Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) (5 page)

North Atlantic Ocean
Aboard the RMS Titanic
April 14
^th
, 1912

“Captain, there are reports of icebergs along our course.”

Captain Edward
Smith looked at Chief Mate Henry Wilde, taking the communication from the radio
room. He read them over, his chest tightening slightly. He was under tremendous
pressure by corporate head office to set a transatlantic crossing record on
this maiden voyage, though he would not do so at the risk of the ship and its
passengers.

He
handed the paper back, a wave of guilt washing over him, a cold sweat breaking
out on his forehead and back. “Continue at current speed.”

Wilde
stepped slightly closer, lowering his voice so the rest of the bridge couldn’t
hear their conversation. “Captain, surely head office would understand if we
didn’t succeed. Icebergs, especially at night, aren’t to be trifled with.”

Captain Smith
glanced at his Chief, desperate to tell him the truth, yet held his tongue. “As
you were, Chief.”

Wilde
snapped to attention as if he were aboard a military vessel then walked away,
his troubled expression clearly indicating he wasn’t happy with the decision.

He’ll
report me, for sure.

Smith took
in a deep breath, his chest swelling as he tried to force some courage into his
butterfly filled stomach.

As he
should.

But Sarah
and our daughter will be safe.

He
turned and headed for his cabin, closing the door behind him and taking a seat
in his chair. He picked up a photo of his family, a lump forming in his throat.

He
didn’t know who they were, but two men had arrived at the White Star Lines
offices only minutes before he was due to leave for the ship. They had a
handwritten note from his wife and a clipping of his daughter’s hair.

And a
request that, should it be ignored, would result in him never seeing them alive
again.

He had
belted the one closest him, but a gun cocking behind him had ended his fight
and he had been rewarded with a fist to the midriff. He rubbed his stomach, the
muscles still tender.

The
“request” had been simple.

Make all
haste to a set of coordinates provided him on a piece of paper, it along his
route therefore no course deviation necessary. He was then to do something he
couldn’t understand at the time.

He was
to come to a complete stop.

And wait
fifteen minutes.

Then
resume his voyage, again at best speed.

He would
still set the record, an entry would be made in the log that they had stopped
because something had been spotted in the water, something that would turn out
to be nothing, and no one would be the wiser.

Wiser of
what
was his question.

He had
been rewarded with a second blow.

Questions
weren’t to be tolerated.

Nor
failure.

He had
to make the rendezvous coordinates on time or his family died.

Rendezvous
coordinates.

That
must be what they were. There could be no other possible explanation. He could
see no reason to stop in the middle of the North Atlantic for fifteen minutes
then resume course. It made no sense unless it was a rendezvous.

But
rendezvous with whom?

Assembly Covert Communications Facility, Moscow, Russia
Present Day

“There’s been activity concerning the Titanic operation.”

Ilya Mashkov’s eyebrows rose slightly at the revelation. The meeting of The
Assembly had been hastily called, an unusual though not rare occurrence. The
interests of their organization were varied involving most countries of the
world, from private industry to government procurement, from influence peddling
to the very administrations themselves.

The
Assembly was all powerful.

It
was
the grand conspiracy that the tinfoil hat crowd whined of, yet were still so
wrong about. Illuminati, Masons, Triarii, Rosicrucians. They were all real
enough, but the power they wielded paled in comparison to The Assembly.

Because
it was small.

Twelve
individuals sat on the ruling council. Never any more, and only less until a
replacement was found. And even then the process could take time. He had been
invited in six years ago after his predecessor had died from a bullet to the
head.

Who
delivered that bullet, he didn’t know, though he suspected it was on the orders
of the people whose silhouettes were now on screens in front of him. He knew
nothing of them. Who they were, where they were, what they looked like, though
he could surmise in some cases from the tasks they volunteered to undertake.
Since he had been selected by them, he was quite certain they knew who he was,
and it was his guess that the oldest member knew who everyone was, one of the
benefits of longevity in an organization that appeared to tolerate little in
the way of failure.

Dozens
had been murdered since he had joined.

He had
little problem with that. The common man wasn’t their target, it was the
uncommon man. Men and women who had gained power of some sort that wouldn’t
bend to the will of The Assembly when needed, or threatened their desires.

The
Assembly could be subtle. Usually the best interests of The Assembly were also
in the best interests of those in control. A CEO usually wanted the same thing,
a head of state as well.

But
occasionally those interests diverged, and that was when pressure needed to be
exerted. Sometimes subtle, sometimes not so subtle. And on occasion, violence
was necessary, though it rarely came to that. Usually what was required could
be attained through political favors or disruption of a corporation’s money
supply.

Control
of banks was key, especially central banks.

Sometimes
this influence resulted in strange results. Pipelines not built for
environmental reasons, yet Arctic drilling approved. Things that simply made no
logical sense. Until you drilled down to the real reason. In The Assembly’s
case, the Artic didn’t have railways, and it was far more profitable to
transport oil by rail, if you owned the railway.

But oil
was merely one of many economic pies they had their hands in.

The real
money was in banking.

And
arms.

A
slightly unstable world was always more profitable than a stable one. A planet
at peace with itself could spell economic disaster, history itself being the
lesson there. After World War One, the world was weary of war, and that
weariness grew into complacency and the false belief that the “war to end all
wars” was actually in fact that. The result? The Great Depression.

World
War Two brought the world out of the worst economic decline in modern times and
led to an economic boom. The end of the war though didn’t mean the end of the
need for massive arms spending. Korea, Vietnam and the Cold War fueled spending
the world over, which kept economies expanding, technology advancing, quality
of life improving.

For
those on the winning side.

And The
Assembly was always, ultimately, on the winning side.

The end
of the Cold War was supposed to bring a “peace dividend” that never really
materialized, yet did lead to a weakening of most major armed forces in the
world with the exception of China. Bringing back an external threat had been of
key importance. Terrorism had helped, allowing for massive investments in
security through fueling paranoia on the home front, whether that be airport
scanners that could see through clothing, to the militarization of the police
forces by letting them purchase army surplus equipment. And Russia’s resurgence
due to their oil reserves had done wonders, with the military leaders of the
Western world realizing that the Cold War wasn’t yet over.

All of
which meant The Assembly would continue to rake in the money, wielding power
over men and women the world over, none with any inkling what was actually
happening.

And the
beautiful thing, as he had discovered, was that mankind was screwed up enough
to actually bring most of what happened upon itself.

The
Assembly didn’t fly planes into the Twin Towers.

The
Assembly didn’t create ISIS.

The
Assembly was merely there to capitalize on these events, and profit from them,
as they slowly guided the entire planet toward some end game he hadn’t yet been
made privy to, and wasn’t sure if he ever would.

They
were only twelve people, though their organization was much more, though nobody
knew who they worked for. Everything was done through private contractors, some
like BlackTide that were now defunct after their failure, others too tightly
controlled to ever be known to the public.

If The
Assembly wanted something done, their hands were never soiled, there never a
possibility of anything being traced back to the organization.

Yet now
it appeared something was wrong.

Titanic?

“Forgive
me, since I’m new, I’m not familiar with our involvement with the Titanic.”

“What
our involvement was is of no importance however a file will be provided. What
is
important is the fact someone is beginning to ask questions about a naval
officer involved.”

“Who?”
asked one of the others.

“Captain
Johnathan Wainwright. He committed suicide in 1940, but it appears someone is
asking questions and may have found a link to the Titanic operation.”

Mashkov
felt his chest tighten slightly. He hated not knowing what was going on, and it
was as if the others took delight in making it clear that he was the only one
who was out of the loop.

Or were
they just as much in the dark as he was?

Only two
people seemed to be talking, the others all silent.

Better
to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.

It was
one of his favorite Abraham Lincoln quotes that too many politicians today
seemed to not heed.

Tipping
islands, anyone?

And he’d
be a fool himself to ignore the sage advice.

He
listened.

“I
thought with his suicide we’d be done with the affair. There are no longer any
survivors from that era. What makes you think there’s a problem?”

“A
records clerk did a search on Wainwright’s name and the keyword ‘Titanic’. It
triggered a security alert that we had inserted into the system years ago, and
our resources were notified immediately.”

“What do
you propose we do?”

“There
can be only one response. If it were to get out what really happened that
night, there could be substantial repercussions that could lead to our
discovery, though I feel the risks to that are minimal. Regardless, it could
result in a witch-hunt that may disrupt our interests significantly over the
short term.”

“You are
proposing the problem be cleaned up.”

“Yes.”

“Is that
absolutely necessary? Don’t we risk drawing even more attention to ourselves?”

“The
sinking of the Titanic is one of the most famous incidents in modern history
and holds a certain fascination with the public, especially after that damned
James Cameron movie. Should it come out that those people could have been
saved, everyone will be seeking the truth, from governments to press to
conspiracy nuts. Our security procedures weren’t as tight back then out of
necessity. All it would take would be some stray reference to us that might
have serious repercussions.”

“I
agree,” said the only other person who had been speaking. “Does everyone
agree?”

Mashkov
leaned forward and pressed a green button beside his terminal. Once the last
button had been pressed, a tally flashed on the screen.

Twelve
to none.

“It is
agreed then. All who have been exposed to the information will be eliminated.”