It was infuriating.
A
nd she had little doubt what was going on.
They were friends of somebody.
They had to be. It was the only explanation for why they could be so unqualified, yet be here with her shuttling two obviously wealthy, despite all outward appearances, clients on their way to Mongolia.
Mongolia? Why of all places would you want to go there?
She had been there once before and hated it, though when she got the urgent call and an offer of time-and-a-half, she jumped at it despite her misgivings. Private charters were usually scheduled at least a day in advance, but this had been a last-minute request, so a premium was being paid. The two passengers had money, though were dressed no better than she might on a casual day lounging at home.
She immediately liked them.
Too often the rich were so full of themselves, especially the entertainers, that she could barely tolerate her job. Usually, the business people were decent, though some of them, especially the spouses and children, thought you were mere chattel, and treated you as such.
But not these two.
That was why she wanted to give them a pleasant experience, and these two morons had made that difficult the entire flight.
A flight thankfully over, the plane now landing.
Her one time here had lasted only six hours. It was a shithole with nothing to do, one of the most boring six hours she had ever spent, not even her phone working.
And this time would be worse.
Normally the plane would refuel then head off for the next client pickup. After all, this was a lease-share plane. This time, however, they would be remaining in Mongolia until the clients’ business was done, and no definite departure time had been provided beyond, “It will probably just be a day or two.”
Probably.
And a day or two in Mongolia would feel like a month in Dubai.
Broad smiles were exchanged as the clients disembarked, then the thankless task of cleanup began, though with these two passengers, that meant barely anything. It wasn’t like Guns N’ Roses in their heyday had just spent half a day partying here.
That would have been fun!
The Tomb of Genghis Khan Page 3