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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Maksimov smiled. “That may be, but our submarines have arrived, and if you do not withdraw, they will blow your ships out of the water.” He leaned forward. “You may have won the battle, but you will lose the war.” He pushed back in his chair, flicking his wrist again. “Besides, you have more to worry about than us. The Chinese seem to be mobilizing for a serious territorial claim.” He chuckled. “I think very soon your attentions will be divided, and you will have to decide what is more important to you. Islands that have not been yours for decades, or those that still are.”

  Sasaki shook his head. “You will find our resolve on this matter will not waiver. This can all end if you return what is rightfully ours. If you had not stolen the Imperial Regalia, if you had simply allowed our people to take them back to Japan, all of this could have been avoided.”

  Maksimov leaned forward, jabbing a finger in the air at him. “No! This is not our fault. Your people trespassed, not ours. Our people confiscated items found on our land, not knowing what they were. Instead of informing us of what they were, you instead sent warships into our territory, blockading islands belonging to us. And instead of admitting the true purpose to your indignity, you instead lie to the world, tricking the Americans into supporting you.” He shook his head. “No, sir, you are in the wrong here, not us, but your pride won’t let you see it.”

  The sad thing about what Maksimov said was that he was absolutely right. Japan had violated their territory, and his government had responded with force and a lie. If the truth had simply been told, the Russians might very well have returned what they had taken. He had been there. He could attest to the fact the Russian commander on the scene had no idea what he had just seized.

  If Tokyo had simply told the truth, this may all have been avoided.

  Yet they hadn’t. Pride, honor, tradition, showing their ugly side.

  But with the apparent theft of the relics, the Russians, despite knowing they had something of importance to his people, having treated them so cavalierly to leave them vulnerable, had changed the equation.

  Yes, his government had created the situation, but the Russian government, through its negligence, was perpetuating it.

  And if the Imperial Regalia were indeed possibly destroyed as his counterpart had suggested, he feared what the response might be.

  He stared at Maksimov, revealing none of his thoughts, he still having a job to do. “I am afraid I am but the messenger here. But you confuse pride and honor. This is a matter of honor for our country, our emperor, and our way of life. A crime was committed by your country at the end of the war, and a mistake was made by us as a result. We lied to our people, and that was dishonorable. To admit that lie now, after an emperor has been sworn in, presenting replicas as evidence he is the rightful heir, would bring shame and dishonor to our entire nation and those prominent families that control much of what the outside world does not see.” He leaned forward. “So you see, sir, my government cannot back down. Not without the Imperial Regalia returned.” He lowered his head slightly, staring into Maksimov’s eyes. “I highly recommend, should you desire peace, you recover our property. Intact.”

  91

  Caucasus Mountains, Georgia

  Ten miles inside the border

  Dymovsky glanced down at his feet, his pants and shoes covered in rock dust, his eyes and nerve endings telling him he hadn’t been hit by the shots fired at him by Professor James Acton. When he had read the man’s file, he had assumed his exploits were overblown, though surveilling the scene seemed to suggest otherwise. Almost a dozen Georgian bandits were dead, none by Russian government hands, one even missing a head somehow.

  He glanced at Zorkin who he had no doubt was responsible for the order to fire the two shots. He was bleeding from the shoulder, the amount of blood suggesting it wasn’t superficial. He wasn’t a threat anymore, and if all these professors had were two handguns and a questionable amount of ammo, then something more was going on here.

  They’re stalling.

  But why were they stalling?

  Filippov stepped up behind him, whispering in his ear. “The lead pilot just reported he thinks there’s at least one sniper in the area.”

  Dymovsky’s eyebrows rose and he turned his head slightly toward his partner. “Are you sure?”

  “I can only report what I was told, but”—he nodded toward the man with a missing head—“the evidence certainly suggests it.”

  Dymovsky surreptitiously scanned the path that stretched ahead of them, bending slightly to the left, no one evident. His eyes began to follow a ridgeline over their heads when his satellite phone vibrated in his pocket.

  He frowned and turned, stepping around the bend so the Russian speaking Zorkin couldn’t overhear what was said. “Dymovsky. Go ahead.”

  “This is Deputy Minister Maksimov. Report!”

  Dymovsky frowned, it clear his belligerent puppet master was in a foul mood. He could only assume things weren’t going well in the Kuril’s or the negotiation room. “Sir, we have the professors and Zorkin.”

  “Oh, thank God! So you have the relics?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “Not yet! I thought you said you had them!”

  The shouting was so loud it was causing half of what he said to be transmitted as static.

  The louder you talk, the less likely it is I’ll hear you, you ass!

  “We have them trapped and I’m about to begin negotiations for their surrender.”

  “Forget negotiations. Just kill them and take what they stole.”

  “Sir, killing American and British citizens is I believe highly inadvisable.”

  “Nonsense. You’re in Georgia. Kill them, make it look like the Georgians did it, and get the hell out of there and back to Moscow. We need those ridiculous trinkets the Japs are so enamored with or there could be war!”

  “So we’re returning them now?”

  “Yes. They’ve offered to withdraw and cede the islands to us. We’re happy with that result.”

  Bullshit. You’re scared of how much a conflict in the Pacific could cost the Federal Treasury, and have figured out a way to make it look like you won.

  And it was true. If the Japanese received whatever it was they were after in a private settlement, then there was no reason to think they’d admit publicly what this had all been about. They would withdraw, cede the islands, and it would look like Mother Russia had won without conceding anything.

  And the Japanese would be the aggressors, their friendship with the United States perhaps strained for some time.

  “What are these relics that they want? Why are they so important?”

  “That is not your concern. All you need to know is that it is absolutely essential that we retrieve these relics, intact, as quickly as possible. Now kill those damned professors and that traitor Zorkin, and get me my relics!”

  The call ended and Dymovsky shook his head, jamming his phone back in his pocket. Filippov looked at him. “Learn anything new?”

  Dymovsky smiled at him, the young man discovering quickly that men in their position rarely knew the whole truth. “Not much, except that Moscow isn’t after the professors at all, only some relics that they possess that belong to the Japanese.”

  Filippov’s eyebrows narrowed. “Why would they steal Japanese relics?”

  “I don’t think they did for a second. I think Orlov gave them to the professors so they could get them back to the Japanese, but the plan was interrupted. If the Kremlin hadn’t discovered they were missing, the professors would have been on their plane and long gone, and Comrade Zorkin would still be sipping his dinner in his apartment, none the wiser.”

  “So they’re not the bad guys?”

  “Perhaps to the world at large, no, but to Moscow? Yes. And if we are being completely honest with ourselves, Moscow seems to want to return these relics, and if they still had them, they would. The professors having them could actually cost more lives.”

  Filippov frowned.
“They may be to blame with that logic, but I’ve been around enough to know that we live in a country where no one trusts anybody. If we didn’t constantly live in fear of the wrong thing being done, Orlov would never have felt the need to contact the professors, he would have trusted that his government would have done the right thing. Instead, because of the environment we live in, he did what he thought was best because he couldn’t rely upon our leaders to act in their people’s best interest.”

  Dymovsky smiled, patting the young man on the shoulder. “Son, with thinking like that, you’re either going to go very far, or be dead very soon.”

  Filippov grinned. “Let’s hope we both live long enough that we rise past our enemies and see them buried rather than us.”

  Acton watched the leader’s whispered conversation, not missing the man’s eyes surveying the area ahead before a quick departure, a phone making an appearance. He glanced at the choppers, still hovering, their rotors loud, the wind forcing the biting chill deep into his bones.

  I’m going to lie on that beach for a month when we’re out of here!

  He frowned as a soldier stepped forward half a pace.

  If we get out of here.

  With their commander out of sight, the mice appeared ready to play.

  And with one bullet between them, he had only one play left.

  He lifted the bag holding the Imperial Regalia and pointed his gun at it.

  “If anyone takes another step, I’ll destroy them!”

  They kept advancing.

  Maybe they have no idea why they’re here!

  He groaned inwardly.

  Boys, if you’re anywhere near here, now would be a good time to show up.

  Dymovsky heard the professor shout and he blanched as he and Filippov exchanged horrified glances. “No!” shouted Dymovsky as he elbowed his way around the bend and back to the front. “Everyone back!” He rounded the turn and found three of his soldiers within feet of the professors, Acton with his Beretta pressed against a canvas bag that clearly contained the keys to stopping what could soon become a costly, bloody war.

  “One more step and I put a bullet through the mirror!” shouted Acton. It was unfortunate for the man that Dymovsky had read his file. This was a devotee to history and there was no way he was going to destroy a precious relic simply to save his own life.

  The bigger concern however was that the relics could be damaged should the situation continue.

  “I said everyone back!”

  The men stopped their slow advance, beginning to fall back equally slow. He stepped in front of them, his hands raised slightly, defusing the situation. Acton seemed to visibly relax, the man’s eyes now focused on Dymovsky instead of the soldiers.

  Dymovsky urged them all further back, retreating himself to force the issue. He couldn’t risk someone accidentally firing and hitting the relics, and at this moment there were too many guns squeezed into too small an area.

  He looked at the professor. “We seem to be at an impasse, Professor Acton.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “You have what I want, yet you know I can’t risk them being damaged or destroyed.”

  “Then why don’t you just goosestep—”

  “James!”

  “—back to Moscow and leave us be?”

  Dymovsky smiled slightly at Laura Palmer’s admonishment of her husband. “I have my orders.”

  “What are your orders? To recover the relics intact?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why? What do you want to do with them?”

  “My government wishes to return them to Japan so peace can be restored.”

  Acton smiled. “Then why not let us do that?”

  Dymovsky frowned. The professor was right. If peace were indeed the ultimate goal then it wouldn’t matter who returned the relics. But Moscow was insistent he recover them, even though they knew who currently possessed them, and couldn’t possibly believe that these people had any intention other than returning the relics themselves.

  It’s all to save face.

  Just as with the Japanese, his own government was willing to risk war, all so that they could be the ones to return them. If these professors returned them, then the credit would go to them for preserving the peace, and Russia may even lose its claim to the islands should the Americans demand reparations for the skirmishes that had already occurred.

  No, his government wanted to be the ones to return them so they could secure their claim on the islands and embarrass the Japanese into submission, knowing they couldn’t admit as to why any of this had occurred.

  Both sides were arrogant and misguided. Both were trying to save face, one for lies told over seventy years ago, one for unchecked arrogance and provocation today.

  And if neither backed down, they could end up destroying each other.

  But what’s the surest way to peace?

  If the professors returned the relics, he had no doubt that peace would be restored, and it would eliminate his government from the equation, preventing any more provocation on their part. The risk was that the professors, at the moment, appeared to have no way to get out of here with the relics except on foot.

  And they appeared quite ill-equipped to accomplish even that.

  They’ll be frozen to death by morning.

  He couldn’t risk it.

  “I’m afraid, Professor Acton, we remain at an impasse.”

  “Perhaps I can help sway opinions.”

  Dymovsky spun around, looking up to see four soldiers, clearly special forces by their equipment, staring down at them from a ridge above, weapons aimed at him and his team.

  “Everyone drop their weapons, nice and slow.”

  Dawson kept his weapon trained on the most nervous looking Russian in his arc. He wasn’t worried about the leader; he didn’t have a weapon in evidence, though he was sure there was probably one tucked away in a shoulder or hip holster somewhere.

  Something jerked to his left and Spock fired, the soldier crying out as he was hit in the shoulder. A deliberate flesh wound. If Spock had wanted the man dead, he’d be dead.

  Dawson stared at the leader. “The next one dies.”

  The leader smiled, nodding toward the captain in command who raised a radio.

  “Now.”

  The choppers immediately adjusted their position, their weapons now aimed directly at Dawson and his men.

  Let’s hope timing is everything.

  “Bogies in sight.” A-Poc banked to the left, her Heads Up Display indicating a lock on the first helicopter. “I’ve got tone.” She flicked her thumb, selecting her sidewinder missiles. “Fox Two.” She fired, calmly turning her attention to the second target as the missile streaked from her weapons pod toward the doomed airframe hovering ahead.

  “Second bogie in sight. I’ve got tone. Fox Two.” She squeezed, the missile dropping, the propellant igniting, racing toward its target. As the first helicopter erupted in a ball of fire, the second banked hard to the left, its pilot recognizing what was happening, the only result the exposure of its belly to its enemy.

  The second missile found its target, the threat to the ground forces eliminated as A-Poc and her wingman blasted past, her eyes already on the twisting corridors of their chosen route, the Georgians still apparently content to observe from above.

  “Saber this is Gypsy One-Oh-Two, two bogies splashed. Where are those Georgians, over?”

  “Gypsy One-Oh-Two, Georgian Air Force is returning to base. Change course immediately, you’re about to violate Russian airspace, over.”

  A-Poc flattened out then pulled up hard, gaining altitude to clear the mountain tops, then flipped it hard to the left, pulling enough gees to impress an astronaut as she banked sharply, her HUD indicating she had stayed outside of Russia, her jet wash probably guilty of violating it. She checked for her wingman and smiled, spotting her on her wing.

  “Gypsy One-Oh-Two returning for another pass.”

  She pushed
forward on her stick, plunging back toward the canyons below.

  Best. Job. Ever.

  Acton’s jaw lay open as he watched the helicopters drop from sight, the jets shaking the ground they stood on as they thundered past. He leaned out to see the Delta Force members overhead covering the Russians, Russians who suddenly seemed far less confident in their control of the situation.

  And he sensed panic in the eyes of some of them.

  Panic that could trigger a disaster that might kill them all.

  Then he had an idea.

  He handed his gun to Zorkin and stepped out slowly from behind the rock they had been using for cover, his hands up, the canvas bag containing the relics slung over his shoulder. “Perhaps I can suggest a solution?”

  The leader, who appeared just as shocked as anyone else at the unexpected turn of events, snapped his jaw shut. He and several guns turned toward Acton, prompting him to extend his hands further out from his sides.

  “What do you propose?”

  “Come with us.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “Come with us. You come with us and we’ll hand the relics over together. Hell, you can hand them over yourself as a representative of the Russian government. I don’t care. I just don’t trust that Moscow will actually do it. You come with us, send your men back, and we’ll deliver these to the Japanese together and stop whatever the hell is going on over there.”

  The man’s head slowly bobbed.

  It was a crazy, brilliant idea. Dymovsky eyed the professor, casting a quick glance overhead at the soldiers. If those were all Acton had on his side, the odds, if not the high ground, were in his favor, though he had the distinct impression there were more hidden somewhere, perhaps the snipers the dead pilot had referred to.

  Though numbers weren’t everything.

  High ground, held by what were probably Delta Force or Navy SEALS, would trump his superior numbers any day.

  Yet Acton’s solution was an interesting one. He could order his men back and use whatever means of extraction the American soldiers had already planned, probably already en route. It would save all their lives, and get the relics back in the proper hands, saving even more.