The Venice Code (A James Acton Thriller, Book #8) (James Acton Thrillers)

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  As if on cue Alamar stepped into the room.

  “Ready?”

  Acton nodded and took Laura’s hand. They followed Alamar through several rooms then down a set of stairs into what appeared to be a basement where several bearded men with green and white balaclavas pulled down over their faces stood, only the glare of angry eyes showing. Acton had the distinct impression they weren’t happy to have them as visitors.

  A cabinet was moved aside by two of the guards and an entrance was revealed. Alamar went first, motioning for them to follow. Acton bent over and stepped inside a rather larger room than he was expecting, bags of food and crates of weapons piled everywhere. Laura and Reading quickly followed and Alamar pointed to a hole in the floor. Acton stepped toward it and saw a set of steep stairs dropping at least thirty feet.

  “This tunnel leads to the West Bank, as you call it. Be careful going down the stairs, they are very steep. Once you get to the bottom, walk as quickly as you can to the other end. There you will find another set of steps. Once at the top, if the entrance is closed, knock three times, then once, then three times again. This is important,” said Alamar, pausing. “Three, then one, then three. Like this.” He knocked the pattern out on the wall. “They will then knock twice. If you do not hear that knock, wait five minutes and try again. If you hear three knocks in response, there is a problem and you must return here, as fast as you can. Repeat the knock at this end.”

  “What kind of problem could there be?” asked Acton.

  “If Fatah has raided the house, they will kill anyone coming through. If you do not do the proper knock and wait for the proper acknowledgement, we will kill anyone who comes through. Understood?”

  Acton understood perfectly, as did the others by their concerned looks. Fatah was the quasi-terrorist organization that now ran the West Bank. Hamas was the out-and-out terrorist group that controlled Gaza. During “elections”, Fatah won in the West Bank, but Hamas won in Gaza, promptly killing all the Fatah party members in their territory. No further elections have been held.

  So much for Middle Eastern democracy expanding beyond Israel.

  “What should we expect at the other end?” asked Acton.

  “You will be provided with transport to the monastery as requested. You will be blindfolded again for a short period so you can’t lead anyone back to the tunnel. Acceptable?”

  “Absolutely,” replied Acton. “I assume we won’t have any misunderstandings like last time?”

  Alamar smiled. “I like you, Professor Acton. I think in another life you could have been a diplomat.” He paused suddenly, eyeballing Acton. “None of you are Jews, are you?”

  Acton shook his head. “No, otherwise I’m certain we wouldn’t have been delivered into your hands by our friend.”

  Alamar’s lips pursed as his head bobbed, examining the three of them for a moment.

  “No, I don’t think you are. I can recognize Jews. They look much like swine!” He laughed and the guards roared with him. Acton made it a point to not have even a hint of frivolity show on his face.

  Swine are those who have no intention of ever living in peace.

  “Shall we go?” he asked, motioning toward the hole.

  Alamar, still laughing at his own joke nodded. “Please.”

  Acton eyed the hole, debating how to get to the first step without breaking his neck, there no handholds or anything to hold on to at the top. He opted for sitting down on the floor and dangling his legs over the edge and placing his feet on the first step. From there he pushed himself up, using his hands on the floor to steady himself, then step-by-step began the long climb down. He paused to make sure Laura was able to begin the trip safely, then resumed his descent.

  It felt like half an hour but was more likely five minutes before he came to the bottom of the steps. He had no doubt those who used the tunnel on a regular basis would make the descent in less than a minute, but Acton wasn’t willing to risk his neck, or those of his companions, by setting too eager a pace.

  He glanced down the tunnel and found it to be about seven feet tall, four feet wide and stretching for as far as the eye could see, lights every fifty feet showing the way. He turned, his arms out, ready to catch Laura should she fall, but she reached the bottom without incident, as did a none-too-pleased Reading.

  “Don’t forget! Three then one then three!” yelled Alamar down the stairwell. “Oh, and if the lights go out, just keep walking until you reach the stairs. They go out all the time!”

  Acton looked up, frowning at this latest revelation, then saw something moved over the hole, covering it and blocking the light from above.

  “Let’s get this done with,” he said, setting a brisk pace forward. There was no point in running; being exhausted at the other end when they had no idea what to expect was senseless. And the last thing he wanted was to be running at a sprint and have the lights go out.

  They walked for a good five minutes, the tunnel far longer than Acton would have imagined, the amount of work necessary to dig such a hole jaw dropping. Where did they put all the dirt? He was reminded of one of his favorite movies, The Great Escape. Loosely based on a true story, the inmates at a Prisoner of War camp in Germany began digging three tunnels resulting in massive amounts of dirt that had to be cleverly hidden or disposed of.

  And those tunnels were barely big enough to crawl through.

  This was a feat of engineering.

  And it was a Hamas tunnel. Not aimed at helping those on the other side, but of arming a rebellion to try and either overthrow the elected Fatah government, or begin a civil war to destabilize it.

  No construction supplies were moving through these tunnels.

  The lights flickered and Acton looked up at the incandescent bulbs then down the tunnel.

  “I think I see the end,” he said over his shoulder. He looked again. Or maybe not. There was a darkness in the distance that either was the end, or else the lights weren’t working farther on.

  As they approached his heart began to sink. It’s the lights. “Sorry, I was wrong. Lights are out ahead.”

  “Blast!” Reading’s outburst echoed up and down the tunnel. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Let’s all join hands for the rest of the way,” said Acton as they approached the end of the functioning lighting. He reached back and felt Laura taking his hand. They continued into the darkness, slower now that he could see nothing, his left hand behind him, his right out front, waving back and forth as if it were some sort of sensor.

  His foot hit something sending him tumbling forward, his outstretched hand breaking his fall as it encountered something hard almost directly in front of him. Instinctively he had let go of Laura’s hand, it too reaching forward. He felt Laura bump into him then Reading into her.

  “I think we might be there,” whispered Acton, not wanting to startle anyone who might be above. He felt in front of him and confirmed they were definitely steps. “Okay, I can feel the steps. You two wait here, I’ll go up.”

  “I should go,” said Reading.

  “Forget it. I need you to get Laura back to the other end if there’s a problem. Don’t wait for me, take care of her. Understood?”

  He could only imagine the expression on Reading’s face, it pitch black where they were, the lights in the far distance not even casting a shadow.

  “Understood. At least let me get ahead of you, Laura. If anything happens, you run, don’t wait for me,” said Reading.

  “Okay, but don’t you two play hero.”

  “Who, me?” asked both Reading and Acton in unison.

  “You two have been spending too much time together!”

  Acton flashed a smile at where he thought Reading stood, imagining one in return. “Okay, here goes nothing.” He felt with his foot for the first step and gained it, then began slowly climbing toward the top, it too pitch black. There wasn’t a sliver of light above them, and as he climbed, he could actually see a hint of light below, reinforcing how dark this
new area actually was.

  His head hit the top first. He instinctively ducked, massaging the top of his head, then reached up, knocking three times, pausing, knocking once, pausing, then knocking three times, mimicking Alamar as closely as he could.

  He waited for a reply, but none came. Cocking an ear, he could hear nothing at all. No footsteps, no talking, nothing.

  “Anything?” came a harsh whisper from below. It was Reading.

  “No,” he replied with barely a whisper. Alamar had said to wait five minutes before trying again, but to him that sounded an eternity, especially as he balanced on the stairs, the balls of his feet barely fitting on them, his heels hanging off the ends, no rails to hold on to. At the moment he was balanced with both hands out at his sides, pushing against the walls.

  He reached up to knock again when he heard two short raps then a scraping sound. Sweet, brilliant, blinding light shone through as the opening was revealed. A hand reached in and he took it, the powerful grip almost hoisting him from the hole. Acton smiled at the man, thanking him with a nod. He glanced around and saw several men in a windowless room, most likely another basement, all armed, all with Hamas balaclavas covering their faces.

  Acton made a judgment call, kneeling by the hole, the staircase now well-lit from above. He could see Reading’s face looking up.

  “It’s okay, come on up.”

  Laura switched places and began the climb, Reading several steps behind her should she fall. Within a couple of minutes they were both in the room, dusting themselves off and enjoying the light.

  “What now?” asked Acton of the room. One of the men stepped forward, handing them three black sacks. Acton frowned. “That’s what I figured.”

  At least this time there’s no hitting.

  Megiddo Airport, Israel

  Present day, three days after the kidnapping

  If Grant Jackson had any hope of gaining his freedom through the guards at the airport he was sadly mistaken. As he followed Mitch and the others down the small stairs of yet another private aircraft, this one different from the one they had left the United States in, he looked around to find it dark out and their plane having been taxied to the far end of the airport.

  At the foot of the steps stood two men in uniforms of some type. Both shook Mitch’s hands before leading them to four large sedans parked nearby, all with drivers waiting behind the wheels.

  “I trust these will meet your needs,” said what appeared to be the senior of the two Israeli’s who had greeted them.

  “I’m sure they will. Any word yet on where our friends have gone?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact,” replied the first. “As suspected they used one of the illegal tunnels to enter the West Bank.”

  Mitch whistled. “I’m stunned they knew how.”

  “So was I so I did some digging and found out that they didn’t arrange it. It was arranged for them by somebody else.”

  “Who?” asked Mitch.

  The man shook his head. “My contacts wouldn’t tell me. I got the distinct impression they were more afraid of whoever arranged their passage than they were of me.”

  “Understood. And did they cross?”

  “Yes,” nodded the man. “They were seen leaving not even an hour ago.”

  “And their destination?”

  “A monastery near Jericho. St. Gerasimos.”

  Mitch frowned, looking at his watch. “How quickly can you get us there?”

  The man shook his head. “Not before they get there, but soon.”

  Mitch motioned for everyone to get in the vehicles. “Let’s go. Fast as possible.”

  The man nodded and Grant climbed into the back of one of the cars, Mitch joining him along with two others. Doors slammed all around and the driver tossed several black sacks into the back seat.

  “Put these on!” he ordered.

  Mitch handed one of the bags to Grant, shrugging his shoulders. “When in Rome.”

  Grant frowned but placed the bag over his head, and as the darkness enveloped him, his hopelessness grew, yet another opportunity to escape gone. The Triarii seemed to be everywhere.

  But are they Triarii, or the offshoot?

  He wondered how a breakaway group could have so many contacts, so many people helping them around the world. And then a thought occurred to him.

  What if the Triarii helping them don’t realize they are part of the breakaway group?

  From what he could gather in talking with Mitch over the past day, they were a small but growing group who didn’t want to destroy the Triarii, but merely take it in a different direction, and if they were proven wrong in their beliefs, they were perfectly willing to come back into the fold. And from what he could also gather, the Triarii were tightlipped, the members fed little information they didn’t need to know, which in Grant’s mind meant that outside of the leadership circle, few if any Triarii knew about this breakaway group.

  Which might mean they were helping them not because they supported their beliefs, but merely because their orders were to help any Triarii that requested it.

  It gave Grant a sliver of hope to cling to. His theory might not even be right, but for now it was all he had, otherwise he had to believe that he was in the hands of an organization so big, it stretched the world, and was at war with an even bigger organization.

  He leaned his head against the window, his memories of three nights ago and a simpler life flooding back. A pit formed in his stomach as he remembered Louisa begging him not to go, and he, the fool, ignoring her pleas, instead smiling and waving at her.

  Idiot.

  Tel Nof Airbase, Israel

  Present day, three days after the kidnapping

  Burt Dawson watched as his men prepped their civie clothes, walking through Jerusalem in their spec ops gear probably not a good idea. CIA Agent Sherrie White was already in civilian attire and Dawson had to admit was a fantastic looking woman who was apparently spoken for. He gave his head a mental shake as he pictured the CIA geek that apparently had won her heart.

  Lucky bastard.

  He had met Leroux during the New Orleans crisis. He seemed like a good kid. Brilliant, of that there was no doubt. Good looking too in an awkward kind of way.

  There’s no accounting for taste.

  His mind drifted to Maggie. At least ten years White’s senior, but another fantastic looking woman. He just wondered if she were right for him, and whether or not getting into a relationship was the right thing.

  Why the hell not? Half the guys are married, the other half have girlfriends. Why not you?

  Their Hercules came to a halt and he took a look out one of the small windows. It was dark outside, little artificial light in the area. Several vehicles were pulling to a stop nearby, clearly their escort.

  “Ready?” he asked their CIA liaison who gave a quick nod.

  The rear ramp lowered and Dawson exited first, chivalry having no place in the military. Agent White followed as the others began to collect their gear, the orders to keep it light.

  “Mr. White, I presume,” said a smiling young man wearing civilian clothes, his hand extended. “Call me David.”

  Dawson nodded, shaking the man’s hand, who nodded at Agent White but didn’t introduce himself to her. The less bullshit with aliases the better. He led the two of them toward one of the vehicles as the Herc’s engines continued to power down.

  “Any word on our friends?” asked Dawson when they were far enough away to have a conversation without having to shout.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Your friends were kidnapped from their hotel at gunpoint. We are trying to trace them now, but don’t expect much success.”

  Dawson didn’t like the sound of that. Clearly Kane had used Hamas or Fatah to get them into the West Bank, probably through an illegal tunnel.

  What the hell were you thinking?

  Dawson knew Kane would do nothing to intentionally harm Professor Acton, they apparently having history, so if Kane trusted these peo
ple enough to put somebody important to him in their hands, he had to assume they would be taken care of.

  “How bad was it?”

  “The footage I saw in the parking garage looked a little rough, but nothing too bad. Unfortunately this Professor Acton put up a bit of resistance. I read his file. He’s got quite the history over the past few years.”

  “Yeah, he’s a goddamned magnet for trouble, that guy.”

  David laughed. “I know the type. Some say I am one as well. Others say I enjoy the hunt too much.”

  Dawson cracked half a smile. “I think we’ve all been accused of that once or twice in this business.”

  David nodded. “So we are assuming your friends have made it into the West Bank by this point. You will want to follow them, of course?

  “Yes. Will it be a problem?”

  The man shook his head, his lips jutting out. “No, not at all. We’re inserting teams all the time. Do you know where they were going?”

  “Some Greek monastery. St. Gerasimos.”

  David’s head bobbed. “Yes, I know of this place. The Arabs call it Deir Hajla.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Why the hell would they want to go there?”

  Dawson shook his head, deciding to leave the crystal skulls and Triarii out of the conversation. “They’re archeologists. We’re pretty sure they’re being coerced into this,” said Dawson. “And we’re pretty sure it involves those who kidnapped President Jackson’s son. We expect them to either be here already, or to be here shortly.”

  David frowned. “We had a plane arrive a couple of hours ago from Munich. An anonymous tip told us it didn’t properly clear customs. We’re interrogating those involved now.”

  “Any luck?”

  “No, but we have our methods.”

  Dawson knew what that meant and didn’t need any more details to know it went way beyond what people were worried about at Guantanamo. He looked behind him to see his team ready, Red giving him the nod.