Sherrie’s phone rang, attached to the car’s Bluetooth. She answered.
“Hello?”
“Status?”
Sherrie winked at Fang, both recognizing Chris Leroux’s voice. “Is that any way to greet the love of your life?”
“Sorry. Hi, darling, how’s your day?”
“Oh, it was great until my slave-driving boyfriend called and asked if I could go save the world on my day off.”
“Yeah, I hear he’s a real bastard. You should trade him in for someone else.”
Sherrie executed another hairpin turn. “I’ve considered it, but nobody rocks my world in the sack like he does.”
Leroux’s throat cleared. “Umm, you’re on speaker in the ops center.”
Sherrie roared with laughter. “Hi everyone!”
A round of responses had Fang giggling and she was certain the shy Leroux cringing.
“Now that we’ve got our sex life on public record, anything new?”
“Negative. We’ve got no further cellphone activity from the house except for some brief Internet access over a cell connection. It looks like someone Googled Dean Milton, so I guess he wanted to know who he has.” There was a pause. “I’m concerned he’s being tortured. The article the person read was from the University’s paper about his recovery.”
Sherrie became all business, any trace of the earlier frivolity gone. “You don’t think…”
“If they want information, I can’t think of a better way to get it.”
Sherrie pressed on the accelerator a little harder. “We’ll be there in five minutes. ROEs?”
“You’re both unsanctioned. Capturing the guy alive with no shots fired would be the ideal.”
Fang exchanged a glance with Sherrie. “And if he has other plans?”
“Do what you need to do. We’ll clean up the mess later.”
Fang reached into the back seat and retrieved two suppressors from the bag. She held them up, giving Sherrie an inquisitive look.
She nodded.
If they did fire, the last thing they needed was the neighbors calling the police. And kneecapping a guy was still capturing him alive, so technically not a violation of their Rules of Engagement.
Fang took another look at her nails and sighed. “I really was looking forward to a girls’ night out with no broken nails.
Sherrie shrugged. “We can still go out. We’ll just have a story to tell.”
Leroux cleared his throat. “Umm, ladies, you do know you can’t tell anyone about this?”
Sherrie groaned. “Aww, but how else are we going to have hot guys buy us drinks all night?”
There was a pause. “I think we need to have a talk when you get home.”
17 |
Namjiliin Residence Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
Acton checked in both directions, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, then knocked on one of the many doors of the cinderblock rowhouse. A young woman, her eyes red, answered, peering through a sliver of the doorframe, clearly terrified. She said something in Mongolian.
Acton put on his best smile, though he should have ceded his position to Laura. She was better at these things. “Are you Badma Namjiliin?”
She nodded, her eyes widening even more with fear.
“My name is Professor Jim Acton. We spoke on the phone yesterday.”
The door yanked open and she flung herself into his arms, sobbing her thanks. Acton held her, then slowly guided her back inside and out of sight of any overly curious neighbors. He extricated himself, handing her off to Laura who took care of the introductions and led her into the home. Acton took one last look out the door before closing it, pausing as something caught his attention.
A vehicle pulling in down the road.
It’s just a local.
He pushed the door shut then joined Laura and Badma in the living room, taking a seat across from them. “So, I take it you still haven’t heard from him?”
She shook her head, wiping her nose on a handkerchief. “No. Nothing. I’ve been calling everyone I can think of, but nobody is taking my calls. It’s all very strange.”
Acton pursed his lips. If calls weren’t being taken or returned, it suggested Arban’s government employers might be involved. “You said he had a computer?”
She nodded, pointing to a rickety table tucked into the corner of the room. Acton rose, walking over to the computer, shaking his head.
“This looks old.”
“It is. It was surplus from the office.”
Acton searched for a USB port, finding none. “Uh oh.”
Laura joined him. “What?”
“This thing is so old, it doesn’t have a USB port.”
“Didn’t Tommy give you something in case it didn’t?”
Acton sighed. “He did. I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to use it. Plugging something into a port is one thing. Installing new hardware is something entirely different.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “I have faith in you.”
Acton set to work, opening up the computer with the toolkit Tommy had provided him, then installing the PCI controller card. It was relatively painless, and within minutes he was up and running. He plugged Tommy’s device into the newly installed USB port, connected his phone, then turned to Laura. “I think we’re good to go. Give Tommy a shout, let him know we’re all set.”
Laura dialed then put the call on speaker.
“Hello?”
“It’s us. I had to install that USB card. I hope I did it right.”
“Is your phone connected?”
“Yes.”
“Then give me a minute. I’m dialing now.”
Acton’s phone rang then went silent, the screen flashing a moment later.
“Good work, Doc. I’m connected. It’ll take me a little bit to get past his password, but this is pretty ancient stuff, so shouldn’t be too…okay, I’m in.”
The door burst open behind them, two men rushing in. Badma screamed as Acton reached for a nearby lamp. He grabbed it and threw it at the nearest man, knocking the gun out of his hand as Laura kicked the couch toward the second, shoving him off balance. Acton surged forward, grabbing the dropped gun off the floor then pistol-whipped his man as Laura leaped onto the couch then across the cushions, snap-kicking hers in the head, knocking him out cold. She collected his weapon, then slapped a hand over the still screaming Badma.
“It’s over.”
Badma fell silent, nodding, though her entire body still shook.
“Do you know them?”
Badma shook her head. “No.”
“Are you okay? What’s going on?”
It was Tommy, still on speaker. Acton turned toward Laura’s phone, tossed aside in the excitement. “We’re okay, Tommy, just give us a minute.” He stared at the computer. “But keep working. We might not have much time.” He turned to Badma. “Do you have any rope? Something we can tie them up with?”
She stared at him blankly for a moment. “Umm, no, I don’t think so.”
Acton bent over and yanked the nearest man’s belt off, binding his hands as Laura kept a weapon trained on them both. He tied the other up with his belt, then took a blanket from the couch and bound their feet together and to each other.
Tires screeched outside and Laura rushed to the window.
“Four men with guns.”
Badma’s eyes bulged. “Oh no, what do we do now?”
Laura grabbed her by the arm, heading to the back of the house. “We get the hell out of here.”
Stander cursed at the sight of the company car sitting empty. “I told those bastards to wait for backup. They better not have screwed this up.”
One of his men, Stefan van Graan, shrugged. “Myburg can handle a couple of professors.”
Stander grunted as he drew his weapon. “I’d hope so, but two on three isn’t as guaranteed as six on three. We know almost nothing about these professors except that she’s rich enough to be able to take a private jet here o
n a couple of hours’ notice. Beyond that, who the hell knows?”
He had people looking into things, but beyond what was publicly known, that they were two well-respected archaeologists, he was American, she was British, and both had been involved in a couple of international incidents as innocent bystanders, they were black boxes.
Nicholas Myburg and his partner had been assigned airport watch the moment they had found out from Du Toit that the professors were heading here. Fortunately, they had found out just in time, and Myburg had spotted the professors the moment they arrived. They had tracked them to their hotel, then here, where they were supposed to wait for reinforcements.
Myburg has always been a bit of a hothead.
If he screwed this up, he’d be off the team. Permanently. If he cost him their payday, he’d be off this earth. Permanently.
Van Graan readied his weapon as they approached the doorway of Arban’s house. “Has Du Toit found out anything?”
Stander shook his head. “His last update indicated the Milton guy was spilling everything, but he doesn’t know much. We’ll use him as leverage over the professors. If they’re friends like he says, they’ll give us the names of everyone they’ve spoken to.”
“And then?”
“We eliminate them all. The client doesn’t want there to be any chance word spreads.”
“Harsh.”
Stander shrugged. “Big money.” He frowned at the shattered door jamb. “Remember, no shooting. We need them alive.”
“And if they shoot back?”
“Kneecaps. Always the kneecaps.”
Van Graan cocked an ear. “Sounds quiet. Myburg must have them.”
Stander pushed open the door and stepped inside the humble home, no better or worse than the strip of residences that lay to either side, the worn plaster chipped away by years of neglect and harsh winters.
Then cursed at what he saw.
Acton grabbed his cellphone, still plugged into Tommy’s device, and hid it behind the machine. “Tommy, keep doing what you’re doing. We’re leaving here. Now. I’m turning the monitor off.” He pressed the button then headed for the backdoor and into the alleyway behind the block of rowhouses where Laura was waiting with Badma.
“Do you have a friend you can stay with nearby?”
Badma pointed to their right. “That way.”
Laura grabbed her by the arm and herded the trembling woman toward their possible refuge as Acton brought up the rear, his weapon held tight to his side to minimize the chance of a neighbor seeing it.
Badma eased up on their sprint half a dozen units down, then gently knocked on a door. It opened a moment later, a young woman answering, a baby held in each arm. A rapid conversation took place in Mongolian as the suspicious woman eyed the two Westerners.
Acton was about to insist with the gun and sort it out later, when the woman stepped aside, beckoning them to enter. They rushed in and Acton peered down the alleyway then jerked back, cursing as he prayed the man who had just stepped out from Badma’s back entrance hadn’t spotted him. He gently shut then locked the door.
“Badma, I want you to stay here until you hear from us. Do you have a phone?”
She shook her head then turned to their hostess, asking something. The woman pointed to the wall, a landline installed. Laura pulled out her phone and stepped over to the ancient device, entering the number written on it into her contacts list.
“Got it.”
Acton turned to Badma. “Stay here, out of sight. Make sure your friend knows not to tell anyone you’re here.”
Laura jotted her number down on a notepad by the phone, tearing off the sheet and handing it to Badma. “If you need to reach us, this is my number. If you think you won’t be safe here, go to the Kempinski Hotel Khan Palace and ask for Thomas Granger’s room. Can you remember that name? I don’t want to write it down. Thomas Granger.”
Badma nodded. “Thomas Granger. Yes, I think I can remember.”
“Good.”
Somebody hammered on the rear door and Badma nearly cried out, thankfully slapping two hands over her mouth as Acton led her to the front room. Their hostess put the two kids on the floor and checked to make sure everyone was out of sight before opening the door.
“Sorry to bother—”
Their hostess tore into the man, screaming at him in Mongolian, a language their pursuer evidently had no knowledge of. The tirade continued for a good minute before the door slammed shut. She stepped into the living area, a smile on her face. “He not know what hit him.”
Acton chuckled and Badma hugged the woman hard.
Laura was grinning. “I didn’t know you spoke English.”
The woman stared at her, clearly having no clue what she had just said.
Badma filled them in. “She doesn’t. She just knows some phrases from the movies.”
Acton peered out the front window then jerked back into the corner as two men came into view. He risked another peek and watched as they jogged past. He repositioned and spotted two others heading the opposite direction.
Suggesting they had no idea where they were hiding.
And it presented an opportunity.
“We have to get to our car.”
“Shouldn’t we just hole up here? Wait for them to leave?”
Acton shook his head. “No, they know we’re on foot, and they could be calling in reinforcements. In the next few minutes, there could be a dozen of them searching for us, and the fact they barged in with guns tells me they don’t care about breaking any laws.”
Laura frowned. “What did you have in mind?”
“Badma stays here, you and I get to the car and hightail it out of here.”
“And if they see us?”
Acton thought for a moment as he peered back down the street, then examined the room.
And smiled.
He stepped over to an open sewing basket, the tools of the trade neatly organized. He grabbed an awl and held it up. “Can I borrow this?”
Badma translated and their hostess nodded.
Acton tossed the car keys to Laura. “You drive.”
Stander stopped at the end of the street, his hands on his hips, staring at the empty field in front of him. If the professors had come this way, there was nowhere to hide.
“What do you think?” asked Myburg.
He glared at the imbecile. “I think you should have followed your orders.”
Myburg appeared sufficiently contrite. “Sorry, boss, I thought we could handle it.” His eyes widened. “You should have seen them. It was like out of a movie. They’ve definitely had Special Forces training.”
Stander grunted. “That’s ridiculous. Two professors? You screwed up, and now you’re making up excuses.” He turned around. “Let’s go house to house. They have to be here.”
“And if someone calls the cops?”
“What do you think is in those thick brown envelopes we deliver each week to police headquarters? It’s ‘look the other way’ money. What the hell?” He paused, not believing what he was seeing—two figures walking out of a house halfway down the street.
Two Caucasians.
A man and a woman.
And there was no doubt who it was.
He drew his weapon and sprinted silently toward them.
Laura unlocked the car and hopped inside, starting the engine immediately as Acton climbed in the passenger seat. She cursed as she checked her rearview mirror, putting the stick shift into first as Acton glanced over his shoulder at the two men racing toward them.
“Let’s go!” he urged, rolling down his window.
She popped the clutch and they surged forward before she hit the brakes beside the vehicle that had delivered the two men he was certain had followed them from the airport. He tried to reach the tire through the window but couldn’t. He cursed then stepped out and jammed the awl into the rear tire, then jogged forward as Laura eased the car ahead, repeating the action on the front tire, both immediately s
agging to the ground. He sprinted ahead, repeating his efforts on the larger SUV that had delivered the four new hostiles, then hopped in the car, Laura hammering on the gas the moment his foot was clear of the hardpacked dirt road, leaving a cloud of dust behind them, obscuring any shot the men might have had.
He pointed ahead, two more rushing out in front of them, their weapons raised.
Laura cursed as she geared down. “Forward or back?”
“Go right through them!”
She floored it, pressing them both against their seats. A shot rang out, piercing the windshield as they both ducked. Acton popped up to take a look and saw both men diving out of the way. He turned in his seat to see them scrambling to their feet, their weapons rising.
“Turn!”
Laura cranked the wheel and they skidded onto another street, safely out of sight. She took two more quick turns, then eased up on the gas. Slightly. Even on a Sunday drive she was heavy on the metal. “Where to now? Tommy and Mai?”
Acton shook his head. “No, I don’t want to put them at risk. What I want to know, though, is how they knew how to find us?”
Laura frowned. “They must be the ones who have Arban, which means they have his phone. They must have seen the text.”
Acton sighed. “You’re right. I’m probably in his contacts, and the rest is easy enough. But how’d they pick us up here? They’d have to have known we were coming in on a private jet, and when. You can’t get that from Google.”
Laura shrugged. “These guys seem pretty serious. They were packing some expensive hardware.”
Acton agreed. “Yeah, and they were all Caucasian.” He cursed. “I should have taken their wallets when I had the chance.”
“Their friends showed up pretty quick. There wasn’t exactly time. I’m guessing mercenaries, though.”
“Agreed. And there were six of them. If someone hired that many, with that kind of hardware, with an obvious willingness to break the law, then they must be connected.”
“Yes, but what could be so valuable in Mongolia to need that kind of muscle? This is a poor country. Very poor. And you saw how Arban is living. There’s no way he’s some drug kingpin or smuggler. So, what could he be involved in that has expensive mercenaries after him?”
The Tomb of Genghis Khan Page 5