Raging Sun (A James Acton Thriller, #16) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Though things tended to go wrong in a firefight.

  Even at sea.

  “This is United States Navy vessel USS Shiloh. Negative on your kind request. Our country does not recognize your claims to these waters, and are conducting naval exercises with our Japanese allies. You are welcome to join us should you want to.” There was a pause. “Would you like to play the good guys, or the bad guys? Over.”

  Yamada stifled a chuckle.

  “Missile launch! Missile launch!”

  Yamada leapt from his chair, the distinct white plume of a missile rushing into the sky from one of the Russian ships unmistakable. “Activate counter measures!”

  His men leapt to action, warning alarms blaring as the missile streaked over the American vessels, racing toward his ship. The thunder of the Phalanx Close In Weapons System belching rounds at 3600 feet per second filled the bridge, a wall of lead tearing apart the missile only thirty meters from them, the blast wave rocking the entire vessel, one of the windows splintering.

  “Prepare to return fire!”

  “Sir! The Russian captain is signaling it was a misfire!”

  Bullshit.

  Yamada peered through his binoculars at the Russian vessels. “Have they launched anything else?”

  “Negative, sir!”

  Yamada lowered his binoculars. “Inform the Russian captain that if we detect another misfire, we will blow them out of the water.”

  59

  Security Station, Kashira, Russian Federation

  “A drone?”

  Dymovsky pressed the phone tighter against his ear, not sure he had heard the officer correctly.

  “Yes, sir, a drone.”

  “Any markings? Is it military?”

  “Negative, sir. It appears to be civilian. Small, nothing fancy.”

  “And it was just hovering near your checkpoint.”

  “Yes, sir. When we spotted it we shot it down.”

  Dymovsky raised his eyebrows slightly, a small drone in the air a difficult shot. Most likely a lucky shot. “Good shooting, Lieutenant. Have it sent to Moscow immediately for analysis. Use a helicopter, we need it fast.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Was there any unusual traffic at the time?”

  “No, sir, nothing out of the ordinary. We’ve held all vehicles trying to pass and are searching them thoroughly. If they try to come through here, we’ll catch them. The criminals will not pass through this checkpoint.”

  “Very good, Lieutenant. I will make sure Moscow knows of the excellent job you are doing.”

  “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

  Dymovsky could almost hear the heels click.

  He ended the call, staring out the window of the checkpoint, Vitaly Orlov having been sent on to Moscow as he waited for a lead.

  And he just got it.

  It had to be them.

  And if it was, then they were headed south, not west as he had been told. He didn’t believe for a second that he had been lied to. It wasn’t in the character of his prisoners, especially the young man who had taken such a beating. He was definitely telling the truth. Or at least what he thought was the truth. Zorkin had tricked those helping him.

  And it had nearly succeeded.

  He rose, pointing at Filippov.

  “Redirect all our efforts south. Now!”

  60

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Leroux frowned, the feed lost. “Do we have eyes on that area?”

  Child shook his head. “ETA three minutes for the next bird to be in range.”

  “Show me.”

  The map of Russia he had been staring at for the better part of a day zoomed out slightly, a green cone rapidly moving toward the area showing the coverage of the spy satellite about to pass over the region.

  Leroux walked toward the map. “Show me all the routes they could take from their last known location, assuming they turned away from the checkpoint. There’s no way they’re staying on that road.”

  “Give me a second,” replied Tong, expertly working her station. Routes began to appear, snaking out from the last known location.

  Too many routes.

  “Eliminate anything that doesn’t eventually head south.”

  “Wouldn’t they try a different direction?” asked Child. “I mean, they can’t go south now. There’s no way this wasn’t reported to Moscow.”

  Leroux shook his head. “Zorkin definitely knew he’d be running into a checkpoint. He’s planned for this.”

  “They could still make for the Black Sea. That’s not too far.”

  “No, too well patrolled. He’s definitely heading south. That leaves Abkhazia, Georgia or Azerbaijan. Care to take a guess as to which one?”

  Child leaned forward. “Abkhazia is pro-Russian and gives them access to the Black Sea only. If they’re staying off the water then they’d have to go through Georgia anyway to get to Turkey.”

  Tong pointed at the map. “Azerbaijan is farther from their current location, and it only gives them access to the Caspian Sea, which is less helpful than the Black Sea, Georgia again, Armenia, which again is just taking them around Georgia, and Iran, which they’re definitely not heading for.”

  “So where do we think they’re going?”

  A round of Georgia’s filled the room.

  Leroux smiled. “Exactly what I was thinking. There’s no reason at this point for Zorkin to change his plan. He’s arranged something. There was no way he was going to just drive across the border—any border—using the main highway. And besides”—he pointed at the map—“they can reach Georgia in about an hour if they can find a route.”

  “Updating that now, sir.” Tong motioned toward the screen, the non-southern routes slowly disappearing.

  “Show me routes that would have matched up if they had kept going south on their original route. We have to assume he was going to turn off at some point, just not at this point.”

  Tong hammered at her keyboard, more routes disappearing.

  Then there was nothing.

  “Huh.” He turned back to Tong. “Is that an error?”

  Tong shook her head. “No, sir, there’s nothing leading to the border, just a few small roads that essentially end in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Then they’re going off-road. And he would have planned for that.” He pointed at the display. “Let’s get a look at the terrain a little closer. See if there’s anything Google missed.”

  Child grinned at the joke, knowing full-well they were using military maps, far more accurate in these areas than anything Google might produce. “Pretty mountainous.”

  Leroux agreed. “Yup. If they’re planning on going through the mountains then that means local guides.”

  Child cursed. “Isn’t that dude like seventy-five or something? How’s he going to hike through the mountains?”

  Leroux shrugged. “No idea. And remember, Professor Palmer was shot only a few months ago and underwent major surgery. I’m not sure how well she can travel either.”

  “But Zorkin would know that, wouldn’t he? He’d try to arrange something that would address both those situations?”

  Leroux sat down, the satellite coming online. “He’d know about himself, but may not know about Professor Palmer.” He jumped up, pointing at the top of the screen. “What’s that?”

  “There’s a chopper inbound toward that checkpoint,” replied Tong.

  Leroux looked at the checkpoint, a long line of vehicles backed up, the Russians obviously searching for the owner of the drone. “Search pattern?”

  “Negative. Looks like it’s heading directly for the checkpoint.”

  “Could be picking up the drone to take it to Moscow,” suggested Child.

  “Sir, you’ve got to see this.” Tong hit several keys, the satellite image changing.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “This is Budyonnovsk Air Base. It looks like they’re launching everything they’ve go
t.”

  Leroux muttered a curse as he watched several helicopters lifting off, more powering up. He shook his head. “There’s no way they’re getting away from this. Not without help.” He snapped his fingers. “Get me Delta.”

  61

  Ten miles from Georgian Border, Russian Federation

  Acton grunted. “Something tells me this wasn’t part of your plan, otherwise you’d have had an SUV delivered.” His jaw rattled as Zorkin navigated along what might be at best a goat path.

  “It was supposed to be a Jeep, but what was I supposed to do? Refuse the vehicle? It wasn’t like Avis was dropping off a rental.”

  Acton slammed on his imaginary brake with his foot as a particularly large pothole suddenly appeared. “Just be thankful they didn’t bring you a Jag.”

  “It would have broken down before they delivered it,” giggled Laura.

  Zorkin chuckled. “If they did make it, the electrical system would have been fried the moment the drone took a picture of it.”

  “We would have been able to cruise right through the border, though,” said Acton as he gripped the dash. “There’s no way they would have believed we’d be stupid enough to try and escape in one.” The car jerked hard to the right as a tire caught in a rut. “Do we have to go so fast? We’re going to break an axle or burst a tire.”

  “I know, I know, but this entire area is going to be flooded with aircraft shortly, all looking for us. We need to get to the border as fast as we can.”

  Acton stared at the map on the tablet. “At this rate we’re at least half an hour away. There’s no way we’re making it in time.”

  Zorkin shook his head, pointing at the foothills ahead. “We only need to reach those hills.”

  “Why?” asked Laura. “What’s there?”

  Acton waved the tablet. “It’s not the border.”

  Zorkin swerved to the left. “No, but it is where we get rid of this damned car.”

  Acton exchanged a surprised look with Laura. “And then what? Walk?”

  Zorkin grinned. “Look at me. What do you think?”

  62

  Diyarbakir Airbase, Turkey

  “Do we have clearance for the op in Georgia?”

  “Negative, Zero-One, but we do have permission for a flyover.”

  Dawson grunted at Langley’s response. “So a HALO entry. Do you have coordinates yet?”

  “Negative. We’ll send them as soon as we have them.”

  Dawson shook his head, the lack of intel frustrating, though he understood it. This was an almost blind op. They had no way to communicate with the professors, with only occasional visuals. At this point, it was a “best guess” game.

  But a High Altitude Low Opening jump to a best guess set of coordinates was never a good idea.

  “Do we at least know if we’re heading into the Russian controlled area? South Ossetia?”

  “Negative. All indications are that they will be crossing the border between Abkhazia and South Ossetia.”

  Dawson rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s one piece of good news, at least, though I doubt we can expect the Russians to respect the Georgian border.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. I’ll update you as soon as I have more. Control out.”

  Dawson pulled off his comm, Niner already pulling up a map of the area on his tablet. “A HALO jump into those mountains? Are they nuts?” He pointed to the much smoother foothills the professors were currently in. “We could do a HAHO jump just at the border, get them, hoof them out and get a helo extraction three feet inside the border. Hell, let’s just take a helo and get them!”

  Dawson shook his head. “If we crossed the Russian border, it would be considered an act of war, and our navy is now involved in the Japanese conflict, so we can’t risk any provocation.”

  “But why not a helo extraction at the border?” asked Atlas, his rumbling voice so deep Dawson almost swore there were Jurassic Park style ripples in his glass of water.

  “No can do. The Georgians are apparently sick and tired of having their airspace violated by their not-so-friendly neighbors, and have decided that pushing back against us is the safest way to try and regain some hair on their cropped balls.”

  Spock cocked an eyebrow. “Colorful.”

  Dawson grinned. “Thank you.”

  “So HALO is the only way, fine. I assume the Georgians don’t know about that part.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  Niner tossed the tablet onto the table. “And what if they shadow our plane? Won’t they get suspicious when five lithe and one bulbous”—he jerked a thumb at Atlas—“forms fall out the back like aeroturds?”

  “That’s a risk we’re going to have to take,” replied Dawson. “I doubt they’d do anything, even if they spotted us. There’s no way they’re going to start shooting at what they know are American soldiers. They’ll be pissed, but they’re not going to start shooting.”

  “You hope,” said Jimmy.

  Dawson shrugged. “Yup. That’s about all we’ve got at this point.”

  Niner exhaled loudly. “It’s not the Georgians that worry me. It’s that damned terrain we’re landing on. Those are mountains. Unless we can find some sort of plateau to land on, we could be looking at some significant injuries, then we’re not only trying to get the doc and his lady out, we’re hauling one or more of our own as well.” He looked at Atlas. “If you break an ankle, I’m leaving you for the wolves.”

  Atlas eyeballed him. “And if it’s you, I’ll just put you right up here”—he patted his shoulder—“so the little girl you are can get a nice view.”

  Niner jabbed a finger at him. “You’re jumping first.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want something big and soft to land on.”

  Atlas flexed his right arm, a ridiculous bicep bulging. He gave it a kiss. “You might want to reconsider. This is harder than those mountains.”

  Jagger leaned over and gave it a squeeze before looking at Niner. “Yup. I’d definitely reconsider.”

  63

  The Kremlin, Moscow, Russian Federation

  Sasaki forced a smile for the cameras as he shook hands with his Russian counterpart, the strobe-like effect nearly blinding. The journey had been intimidating as expected, their plane escorted by fighter jets the moment they entered Russian airspace, his pilot complaining they were too close, the response always to move even closer for a few moments before banking away rapidly.

  They were playing games.

  And of course it didn’t end in the skies. The moment the plane came to a stop on the tarmac security personnel surrounded it, their weapons trained on the plane, not the other way around, despite Russian assurances they were there for the protection of their “honored” guests.

  At least they had let the limousine provided by the Japanese embassy travel unscathed, the Russians respecting the sanctuary provided by diplomatic plates.

  “I think that is enough,” said the Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Ivan Maksimov. He held out a hand, directing Sasaki to a side door. Sasaki gave one last smile to the cameras then strode through the door, his delegation and the Russians following, the door shut, the mayhem outside immediately silenced.

  “I thought we had agreed this meeting would be held in the strictest of confidence.”

  Maksimov shrugged, taking a seat at the center of one side of the conference table. “There must have been a leak. I’m quite certain it wasn’t from our side.”

  The very idea was ridiculous. If there had been a leak, who let the photographers inside? He decided it was best to forget what had just transpired and realize that these negotiations were going to be even more difficult than expected, it clear the Russians were angry and as a result, up to their usual childish antics.

  Maksimov held his hands out to his sides, playing the magnanimous host. “Now, how may we help the Japanese people today?”

  Sasaki kept his expression neutral though his heart was pounding with anger. “You know
why we are here. We want our property back.”

  Maksimov’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what property is that?”

  And the games continue.

  “Anything removed from our sovereign territory.”

  “If you are referring to the Kuril Islands, that is Russian territory, and you are currently illegally occupying it. In order for any negotiations to begin, you must remove any personnel you have stationed there, and remove your naval blockade.”

  Sasaki took long, slow breaths during the bombastic display, controlling his desire to drop kick the man into the next room.

  His wrist spasmed.

  He ignored it, instead smiling slightly. “While we respect the Russian position, the international community does not recognize your claim to the Chishima Islands. We have not disputed it aggressively in the hopes that a negotiated settlement could be reached, however after seventy years, it is clear that this will never be possible.”

  Maksimov’s face held the bemused smile of someone watching a child deliver a book report he didn’t understand. “Something has changed, I think. We find bodies of your soldiers from the Great Patriotic War, return those bodies with full military honors, and days later you invade our territory.” He leaned forward, his eyes piercing. “What is it that has you so concerned?” He sat back in his chair. “Something has changed.”

  Sasaki glanced at his aide, Etsuko, who nodded slightly. He trusted her, she an excellent, capable assistant, her levelheadedness always appreciated, though neither had before tried to negotiate their country out of a war.

  It was time.

  “You took something from those islands.”

  Maksimov steepled his fingers. “What did we take?”

  Sasaki felt his chest tighten, his cheeks flush. “Do you deny you took something?”

  Maksimov smiled slightly. “I deny nothing. I merely ask what it is you think we took.”

  Sasaki sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, the shame of having to admit the great dishonor to a man of no honor, almost overwhelming. “The Imperial Regalia.”