“And what is that?”
“They are our most ancient and precious relics.”
Maksimov laughed, looking at the others in his delegation who joined in. “Relics? Trinkets? That is what this is about!”
Sasaki kept calm. Outwardly. “These are not just trinkets. His Majesty the Emperor must be in possession of them to hold power.”
Maksimov chuckled. “You should have done with your emperor what we did with our Tsar. Your lives would be much simpler.”
Sasaki contained his rage at the offensive insult, it unprecedented in all his years of dealing with foreign governments. Etsuko sucked in a loud breath of anger through her nose, her eyes flaring.
“So you think we have this, what did you call it, Imperial Regalia?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“The bodies you found were of soldiers sent in the final days of the war to hide the relics from the Americans. They were never heard from again. Your discovery shows they obviously reached the islands and were killed by your troops when you illegally occupied them after the surrender.”
“An interesting theory.”
“It is not a theory. Citizens of my country found the relics on Harukaru Island, what you call Kharkar Island, and I was present at their discovery. Your people confiscated them.”
“This is the first I am hearing of this. I’ll be sure to have it looked into. In the meantime, we must insist you withdraw.”
Sasaki squared his shoulders. “Sir, we have no intention of withdrawing until the Imperial Regalia are returned.”
Maksimov said nothing, staring at Sasaki as if sizing up a piece of meat. He finally spoke. “I wonder what your people would think if they knew your emperor held the throne illegitimately.”
Sasaki held his breath for a moment. “They wouldn’t believe you.”
“Perhaps. Though these are different times. I think they would believe it. At the very least they’d demand to see proof he is in possession of these Regalia, or whatever they are called.”
Sasaki ignored what was, unfortunately, probably an accurate supposition. “I have still not heard any denial that you have them in your possession.”
“As I said, I will investigate the matter.”
“I suggest you hurry, otherwise brave men and women will be dying, all for something that means nothing to you.”
Maksimov smiled from half his mouth. “We will not be dying for some trinkets. We will be dying for land that belongs to the Russian people.”
Sasaki played his final card. “If it is land you want, then it is land you will get. When you return the Imperial Regalia. But not before.”
64
Approaching Georgian Border, Russian Federation
“Status report.”
Dymovsky frowned. The deputy minister that had assigned him to the case, the man who held his entire future in his hands, sounded pissed. He still hadn’t been able to piece together what was truly going on here, though he had an idea. The professors were both archaeologists, Orlov was a curator, and his son had mentioned something about a set of relics his father had brought the professors in to see.
Relics that appeared Asian.
And now a delegation had arrived from Japan, no doubt searching for a way to avoid war, a war that made no sense.
Could this all be over some ancient relics?
It made no sense to him, it made no sense that a country as weak as Japan would dare threaten war over some archaeological discovery.
“Sir, a drone was spotted and shot down near the Georgian border. I’m heading there now.”
“I thought they were heading west, toward the Ukraine?”
“We were misled, sir.”
Deputy Minister Maksimov cursed. “I knew I shouldn’t have given you the job. Your incompetence in the Brass Monkey incident nearly caused a war. The billions we had to pay the Americans to compensate India for the false admission of a nuclear test are billions we could have spent on our citizens, but thanks to you, those billions are gone. And now we face war with a pissy little country with a joke of an armed forces, where no matter what we do we’ll look like the bad guys, all because you can’t find two academics who stole some worthless trinkets!”
Dymovsky smiled, rage usually a great way to let secrets slip. “I’ll report as soon as I have something.”
He hung up, closing his eyes as the helicopter thundered south. Now he knew what this was all about, though not why. The Japanese wanted some relics that the professors now had. Orlov had obviously taken them when he shouldn’t have and given them to Acton and Palmer, and they were now trying to get them out of the country.
To what purpose?
Their dossiers suggested they were good people, and agents of no one. In fact, Palmer’s worth was immense, they obviously not motivated by money.
If he had to hazard a guess, he’d have to say they were planning on returning them to the Japanese, and the only reason they’d do that is because Orlov had asked them to.
He didn’t trust his own government.
And Dymovsky didn’t blame him.
Perhaps I should just let them escape.
It was an option, but his life and that of his family were now at stake. And what if that wasn’t their end game, what if they had some other intention?
Or what if someone else stopped them, the relics disappearing?
They were headed most likely for Georgia, not exactly known for law and order, at least not in its northern regions. Anything could happen. Anyone could happen.
Then war would be inevitable.
Japan was no competition, not in the least. But the Americans were already involved, clearly taking sides though claiming neutrality. And according to a briefing he had received from headquarters, the Chinese were already taking advantage of the distraction, expanding their claims in the South China Sea, sending more ships and troops into the area, stepping up air patrols, reports they were rapidly expanding one of their artificial islands just breaking news a few hours ago. Vietnam and the Philippines were already protesting, sending in their own limited navies.
This could spin out of control quickly, leading to a conflict that could cost thousands, perhaps millions, of lives and destabilize the entire region.
All because some relics that meant nothing to Russia and apparently everything to a nation that had become pacifist after decades of uncontrolled aggression.
He had to retrieve them.
Then decide what to do with them.
65
Five miles from Georgian border, Russian Federation
Acton climbed out of the car then opened the rear door for Laura, the child locks enabled. Zorkin popped the trunk and pulled out camouflage netting, Acton impressed at the planning. He helped the aging spy drape the car with it, it soon blended nicely with the rocky, barren scenery surrounding them.
“Now what?”
Zorkin pointed to the hills. “Now we walk.”
“Are you kidding me?” Acton looked at Laura then down at where her scar was. There was no way she’d be able to make it any significant distance.
“Would you rather stay?”
Acton frowned, deciding to challenge Zorkin’s so far well thought out plan with the man’s own limitations. “No, but, umm, you’re…”
“Old?”
“You said it.”
“I am.” He pointed toward the foothills and a growing patch of dust. “See that?”
Acton’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what it was in the fading light. “What is it?”
“Our ride.”
Acton breathed a sigh of relief, extending his hand, Laura taking it. “You could have just told us that.”
Zorkin shrugged. “Where would be the fun in that?”
Acton grunted. “I hope whoever is meeting us has something more appropriate than a sedan.”
Zorkin smiled. “Let’s hope.”
66
Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarte
rs, Langley, Virginia
“I’ve found the car!”
Leroux turned to Tong who motioned toward the screen, an infrared image showing what was clearly a vehicle under some netting, its engine still glowing red.
And no indication of anyone inside.
“Any sign of them?”
“Negative.”
“And the Russians?”
“We’re showing dozens of aircraft and helicopters heading for the area. They’re going to spot that vehicle soon.”
Leroux frowned as the image zoomed out showing the various Russian assets being inserted into the area. “Focus south of the vehicle. They can’t have gone far now that they’re on foot.”
“Got ’em!” Child pointed at the screen, another image appearing showing three heat signatures moving south.
“Let’s hope whoever they’re supposed to meet is close. How far from the border?”
“Less than five miles,” replied Child. “But the Russians aren’t going to care about that.”
Leroux was about to open his mouth when Tong interrupted.
“Sir, I’ve got at least a dozen large heat signatures heading toward them from the south.”
“Show me.”
Leroux stepped toward the display as the new satellite images resolved.
“What the hell is that?”
67
Four Miles from Georgian border, Russian Federation
Acton stopped, raising his hands slightly as he placed himself between Laura and the new arrivals.
A dozen men on horseback, three spare horses obviously for them.
More suitable than a sedan, I guess.
Though hardly capable of outrunning the Russian Army.
Words exchanged between the leader and Zorkin, a large wad of cash handed over, all in Euros. The men appeared to be criminals of some sort, their AK-47s and bushy beards along with a full set of teeth shared among them, suggested that trusting these men would be a mistake.
At least he now had a nice Beretta tucked into his belt courtesy the sedan’s well-stocked trunk.
Zorkin turned to them. “You know how to ride?”
Acton nodded, Laura swinging onto the back of her horse, he quickly following. Zorkin struggled slightly, the new arrivals laughing, probably cracking jokes at the man’s age.
He was tempted to jump to the man’s defense, but there was no point. These men probably wouldn’t understand him, and Zorkin would likely be embarrassed that someone felt he needed defending.
Zorkin had more than proven himself.
He had rescued them, got them out of Moscow, most likely saved Vitaly’s life, and now had them within sight of the border and safety.
Just get across the border then worry about how trustworthy these new people are.
“Let’s go!” ordered Zorkin, everyone urging their steeds forward, they soon at a full gallop toward the mountains, it clear everyone agreed time was of the essence. Acton glanced behind him and frowned, the cloud of dust they were kicking up significant.
And likely visible for miles.
His heart caught in his throat as he stared up at the sky, contrails streaking across it.
We’re not going to make it.
He felt the heavy weight of the relics in his bag, almost like an albatross dragging them all down. One bomb would be all it would take to end this. The Russians could drop it right on them, killing them all, ending the pursuit in seconds.
Though that would destroy the relics, and he had to believe that was in the best interests of no one.
As they charged toward the border, the relics slapping against his side, part of him wanted to just leave them behind and tell the Russians where they were, though experience told him that if they were to give up the only piece of leverage they had, they’d be dead for sure, or if allowed to live, the war that was brewing might not be stopped.
Zorkin had been translating news reports over the radio as they approached Georgia, uncensored broadcasts making it over the border providing a little more truth as to what had been happening in the less than two days they had been gone. Apparently shots had been fired, the Russians claiming they had fired a retaliatory shot at the Japanese for an unprovoked attack, the Japanese and Americans claiming only one shot had been fired, it by the Russians, any other shots belonging to the Japanese who had shot the missile down.
And now the Chinese were on high alert and the North Koreans were shaking their fists at everyone, putting the South Koreans on edge. The entire region was about to erupt, and these three ancient relics they now possessed seemed to be the key to defusing it all.
And he wasn’t about to trust the Russians to hand them over.
68
Five miles from Georgian border, Russian Federation
Dymovsky stepped down from the chopper as it bounced to a rough landing, every moment now critical. Soldiers swarmed the area, one waving him toward a large rock outcropping, the rear of a car visible, camouflage netting lying on the ground beside it, fluttering in the brisk, cool wind coming off the mountains to the south.
“Anything?”
The lieutenant in charge shook his head. “No, sir. Nothing inside except left over food and water and a case in the trunk that looks like it probably held the drone we shot down.”
“Fingerprints?”
“We’re waiting for a forensics team, but I think there’s little doubt it’s the criminals you’ve been looking for.”
Dymovsky nodded, there indeed little doubt. He surveyed the area. “Any sign of another vehicle?”
“Negative.”
Dymovsky frowned, his eyes narrowing. He walked south of the scene, scanning the ground for footprints, tread marks, anything, but the hard ground gave up nothing.
Except three sets of footprints on a soft patch of ground. He ran for a couple of minutes, Filippov and some of the soldiers rushing after him, before he stopped at the final clue.
A large pile of shit.
He smiled then scanned the horizon, spotting nothing. He spun around, heading back to the chopper. “They’re on horseback!”
“Sir?”
He pointed at the pile of manure. “They’re obviously heading for the border. Somebody must have met them.”
“Probably Georgian bandits,” suggested Filippov.
“Probably. And bandits can’t be trusted.” He spun, staring at the mountains. “Put the word out that there is a reward to anyone who turns them over to us.”
Filippov grinned. “Yes, sir!”
69
South Kuril Islands, Russian Federation
Japanese name: Chishima Islands
“Sir, reinforcements have been ordered to the Senkaku Islands.”
Captain Yamada nodded, the report unimportant with respect to the present situation, except that they may soon be battling two foes on two different fronts.
He wondered how eager the Americans would be to join in the fight against the Chinese. More American ships had arrived, including the entirety of Carrier Strike Group 5, sitting within sight to the east, the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan impressive, it a massive ship that had him envious of its captain.
We were once that powerful.
There were now a dozen Russian vessels opposing them, spread across the sea to the north, their challenges at the moment having stopped, perhaps the politicians having a go at things. He still couldn’t believe his government was willing to use the islands they had given up on seven decades ago as a premise for war, islands that were no longer home to a single Japanese citizen, the Soviets having deported them all within the first year of the occupation.
Privy to the real reason, he had a luxury none of the other captains had, and he understood the thinking in Tokyo over the show of force, though he had to question them pressing on with this charade after the near disaster just hours ago.
The lives of the men and women under his command were at risk because of lies and deceptions instigated over seventy years ago, and perpetua
ted by men in power all these years later terrified to reveal the truth. He had no doubt some of them were fearful of the effect it could have on His Majesty, though more likely most were only concerned about themselves and the shame it would bring.
When the truth is revealed, the news will be filled with ritual suicides.
At least if they truly believed in what they were doing.
Those that didn’t would most likely resign, lose their positions and power, yet continue their pampered lives.
But he and his crew could die here today, while those safely ensconced in Tokyo tried to save face.
Yet he had his orders.
And they were specific.
Blockade the islands, fire if fired upon.
Unprecedented orders.
“Sir, we’ve got a significant number of aircraft on our radar.”
Wonderful.
“Which direction?”
“Coming from the northwest.”
“Russian.”
“Yes, sir, most likely, sir.”
“And the US fleet?”
“The USS Ronald Reagan is launching intercept aircraft.”
Yamada sighed.
What had been a slow, methodical game of chess on the seas, had just become a high speed, high adrenaline ice hockey match in the clouds.
We’ve just crossed the point of no return.
“What are their orders?”
Yamada rose from his seat, staring at the radar showing the two air forces racing toward each other, sweat dripping down his back now. This was escalating quickly, and with air power now involved, it could go bad within seconds, triggering an all-out response by everyone, whether they were in the air or not.
And his ships were no match in a sustained battle with the Russians who now outnumbered them. The only thing that would save them would be their training, their honor, and the Americans.
Raging Sun (A James Acton Thriller, #16) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 17