Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “And his contacts? Any indicator of who the others are?”

  “Well, if he’s number twelve, then I think we can safely assume there’s at least eleven others.”

  Child laughed, spinning in his chair.

  Leroux and Morrison both looked at him. “What?” asked Leroux.

  “Oh, you’re gonna love this, boss! This idiot had his emails all routed through his own personal server.”

  “Are you kidding me? Who does that?” A smile started to spread on Leroux’s face. If Mashkov were stupid enough to have all his email routed through his own server, a massive violation of any type of security protocols, they might have the break they needed. He looked about the room, everyone having stopped what they were doing, all just in as much elated shock as he was.

  Morrison cleared his throat. “So just what does that mean for us?”

  Leroux turned to his boss. “It means that every email he sent and received exited their Dark Web and went onto the clearnet, the regular Internet.”

  “So we have copies?”

  “Oh yeah, Echelon would have picked them up. Now we just need to crack the encryption and we’ll know everybody he ever sent an email to or received an email from.”

  “Why would anyone do that?”

  Leroux shrugged. “My guess is their entire communications network is on their own set of hardware, possibly satellite based, and requires the use of a special piece of hardware. I’m guessing Mr. Mashkov found that inconvenient, so had his own IT guys set up the system to route all of the email through his own server so he could read them on his laptop or iPhone, whatever. By doing that it’s secure from normal prying eyes since it’s still encrypted—”

  “But not ours,” finished Morrison.

  “Cuz we ain’t normal!” laughed Child.

  Morrison gave him a look.

  Child clammed up, then pointed at the screen. “I’m pulling data now.”

  “So what you’re telling me is—”

  Leroux smiled at his boss. “We might be able to find out who the entire Assembly is.”

  Morrison inhaled audibly, looking at the screens, lines branching out across the globe showing hundreds then thousands of communications.

  “We’ve got you now.”

  Chinquapin Round Road, Annapolis, Maryland

  Large delivery doors rolled up, Acton’s captor pulling them through and bringing the SUV to a halt. The ride back from the university had been somber as he pictured Tucker at the end-of-term barbecue less than a month ago. He had been so proud of his first granddaughter, a cute little thing that had behaved remarkably well for having so much attention heaped on her.

  Always smiling, always whistling.

  He had to admit he hated whistlers—it drove him nuts. Yet for some reason Tucker’s whistle was always reassuring—and only heard when he thought he was alone, patrolling the halls.

  A whistle that would never be heard again.

  He just prayed it wasn’t a student that walked in to find the body. It might be something they’d never recover from.

  He looked at Laura as he stepped out, she immediately sensing his mood, giving him a “what’s wrong?” look. “Tucker’s dead. She shot him.”

  Laura gasped, Mai sobbed and Tommy moaned.

  He’s going to die soon. Probably a brain hemorrhage or something.

  “Here they come,” said one of the guards, opening the doors that had just closed a moment before. Another black SUV rolled through, the doors sealing them in once more as two of the woman’s henchmen climbed out. They opened the rear doors and Acton’s heart sank as he recognized the new arrivals.

  We’re all going to die.

  Steve Wainwright stepped to the ground, helping another woman out whom Acton assumed was the man’s wife, his sister Judy following. Everyone looked terrified, and Steve’s eyes widened when he saw Acton and Laura.

  Acton turned to the woman. “What are they doing here? You said you’d let us go once you had the painting.”

  The woman shook her head. “No, Professor, I said we would part ways.” Acton’s stomach flipped as she raised her weapon and pointed it at Steve. “It’s time to clean up the mess you created, Mr. Wainwright.”

  Steve was terrified, that much was clear to Acton, but he was of a generation that was a hell of a lot tougher than most alive today. He squared his shoulders, drew a long breath and glared at the woman, placing himself between her and his family.

  And said nothing.

  “This isn’t necessary,” said Acton, stepping slightly to his left to block any clear shot at Laura and his students. “You have the painting. If anyone asks, we’ll just say it turned out to be a fake. End of story, nobody will ever know. You don’t have to do this!”

  Her expression was cold, not even an inkling evident that he was getting to her. She looked at him. “I have my orders. But don’t worry Professor Acton, you’ll live until your former student appears to save the day.” Confusion gripped Acton and he was about to ask who she meant when he suddenly realized it was Kane she was after. Yes, she was eliminating anyone who had been exposed to their secret about the Titanic, but she was also using it as an opportunity to get her hands on Kane.

  But why?

  He was about to ask when her weapon fired.

  Steve flinched, his wife screamed, and Judy fell back against the side of the SUV, sliding to the floor, blood pumping from a hole in her chest, the shocked look on her face triggering a white rage deep within Acton. He took a step toward the woman but six guns were immediately trained on him.

  “You bitch.”

  It was Laura who said it, Acton’s rage contained for a moment by reality. He looked over at a sobbing Steve, his sister cradled in his arms as she bled out, the life draining rapidly from her face as she looked up at her brother.

  “I’m so sorry!” he cried, “So sorry! I should’ve left it alone, I should’ve never unlocked that door!”

  Judy reached up with a shaking hand and pressed it against his cheek. “It’s…” She didn’t have the strength to finish, her hand falling to her lap, her head lolling to the side, all life gone from her eyes.

  Steve turned to the woman, still holding his dead sister. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill everyone who means anything to you. I don’t care what it takes, if I have to come back from Hell itself to torment you until your dying days, I’m going to end you.”

  The woman raised her weapon and pointed it at Steve’s wife. “Who else have you told?”

  “No one.”

  She cocked the weapon, it a needless action that impressively made a point.

  “Steve!” cried his wife, cowering behind him, his own bravado broken with the single click. He held out a protective arm, tears streaming down his face, a face Acton was quite certain had shed few tears of fear and sorrow in its life.

  “Please, I’m begging you. We told no one, I swear. Just Congressman Mahoney and the professors, that’s it.”

  “Didn’t you tell Dean Milton?”

  Acton felt his stomach tighten at the mention of his best friend’s name.

  God I hope he’s safe somewhere.

  “Right, yes, I forgot, he was there.”

  “Who else?”

  The look of shame on Steve’s face spoke volumes to his character as his eyes involuntarily darted toward Mai, the tiny girl shaking like a leaf, holding onto an unresponsive Tommy as she squeezed her eyes shut, her head buried in his shoulder.

  “Miss Trinh,” said the woman, Mai yelping at the sound of her name. “And no one else?”

  “N-no. Once we figured out that this might be a big deal, we went home and decided no one else should know, at least not for now.”

  The woman lowered her weapon. “Good. It appears the infection is almost contained.” She raised her weapon and pointed it at Wainwright. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  “We’ve got a target down, I repeat, a target down. Looks like one of the new arrivals. I don’t h
ave a clear shot on the shooter. There’s a metal girder in the way.”

  Shit!

  Red sprinted down the side of the building, Wings and Jagger on his heels. They had been forced to retreat when the second SUV arrived. The cover of night was helpful, though nothing could hide three men standing against a completely smooth wall. They came to a stop at an employee entrance, Red pointing at the handle. Wings tried it and shook his head, quickly rigging it with an explosive charge.

  “Can you reposition?” asked Red, activating his comm.

  “Negative, if I do I lose my angle on the other targets. I’m reading six hostiles now. Better move quick, I think someone is about to get it. Wait, she’s lowering her weapon. Ah shit, taking the shot.”

  “Fire in the hole,” hissed Red, squeezing the detonator. Glass shattered overhead, half a dozen heavy panes obliterated, the shards falling straight down, the charges enough to take out the windows though not send the deadly pieces hurtling toward the very people they were trying to save. At the same time Wings triggered the detonator on the door, blasting the locking mechanism apart, Jagger yanking it open. Red surged forward, Glock raised as Jimmy’s first shot rang out from across the street.

  Acton spun around, ducking, rushing toward Laura and the kids as glass rained down from above. He heard a shot and looked over his shoulder to see one of the gunmen that had arrived with Steve’s family drop, a massive hole in his chest. The others turned, weapons raised, looking for the shooter as another dropped only feet from Acton.

  He made a decision.

  He dove for the man’s gun, grabbing his weapon and scurrying behind the front of the second SUV, taking aim at the woman. She dropped, spinning toward him, one leg extended in front of her as both her weapons came to bear on him, both barrels blasting deadly lead in his direction.

  He ducked as Laura screamed, scrambling around to the other side, putting the large tire between him and their captor. He popped up to take a look and spotted three men surging around the office enclosure.

  There’s more of them!

  Several shots rang out, slamming into his cover, sending him back into hiding. He leaned out, the angle not giving the woman a shot, and took aim at the new arrivals.

  Then hesitated.

  You don’t know who they are.

  He had to consider they might be friendlies, someone clearly attacking their position from outside. He lowered his weapon, hoping his gut was serving him well today. He rushed down the passenger side of the vehicle, someone delivering suppression fire from the rear bumper toward the outside, silencing the sniper for now. Acton rounded the bumper and put his weapon to the man’s head, squeezing the trigger.

  He dropped in a heap.

  Katz rose from behind the SUV, spotting the three new arrivals coming directly toward her. She raised her weapon and aimed at the fuse panel on the wall twenty feet away, pumping several rounds into it, sparks bursting from the shorted circuits, the entire warehouse suddenly bathed in complete darkness.

  And she the only one prepared for it.

  She rushed toward the second SUV, its driver’s side door still open and dove inside. Standard protocol was to leave the keys in the ignition in the event a speedy exit was necessary and she was pleased to see her men had followed their training. She jammed her foot on the brake and pushed the ignition switch as she reached over and pulled the door shut. A hail of gunfire slammed into the side of the SUV, the bullet resistant window splintering as she shoved the vehicle into gear and hammered on the gas. Gunfire continued to tear into the SUV as she aimed the vehicle toward the far side of the warehouse, keeping her head down so the sniper across the street wouldn’t have a shot. The closed doors to the rear loading dock beckoned and she rose, bracing herself for the impact, unsure how strong they might be.

  A bullet tore into her dash, scoring the leather and passing through the windshield.

  And she knew that was the best shot the sniper had.

  Red flipped down his night vision goggles and rushed forward, weapon raised. Someone who had been standing behind the second SUV was suddenly exposed and Red immediately recognized him as Professor Acton.

  “Friendly at two o’clock!”

  He opened fire on the rapidly accelerating SUV, as did Jagger and Wings, though it appeared to have some sort of upgrades, their bullets not penetrating the door, only the window splintering. He took aim at the tires but it was too late, the vehicle blasting through a set of rear doors and into the night.

  “Clear!” shouted Wings, quickly followed by Jagger.

  He scanned the area, confirming his teammates’ assessment, finally relaxing. “Clear!” He activated his comm. “Any shot on that SUV?”

  “Negative, she’s gone.”

  Shit!

  Acton hit the ground, lowering his weapon when he heard the shouted “Friendly” advisory, it crystal clear the new arrivals were on his side. Rather than add his own bullets into the mix and possibly become a target, he let the three men try and take out the SUV as he instead looked to make sure all the other hostiles were down for the count.

  The SUV slammed into the far doors, the thin metal and glass tearing away as thousands of pounds of motor vehicle forced its way through.

  And then it was over.

  Emergency lighting took the edge off the darkness as his eyes adjusted, and he cautiously pushed himself to his feet.

  Then smiled as he recognized their saviors.

  “What are you guys doing here?” he asked, stepping forward, hand extended.

  Red shook his hand, as did the others. “A friend said you needed some help.” Red motioned toward Steve Wainwright, still holding his dead sister. “I’m sorry we were too late to save her.”

  “So am I,” said Acton, wrapping an arm around Laura as Mai watched Jagger and Wings examine Tommy. He looked toward the rear doors, now hanging off their hinges. “Any chance you’ll be able to catch her?”

  Red shook his head. “Doubt it. This is off the books so we don’t have any assets in the area. There’s more going on here than you know, Doc, and it isn’t over yet.”

  Acton frowned, not liking the sound of that. “Care to fill me in?”

  “Absolutely. But first we need to get you to safety.”

  Assembly Covert Communications Facility, Moscow, Russia

  Ilya Mashkov was exhausted, he graduating to copious amounts of coffee now, his usual pale tea not enough to keep the juices flowing. He was sure the other members of The Assembly were just as exhausted as he, though their silhouettes revealed nothing.

  And nor did his.

  He assumed.

  He always wondered if he was the only one who couldn’t see their faces. Perhaps everyone could see his, or perhaps everyone could see the faces of those who came after them, since they already knew their identities through the vetting process.

  Perhaps some day I’ll start to see some faces on the screen.

  The very thought that those anonymous figures could actually see him forced him to be at his best whenever he arrived at the secure site set up for him. He wished they would set one up at his primary residence in Moscow, but his request had been refused.

  Security reasons.

  No matter, he was an IT expert and had tapped the hardware himself, bringing a little convenience to his life. He used it to read the emails as they came in so he would have time to prepare responses if necessary, and sometimes skipped his onsite check-in to send replies or new emails, instead batching them then sending them all at once, giving the impression he had actually logged into the hardline.

  He was certain everyone was doing the same thing, it simply ludicrous in today’s world to expect someone to travel fifteen minutes in each direction when the touch of a button from anywhere in the world would allow him to accomplish the same thing.

  But he never faked the meetings.

  That he would never dare risk, though he had been debating it over the past day, there so many meetings in the past 48 hour
s it was beyond ridiculous.

  “Number Twelve, our intelligence reports indicate the CIA have been gathering quite a bit of intel on you in the past several hours.”

  Mashkov felt his throat go dry almost instantly, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He reached for his coffee, taking a large sip, swishing it around. “That’s odd,” he said. “Do we know why?”

  “No,” said Number One, his screen surrounded by a pulsating green box indicating who was speaking, there no mouth to see.

  “Are they looking into anyone else?” Mashkov hesitated for a moment, his mind still processing the implications of what had been revealed, he never being privy to a special meeting that discussed one of the members specifically. “I mean, any of you?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s good, right? If it had anything to do with The Assembly they’d be pulling data on more than just one of us. It might be because of my meeting with the Russian President scheduled for next week.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Mashkov’s alarms were ringing. There was no way they would have called an emergency meeting for routine government inquiries into his background. It must happen a hundred times a day, and if these people hiding in the shadows were as powerful as he knew they were, then their names most likely had been run at some point as well.

  So why are they so concerned?

  “If you want, I can look into it.”

  “That won’t be necessary. We have someone taking care of it as we speak.”

  Mashkov’s blood ran cold as all the screens went blank.

  Approaching Washington, DC

  “They’ll use me until they’re done with me.”

  Christopher Jones sat facing his wife, the security detail at the rear of the plane, leaving them alone. He had decided he had to tell someone what was going on, and his wife was the only one he could trust completely.

  But the fear on her face had him regretting his decision almost immediately. Tears had rolled down her cheeks when he described the sniper aiming at Kaitlin and the promise to kill everyone descendent from his grandfather.