The maid’s testimony had been corroborated by the footage with respect to the willingness of Jackson to remain with his captors, which meant he was probably intending to follow in his father’s footsteps.
But what was the plan?
He knew from his briefing that apparently President Jackson’s intent was to try and unite several skulls to unleash their supposed power. So if that were still the plan, then they must be on their way to retrieve other skulls.
And who are the skull experts?
He could think of only two, and quickly punched in the two professors so closely associated with the events in London. He smiled when he saw they had just landed in Munich the night before.
Coincidence? I think not!
Further checking showed the flight originating from Rome with INTERPOL Special Agent Hugh Reading also aboard.
Family reunion?
He launched several searches and within minutes had his answer. An emergency call had been made by Special Agent Reading that very morning local time. Leroux pulled up the police report. Neighbors had reported seeing three SUVs arrive and at least a dozen men exit with weapons. When police arrived they were all gone and only the home owner, a Mr. Teufel, remained, locked in a panic room. He claimed he had been alone when the men broke in and tried to gain access to his collection. They left when he had called the police.
At this point there appeared to be no explanation as to why the call had come from Reading. It was clear to Leroux that the professors and Reading had been there when the Triarii arrived and had left before the police arrived. The question now was whether they left with the Triarii, or on their own. And if they left with the Triarii, was it willingly?
One of his searches popped up on his screen and he smiled as he saw a flight plan for Professor Palmer’s plane filed earlier in the day. He now knew where the Professors were, and most likely where the Triarii and Grant Jackson were now heading.
Aboard Laura Palmer’s Private Jet, En route to Israel
Present day, two days after the kidnapping
“Doesn’t this thing cost you a fortune?” asked Reading as he leaned back in the sumptuous leather seating of the Gulf V. “Aren’t they twenty or thirty million pounds?”
Laura laughed as she returned from the bathroom. “I don’t own it, silly. I’m part of a leasing network. I have a share in the ownership of a fleet of planes positioned around the world. When I need one, I just call and it is arranged. Much cheaper.”
“Still probably more than I make in a lifetime,” said Reading with a sigh. “I need to start buying lottery tickets.”
“It does help improve the odds of winning,” said Acton as he took Laura’s hand and gave it a triple-squeeze. “I still can’t believe how quickly you were able to arrange the flight.”
“Neither can I,” replied Laura. “Last time I went to Israel I’m sure it took a few days. That was some time ago so perhaps things have improved.”
Reading shook his head. “Don’t count on it. I called Martin and he had his friends grease the wheels.”
Acton blew a blast of air between his lips. “The Triarii are everywhere,” he murmured, his mind drifting to his best friend Greg Milton and how he had been shot in the back and left for dead. Only recently had he begun to walk again, and still with effort.
“How is Martin doing?” asked Laura.
“Like he’d tell me,” laughed Reading. “But I will say he sounded good. Lots of energy, spirits seemed to be up. I think us finishing this little mission of his will have him feeling fantastic.”
Acton had to smile. Reading and Chaney were close, and he knew Reading thought of Chaney almost as a son, there being a significant age gap. Reading and his own son were estranged, only recently had he managed to even get the boy, now a young man, to talk to him, so Chaney, his younger partner for years, became his surrogate.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so enthused to come with us on one of our projects,” observed Laura. “Perhaps we’ll make an archeologist out of you yet!”
Reading’s lips fluttered. “Phht! I don’t think so. And this isn’t archeology, this is a security job. You should have some of your SAS friends with you.”
“They’re too busy protecting the dig sites in Egypt and Peru,” replied Laura. “I guess you’ll have to do!”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Reading.
Acton’s phone buzzed, causing him to nearly jump in his seat. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the message. It was a number with only two words accompanying it. Call now!
“It’s him,” said Acton, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane was a former student of his. He had been in Acton’s first year archeology course on a full ride football scholarship when 9/11 had happened. Within months the young man had sought Acton’s counsel, wanting his opinion on Kane’s thoughts of leaving college and joining the military.
Acton, himself a former reservist who had served in Gulf War I, was never one to discourage military service, and had merely acted as a sounding board. Kane had left and joined the army, excelling and quickly reaching the rank of Sergeant. As soon as he attained the rank he had applied for and won a spot in the Delta Force. Within a couple of years of that he had been recruited by the CIA. None of his latter career had been known to Acton until Kane had shown up at his class one day about a year ago, a different man, a damaged man, a secret from his past haunting him.
Acton had seen or spoken to him several times since, and was given an email address that was monitored either by him or on his behalf should he need his help.
Getting into the West Bank was something Acton thought Kane might indeed be able to help them with, so when they had left Teufel’s house before the police arrived, he had sent a simple message. Need your help.
He dialed the number, Laura and Reading now silent.
“Hello, Doc!”
Acton smiled at the energy in the young man’s voice. “Hello Dylan, how are you?”
“Not too shabby, Doc. How’s the future Mrs. Acton?”
Acton glanced at Laura, winking. “She’s fine and sitting here with Special Agent Hugh Reading. Can I put you on speaker?”
“Go ahead, you’ll tell them everything I say regardless.”
Acton laughed and pressed the button to go hands free. “Okay, you’re on speaker.”
“Hello Laura, Special Agent Reading. I understand you need my help. Are you guys about to cause another international incident?”
Laura laughed with Acton, Reading merely grunted in agreement. “With these two it’s always something like that,” he said.
“Yes, I’ve read their files,” laughed Kane. His voice became serious. “What can I do for you?”
Acton quickly gave him a rundown of what had happened, being careful to include his thoughts on Grant Jackson’s involvement and how willingly he may actually be participating. “So the bottom line is we need to get into Israel, specifically the West Bank near the city of Jericho, St. Gerasimos Monastery.”
“Christ, Doc, when you ask a favor they’re big!” laughed Kane. There was a pause then Kane’s voice came through, serious again. “When you get there you’ll be met. Follow their instructions to the letter. Understood?”
“Yes,” said Acton. “Met by who?”
“I’ll worry about that. And Doc?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful. What you’re asking for is big, and it’s dangerous. These people will kill you as soon as help you. Do what they say, don’t ask questions, and try not to look around too much.”
Acton felt a shiver race up and down his spine. “Understood Dylan. And thanks.”
“Don’t thank me Doc until you make it out of this alive.”
The line went dead and Acton looked at Laura who was clearly disturbed by Kane’s words. He glanced at Reading whose teeth were clenched, his jaw square.
“You know who we’ll be dealing with, don’t you?” asked Reading.
Acton nodded. �
�I’m assuming Mossad?”
Reading shook his head. “No. Based on that conversation, either Fatah or worse, Hamas.”
“Oh dear,” murmured Laura, curling her legs up under her.
Acton nodded slowly.
We’re being delivered into the hands of terrorists.
Over the Adriatic, En route to Israel
Present day, two days after the kidnapping
Grant Jackson picked at his fingernails, absentmindedly staring out the window at the waters far below. He had barely had any sleep since he had been kidnapped, the drug induced stupor he had been in the first night barely counting, and last night in Munich at a safe house was filled with tossing and turning and nightmares.
And now he was on his way to Israel, a country he had always wanted to visit, but not this way.
What the hell am I doing?
These people were criminals, wanted by every police force in the world by now, and were chasing crystal skulls around the planet thinking they had godlike powers. It was ridiculous. And his father had believed in it? The more he thought about what was going on right now, and what he had been told happened when his father was killed, the more he began to second guess his decision to see his father’s work through.
Lesley Darbinger had been a friend to the family for as long as his memories went back. Darbinger was a good man, and now that he knew the brain tumor story was pure fiction, it meant that Darbinger had killed his father as a completely sane man. And if Darbinger didn’t have a brain tumor, then who ordered the Delta Force to murder those students in Peru and all those people in London? If it wasn’t Darbinger, then it was obviously his father. Which would make sense.
Darbinger killed Dad to stop him from killing any more people!
He felt the blood drain from his face as he suddenly felt faint. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, continuing to stare out the window, praying no one noticed he had begun to shake.
Keep it together!
His mind was reeling with the implications. It was his own father that had given the Delta Force their orders. It was his own father that was responsible for all those deaths.
He deserved to die!
Tears filled his eyes at the thought, and he silently begged forgiveness for thinking them, but he knew he was right. Any man who would order so many innocent deaths over something as trivial as a stone carving didn’t deserve to live. Lesley Darbinger had done the right thing.
And now here he was surrounded by his father’s allies, those who supported him in his cause, and those who he had no doubt wouldn’t hesitate to kill if anyone got in their way.
And they’re everywhere!
They had just breezed through customs in Germany, the guard just giving them a nod when Mitch had flashed the tattoo on his wrist. Now they were on their way to Israel with a false passport for him that had been waiting for them in Munich.
How do you escape a group that is everywhere?
There were eight of them on the plane. When there were only four he could have walked away, but now he was in so deep he had no idea if they’d let him go. Even asking the question terrified him, the response potentially a bullet to the head.
For now his best bet was to continue playing along with them and try to find an opportunity to escape. But if he were to escape, how could he guarantee his safety from them? His shoulders dropped in defeat. He knew there was no escaping.
The only question that was relevant, was whether or not he even had to.
Over the Mediterranean, En route to Israel
Present day, two days after the kidnapping
Dawson sat in the back of the Hercules C130J as it rattled on even louder than its predecessors. You’d think they’d invest a little in quieting things down! He lay on one of the cots attached to the fuselage, the rest of his team, including one last minute addition from the CIA, Agent Sherrie White, doing the same, some asleep, some reading, some playing with their smartphones. For once he had finally managed to remember his Kindle and had read himself to sleep. But something had woken him.
The comm screeched in his headset again.
“Sergeant Major, you’ve got a call.”
Dawson was immediately alert, swinging his legs off the cot, sitting upright. “Put it through,” he said, adjusting the large noise cancelling headset wrapped around his head.
“Hey, old buddy! I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Dawson immediately recognized the voice of Dylan Kane, a former member of his unit gone rogue—CIA Special Activities Division. If Dawson thought what he did was under the radar, it was nothing like what Kane was up to. Dawson had been approached to join the CIA on more than one occasion, but had refused, preferring the company of The Unit rather than the solitary existence of an operative.
“As a matter of fact you did,” said Dawson with a smile.
“Good. Too much beauty sleep will make you stand out in a crowd,” laughed Kane, then his voice became serious. “Can you talk?”
“I’m in the back of a Herc. Not even God can hear me.”
“Good to see you’re still a blasphemer,” jabbed Kane. “Listen, our professor friends contacted me.”
“Uh oh.”
“Exactly. It looks like they’re somehow mixed up with this Grant Jackson bit.”
Dawson’s eyes rolled. “How the hell did they manage that?”
“It would appear that Jackson was taken by an offshoot of the Triarii, the same offshoot that Jackson senior was part of. They’re after crystal skulls to try and unite them or some bullshit like that. Anyway, the professors were in Munich in search of a skull when guess who shows up?”
“The nutbars with Jackson happily at their side.”
“Good guess.”
“Good intel from your friend.”
“Ahh, my good buddy Chris is still proving to be valuable, excellent. Well, here’s the latest. Acton and his fiancée along with that Special Agent from INTERPOL are heading to Israel right now.”
“So are we.”
“I figured you’d be on the case what with your previous involvement. Now here’s a part of the puzzle I’m pretty sure you don’t know about.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve arranged for them to get into the West Bank.”
Dawson’s eyebrows shot up and he let out a slow whistle that he was sure sounded like static on the other end. “How the hell did you manage that?”
“Don’t ask and I won’t have to kill you. Let’s just say these guys aren’t playing for our side, and money is the only thing keeping our friends alive. They’re supposed to be going to an old Greek monastery outside Jericho called St. Gerasimos. Apparently there’s a skull hidden there.”
“Of course there is.”
Kane chuckled. “Exactly, but whatever we think of it, somebody believes and is willing to kill with respect to it. Here’s the bottom line. I’m getting them in. If they survive and actually reach the monastery, they’re going to need a way out. I don’t trust my guys to do it since they’re probably going to kill them and steal whatever they found. You’re probably going to have to get them out.”
“Just how the hell am I supposed to manage that?”
Dawson could almost imagine Kane grinning on the other end. “You’ll think of something. You’re coordinating with Mossad, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but now I have to kill you.”
“Next time. Anyway, if the Triarii are after the professors, then there might be trouble so be ready for it. And remember, don’t trust Jackson. He seems to be working with them now.”
“Got it. And Dylan?”
“Yeah.”
“Lose my number.”
Kane roared in laughter then the call ended. Dawson motioned Red over.
“What’s up, BD?”
“You’re not going to believe the shit I just heard.”
Ben Gurion Airport, Israel
Present day, two days after the kidnapping
James Acto
n handed over his passport to the customs officer. Reading had gone first, his INTERPOL identification speeding the process along somewhat. Laura had gone next and her smile and treasure chest had her through almost as quickly.
He, they decided to give the third degree to.
Endless questions, repeated questions, examining of the passport, reexamining of the passport, searching of his luggage, scanning of his luggage.
Do I fit the profile of a terrorist?
“You are an archeologist, Dr. Acton?”
“Yes.” For the fourth time.
“And do you intend to seek out any of our cultural treasures while you are here?”
“If they are in a museum, yes.”
“Do you intend to remove any of these treasures from our country?”
“Of course not.”
“Our information says otherwise, Dr. Acton.”
Acton’s heart leapt but he kept it hidden from his face. He hoped.
“Then your information is wrong.”
“Why are you really here, Dr. Acton?”
“As I said before, we’re here on vacation. We want to visit the holy sites. A sort of pilgrimage.”
“With a flight plan filed today?”
“We were surprised how quickly we got that approved as well, but my fiancée is rather wealthy and we are both well-known in our field, so that may have sped up the process.”
“I’ve never heard of you, Dr. Acton.”
“But you’re not an archeologist.”
The man handed over Acton’s passport then scratched his wrist, moving his watch band. Acton nearly pissed his pants.
The Triarii tattoo!
“Remember, Dr. Acton, we are always watching. Should you need any assistance, call our tourist bureau.”
The officer slid a card over the counter toward Acton. Acton took it and quickly pocketed it.
“Thank you.”
“Have a good day, Doctor.”
“You too.”
He grabbed his bags and as casually as he could walked toward where Laura and Reading were waiting. The three said nothing as they exited the terminal.
The Venice Code (A James Acton Thriller, Book #8) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 17