Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) (30 page)

“Assuming
they’ve started looking, it could take days for them to find the wreck,” said
the British observer. “And that’s assuming they’re looking.”

“Wh-why
wouldn’t they?” asked Reese, her voice trembling.

“This is
the Sudan,” replied the Brit. “If they know about the gold, they’ll want it for
themselves, so they could simply refuse to allow other search aircraft over
their airspace and search themselves. If they don’t know about the gold, I
can’t see any reason why the skies haven’t been filled with search aircraft,
especially with a carrier nearby.”

“I could
see them refusing the US military from participating,” said Lee Fang. “Sudan
isn’t exactly on friendly terms with America.”

A
Russian accent responded. “America isn’t exactly on friendly terms with most of
the world.”

“Shut
the hell up, Rooskie!” snapped Niner. “If it wasn’t for you and your buddies,
we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Acton
had almost forgot that their two prisoners had been cut loose by the Sudanese
and lumped in with the rest of them. It was clear from the lack of questioning
that their new captors had no clue about the gold and seemed simply thrilled at
the prospect of getting ransom for their release.

One of
their captors threw open the door to the room. “No talking!” he screamed, then
slammed the door again, leaving an uncomfortable silence for several moments.

“I’m
really going to hate killing those guys,” said Niner, his voice low.

“True,”
agreed the Brit. “They seem a lovely bunch of lads.”

Somebody
snickered and was joined by another and within moments the entire room was
laughing including Reese, her shoulders shaking against Acton’s chest. Somebody
pounded on the wall, Arabic spat, and the moment of nervous tension breaking
waned, the room quieting down as people adjusted themselves once again for
sleep.

And with
Reese’s trembling gone, Acton was pleased to feel her rhythmic breathing beside
him as he drifted off to sleep moments after her, wondering what Laura was
doing this very second.

Westin Excelsior, Rome, Italy

Laura Palmer bolted upright in bed, looking about her hotel suite to
see what had woken her. Light was lining the fringes of the blackout curtains
indicating it was far later in the day than she had planned to awaken, and a
glance at the alarm clock confirmed it.

7:03am

Grabbing
her phone, she double-checked the time and noted that the alarm she had set on
the phone had been turned off over an hour ago, something that was known to
happen occasionally, especially if she was exhausted.

And she
was—or at least had been.

A knock
at the door and she leapt out of bed, grabbing her robe, realizing what had
woken her in the first place. A quick look through the peephole and she smiled,
recognizing four faces of men who just might be able to help her. A quick check
to make sure she was decent and she unlocked then opened the door.

“Miss
Palmer,” said Red, nodding with a smile as she held out her arm, inviting them
inside. Jimmy, Spock and Atlas followed, all shaking her hand, the massive
Atlas’ “ma’am” rumbling through her being, his voice impossibly deep.

She
glanced up and down the hallway, seeing no one, then closed the door, locking
it. She pointed to the living area of the suite, essentially a one-bedroom
apartment with kitchenette, then knocked on the door to the adjoining room.
“Hugh, we’ve got company!”

She
heard a grumble from the other side, Reading having arrived around one in the
morning. They had discussed the situation for some time before she realized she
had no memory of the conversation ending. She blushed slightly as she realized
she must have passed out and Reading had put her to bed then retired himself.

“Make
yourselves at home, gentlemen. Feel free to order some breakfast if you haven’t
eaten. Your
vacation
is on me.” She headed toward the bedroom. “I’m
going to get washed up and dressed.” She pointed toward the adjoining room.
“And don’t shoot whoever comes through that door, he’s a friendly,” she said
with a wink.

Atlas
laughed, as did the others, though they were easily drowned out by his foghorn.

Laura
ran through the shower quickly, feeling completely safe for the first time in
days. She trusted these men, though their introduction had been less than
stellar. They had saved her life numerous times, as well as that of her fiancée,
James, and she would be eternally grateful.

Dressing,
she tied her still damp hair back in a ponytail then joined the others. “Good
morning,” greeted Reading, sitting in one of the easy chairs, the others spread
about the room.

“Good
morning,” she replied, grabbing a cup of coffee from the kitchenette, somebody
having brewed a pot while she was in the shower. “Where do we stand?”

Red, who
she knew was Bravo Team’s second-in-command, handed her an iPad with satellite
photos. “These came in about an hour ago from a friend.”

Laura’s
eyebrows narrowed as she noted the Russian Cyrillic writing. “Are these
Russian?”

Red
nodded. “Yes, from a specially tasked satellite.”

“What do
you mean?”

“It
means that the Russians took one of their spy satellites and changed its course
so that it would be over this location at this day and time.”

“And
what am I looking at?” To her it simply looked like a shot of pretty much
anywhere in the world from tens of thousands of feet.

“Flip
through them. They zoom in.”

She
flicked her finger across the screen, the next photo zooming in, each
additional photo getting closer and closer to the ground. It soon became clear
it was an arid area, then she gasped as the next photo appeared and she
realized she was looking at an airstrip.

With the
smoking wreckage of a large aircraft.

Her hand
darted to her mouth as her eyes threatened to erupt with tears. “Oh my God,”
she gasped, dropping into the chair offered her by Atlas.

“Keep
flipping,” said Red, curiously not upset by this discovery.

She
flipped through several more photos and then she stopped. “There’s a second
plane.”

“Yes,”
agreed Red. “And if you notice, the smoke is coming from a broken off wing, not
the main body of the Antonov the Professor and our guys were on.”

“So…”

“These
photos show the plane landed, though roughly, and that most likely those on
board survived.”

“How can
you conclude that?” asked Reading.

“You
don’t fall out of the sky and land on a runway where your getaway plane is
waiting for you.”

Reading’s
head bobbed in agreement as he made eye contact with Laura, hope restored for
both of them. Laura wiped her eyes dry with the back of her hands and handed
the iPad back to Red. “So you think they’re alive?”

“I think
at least
some
people survived the crash. How many and who, I have no
idea. We know BD is dead, but if there’s any chance Niner and the Professor are
alive, I think we have a duty to go in there and find out.”

“I
agree,” said Laura. “What do you need from me?”

“I
suggest another hundred grand be placed into the account I sent you just in
case we need to do some real palm greasing or if we get ourselves into some
real shit down there and need a fast extraction. The unexpected always costs
more.”

Laura
nodded, sending an encrypted text to her banker to move the money as Red
continued to brief her.

“We’ve
already got a plane chartered that leaves in two hours. We’ll be over Sudanese
airspace in five hours on our way to Kenya. Over our target zone we’ll do a
HALO jump—”

“What’s
that?” interrupted Laura.

“High
Altitude-Low Opening skydive,” boomed Atlas. “Seriously fun shit.”

“And
dangerous,” added Red. “By jumping from a high altitude our charter simply
continues on its way as if nothing happened. By opening low, we minimize our
time in the air so there’s less chance of us being spotted.”

“So what
you’re telling me is that we”—Laura motioned between herself and
Reading—“aren’t qualified to do that jump.”

A series
of flustered half words burst from Reading’s mouth as he tried to figure out a
dignified way of suggesting there was no bloody way in hell he’d even consider
it, qualified or not.

He
failed, ending with a “bah!”

Red
shook his head. “No, I need you two to remain on board. You’re going to Kenya.
If the plane showed up with no passengers, it would look pretty suspicious.
Once there, you’ll establish satellite communications with us from your
hotel—I’ve already booked the best for you and all of the equipment you’ll need
will be in your room waiting for you—and we’ll keep you posted on our
progress.”

Laura
pulled at her hair. “Why not just bring what we need with us?”

“You
might be searched. I want nothing on board that might suggest a problem.”

Reading
leaned forward in his chair. “Won’t they be suspicious when the flight manifest
has six passengers and only two get off?”

“One of
our guys back home will modify everything that’s necessary once we’re in the
air.”

“Seems
like you’ve thought of everything,” said Laura, impressed. “What about
weapons?”

“Everything
is already on the plane.”

“What
now?”

“You two
pack, then we’ll head to the airport using whatever method you normally would,
get on our chartered plane, and leave Italian airspace as quickly as possible.”

Laura
stood, picking up the hotel phone. “I’ll call for a stretch to meet us out
front in fifteen minutes.” She was about to make the call when she stopped.
“Wait a minute.” She turned to Red. “You said you got the satellite images from
the Russians.”

“From a
contact there, yes. Definitely not through official channels.”

“And
they had to retask the satellite.”

“Yes.”

“And
that’s a big deal.”

“Yes.”

“So the
Russians knew.”

“Absolutely.”

Laura
felt her blood start to boil and could feel her cheeks burning red as she
looked at Reading who appeared as equally pissed.

“Goddamned
Russians!” finally erupted from her as she stormed into the bedroom, hammering
the keys on the phone as if shoving pins into a Vladimir Putin doll.

Hamashkoraib, Sudan

Acton awoke with a gentle moan, giving Laura a squeeze as he rolled
into her, wrapping his arms around her body. She moaned too and as he felt her
lips press against his neck, he suddenly froze and opened his eyes.

Reese!

He
pushed away and saw Reese staring at him with a smile on her face. “Good
morning,” she whispered, her flirtatious self back it seemed.

“Um,
good morning.” Acton completely extricated himself from her, sitting up on his
blanket and saw most of the room was already awake, Niner and the Brit in one
corner, both grinning at him. He gave them a look which had them both laughing
at his expense as he stood. Still a gentleman, he offered Reese his hand and
pulled her to her feet when she accepted.

“I hope
they let us go to the bathroom soon,” winced Reese as she danced from foot to
foot.

Acton
nodded in agreement, he too in desperate need of facilities.

“Here
they come,” whispered the Brit from the window he was standing near. The entire
room went silent and Acton saw two men walk by the windows, looking in as they
did so, their tough looks almost amateurish, these “men” barely boys by the
standards of the soldiers in this room.

In a
fair fight those bastards wouldn’t stand a chance.

But the
chances of a fair fight were slim to none, yet Acton wasn’t worried. He knew
they were worth more alive than dead. His only worries were for Reese being
raped, and one or more of them being used as “examples” to force the ransom
being paid.